#never apologize for brain worms <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[quietwingsinthesky]

See now you have me thinking about how Michael would be if Lucifer were pregnant with his baby. Because Lucifer bring knocked up with Sam's kid carries all these transgressions and the baby is Schrödinger's good, and pretty much everything you said, but his kid? His kid? Ignoring the fact that angels can't impregnate eachother in canon, Lucifer pregnant with Michael's child is a mindfuck for everyone involved because it means the whole world knows that Michael and Lucifer slept together, that Michael has either forgiven Lucifer or he took advantage of their messed up relationship and Lucifer's messed up view of him and now their this. Now there's something that binds them and he's going to have to be there and he's going to have to confront all these feelings about Lucifer, and that's before we even get to the baby itself because Michael is like, you want me to be a father? To be the think that fucked me up? Because Michael's personality is Son and now he has to be a father and I don't think he could deal with that.

Also the whole seeing Lucifer in pain during labour thing is even worse because he is the one causing the pain. Ah guh I'm sorry this is insane

😫😫😫 oh and there’s literally no good time in canon for this to happen, either! Pre-Fall, some desperate plan of Michael’s to tie Lucifer to him and force him to stay in Heaven and not fight, or a rendezvous during the Apocalypse gone wrong that ends with Michael knowing Lucifer is having his kid while they’re counting down to the day Michael has to kill him, or even post-Apocalypse, in the cage or out of it, because how do they walk back hurting each other like that, even to give their child a good life?

(Poor kid, lmao. Imagine inheriting the trauma of these two losers. Literally hell.)

Ough, and Michael having to shift his POV from Son to Father, when his only real experience of having a dad is God and because it’s God, Michael can’t look at any other examples and place them above him, he’s got to be The Best Example Of Parenting, The One Who Got It Right, and so Michael’s going to emulate him, in all the good and bad. (Personally, I like to just. sweep later seasons Chuck to the side. I prefer the more complex interpretations of s5 or even I think it’s s10 or 11? Where he’s clearly Bad at everything, he’s clearly done Wrong in abandoning his kids/giving Lucifer the Mark/parentifying Michael while also chopping away his autonomy/etc, but he does love them. Because that always makes it more complicated to come to terms with a parent having hurt you, that they did it, and they loved you.)

And pulling that back around to Michael, he’s got two conflicting parts of himself when it would come to parenting. There’s the part that raised his little brothers, and the part that wants to be to his child what god was to him, without examining how bad that would actually go.

(Lucifer is doing the exact same thing here, but in reverse, he’s trying to Not be like his dad, but. He’s also got zero experience in parenting beyond like. Making demons. Who he then hated and abandoned. What’s it mean to strive not to be anything like your dad when you have a few good memories left, too? Which is to say Lucifer is simultaneously too attached (because he won’t even think about abandoning his child as he was abandoned) while also being kind of cold? (Because maybe that way if he does end up hurting them, it’ll be less painful, because they’ll love him less.))

[cambion-companion]

hi!! binge read all your raphael stuff and i think it added more worms in my brain!! :D thank you!!!

raphael idea: artist!reader (or tav/durge) that raph commissions to paint a portrait of him. maybe how the sitting would go- would he be monologuing? would he be looking over contracts? would he be sneaking fond (in his own way) glances at the lovely little artist sitting in his foyer putting so much passion and concentration into capturing his devilish visage?

or maybe smth like he can't make it to a sitting one day so he sends haarlep to do it expecting that the artist won't be able to tell the difference. instead, his artist refuses to start working since that's CLEARLY not her patron!! his facial structure is off!! that piece of hair doesn't flow down like that!! and his gaze- clearly not!!! so raph comes back hours (or even days) later to find the little artist still in his house, waiting for his return so that they can resume work <3

I LOVE this!

Thank you for reading my work and for sending this lovely message in! This idea kinda ran away with me but I hope you enjoy this drabble!

“Where is Raphael?”  You squinted at the devil lounging on the gold embroidered cushions.

On first glance, it appeared to be the cambion you’d met yestereve. He had commissioned you to paint a self-portrait for him, showed you the many that already hung from his marble walls. You’d begun your work, sketching the lines and filling them out with practiced dexterity.

Due to time constraints, the devil was a busy man it seemed, you had to cut your painting short, determining to begin again the following day.

Now you sat again, upon the small stool, staring in consternation at the creature who would have you believe it was Raphael.

The fiend stretched, feigning a languid uncaring composure.  In all but those burning eyes, focused so sharply upon your frowning face.

“Whatever do you mean, little succulent?”  It was Raphael’s voice as well, though something was off about the cadence. “You have everything you need right here.”

You shook your head, frustrated, lowering your paintbrush from where it had been poised over the canvas. “No, this isn’t going to work. You aren’t him.”

“My, quite the perceptive thing.”  The devil straightened, looking displeased. “How very annoying.”

“What…who are you?”  You asked, a slight tingle of fear running down your spine.

“I am Haarlep.”  The devil’s long tail swished to curl around his feet.

“That’s an odd name.”

“Isn’t it just.”

Your frown deepened, an annoyed breath hissed through your clenched teeth. “Well, I cannot continue until the real Raphael returns.  When will he be back?”

“The master will not return for quite a while.”  Haarlep rolled his shoulders, looking equally put off. “I do my job quite well. What exactly is the issue?”

You set down your tools and folded your arms, still wary of whatever this creature was. “The way your hair falls, the cadence of your voice…”

“All aspects I am sure you can rectify without too much issue.”  Haarlep interrupted with a petulant gesticulation, but you spoke over him.

“And your eyes.”  Your own eyes narrowed in concentration, focusing on the burning embers within those inky black orbs. “Your eyes are wrong.”

“I’m offended.”  Haarlep deadpanned, then tilted his head with a curious smile. “Explain.”

“I cannot.” You shrugged.

“Then work on painting everything except the face.” Haarlep repositioned himself upon the sofa, his eyes rolling slightly in bemusement.

“For professional reasons, I cannot.”  You didn’t budge. “The master of the house didn’t notify me of this change.”

“The master of the house apologizes.”  Now that voice you recognized, Raphael’s.  Deeper and with more presence than the voice Haarlep used.

Raphael, still in human form, strode into view and offered you a wry smile.  He bowed slightly at the waist, his brown eyes never leaving yours. “I admit to not foreseeing your powers of insight. What a delightful discovery, my dear.”  

He turned and observed Haarlep with mild amusement for a moment. “You’re slipping.”

“Nonsense.”  Haarlep stood from the chaise and flexed his batlike wings. “You know as well as I, some things cannot be replicated.”

“Such as?”  Raphael directed the question to you.

You shifted, your behind slowly numbing from the uncomfortable stool. “Well, the way Haarlep carries himself for one.”  You said carefully speaking the other’s name. “The eyes are also completely different, not in shape or color but the nature they hold within them.”

“Fascinating.” Raphael put his hand to his chin, a slight quirk to his lips. “The eyes.  Windows to the soul.”  He laughed, short and rough.

You didn’t quite understand the joke but smiled politely. “Have you time now?  I can come back later.”

“No.”  Raphael shook his head and placed a firm hand on your shoulder, taking a moment to inspect your canvas. “This is important work. I am at your disposal.”  Raphael’s human form melted away. His hand on your shoulder grew in size and sharp claws bit through your shirt to your skin. Hellfire eyes looked down upon you, familiar, calculating. “For as long as you need me.”

[lilbardrhi]

Let It Snow

Pairing: Valeria Garza x Reader/You CW: OOC Valeria (I've never written her before, I'm sorry-); bar fight; sweet things Author's Note: Happy holidays, @demothers-empty-blog! Thank you for letting me feed your brain worms over König things - they always make me smile. <3 (I'm sorry this took so long </3)

This bar is going to make a shit ton of money tonight, that's for damn sure. An entire bar getting snowed in? Yikes for the patrons; great for business, though.

Valeria sips her Dos Equis while seated at the bar. Mobile service is basically nonexistant and the wifi is down. Not a shock, really - it's a really bad storm. And it showed up out of nowhere.

So the bar fight happening right now comes as no surprise. Alcohol and being snowed in? Recipe for disaster.

Valeria watches the bartender hop over the bar. When she reaches for the shirt of the guy who started for the fight, Valeria also jumps into action. Between the two women, they manage to separate the drunk guys.

The insigator of the two currently has his hands pinned behind his back and has his face shoved against the wall.

"I said stand down," the bartender hisses at him. Then she drags him to a corner booth and pushes him in. "Stay here. You're cut off and if I catch you anywhere near another patron again tonight, I'll lock your ass up in the cooler in the kitchen."

While that all goes down, Valeria has the other guy on his knees waiting his turn. When the bartender makes her way back over to them, she locks eyes with Valeria and nods before looking down to the guy.

"You good, Vinny?" she asks in a still stern but gentler tone.

"Yeah. I'm good," he slurs slightly but otherwise seems to have calmed.

"Jack on about her again?"

Vinny nods solemnly and hangs his head. The bartender looks back up to Valeria and motions for her to let him go. Slowly, Valeria releases the man. The bartender leads him to the bathroom then returns with a heavy sigh.

"Thank you for the back up. It's not always easy to break those two up when they get going like that."

"It was no problem," Valeria nods. "Not like I was really doing anything else right now anyway," she adds with a chuckle.

The two wander back towards the bar, bartender taking place behind the bar again and Valeria settling back on the stool.

"Can I get you anything? On the house, as thanks. Shot of tequila maybe?" the bartender offers.

"Tequila because I'm Mexican?" Valeria smirks.

The bartender's face turns bright pink and Valeria can see the panic filter in.

"Fuck- No, I- shit. That wasn't- I'm sorry," she finally settles on the apology.

Valeria breaks out into a true laugh and shakes her head.

"I'm just fuckin' with you. I'll take a fresh beer, though."

Immediately, the bartender fishes out another Dos Equis and pops the top off before gently placing it in front of Valeria. As the night continues, the two share lighthearted conversation between the bartender serving drinks. It starts a bit awkward, from the bartender's lingering embarassment, but eventually turns to good conversation.

