#not as a tool to prove you’re A Good Person

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

REDAMANCY. 18+

pairing. logan howlett x fem!reader word count. 3915 summary. you often worry you can never keep up with your husband's continuous acts of love and care, your attempts always seeming to come up short. logan catches on and shows you that there’s nothing for you to prove. warnings. 18+ only!! reader has a moment of inadequacy at the beginning, logan being attentive<3 quick description of thigh riding but it's not proper, titty kissing, fingering, cum eating? (licks his fingers) pinv sex. angst start, fluff middle, smut ending. mdni a/n. #needthat

Feelings of inadequacy seem to follow you like a stray dog. The constant, repetitive thought that what you do or say or think or feel may never be enough. But it was silly really, to be afraid of the contents of your own mind, especially when you had no reason to feel that way.

You thought these feelings were controlled, contained even. But as you anxiously twist your wedding ring upon your left finger, you can’t help but slip into that prior mindset you believed to be packed away. You beside the stove, mindlessly watching the simmering pot of tonight's dinner, staring at the vegetables bubble around in the sauce. 

It was Logan’s favourite, and it was a token of your appreciation for yet another grand gesture of his love towards you – the thanks a slither of what he does for you on the daily. But as you watch over the chicken pie filling in the saucepan, you can’t help but notice something missing, something that’s supposed to be there but isn’t. 

And when you blink from your fixed, hazed stare, you see exactly what you need on the countertop. The chopped up pieces of bacon on the board —his favourite part— sitting there like it’s mocking you, telling you that you’re terrible for forgetting it. And it’s not like you can add it now, it would be horrible and ruin it completely. 

All you can do now is move on, move past it. Though now it feels like you can do anything but. The bacon a reminder of your apparent failures, inadequacies. It was silly to be caught up on missing meat, but it wasn’t just about that – it was like it was even more proof that you were out of your depth with Logan. That forgetting the bacon somehow made you a horrible, horrible person.

You stare at the board for a moment, trying so desperately hard not to let it get to you and then you see Logan walk past the window – a couple fresh chopped logs of wood under one arm, an axe and a bunch of wildflowers in the hand of his other. And somehow the sight made you feel nothing short of awful. His thought and care once again overshadowing your attempts.

You quickly wipe under your eyes, an act of precaution to make sure nothing had seeped from you while you beat yourself up over something so tiny. You follow the sound of the front door opening, the scuffling of his boots following shortly after as he places down the pieces of timber. 

“Smells fuckin’ good,” he compliments, the warm, homely smell hitting at his nose immediately. 

He walks over to you, right, flower-held hand tucked from your view as he moves to stand behind, free arm reaching for your waist the second he’s close enough. 

“I got’ya somethin’,” he whispers behind you, punctuating his sentence with a kiss under your ear – his neck peering round and over your shoulder. 

You turn into him, your back against the edge of the counter to see what you already knew to be in his hand. He pulls the flowers from behind his back, the stems cut neatly with the help of his adamantium tools. They’re beautiful, all hand picked from the surrounding forest around the cabin. 

He guides them to your hand, noticing your unusual hesitation as you stare at the bouquet. He, too, pauses, looking over your face to understand your silence. Did you hate them? You never usually hate them.

“Do you…” he hesitates, trying to find the words. “Hate them?”

“No,” you say, word soft as you shake your head, the motion just as gentle as your voice.

Logan cocks his head slightly, angling to meet your eyes but you only divert them again, turning away from his gaze as you reach for the bunch of flowers. Only now they’re out of your grasp, his hand to his chest. 

“You okay?” he asks, the withdrawal of the gift an attempt to make you meet his eyes. 

“Yeah,” you lie with a nod, a small, faint, smile accompanying the fib. 

“You’re not lying to me, are you?” 

You look over him quickly, expression bashful as you shrug. He hates when you lie to him, especially about these things. It was only a white lie really, just a small, teeny tiny mistruth to spare yourself from embarrassment. But your silence doesn’t last long.

“I messed up dinner,” you admit, the confession pried from you by his prolonged, patient silence. Your words are quiet as you avoid his eyes, instead staring down to his chest.

He glances past you and into the saucepan, seeing no such fault. He faintly shakes his head, features quizzical as he tries to understand.

“It looks good to me,” he says, with a slight, but genuine shrug – unable to see what you see.

You close your eyes with a sigh, the noise light and airy as your head drops, gaze lowering. 

“I forgot the bacon.”

His head cocks once again, the motion like he’s growing more and more confused. 

“Yeah?” he prompts, trying to get you to say more. 