"I've not had a white Christmas before," Valeria says at some point.

"Guess the weather decided it needed to catch you up on all that missed out on snow, huh?" the bartender chuckles as she cleans up a few glasses.

Valeria's eyes drift from the bartender to the front window - which is currently half-covered in snow - and nods with a smile.

"Guess so. I don't think I mind, though. Got to help break up a bar fight," she pauses, "and have good conversation with a beautiful woman."

The bartender nearly drops one of the glasses as that cute pink color returns to her cheeks.

"I'd have to... agree. Tonight's been wild, but good." The bartender's tone is soft and genuine as she turns back to Valeria. "Will you be around for the New Year?"

"I will be," Valeria nods. "Have a date for the big party they're throwing for it?"

"Depends on if you're also free and plan on going."

That cute pink color is lingering in the bartender's cheeks and it's all Valeria can see. Pink, adorable, and soft.

"Count me in," she smirks, watching the bartender's smile grow.

CoD Christmas (Meet) Cuties Masterlist

[tasha-writes]

A stitch in time

Just a little brain worm about Alicent slipping back in time instead of, well, dying. let me know if I should keep this going.

Word count: 2400

The last thing Alicent remembered was feeling absolutely frigid. Despite what the Maesters said about a raging fever, her teeth chattered, and her body was wrecked with violent shivers under 4 layers of blankets. It had been 3 days of this madness, the sickness had set in quickly, as Winter Fever tended to do. As the sun faded behind the walls of Kings Landing, Alicent gave into the exhaustion plaguing her mind and body, hoping the blackness brought with it the embrace of the Stranger. 

Of course, she could not be so lucky, the Gods, it seemed, would have her suffer as long as possible for her past misdeeds. She awoke feeling more physically refreshed than she had felt in ages, bar the bone deep exhaustion that had settled into her after the war. The Dance of Dragon the smallfolk had taken to calling it. Such a graceful name for such a violent thing. 

Knowing no more sleep would come to her, although judging by the darkness it must be the early hours of morning, Alicent slowly peeled herself from her bed. Gently she picked the brush up from her vanity and lowered herself into the seat and began the lengthy process of brushing out her hair. Alicent spent the better part of an hour and a half in front of the mirror, brushing, twisting, braiding, reflecting, never once looking into the reflective surface. 

Long ago this ritual of reflecting on her mistakes had replaced her morning prayer. Her faith withering away with her sanity and beauty. Alicent gripped the handle of the brush harder and resisted the urge to throw it, to break, and rage, and bring guards running to her chambers who's only job was to keep her alive and suffering. Even winter fever could not take her, she was cursed to a long life that had been stolen from her children. 

A sharp knock startled Alicent enough that she dropped the brush in her hand. She shouldn't have been, most days she was left to her isolation, but the last couple days had seen Maesters in and out of her rooms. When no one entered Alicent trudged over to heavy doors and cracked them open. Outside stood a grouchy looking white cloak, and a rather harried looking wetnurse with a crying white haired baby. The former queen felt the phantom sensation of milk swelling in her breasts. 

"Apologies my queen, but the prince is refusing to latch, and it is bothering the princess so. I thought you might have better luck with him. I must hurry back to the nursery and see to the girl," the wetnurse shoved the crying babe into Alicents arms and scurried away. 

The guard made no move to take the young prince from Alicent, so unsure what else to do she retreated into her room to sit at the foot of her bed. It had been a long time since she had held a babe, perhaps not since she had ordered a newly born Joffrey to be brought to her chambers. When Helaena's children had been born Alicent had been more concerned with politicking than her grandchildren. 

Alicent scowled as the child in her arms made grabby hands at her chest and held it a bit farther away. This must be the offspring of Aegon and Daenaera. A child of zero relation to her thrust into her care for whatever reason. The child returned to cacophonous cried and the former queen wondered at the physical similarities to her own Aegon at this age. Targaryen genes were strong she supposed, such a shame it hadn't worked in Rhaenyra’s favor. 

Finally the babe exhausted himself and quieted down, falling asleep in her arms. Alicent still wasn't sure what to do with him. She wasn't permitted to leave her rooms, but she doubted she was supposed to have one of the heirs to the iron throne in here with her either. It was then Alicent finally looked up and made eye contact with herself in the mirror - and nearly dropped the babe on the floor.

It was like looking at her royal portrait, herself, but not. Impossibly young, haunted with responsibilities and experiences she shouldn't have had to endure. She had officially lost it, there was no possible way she had shed decades. There was no way the wet nurse had addressed her as queen in any other way than a slip of the tongue. There was no possibility that the babe in her arms did not belong to Aegon III but in fact was her own eldest child. 

Alicent screamed.  

Alicent wasn't entirely sure of she blacked out or went into shock, but but but the time her brain was properly processing information again she was sat at a large dinner table a very alive, if sick, Viserys to her left at the head. Across from her sat Rhaenyra, diligently avoiding looked at her. Laenor was sat next to Rhaenyra. On Alicents other side was two-year old Aegon, and on her lap a very tiny Helaena. Perhaps not even six-months old. Viserys was taking to Rhaenyra, something about Daemon, and Alicent squeezed her little girl tighter to her, the horror of seeing her body impaled on the spikes still a fresh wound after all these years. 

Unless… unless it had all been a dream? Or was this the dream? Had the gods blessed her with foresight, or was this her life flashing before her eyes before death finally claimed her? Alicent lifted her glass of wine with a shaking hand and didn't remove the glass from her lips until it was empty. She caught a strange look from Set Strong, hovering behind Rhaenyra, but otherwise was ignored.  

“What is your opinion on the matter, my dear?” Alicents hand halted half way towards waving the cupbearer over. 

“Sorry, opinion about what?”

“Daemon and his engagement to the Velaryon girl, we received news of the upcoming nuptials this afternoon if you recall,” Viserys reminded her. Did they? Alicent couldn't remember. She did recall Laena eventually died in labor with their third child. Died in Vaghar’s fire by the lady’s own command. 

Alicent spoke without thinking, “I suppose I feel for the poor girl. I wouldn't want to be married to the brute.” Across the table Laenor began hacking, spitting out the wine that he had been sipping on. Rhaenyra immediately began rubbing his back, a look of genuine concern passing over her face. Perfect at the role of diligent wife. 

A frowned marred Visery’s face, “That is my brother you speak of.” 

Alicent started mashing a small potato off her plate, “And so dear husband, you must know his temperament as well as I do, better even. Of the two, you have received all gentleness.” having said her piece Alicent began cooing at the baby in her lap 

“You are in rare form tonight, My Queen,” Laenor complemented, voice strained from choking on the wine. Out of the corner of her eye, Alicent saw Rhaenyra purse her lips, eyes darting between her husband, step-mother, and father, attempting to get a read on the situation. Silence filled between them, broken only by Helaena’s babbling. 

“I fear my humors are disturbed by the strangest of dreams I had last night,” Alicent allowed. She fidgeted with her fingers, staring down at her daughter’s head. The men moved on rather quickly after that, discussing matters of hunting and state, but Alicent could feel Rhaenyra’s eyes remained on her. The princess and queen remained silent for the rest of the meal, the princess studying the queen, and the queen picking at her finger nails and debating which life was reality and which was dream. And if this life was reality then what was she going to do about saving her children? Would repairing her relationship with her step-daughter be the answer? Or would truly exiling her father beyond the domain of the Iron throne be the answer? Would anything she could think to do make any difference if the Gods were determined for the dance to occur? But why would the God’s wish destruction on house Targeryean? Was she to be forced once again to lie with, to care for Viserys? Would she again be forced to reckon with her father’s scheming? Was this again? Was this for the first time or the second? Was this the only time? Had she ever truly lived past this evening as she was in it now? Had the God’s shown her the future or had her own brain manifested the worst conclusion in response to her father’s warnings? Or was she delirious and dying of white fever in that moment? 

“Alicent,” Rhaenyra’s quiet voice cut like a knife through the deafening noise in Alicent’s head. “Breathe, Alicent.” Alicent’s gaze shot up, wild with fear to meet the princess’s discerning gaze. “Are you alright?” Was she alright? No, absolutely no. She had lived a whole and terrible life and didn’t know if it was real or not. But either way, it haunted her. And she simply could not stomach sitting at a table of ghosts one moment longer. 

“Alas,” Alicent choked out, “I am not feeling my best. Quite queasy, in fact. I must excuse myself. Aegon, come” Alicent stood sharply and stalked out of the hall. Between the sharp steps of her heels, she could hear the uneasy footsteps of a toddler and the more sure ones of his maid behind her. As well as a third pair of gliding steps. Rhaenyra, no doubt, had excused herself front dinner as well and made to follow her. Alicent refused to look back or acknowledge that she was there. 

Alicent waved the wetnurse away as she came to claim Helaena from the queen’s arms, opting to tuck the babe into the cradle herself. It was strange, Alicent couldn’t remember ever doing this before with any of her children. She had lacked general attachment to her children until they were old enough to have personalities. Perhaps that was part of what led her boys to be so … unhinged. If, of course, her dream was another reality, or a future. Once Aegon was tucked in and mumbling nonsense in his sleep and Alicent had somewhat pulled together the pieces of her mental break, she deemed it safe to address Rhaenyra. 

“Are you just going to hover there, or is there something that I can do for you?” Alicent asked, voice coming out cold in her attempt to keep it even. “I can’t imagine this is you finally showing some interest in your siblings.” Rhaenyra sat on the chair next to Aegon’s bed and Alicent had to fight the terror slowly rising at the proximity of the half-siblings. 

“You seemed disturbed at dinner, and,” Rhaenyra took a breath and combed her hand through Aegon's silky baby hair, “despite everything, I still hold some affection for you.” Rhaenyra stood, “It is you who ultimately cut of our friendship, Alicent. Were you to accept peace I would gladly have it.” 

Alicent considered for a moment, but images of a burnt Aegon, a one-eyed Aemond, and a dead Helaena held her back from fully embracing the idea of peace between her and Rhaenyra. No matter what, no matter if she and her children bent the knee to Rhaenyra, there would always be lords of the realm that called for the first born son to sit the Iron Throne after Viserys. Rhaenyra would have no choice but to kill or exile Alicent’s children. She would either have to fully convince Visery’s to name Aegon his heir, or war it seemed, would be inevitable. How awful. 

“Rhaenyra, you should leave.” Alicent could almost hear the small hope Rhaenyra fostered within her heart cracking like glass. In truth she missed her friend, but she feared the arbitrator of her family’s deaths more. As Rhaenyra stood to leave, a strong wave of anxiety flooded Alicent, overcoming any of her good sense. “What will you do to my children, Rhaenyra,” Alicent wished she had drank more wine at dinner, “when your father can no longer back your claim, and the lords call for a king rather than a queen?” 

The silence that followed Alicent’s question was nerve wracking, and she wished nothing more than to bit at her nailbeds until they bled, but a show of weakness in this moment was unthinkable. “Where does this question come from, Alicent?” 

The queen resisted the urge to grate her teeth, a nonanswer at best. “My father, he has warned me that once you become queen my children’s lives might be forfeit to ensure your claim. I simply want to know what your intentions are.” Alicent’s eyes burned. Too many times she had come to Rhaenyra, for peace, friendship, and had been turned away. 

The princess sat back down and placed her hand on the queens knee. Alicent resisted the urge to jerk away, it felt like any sudden movements would destroy the fragile atmosphere of understanding. “I do not wish to hurt my brother and sister, and what other siblings may come. Given that my siblings bend the knee, you have my word their safety is guaranteed.” Rhaenyra cleared her throat and continued, “I would have them as part of my court in some capacity. One of my siblings might be hand one day, or commander of the Kings Guard. It depends what they wish for themselves, what they show capacity for.” 

The two girls sat in silence. Alicent wasn’t exactly sure how to respond, processing what the princess had told her, putting it up against her father’s paranoid warnings. Warnings she had originally dismissed, believing herself to know Rhaenyra’s character better. Warnings she had let poison her own feelings towards her former friend. That had poisoned her children towards their sister and nephews. That had planted the seeds of the war. Perhaps, perhaps it was not unavoidable after all. Perhaps, her mission to protect her children was one and the same repairing a relationship with Rhaenyra. Her father was wrong. She had known that once and lost her way. 

“You are so close with Syrax,” Alicent began, “Aegon could use such guidance with Sunfyre, I am sure. Your father is far to busy to teach him the ways of a dragon rider, and I am no expert myself. An older sister is the perfect guide.” 

Rhaenyra gifted Alicent’s outreach with a genuine smile, “I would be honored.” Perhaps, the friendship was not so unsalvageable after all.

[dol-dee]

what does limone think of cow ladies,,,

cant stop thinking about her teasing me for needing to be milked so often, and she grabs and gropes me whenever she feels like just to get me all hot and flustered throughout the day, until im so needy and leaky and desperate to be milked,,,,,,,

dw they'd tease you for it but forgive you

"Ahaha- woww, I haven't even started and your brain is already leaking out between your legs.. how cute~" I know you came here for fun horny times, but you unknowingly (and unfortunately) opened a can of worms. So you will have to listen to me break down Limones deal and psyche a little first. Apologies <3 

So the thing with Limone, is that they’re a human fucker first and foremost unfortunately. 

Doesn’t mean they won’t have some fun with you, if you have a TF or two. But it’s a lot less likely that they will get fixated on you. (i.e.: starts pestering you 24/7 and takes notes on you in their encyclopedia when back at home like a freak)

(I wont say never, but both the characters they’re fixated on atm are full humans, with very bad awareness- who are also church related in some way, lol)

The sliding scale is essentially:

(Human) on one side and (Inhuman) Plantpeople on the other. Limone is a little off from the plant people position)

Basically, anyone who started out as a human and has gained a Transformation would still read as inherently more human, than inhuman to them, compared to wolf people for example. The more TFs a person has, the more they start to be in a weird, muddy inbetween area (still recognizable as human though and always more human than Limone) - but they might be a little less compelled because of that. That’s due to a few things:

(They subconsciously want to be seen as, treated and held to the same standard as a human. Even when they keep falling short of it lmao.  It’s debatable how successful they are in that regard but they go out of their way to suppress a lot of their instincts.)

Limone is technically a 100% plant person. I say technically, because theyre a plantperson gone wrong, gone inadvertently merged with a human- whoops. and unaware of it- whooooopsss Thus their biggest internal conflict is the way that speck of humanity clashes with their nature as a plant person and the inherent suffering that comes with humanity in general. They don’t like other plant people. Are disgusted by their natural inclinations, their lack of self control and unwitting cruelty*

‘I am NOT like them, Limone wants to snarl. Nothing like those other mindless drones, with no common sense or self control- Who pluck wings from insects just as easily as they do limbs from people just to sate their own sick curiosity.’

*(Little note to add here: in my personal canon, plant people are kind of  hive mind-ish and very much Fae-like in disposition. They are quite cheerful and bubbly and maybe even nice sometimes, but will be cruel at the drop of a hat and not even realize that’s what they’re doing. So imo they end up killing the majority of the people they abduct. Just by virtue of their carelessness, plus the over exhaustion due to sex and nectar overdoses)

Limone vaguely knows that something is wrong with them, but isn't aware of the what or why. They know how they *should* be and they know what they want to be. But they dont really fit into either category.  Too human to be like every other plant person npc, yet not human enough to truly fit in as one. So If they can't be what they physically are, and they feel this draw to people, then that must mean that they are a human. or at least a person. maybe?

They aren’t though. 

Emotions overwhelm them, because theyre not really supposed to experience them and even then, the range that they have (so far?) is limited. (And they cope with it by self harming; they abuse pain to force their body to overwrite any overwhelming/unpleasant emotions they’re feeling)

They pride themself on their self-control compared to regular plantpeople and the fact that they don’t rape or kill humans but Limone arguably, encroaches on that territory. It just veers on the side of dubcon rather than noncon. So it might be more gradual than outright force, but they keep poking, prodding and pestering until, Luci for example, gives in. They have a predatory/sadistic streak in them no matter how much they like to think that they de-fanged themself or are better than other plantpeople. They ofc wouldn't like it at all when if its put like that.

Then there's the obvious physical differences: They can morph their body to a degree, they have yellow skin, black sclera- yellow eyes, a black tongue and sharp teeth (even when they can rip them out and regrow them). They can’t die, can squish their own memories out of existence like pimples, can manipulate vines and grow plants easily. Substances don’t work on them. They wouldn’t even need to eat if they hadn’t made it so they could.

Because of (gestures at previous chunk of text) all of that, they tend to most easily grow fixated on humans with no TFs. Because they idolize humanity somewhat. Not to an unhealthy degree. They just adore humans and are fascinated by them. So infinitely complex and bright. No one human quite like the other.

You’re lucky though, because they are a very hedonistic person (and a whore) so they like to have fun. Wherever they remember you after or actively pursue you is a different story though.

Okay enough explanations- Time for dirty talk:

Yes, Limone would have a lot of fun teasing you. They’ve made themself lactate before, they know how agonizing it can be. How uncomfortable it is to run around with plump, full tits, practically begging to be milked.

It depends how sadistic they’re feeling at the time. They’d enjoy giving you immediate relief, just as much as being a lil mean.

With the first one they’d pull you on their lap and start to fondle you. Rubbing your nipples through your shirt until milk soaks it through. It’s then that they would milk you outright. Giggling and praising you for being such a good little cow for them. They’re sure you’re soaking through your underwear just like you did your shirt. They’d look forward to licking up your slick, after making you cum several times on their lap, tits finally dry and nipples sore.(Human substances is the closest they can get to a high)

If they’re feeling a little more mean and playful it will be a long, drawn out thing. That knowing gaze boring into you and so very humiliating when you can’t see anything but their mean little smile. They will work you up soo much. Fleeting touches, mean pinches, flicks and more groping. Sweetly asks you if you’re desperate enough to moo for them. There’s a 50/50 chance that they would still not milk you even if you do. Too entertained by your pathetic flush, teary eyes and pitifully drenched shirt. 

Just be prepared to get dropped like a hot potato if one of their current fixations crosses your path :(

[verdemoun]

because i like to pretend every single character was as devastated by kieran's death as i was, i would like to take this opportunity to remind people that if you rescue tilly from the foremans after jack's party, miss grimshaw will mention kieran being missing and that she's going to send some boys out looking for him (screaming crying they DID look for him). but that leaves the question of who. based on who goes looking for arthur when he's away from camp too long, our choices are bill, charles or javier.

obviously, i think miss grimshaw is acutely aware of how much bill torments the poor boy and wouldn't send bill after him

if charles was sent looking for him he would've fucking found him.

so that leaves javier. i think he would've ridden out 2-3 times looking for kieran. first time he was just annoyed, annoyed he was right: said it himself 'once an o'driscoll, always an o'driscoll'. the spineless little man had finally gone running back to colm the second the gang faced a real threat.

second time he had to stop early because boaz got a stone properly wedged in his shoe, and javier realizes he'd gotten so used to the o'driscoll taking care of the horses he had actually neglected to check himself. it feels wrong seeing charles being the one to cart haybales over to the horses, and lenny being the one trying to brush sweat out of their coats before tacking them up. makes a passing comment that the o'driscoll would've had them all done by now, and the saddles would've been clean enough to see their faces in. without kieran, it'll go back to being a three-person chore tending to the herd. he had to admit the kid did a lot of work around camp.

third time he looked along the river, because the few things he knew about the boy was that he liked horses, and fishing. remembers how disappointed the o'driscoll was when javier said there was no way he'd go fishing with him - he was preparing lures for arthur (and how the kid looked that much like a sad, wet cat javier had tossed a bag of crickets at him (was it an apology?), and kieran was happy again because it was much better bait for the local bluegill population than the worms he picked out of the dirt) it became another thing to tease him over, maybe they'd go fishing together.

post horsemen, apocalypses, javier is angry. he's ready to ride out and hunt down the o'driscolls himself, to hit them back even though it's the wrong move. because damnit, kieran was one of them. that meant even if he was a damned o'driscoll, he was part of the gang: the closest thing to family javier had. and no one mentions that javier was the one who went looking for him. no one says he failed. he doesn't need them to point out that he's more angry at himself for not looking hard enough, for not doing enough, not being enough to find the damned kid before that happened to him than he is mad at the o'driscolls.

on nights when he's on guard, and his brain is swimming in the whiskey that he was drinking to stay warm (poor excuse, everything in lemonye is sticky and hot), he catches himself staring over to a wooden marker standing alone in the middle of a clearing, buried facing away from them. feels himself getting angry again, because if he didn't get angry he'd start blaming himself and apologies never solved anything. instead he simmers in his rage, glowering into the night because damnit they were meant to go fishing together.