But that’s all there is to say, you forgot the bacon – that’s it. It wasn’t like it was a pause or the beginning of some speech.

“It’s your favourite part,” you reply, defeat evident in your voice. 

“Uh-uh?” he guides you through your confession, still unsure of what the issue is. He knew there was more, he just had to ease it out of you. 

“It’s your favourite part,” you repeat, momentarily glancing up to meet his eyes. “It’s not your favourite meal if I forget your favourite part,” you cut yourself short as your voice begins to waver, a bubble forming in your the back of your throat. 

He holds onto your short eye contact, following your gaze when your head goes to turn. “Come on now, talk to me,” he offers his comfort, speaking like it was a plea.

“I feel like I can never keep up.”

“Keep up with what?” he questions, desperate to keep you talking. 

“With you,” you pause and place your hand over your opposite upper arm, the act a brief moment of self soothing. You exhale softly before continuing. “You do all these nice things for me— see? Look,” you point to the flowers in his hand. “Right there. You thought of me and you got them and they’re beautiful. Why can’t I do that?”

Logan opens his mouth to speak, though you’re keen to continue. The bandaid free and invoking all your feelings to come out at once. 

“I make you desserts, I make a mess. I buy you something, I buy the wrong thing. I make your favourite dinner, I ruin your favourite dinner,” you pause, your vision growing blurry. “Sometimes,” you pause once more, wiping your eyes. “Sometimes I don’t know if you know how much I love you. Like, I can never seem to prove it and I don’t—” you cut yourself off, stopping yourself from what you were about to say. You didn’t want to make a further mess of things. 

“You don’t, what?” he asks, his attention undivided as he listens to you. “You don’t, what?” he repeats, eyes boring into yours as he urges a response from you. 

“Want you to feel like you made a mistake,” you confess, voice quiet like you were ashamed for thinking such thing. 

“Do you think I made a mistake?” he questions, flipping your moment of insecurity back on you. Though his words hold no malice, no intention of hurt – just simply speaking like he was trying to figure you out. 

Your silence speaks louder than any words could. Your eyes quickly flickering over his face like you were anticipating what he may say in response. It could go one of two ways: irritated and angry or soft and hurt. 

“I haven’t,” he says, voice as firm as his eyes. “I know I haven’t,” he repeats, trying to engrain it into you. 

All you can offer Logan is a faint, flattered smile, fragments of disbelief just as evident within you as before. One thing about your husband you knew to be forever true, is his earnest nature. So you knew he wasn’t telling you what you wanted to hear only to spare himself.

Logan places the flowers on the counter to the right of you, laying the bunch neatly at your side. He keeps his attention on you, eyes fixed on yours as if he’s trying to prove his sincerity – his honesty. 

His head drops slightly as he rests his lips against your forehead. “Do you believe me?” he asks gently against your skin, punctuating his question with a kiss to where he just spoke.

You wrap your arms around him as you tuck your face into his neck, hands connecting in the middle of his back. “Yeah,” you reply, word muffling into him. 

It was a lie, a partial lie at that. You knew in your heart —deep, deep in there— that it was true, and that you believed it, but right now? You just couldn’t get it into your head. So you lied, not wanting to run around in circles with repetitive asks all evening.

But this is Logan, he knows your tells and when you’re lying. But he doesn’t poke any further, instead pressing another kiss to your forehead before pulling away, clearing his throat briefly. 

“Why don’t you go lay in the tub,” he starts, usual gruff voice now soft, speaking like he’s trying to soothe you. “I’ll finish that off,” he gestures with his eyes, nodding to the stove top on the other side of you. 

You turn to look at the ‘mess’ beside you and nod, accepting his help with no more deflecting or avoiding. And as you step aside, you stroke over his back where your hands laid just moments before, the act another one of your silent thanks.

His left, ringed hand brushes your left, ringed hand as you move from your placement in front of him, your fingers loosely entwining for a short, brief second before passing. 

⎯ ☆ ⎯

Standing in front of the dresser in your shared bedroom, you change from your towel and into something a little more comfortable – opting for a robe and slippers. You give yourself a quick glance over as you pass the mirror on your way out the room, though you don’t take too much notice, instead flicking off the light switch as you set off to the living room.

The bath helped. It helped massively, actually. 

Your slippers scuffle along the hallway of your cabin, the floorboards worn and creaky by it’s old age. Lingering in the doorframe, you look over at Logan on the sofa, elbows resting on his knees as he stares at the lit fireplace ahead – looking as though he’s lost in thought.

“Hi,” you start, capturing his attention.

His eyes flick up to you, a faint —his usual— smile welcoming you back. He clears his throat like he’s going to speak but instead he taps the empty seat on the couch beside him.