[renonm]

Heyyyy, hope you're eating well, can you write romantic headcannons for delisaster?

DELISASTER ROMANTIC HEADCANONS

A/N: Love and hate this little shithead so much thanks nonnie for requesting!! u 2 nonnie hope you’re also eating well and to everybody who reads this

NOTE: i dunno what I’m cooking, gn!reader

• Delisaster in clingy, SUPER clingy, if you don’t give him the attention he wants, it’ll be a disaster… Won’t care if you’re busy, you’re giving your attention to him.

• Also the type to hug you behind, to annoy you of course… Busy? He won’t care! Hugs and kisses are shared to annoy you even more!

• Insists you to drink with him, of course you’d always deny that, not to mention the smell of cigarettes, always nagging him back and fourth about the scent.

• Would say “Would you still love me as a worm?<3” “No.”

• Calls you a stupid pet name, “Come here my little pookie wookie.” Just for him to ask you if you can get a kiss, say no then he’s the one kissing you.

• Loves cats, probably said “brah look at this idiot thinking that they apart of my crew😂😂😂” while pointing at a cat on the street. “Delisaster… That’s a cat.” “It’s so ugly though.” “Just like you.”

• YES with the more teasing, he’d pinch your cheeks to either holding you by the waist. Try your best to stay stoic or you’ll never be let go from him…

• You’d have to lead him to bed if he gets tipsy(if he does) then he whines like a little bitch “Can I have one more shot pweaaaaseeeee🥺” “No.”

• If no, then he’ll drag you to bed with him.

• Also the type to hog the blankets unironically, but if he sees you cold, then fine, have the blanket. Though, he prefers hugging you. He keeps it warm, sure…

• After waking up though, he purposely wakes up earlier than you so he can stare at you and say “𝓖𝓸𝓸𝓭 𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓹𝓸𝓸𝓴𝓲𝓮. " with every voice when you wake up.

• Delisaster likes to be praised, that includes you laughing at his jokes. Please think that he’s funny. He tries his best!!

• If you genuinely get annoyed at him, he’d take it as a joke but eventually try to get serious about it though… He’ll try.. Hey! At least he’s putting in the effort.

• Gets jealous if he sees you with another guy, if you return home he’d demand more attention.

• Don’t worry! He’d reciprocate your feelings back… Still a whiny lad though…

• Drunk confessions! If he ever does get drunk, he’d be more flirty towards you. Though his puns get progressively worse… Just hold it in and slap him tomorrow for it <3

————————

sowwy that it’s kinda short i’ll be a good kwitten next time🥺(/hj, but seriously i apologize for making this short. my brain exploded.)

[moonferry]

gwuh the brain worms are back. sorry. have another domestic harvey drabble. this ones all fluff ! no angst this time <3

name: mornings like these

pairing: harvey x gn!reader

genre: fluff

word count: 756

warnings: none! just harvey and the farmer being lovey and domestic

you were currently busy making breakfast for your husband - who was still asleep. quite unusual, since he is the one who usually handles breakfast, but you decided to get up extra early to surprise him. 

of course, this didn’t change the fact that you weren’t - and never were - the cleanest person ever. the entire kitchen was a mess of pancake batter and anything else you used when cooking. you didn;t seem to notice though, as you were too busy using the whisk as a microphone - singing along to the song that played through the small jukebox that gus had gifted you. 

you continued to have your mini-solo, dancing around the farmhouse kitchen while you waited for the pancake to be ready to flip. 

soon enough, you heard some shuffling down the hallway. your loving husband, harvey, must finally be awake. you quickly make your way back to the stove and busy yourself by covering the surprise. 

harvey wraps his arms around your waist. he buries his face into the crook of your neck - which was quite hard, considering he had at least a few inches (or maybe a foot, you couldn’t quite remember) of height over you. 

you smiled and leaned back against him. “good morning, love,” you said, barely glancing up from what you were doing. 

harvey made a sort of sleepy, mumbled reply and buried his face deeper into your neck. He placed a few gentle kisses on your collar bone, the feeling of his mustache brushing against your exposed shoulder making you giggle. 

“well, i made you breakfast,” you hum. you survey the very messy kitchen and shake your head, “i tried to, anyway. I made some coffee, though.” you turn around and present him with a nice, warm mug before joking, “coffee is something even i can’t mess up.” 

he chuckles and you feel the sound filling up your heart. If you could have bottled that sound up and listened to it over and over, you definitely would. he takes the mug from your hand and smiles down at you. 

“I appreciate it, baby.” he says, the rasp in his just-woken-up voice seeping into the air around him. he then takes a look around the kitchen and gives another chuckle, “even if you did destroy our kitchen in the process.” 

“hey!” you whine, a small pout forming across your lips, “i can easily take your coffee back. AND eat this entire breakfast myself.” 

harvey puts his hands up in mock defeat. “you’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry,” he apologizes, setting his mug down on the nearest counter. once he does this, he wraps his arms back around your waist, “i do appreciate it, though.” 

your pout disappears and you glance up at him with a wide smile. you reach a hand up and run it through his still very messy bed head. he leans his head into your palm and closes his eyes - much like a cat would do. honestly, you’re not entirely convinced he didn’t start purring once you did this. 

the two of you stay like this for a while, just enjoying the comfort of each other’s presence. and then, of course, you remember the breakfast and harvey’s coffee that is currently getting cold on the counter. 

“harv, our breakfast is getting cold..” you remind him, gently nudging his arm to wake him out of his stupor. 

he just smiles and pulls you closer to him, resting his head on top of yours. “let it get cold. i’m enjoying this time with you.” 

the breakfast went forgotten as you and harvey continued to hug in the small farmhouse kitchen. the jukebox soon switches to a different song - one that was much slower - and harvey, being ever the romantic he is (or he tries to be), he takes your hands and the two of you begin to dance around the room. 

maybe it’s okay that the breakfast is getting cold, after all it’s not many mornings you get to slow dance in your kitchen, still in your pajamas. or maybe there are, who knows? being married to harvey is always full of surprises - even if he insists he isn’t the “most exciting” guy. 

you don’t need excitement - you have enough excitement for the both of you at skull cavern. you don’t need him to be exciting, you just need him to be harvey. a small, content smile spreads across your face as you lay your head down on his chest and just let the music move the two of you.

AN: i've had worms in my brain for a month. i love this doctor man sooo much. also i MAY write a.. different version of this fic teehee. if y'all want it, ill add a link to the ao3 posting once i finish it.

update here's the link. to the other version.

[merakiui]

MERA!!!

https://www.tumblr.com/merakiui/721771038258675712/twst-bunny-boy-event-bunny-boy-azul-who-is

Can we hear more about bunny boy Azul???? You’ve given me a brain worm and I need to know more 😭

Omg yes!!! Rabbits breed a lot, so I think that’s so perfect for Mr. Azul. :) he’s a little embarrassed and shy during the first time he goes into heat and you wake up to him desperately rubbing himself against you, apologizing profusely all while he pins you down to the mattress with the mindset that he has to breed you full or else!!! >_< he’s so sex-brained when he’s in heat; it’s cute because he’s a teary, sweaty mess, so overly sensitive, always shuddering at the slightest touch or slightest whiff of your scent. You run your hand across his back or touch his forehead to check for a fever and he’s whining, grabbing at your hand and bringing it down to the tent in his trousers!!!!!

Aaaaa he’s the sweetest thing outside of his heats! He’s helpful and knows a surprising amount on business and finance. He helps you budget, always so willing to lend a hand so long as you continue to feed, clothe, and care for him. <3 but when he’s in heat, he’s insatiable. Azul refuses to put it in even though he really wants to and his every instinct is begging him to do so. He would, but then that would make the two of you mates and he has no idea if you even see him that way. So most of the time he’ll hump into your sheets and pillows or against you when his mind is in such a haze, your scent leaving him dizzy. He bends you over on the counter and fucks between your thighs, spilling hot and sticky each time.

When he’s in heat, he hardly does anything outside of countless rounds of sex and occasionally resting and eating when he’s hit a low and can’t seem to cum anymore. But then hours later he’ll be back to the whining mess he once was, craving your scent and touch and warmth, body tacky with sweat and his spend from previous rounds. He’s spent enough time with you now to no longer feel embarrassed when he’s in heat, so if you give him a handjob or let him hump you he’ll shamelessly cry and moan, kissing you all over because he loves you so, so much!

Azul is rather obedient for a creature whose biological imperative is to mate over and over. When you tell him he can use your body in any way to help with his heats (aside from putting his dick inside), he listens and follows your rules. Of course you can’t blame him when he starts to get obsessively possessive of you the more times you begin to go out to meet friends and, possibly, a significant other. You also can’t blame him when, during his next heat, he pushes you down, hastily tugs your underwear from your skin, and lines himself up. He’s doing this for your own good, after all. It’s because you’re not claimed that he’s so anxious and antsy. It’s because he loves you that he must do this. It’s because you’re his (soon-to-be) mate that he must do this to prevent you from seeing other people.

He’ll take responsibility for whatever happens after. You can count on him. That’s a promise he’ll never break. :)

[officialrapunzelfitzherbert]

maybe next time

word count: 2.5k

fandom: buffy the vampire slayer

characters: tara maclay & rupert giles

summary: tara attempts to break the ice with giles after the birthday incident with her family.

preview:

Tara saw what Mr. Giles had with Buffy. She saw what he had with the whole group. She knew just how badly she wanted that, and it felt so big and powerful that she wasn't sure if she could ever touch it. He didn't know her that way. She didn't really know him that way, either.

She might never see her father again.

a/n i do not have an ao3 account and do not remember my ff.net password so yall are getting my first fic since 2012 on this webbed site have fun everybody. perhaps i will write again in another 12 years <3

In no particular order, Tara had three goals for her trip to the Magic Box.

Goal #1: Formally apologize to Mr. Giles for the spell that got his shop attacked by demons and for involving him in the family drama that followed.

Goal #2: Have a real one-on-one conversation with Mr. Giles.

Goal #3 (optional): If he's open to it, get a job at the Magic Box to get to know Mr. Giles better.

She'd had it all mapped out. She'd been taking notes and rehearsing whenever no one was looking. She had a whole story about being on an errand for Willow so that she had an excuse if she needed to make a quick exit. She knew exactly which crystal she was going to buy, exactly what coffee order she had to pick up on her way back to their dorm, and exactly where she would hide to look busy browsing if she started to panic.

The truth was that Tara adored Mr. Giles. Unfortunately, she was painfully aware of why. It didn't help that Willow had been dropping hints that the two of them should be closer ever since the recent birthday incident with her father. It wasn't that Tara didn't appreciate the encouragement, but every time Willow mentioned his name and gave her that Knowing Willow Look, it just felt so important that the pressure got the tiniest bit debilitating.

Tara saw what Mr. Giles had with Buffy. She saw what he had with the whole group. She knew just how badly she wanted that, and it felt so big and powerful that she wasn't sure if she could ever touch it. He didn't know her that way. She didn't really know him that way, either.

She might never see her father again.

The last thing Tara wanted was to embarrass herself in front of Mr. Giles by letting him see how much she wanted him to like her. She knew she was projecting. But every day that passed without her saying a word to him was starting to feel like another nail in a coffin. If she averted her eyes from him one more time, she was sure he'd think she hated him. That or that she was terrified of him - not entirely untrue, but not in the way he probably thought. Maybe if they started working together while the shop was still new and there were tasks to complete, it would help them break through whatever polite-off they were having.

Before her birthday, she'd almost given up on being his friend. But now she had two pieces of evidence that it wasn't a lost cause:

Exhibit A: He'd stood up to her father for her.

Exhibit B: He gave her a birthday present.

He still hardly knew her. But it was proof that he cared. She wasn't imagining that, as much as the self-conscious worms in her brain kept trying to tell her she must have been. She was there. She saw it. She had the crystal ball on her desk. That was real.

If there was ever a window, it was now.

So she found herself at the Magic Box replaying her script over and over in her head. The plan was to get right into it so she wouldn't have time to overthink it, but as she walked in to see Mr. Giles and Anya in the middle of a semi-heated but clearly petty argument, she realized this wasn't a scenario she'd planned for.

As Mr. Giles heard the door open and made a split-second of awkward eye contact with her, Tara gave a weak smile and a wave. He smiled back politely but his attention very quickly went back to Anya, who hadn't stopped talking long enough to take a breath, let alone notice that someone else was there.

Tara waited about two seconds before making a beeline to her hiding spot among the books.

She'd made it 3 pages into a book she already owned by the time Anya let out a long dramatic sigh and went downstairs to storage. She took a deep breath. Tara liked Anya, but it was always hard to predict what she was going to say. If she wanted to eliminate as many variables as she could, she had to do this now.

Acting as natural as possible, Tara walked over to the crystals. Even though she was expecting it, she still flinched a little when she heard a voice calling from behind the counter.

“Sorry, Tara, did you need anything?”

“Hi, Mr. Giles,” Tara replied, “Oh, I was just here to pick something up for Willow, she's in class right now so…”

Tara fought back a wince as she heard herself speak and mentally updated her list.

Goal #4: Figure out a way to organically stop calling him Mr. Giles.

She'd already said it once today, so it might be too obvious if she dropped the “Mr.” in the same conversation, but maybe by the next time they talked, they'd be familiar enough that he wouldn't notice.

Keeping that in the back of her mind, she forced herself to get started on goal #3:

“Oh, but while I'm here, I was actually just…” Tara stammered, fidgeting with the crystal she'd picked up as her script escaped her, “well, I wanted to ask if… I’m happy to help out if you need-”

“Of course,” said Giles before she could finish, “Well, you have, you've- everything you've done for Buffy, for all of us-”

"No, I-” Tara stopped herself for a second and reminded herself that he was giving her a compliment that she needed to acknowledge. “Yeah, always. I just meant... In the shop, if you’re looking for an extra set of hands for anything, I'm available."

"Oh, well, if you're looking for a job…” Giles paused in a way that made Tara's heart sink.

He was looking for the kindest way to say no.

“Well,” he continued, “Anya's not one for taking days off, I’m afraid, so there's not really a position- that is to say the budget at this stage is still- but-”

“Oh, that's okay,” Tara interrupted so he wouldn't have to come up with any more reasons to justify it, “No worries. I was just-”

“And I wouldn't want to interfere with your studies-”

“Totally get it.”

“Perhaps during the holidays, I might have some extra work for you. It's a bit early to say for sure, but I expect I'll need everyone's help on Halloween if nothing else.”

“Maybe then, yeah.”

“I'm sorry that's all I can really-”

“No, it's no big deal. I was just saying if you needed… And I mean, I'm not so great with the customers anyways.”

Giles blinked. “You've met Anya?”

Tara chuckled softly and felt her shoulders relax just a little.

“Well,” Giles continued, “if anything, keeping the floor stocked is probably where I'll need the most backup. You'll certainly be the first to know.”

“Yeah, of course.”

There was a brief pause. This counted as a one-one-one conversation, didn't it? That was goal #2. Goal #3 of getting a job had been eliminated and #4 was for the next time they talked. So all that was left for today was #1: apologize. That was the real challenge. She wasn't sure if this was going to naturally come up, but if she could just spit it out and leave as quickly as possible, she wouldn't have to see his reaction.

“Speaking of holidays,” said Giles, “you've got somewhere to go?”

This caught Tara off-guard.

“Huh?”

She hadn't been looking at him since he'd politely rejected her, but this got her to finally look up and see a softness in his face that she wasn't prepared for.

“Yeah,” she said when she finally remembered how to speak, “Willow and I haven't made a plan yet exactly, but whatever she's up to. I know she wants us to do my first Hanukkah this year, so I'm excited for that.”

Tara felt her voice drop what felt like a full octave when she started talking about Willow earnestly. That subject was always easy. Giles clearly noticed this and smiled.

“That's wonderful.”

“You did Thanksgiving at your place last year, right?”

“Well, Buffy did, it was my place, but that was a bit of a-”

“Oh, I don't mean to-” Tara stammered, hoping she hadn't just accidentally invited herself into his home. Sometimes she spoke just to make sure words were coming out of her mouth and would realize at the end of the sentence that she might have implied something she didn't mean.

“I guess you wouldn't really celebrate it,” Tara went on, “Willow usually doesn't either.”

Giles gave that polite laugh that was more of a quick exhale. Tara knew from her own experience that this meant he didn't know how to respond to that.

Was it rude to assume he would celebrate American Thanksgiving? Should she be asking about English holidays?

Goal #5: Learn about English holidays later.

A few agonizing seconds passed as Tara desperately tried to flip through her mental script for the next talking point that felt the most organic, but Giles spoke before she could.

“Well, last year, we all got together at Buffy's with her family for Christmas,” he said, “I'm sure they'll be hosting again this year. Of course you're welcome to come.”

Tara smiled. “That sounds nice.”

“You're not the only one with a, um… difficult family situation. You'll fit right in, I’m sure.”

Tara didn't know how to process when anyone said something that implied they'd been thinking of her, much less someone she admired as much as Giles. She also didn't know much about the other Scoobies’ families. But as she thought about each of them and the things they didn't talk about, it hit her that maybe her own family didn't make her an outsider after all. Maybe that was actually the one thing she had in common with everyone.

She found herself suddenly curious about how Giles grew up. What were his parents like? Were they still alive? Did he ever have a family of his own?

So many questions that it wasn't time to ask yet. For now, she was simply grateful.

“Thanks. And I um…” She took a deep breath. It was now or never. “I wanted to apologize about that. I didn't mean to bring my family stuff into your-”

“No, no, that's-”

“Really, I-”

“Tara, believe me, if it's not demons threatening my life in the workplace, it's angry customers. Between the two of them, I'll take the ones I'm allowed to hit, if I'm being honest. And as for the spell, I mean, it's not as if I… as if we all haven't… Just as long as you're all right.”

“It's just…My dad was so-”

“Your father I could have taken if Buffy wouldn't have gotten to him first,” said Giles, his accent getting just a little less posh for a moment. His lips tightened as if he had more words that he thought it best not to say out loud.

It was hard to picture Mr. Giles in a fight. But Tara had heard stories. Apparently he could be terrifying when he needed to be. Willow had described it as him being two completely different people: one a mild-mannered British librarian who couldn't hurt a fly, and the other a man with that look you only have if you've killed in cold blood before and aren't afraid to do it again. Tara had only ever seen glimpses of the second one. Every time she'd seen the scarier Giles, though, she'd noticed he was always protecting someone.

Now that she was the one being protected, he didn't feel like two people at all. She didn't know all the details of what he'd done in his past. She didn't need to. In this moment, as far as she was concerned, the gap between the gentle Giles and the terrifying Giles was bridged. At the core of both was just a man who cared.

“Thank you,” Tara said softly.

“Of course. And you're…?” Giles trailed off, gesturing to her nose where Spike had hit her.

“Oh!” Tara exclaimed, remembering to breathe again now that she'd been reminded she had a nose and lungs attached to it somewhere. “Yeah, I'm fine. Not broken. I put some ice on it.”

“Glad to hear it. Sorry he hit you. I'm sure there was another way we could've-”

“No, it's fine. It was quicker.”

Giles shrugged. A few more seconds of silence passed and Tara felt her face getting hot as she became hyper-aware of herself. If she let on just how much this talk meant to her now, she was sure to blow this whole thing. It was best to make her exit for today and do this in small doses.

“Well, I'd better go,” she said, placing the crystal by the register, “Just this.”

She quickly looked down to dig into her bag for her wallet, letting her hair fall in front of her face and praying that she hadn't turned into a tomato in front of someone whose approval she was so desperate for. Giles put a hand up to stop her.

“On me.”

Tara's eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

Giles ripped off the price tag and glanced over to the door that Anya was sure to return through any moment now.

“Well, best to keep it quiet,” he said, discreetly shoving the sticker into his pocket so he wouldn't be caught giving away free product, “but really, I insist.”

“Okay,” Tara said, freezing for a second. When it came to her birthday, she knew that gifts could have just been because of an unspoken social rule, or maybe just to please Willow. This, however, was a kindness Tara had done nothing to earn. Before she'd put the crystal down, she'd been gripping it so hard there were indents on her fingers. Now, as she picked it back up, she was cradling it as if any movement would shatter it completely.

“Thank you so much,” she said, knowing that it wasn't enough, but not knowing what else to say. “Well, I'll see you later, Mr. Giles.”

Tara saw him think for a second, almost open his mouth to speak, and then stop himself. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but she could have sworn he was about to tell her that she could just call him Giles. He looked a little embarrassed for a moment, but gathered himself quickly and just gave a gentle nod.

Maybe next time.

“Take care,” Giles said as Tara waved goodbye.

His smile was a lot like his usual polite customer service smile, but there was a hint of warmth in it now. She'd seen that before, but she couldn't remember ever being on the receiving end until now. But maybe she had been. Maybe she'd just been too nervous to look at him long enough to notice.

Two out of five goals achieved. And one new piece of evidence to put next to the crystal ball on her desk.

She could work with that.

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Sent in a request and forgot to mention the type of matchup, my bad I hope you skipped over it since I did :') . If you did that one despite my blunder, please skip this. To do this properly, can I get a romantic matchup for Marvel and DC?

20, She/Her, physical characteristics wise: I'm blonde, 5'3", have gray eyes, am pale (vampire jokes, probably low iron, fun stuff), I wear glasses (near-sighted)... I tend to wear pretty casual clothes, oversized hoodies, tank tops, funny shirts, comfy pants, etc. I fall under the demi-sexual + demi-romantic categories, and I tend to like people who allow me to be my eccentric self with no judgement.

Hobbies include true crime, writing, videogames, comics, Pathfinder, talking and ranting about bad romance books, celebrity drama, random fun facts, etc. I'm fairly sassy and sarcastic, 90% of what I say shouldn't be taken seriously. I tend to tease (affectionately "bully") my friends a lot, but am supportive about things that actually matter. I'm like a cat, sometimes aloof and distant and other times sociable and affectionate. Again, funny little autistic + ADHD brain worms, just how that goes. Thanks and I'm so sorry again for doing mine wrong :')

Hi! I just wanted to say that you don't have to apologize! It's not a problem at all! <3

I have a terrible memory so I have no idea what I did about the first sent request, but I hope you like your matchups here below!

<333333

Enjoy!

Romantic Matchups; Marvel and DC

~~~

Romantic;

~~~

Marvel;

Shang-Chi -

You met Shang-Chi completely by accident at a low-key coffee shop during a mutual break from the chaos that's called 'life.'

He noticed your sarcastic comment about the café’s attempt at true crime-themed drinks (“‘Espresso Murderer’? Really?”), and he couldn’t help but laugh.

Like what coffee place does that? Surprisingly this one.

By the time you left, you’d unknowingly swapped numbers after agreeing to send each other bad puns whenever they popped into your head.

Shang-Chi would adore your eccentric personality. He’d admire your ability to be yourself unapologetically.

Whenever you’re in an aloof or distant mood, he gives you the space you need but always subtly checks in with a “Hey, just making sure you’re good.”

He’s super curious about Pathfinder, so he’d sit in on a campaign and try his best to understand the rules.

Your sarcasm never phases him; in fact, he’d pick up on your teasing style and become a master of throwing it back, all in good fun.

Shang-Chi would start to notice how often he’s thinking about you, especially when he’s practicing martial arts or trying to focus on other things, like work or karaoke.

It’s the small things that stand out to him - how you always manage to make him laugh when he’s feeling down, or how you look genuinely happy when talking about your passions.

He’s hesitant at first, unsure if he should make a move, but Katy (his best friend) would definitely tease him about how obvious his feelings are.

Everyone knows... Except you.

You can balance affection and independence that win him over - he loves that you’re like a cat because it keeps him on his toes.

I'm a cat, meow, check me out.

Shang-Chi is a thoughtful and attentive partner who always puts your comfort first.

He’d love spending low-energy days with you, like lounging around in comfy clothes, gaming, or watching documentaries about random topics (true crime would become his guilty pleasure because of you).

Dates with Shang-Chi would be casual but meaningful - think nighttime walks in peaceful parks or exploring niche bookstores together.

Movie marathons of your favorite bad romance films where you both provide running commentary, rating every terrible decision the characters make.

He’d encourage you to show off your gaming skills, even if he’s terrible at certain games. If he beats you, he’ll claim it’s pure luck (but secretly loves seeing your competitive side).

He’d spar with you just for fun and give you pointers to improve your fighting techniques.

Of course, he’d “accidentally” lose sometimes to make you feel victorious.

Shang-Chi would always make sure you feel heard and valued, especially during your more moody or irrational moments.

He’d be your unofficial bodyguard when you’re out together, effortlessly keeping creeps or rude people in line.

Whenever you’re low-energy or overwhelmed, he’ll bring your favorite snacks and keep you company without demanding your attention.

If you needed to vent about a bad day or some frustrating celebrity drama, he’d listen patiently and offer thoughtful advice when you want it.

"Why would Kim do that?"

"Can you believe what people are saying about Olivia Rodrigo and Sabrina Carpenter?"

"Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo though."

You’d be his biggest cheerleader, always hyping him up and reminding him how much he’s accomplished.

You’d surprise him with playlists full of songs you think he’d enjoy or that remind you of him.

If he had to leave for a mission, you’d write funny little notes or pack a small keepsake for him to take along.

~~~

DC;

Jaime Reyes -

You and Jaime met years ago, bonding over a shared love of comics and video games.

It was easy for both of you to just click.

From that day forward, you became inseparable.

Whether it was school, gaming marathons, or making fun of bad romance movies, Jaime always had you by his side.

Not to mention, making fun of bad romance books.

Jaime loves how you’re a perfect balance of chaos and calm.

He knows when you’re teasing when you’re serious, and when you just need space to be.

The Reyes family absolutely adores you - Milagro constantly teases Jaime about how he “talks about you way too much,” and his mom always makes sure you’re well-fed.

Nana also likes you, she loves how you like to listen to her stories, and just vibe with her.

You’d spend endless nights at his house playing games, talking about superhero ethics, and debating which comic book hero could win in a fight.

Outside of comics, you'd also talk about your favorite superheroes in real life.

"I like Blue Beetle. What about you-"

"Batman!"

"Oh."

Khaji-Da enjoys your company as much as Jaime does and sometimes chimes in to side with you during your playful arguments, much to Jaime’s frustration.

Jaime realizes he’s in love with you during one of your usual hangouts - maybe it’s the way you laugh at your own joke or how you unconsciously fix his hair when it’s out of place.

Maybe... Maybe he always loved you...

Khaji-Da is no help; she outright tells him, “You are displaying heightened emotional dependency on your companion,” making Jaime sputter and fluster.

He’s terrified of ruining your friendship, so he tries to act normal, but his growing feelings make him extra shy and awkward around you.

Milagro would start dropping hints to you, saying things like, “You know Jaime’s single, right?”

She wasn't really subtle.

When Jaime finally confesses, it’s after a moment when he thinks he might lose you.

Whether it’s a minor accident or you’re just upset, he blurts out how much you mean to him because he can’t keep it in anymore.

Once you start dating, it’s not much different from being best friends - just with more affection, subtle touches, and lingering glances.

Smooches, if you're into smooches.

Jaime is the type of boyfriend who remembers all the little things about you, like your favorite snacks or the specific type of hoodie you love wearing.

Khaji-Da becomes your unofficial wing-scarab, occasionally whispering advice to Jaime like, “Perhaps you should hold her hand now.”

Game nights become even more competitive. Jaime loves it when you beat him because of how smug you get about it - but he’ll still demand rematches.

You’d convince him to cosplay with you at a convention, and though he’d act embarrassed at first, he’d secretly love how much fun you’re having.

On days when you’re feeling low-energy, you’d lounge together in oversized hoodies, watching random documentaries or playing co-op games.

Jaime would drop everything to make sure you’re okay. Whether it’s a bad day or something serious, he’s always there to listen and support you.

Anything for you.

If anyone tried to mess with you, Jaime would instantly step in to defend you. He’s not about to let anyone talk down to his best friend-turned-girlfriend.

He’d surprise you with small, thoughtful gifts - like a limited edition comic you mentioned weeks ago or snacks he knows you love.

Or he'd give you notebooks for doodling or writing.

When you’re deep into a writing project or hyperfocused on a hobby, he’d quietly bring you water or remind you to take a break without interrupting.

You’d be his safe place when the stress of being Blue Beetle gets to him, always reminding him of how capable and strong he is.

If he’s having a rough day, you’d plan fun little activities to cheer him up, whether it’s a spontaneous movie night or baking something together (even if it turns into a flour fight).

Jaime and you as best friends-turned-lovers is the ultimate mix of fun, trust, and deep affection.

[fnaflucasverse]

Bad Taste In Music

i Cannot believe we get perry and tiger before the guy this au is named after. but that's what happens when you go insane over tiger liking r&b ig! apologies if it's kind of a nothing story and if tigers kind of ooc but i liked writing it. is this canon to lucasverse? idk! is it me having fun with my two fav guys? ya <3 but oh i should not have stayed up this late to finish this.....

Tiger belongs to @fivenightsatfreddysfanfiction

A little while into her training, somewhere above the drum-pounding rhythm of her fists against the punching bag, Peregrine began to hear music.

And it wasn't the good shit she sometimes heard on the truck radio, with crunchy electric guitars and crashing cymbals—it was that sappy, soulful, piano ballad garbage that always made her switch stations. With a groan, Peregrine sped up her jabs, hoping to drown out the din… but like the worst kind of bug, the music wormed its way into her ear, into her brain, and twisted like a knife.

She punched faster, hit harder, felt the pain shockwave from her knuckles up her arm. Even still, Peregrine heard the song.

She grit her teeth against it; the singer's words were indistinct, but the tune carried all the damn same. The more the song grated on, the more fleeting thoughts shot through Peregrine's mind: a kind, smiling face, singing a tender lullaby to a restless toddler and her brother, the feeling of being warm, safe, and—

She couldn’t fucking train to this shit.

With a roar, Peregrine's fist slammed square into her target. The punching bag flew into the air, viciously pulled back to earth by its chain. It swung at Peregrine with a vengeance—but she had already left the gym, stalking through the hallway for her next victim.

The hallway opened up into the living room, where a TV sputtered static at peeling leather armchairs and mismatched chairs gathered around the makeshift dining table. In the center sat the source of the noise: a record player, still crooning away. And sitting in front of it, slumped shoulders shielding Peregrine from the culprit…

Peregrine's lips drew out into a thin line.

Her old man was getting drunk again.

She'd be less surprised if she could see beer cans anywhere, anything to say he’d been drinking the cheap beer he made her restock every other fucking day—but he was staring, gaze empty and distant, at the whiskey bottle strangled in his grip. And if it was whiskey he was drinking—as if the music wasn't a giveaway—he was thinking about her mother.

And he'd promised the Boss he'd stopped.

God-fucking-damnit.

Peregrine stomped up and yanked the needle away from the record with a satisfying screech.

Tiger spun around, hand instinctively reaching for a pistol that wasn’t there. Peregrine crossed her arms, watching him recognize her, freeze, and sink back into the chair, shaking his head. “Jesus, Lee, you don’t just…" Alcohol coated his breath. “You’re done early.”

“I’m taking a break." Peregrine jerked her chin towards the record player. “Where the hell did you get that?"

Tiger's head swiveled towards it like he'd forgotten it was there. "That's just… something I found in the old stash." He set the bottle down, rubbing the back of his head like a kid caught with his hand in Dad's wallet. "Just thought I'd fix it up, see if it still works… Could sell it, you know; people collect this sort of—sort of thing and…"

He trailed off as Peregrine picked up the record to frown at the label. Who the hell was Whitney Houston? "Uh-huh. And you found this with it, too?" Perry tried twirling the record on her finger—

Her father snatched it faster than she could blink. "Lee, you don't play with things you could break," he scolded.

Peregrine rolled her eyes. He'd never stopped telling her off and never would until he dropped dead, and even then he'd probably return as a ghost to tell her off even more. She swiped his whiskey and hopped up on the table, resting her bored chin in her palm as he watched him hunt for the sleeve to return his record to. Bottle was half-empty. Peregrine watched Tiger carefully slide the record back into place, spying the tracklist on the back. Ugh. 'Love' this, 'Love' that. It made her want to throw up.

“You actually like this kind of shit, old man?" she snorted, only half in disbelief.

“She’s a very talented singer,” Tiger defended, closing the record player with a click. His eyes clouded. "Anyway, it was—it… belonged to your mother."

Peregrine shut up. Tiger took it as an invitation to continue whatever 'when we were all younger but especially you' spiel he had ready to vent. “You know, Lee…,” he began, clearing his throat, an uncomfortable phlegmy sound.

Peregrine's eyes drifted to the ceiling. Better to let him talk. He'd get it all out of his system, and she'd go dump whatever whiskey was left down the drain.

"You know… your mother used to sing these songs to you, get you to sleep easier. I don't think you remember any of it—you would've been five or so—but…" A nostalgic, weary smile crossed her father's face, always a little alarming to see nowadays. "God, there were days when you would just not go to sleep! Neither could we. You used to be scared of every little thing, just crying and crying—"

"That's gotta be bullshit," Peregrine grumbled.

"—We were really worried about you, Lee," he continued. "But then Jaq figured out you liked being sung to—especially this one song—what was it—'The Greatest Love Of All?' But that was the year…" The smile melted from Tiger's face, turning into a familiar frown. "Anyway, that's when Ms. Houston herself helped out," he said, giving the record player a firm pat.

Peregrine felt cool, smooth glass in her hands, the swirling weight of the whiskey, the gnawing of memories as they scratched at her skull.

The smiling face. The gentle voice. The feeling of warmth and safety and…

And love.

There was a strange knot in her throat.

"Yeah, yeah," Peregrine abruptly snapped, rocketing to her feet, "and when Panther gets back, he'll want to know why the hell you lied to his face. So just gimme that—" she grabbed the record and bundled the player under her arm— "I'll get rid of it." She glared at Tiger, his expression flashing through bitterness, guilt, resignation… "Drink some water. And take a fucking nap; you're being pathetic," she cut into him, whiskey bottle hanging from her fingers.

He didn't meet her eyes.

"'Night, old man," Peregrine muttered, and strode away.

She didn't head back to the gym.

She didn't get rid of her contraband.

She headed straight to her room, shoved them both under her bed, poured the bottle's contents out the window, and curled up on her mattress, letting second by second tick agonizingly by. And when, and only when the world was nothing but darkness, Peregrine retrieved the record player, cranked the volume as quiet as it could go, and, as Whitney's voice crackled softly, she let her eyes slip shut.

[vyzz-undercover]

Tumblr is being a bitch and for some reason I can't comment on your posts directly, but your Cato x Ambassador is so so so so so good. I just recently got into Warhammer 40k (it's so confusing help???) and I have never heard of the guy before this fic, but by god now I love him. Your fic hits so hard, it's been living rent free in my head the last few days. I am going feral over a man I just found out existed???? Thank you, truly, from the bottom of my heart, for this god-tier fic. Violently drooling. Foaming at the mouth. There are not many writers in this fandom, but you guys are cooking so hard and all so talented. Gonna go back into my crypt again and re-read your fic for the hundredth time. <3

OMG THANK YOU SO MUCH IM SO HAPPY TO HEAR YOU ENJOYED IT,,,,,, my condolences for suffering the cato brain worms hes a funny little blue parasite,,, and my apologies for giving them to u,,, im glad to have you enjoying my word vomit!!!!

ANYWAYS!!!! i know its typically not the best material if you're after super duper canon, but watching Emperor's text to Speech device on youtube is a good way to microdose lore, without having to get through book upon book because the IP is so fucking mindbogglingly MASSIVE.

(you can always do that later and start out with Horus Rising [for 30k era] or Xenos by Dan Abnett [for 40k era] if youre up for it, i recommend the audiobooks because toby longworth is a spectacular VA)

nonetheless, everyone who writes and draws and hcs here is super lovely and super sweet and a delight <333

[havenesc]

Im fucking crying cuz I just went through cmatdsdw tag. Pls, Sofia and Jason, devastating duo, for me at least. Cuz I personally relate to Jason a little too much but add Sofia in the mix and I'm devastated cuz what do you mean that a man fucked her over and man will continue to fuck her over but a man is also very close to her and she cares deeply for him? Do you understand the worms in my brain cuz of your Sofia and Jason posts? They're living rent free.Anyways, i love it, you're amazing, that's it, bye, sorry for the long ask

Never apologize for a long ask I live to see messages like these!!! Aaa!!

Jason and Sofia are such a fun dynamic to mess with because they care so much about each other but they have no idea how to convey it in the constraints of their relationship. They are business partners, they are family, they are so mean to each other sometimes but the moment anybody else tries to harm one of them, you bet the other is meeting them at the door.

They both know what it’s like to look up to your father figure, assured that they’ll do right by you, and in turn feel — in Sofia’s case, actually — cast aside.

If you’ve gone through the tag I’m sure you’ve seen Birdie’s fics but now there’s a series on AO3 that we’ll both be contributing to!! Every day is a new day to come up with heartbreaking cmatd scenarios <3 I’m very glad you enjoy the AU and thank you for telling us abt it!!!

[sugar-omi]

(Didn't want to distract from your original post)

I am sooo normal about Yandere!MC and Seemingly Normal!Cove <- (he's not normal, a normal person would be terrified if a yandere commits violence in their name.)

Like Cove deserves it. All three boys do, but Cove is my favorite by a little bit. (Plus I think Derek and Baxter would actually be normal here and scared lol)

((Two iterations of my Cove!Mc are yanderes for him with four total iterations of said MC.))

He'd be so sweet and melty for the MC omg... his woozy blushy smile when the MC comes to him covered in blood and talks to him in a sing-song tone about how they took out the person being a creep to him and how nobody's gonna come between them/hurt him and how much they love and adore him, how he's all theirs forever and ever, and more sweet nothings.

Just the most down bad catastrophic romantic words you can think of coming out of someone who's shaking from adrenaline and covered in blood.

((3/4 iterations of my Cove!MC ended up promising him at 13 when they get together that no one will ever hurt him now if they have their way.))

Depending on how hopelessly in love (mind-broken) Cove is, I can definitely see him being down to have sex/you claim him once more after killing someone with the body nearby.

feel free to relog my posts w anything you wanna add!!! I love it n 7/10 times we all have the same brain worms n it's beautiful

my brain is tainted w the thought of kissing or having sex w cove with blood still on your hands... body doesn't have to be nearby but smth abt it is so sexy isn't it???

or cove joining you in the shower, washing the blood off of you and giving you head afterward while still in the shower, clinging into his hair and the shower head. it's a good thing you have one of those grippy shower rugs in here

idk abt mind break/sherlock holmes syndrome bc I like the idea of him alrdy being a little outta it but maybe it's like a gradual thing like all their life mc has said crazy shit n if they come home a little bloody well that's so fucking sexy n he's only mildly concern now that your lips are on him

I can totally see this cove being into bdsm shit though

he'd say it offhandly one day when you're having a jealous fit "well put a collar on me then"

and so you get him a few to choose from maybe and a tag

it shouldn't turn him on, this is beyond kinky probably, maybe a normal person would consider this sick.

but his dick is straining against his pants and his heart is racing and he's getting so hot n dizzy just thinking abt it

n when it's on he can't help looking at you for approval, and if you're a real dog then you clip a leash onto him the second he's facing you or while he's looking in the mirror you come up from behind and show it to him

he's nervous, that's really inappropriate but fuck if he's not happy to wear it

so you clip it on him "this way you can never stray far from me. you're mine."

fuck he'll random send you pictures while you're at work with his collar on under his dress shirt. he wears it everywhere.

maybe don't let your family see it though and keep smth more... normal. for him to wear

I almost forgot ong but he'd prbly get your name tatted on him

maybe a tramp stamp or over his dick, or over his heart. wherever you want really

I think I said it but he'll flirt just to see that look come across your face. to feel and see how dangerous you are, how rough you are

you'll beat the guy or girls ass from the bar until you're kicked out by force and then you'll go home and rearrange his guts for flirting with some bitch on purpose.

it always leaves his hips sore and his voice hoarse or gone, and you're putting ointment on some of your deeper bites or hickeys with an apologic kiss and tone.

omfg he'll even fuck you in the car, the person that was flirting w him earlier will come around the side and gets a front row view to the car shaking, fogging up, and then he can see cove's hand slap against the window and his green hair against the window as you fuck him up against the door

or if you're really risky then you'll fuck him on the side of the building, his pants around his ankles as you take him from behind and his knees shaking as you grip his hair, pulling his hair back.

the person can see cove moaning loudly and begging you to choke him harder, to hit him harder..

sees how he smiles and laughs when you call him a slut, telling him how dirty he is for wanting it outside and to be seen.

yeah this cove is a total freak n his sanity is questionable

[slothquisitor]

Hiya I just recently found you and i gotta say I love your work

Idk if you do requests/fic suggestions, (feel free to ignore me if you do)

But to continue on from Rattle, Liv, and Astarion haven't really talked since that night

They go to confront Cazador, astarion is forced into the ritual and the fight begins.

After he is freed and Cazador is defeated he goes to carve the symbols on his back when he notices Liv lying on the floor not moving, gravely injured in the fight against Cazador

He would drop everything and rush to her side

Nonny, thank you for the delicious angst fodder. You really are a real one. Apologies for the delay on this. I'm a high school teacher and this week was the end of term, and it was a mess of students begging for better grades and long hours of grading. I enjoyed exploring this alternative to what might have happened in Haunted House, and I like to think that with this scenario there's a bit of internal horror because he doesn't rush to her side immediately. You know, because power. Anyway, I hope I did your prompt justice, thank you for sending it my way <3

Magic and Blood

Astarion x Liv, 1.6k, angst and spoilers for BG3 Act III.

________________________________________________________

With one last thrust of his dagger, Cazador dissolves into mist, and Astarion is triumphant. Shadowheart’s orb of daylight still hovers above the platform, casting grotesque shadows around fallen ghouls and werewolves and bats. But he is so close to victory, to power. The air is thick with it, a heady mix of magic and blood and promise.

There is but one last step, one last thing he must do in order to snatch this ritual away, to best Cazador. He wastes no time going to Cazador’s sarcophagus and pushing it open, revealing Cazador’s resting form. 

“No, no. No healing sleep for you. Wake up!” He rips Cazador from his sleep, throwing him to the ground. The relative ease of the movement is intoxicating. He is the powerful one now. 

“Get your hands off me, worm,” Cazador spats. 

“I’m not the one in the dirt,” Astarion sneers, picking up Cazador’s dagger. “One last thrust and I’ll be free of you. I’ll never have to fear you again. But if I finish the ritual you started, I’ll never have to fear anyone, ever.” He is so close, so, so close to freedom, true freedom. He will take the power meant for Cazador and he will make it his own. He will be the most powerful vampire to ever live. 

There are seven thousand souls on the line, but he doesn’t have to consider them, he didn’t gather them, did he? That was all Cazador’s doing. And they must die, they are wretched miserable things, begging for death anyway. Why shouldn’t he use them? With this sort of power he could help save the city, be a real hero. He could protect Liv from their enemies, from her family. He and his companions would be more than successful against the elder brain, they would be triumphant. 

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

“I am so much more than what you made me!” Astarion says leaning over Cazador before turning to his companions, to Liv. “I can do this, but I need your help.” Only, Liv isn’t there. Behind him, Shadowheart kneels beside Gale, hands glowing with healing magic. Lae’zel is limping to them, clutching her side. But where is Liv?

At the beginning of the battle, she had freed him. Dispelling the magic that held him bound. It had been chaotic, spells and arrows and claws, but she had appeared out of mist-like magic and immediately began unraveling Cazador’s spell, saving him like she had so many times before. Once free, he hadn’t hesitated to wade into the fray, and she had been right behind him, casting spells and throwing up shields. She’s probably fine; she’s always fine. She’s always been good at getting herself to a safe vantage point and casting her spells. She’s always been so good at protecting herself and others. She’s fine, and he’ll find her after he has taken care of Cazador, after he has ascended. 

He just needs to link his tadpole with one of their companions, see the runes on his back and carve them into Cazador’s. It’s so simple, it’s so close, it’s so easy. Lae’zel is injured, but he’s sure she’ll help him. He just needs to ask. The words are on the tip of his tongue, and he’s already shoved Cazador further to the ground when he sees Liv’s unmoving form. 

It’s no wonder he missed her before. She’s half covered by what remains of a werewolf. She’s covered in blood, but from this distance he’s unsure how much of it is hers. He can’t tell if she’s breathing, if a simple health potion will be enough to rouse her or if she’s going to need Shadowheart’s divine magic. He knows that it’s a ticking clock either way, revivify is only an option for a few moments. The longer it takes for someone to help, the higher the chance they lose her. Gods, he can’t lose her. 

“Liv needs help!” he calls out, but one glance behind him tells him that his companions aren’t in much better shape. Shadowheart is still working on Gale, who somehow looks to be in even worse shape than Liv, and Lae’zel sways in place, using her greatsword to balance. 

Gods. He can do this. He can do this. She’ll be fine. He can ascend and then go get her, and it will be fine! Cazador is right here, sprawled on the ground at his mercy. He has waited for a moment like this for two hundred years. Two centuries of using his body, at following every fucking command that Cazador gleefully made, and suffering either way. The end of this is so close, perhaps if he can ascend, become more than this, more powerful than Cazador even, all that suffering will mean something. He wants it to have meant something. 

Lae’zel is moving towards Liv, but not quickly enough. It becomes more and more apparent that he must be the one to go or risk it….risk her. There are some prices even he’s not willing to pay. An ascended vampire will have may powers, but the power to bring Liv back isn’t one of them. 

“Damn it all! Lae’zel get over here! Kill him if he so much as moves the wrong direction,” Astarion yells. He waits just long enough for Lae’zel to limp over, holding her sword out to Cazador’s chest.

She seems steadier for the order, and that’s the only reason he feels like he can turn his back on Cazador in this moment. 

“It is done,” she growls.

And then he’s running across the bloodstained platform to Liv’s side. Now that he’s here, no longer looming over Cazador, he can see just how bad her injuries are. She’s covered in blood, and there are deep, jagged cuts across her abdomen and arms. She’s lost a lot of blood. He lifts the werewolf off of her, careful not to jostle her as he does.

“No, you can’t die! Get up, damn you!” he yells, hoping that simply getting her free might be enough to rouse her. He has no means of healing, nothing on him, his bag and supplies all stripped away and Gods know where now. But Liv always has healing potions on hand. He reaches into her bag, fingers frantic and soaked in her blood. His other hand rests on her neck, searching desperately for her pulse because no healing potion can restart her heart. Gods, he wasted so much time getting over here. 

She can’t die, not here, not now. They haven’t really spoken since the other night when his siblings came to collect him. She’d been so disappointed in him and his lies. It had only compounded here, wading through this house, with every shameful deed of his on full display. She’d looked so glad, so hopeful when he’d promised Sebastian they’d be back, only for that hope and belief in him to sputter out the second he mentioned ascending. She’s never wanted him to complete the ritual anyway. 

His fingers close around the small, tapered bottle at the same moment he feels the light fluttering of her pulse, it’s faint, too faint. He doesn’t hesitate to pour the potion into her mouth, and watches with profound relief as the worst of her wounds stitch themselves closed, but barely. She was far closer to death than he’d thought. And he had stood over Cazador contemplating vengeance while she was bleeding out.

Liv’s eyes open in what seems like an intense effort, and she is a bloody mess, but she’s here. He could leave her now, just for a moment, just long enough to take care of Cazador and ascend. Lae’zel would help him, and Liv will be safe, right?

Liv takes in the scene, looking around with wide eyes, at Shadowheart healing Gale, at Lae’zel holding her sword at Cazador and he can see the second she decides there is more work to be done. She tries to get up. “We have to finish this.” 

Of course her first thought after nearly dying is to help in whatever way she can. Liv would set fire to herself if it meant keeping others warm. And his first thought upon seeing her bleeding out was that he could still have power. That she’d be fine. A sick, roiling feeling has settled in his gut. 

“You’re not getting up until you’re properly healed,” he gently presses her shoulder back, to keep her down. 

It’s a testament to how hurt she is that she doesn’t fight him. “I…alright.”

But then, Shadowheart is there, hands already glowing with healing magic and he draws back to give them space. Gale and Lae’zel stand over Cazador, still awaiting his judgment. He’s not alone in this. Not anymore. 

He had been so ready to sacrifice everything that truly mattered for power. He is the only one who gets to decide who he becomes now. He doesn’t want to become someone who would be willing to ignore the pain of someone he cares about - no matter how much power is on offer. 

He can be better than that. He is better than that. 

He approaches Cazador and picks back up the dagger. “I am better than you,” he says. “But I’m not above enjoying this.”