You look around the open space before your eyes land on the orange, warm light shining out of the oven and onto the tiles. The pie you started to make now sitting on the centre shelf. The rest of your messes cleaned and tucked away, all evidence hidden. And there he sits, asking for no recognition – no praise or approval for cleaning up after you. He’s just there, patiently awaiting you.

“How long’s it been in?” you ask, gesturing to the oven. “The pie,” you add, turning to look at him with a smile.

“Three minutes,” he reciprocates your warmth as he nods you over to him. 

“Did you let the pastry warm up?”

He nods.

“And the—” 

“Taken care of,” he interrupts, slipping his hand into yours. He guides you to stand between his legs, eyes honed in on you above. Like he’s anticipating you, he answers the question you’re about to ask – once again proving just how well he knows you. 

“Cooked it in ‘nother pan then added it on top,” he replies, speaking casually.

You stifle a laugh as you shake your head – it was really a simple fix. 

With his gaze still focused on you, he begins playing with your left hand, his thumb mindlessly grazing your ring – the fiddling an absentminded act. As if he’s reminding him and yourself of your marital bond.

“Thank you.”

He hums, the sound far more gentle than his typical rough ones. It’s like he’s acknowledging your appreciation without taking the credit for it.

You extend your free hand, reaching for the side of his face, touch light as you brush over his cheek. Your thumb traces under his eye, soothing over the tired skin as you take a step closer – silently instructing him to lean against the back.

Logan does as wordlessly asked, his hips rolling underneath himself as he repositions, sitting in a manspread for you. He follows your movements as you sit on his lap, straddling one of his beefy thighs, your arms briefly hooking around his neck as you do so. He looks up at you from your very, very slight height advantage, eyes keen as he gazes into yours – staring like he’s trying to read you. You seem far lighter, far happier than the last time he saw you. 

One hand rests on his cheek, the other grazing through the shorts of his dark hair – your hold gentle and dear as you press a string of soft, slow kisses across the stubble of his beard. One by one you get closer to his mouth, reaching his lips by the fourth. 

His hands move up you from behind, skimming across the cheeks of your ass until they’re resting on your hips, the presence of his hold noticeable through the robes' thin fabric. He begins a pawing – irregular, needy squeezes into you like he’s silently communicating his thoughts and wants, scoping out whether you feel the same. 

“How much time is left on the pie?” you quietly ask, speaking against his lips. Your question also an attempt to scope him out.

His grasp around you tightens, the slight force of his hold making your grind against his thigh. “Enough,” he prompts, murmuring into your mouth – lips not yet daring to connect.

He grinds you over your thigh, the motion slow and leisured as he holds you over him, working you up little by little. Gentle exasperated breaths from you caught between your closeness. 

Upon hearing those sounds he loves ever so much, he pulls you into him, wrapping you into a brief, momentary hug before turning and laying you on the empty space of sofa beside him. He adjusts, situating above you but to your side, weight anchored beside you. 

You look up at him sweetly, eyes flickering over his face in the same way he does you – specks of admiration and lust forming within each of your glances. You adjust under him, the act like you were trying to redirect him, guide him to above rather than to your side. Wanting to feel him graze up against you.

Logan brings his free hand to the side of your face, touch heavy and desperate as he thumbs over your cheek, holding you there as he presses a couple lengthy kisses to your lips – the contact anything but brisk. And with that hand around the swell of your cheek, he’s grazing it down your neck, trailing towards your chest. 

He parts the loose, flimsy material of the robe, parting the fabric so he can slip a hand inside. Cupping one of your bare tits, he pulls it out from underneath – the full weight of your breast held within his warm, large hand. All of it on display for him to marvel at from above. 

Angling his neck, he reaches for your tit, tongue swiping over the nipple just moments before his lips encompass it. The warmth of his mouth making your stomach tingle and fingers tighten in his hair, a jolt-like roll of your hips accompanying your desperate micro actions.

He holds himself there for a prolonged moment, keeping his lips to your nipple as his fingers begin a very slight pawing around the lower swell of it. The motion like he’s rolling you within his hold. A streak of residual wet being left behind as he pulls his head up from your chest.

You look down to him between your tits, his face just mere inches from yours. One of your breasts still within Logan’s manly hold, the pad of his thumb rubbing over your priorly sucked nipple — the act a soothing caress. 

“Where’d you want me?” he asks, voice quiet between your close distance. “What’d you want?” he adds, just as softly as before, speaking like his one goal is to provide service. Service to you. 

You make a faint, disgruntled whine upon his questioning, your mind whizzing with thoughts of him, ideas of him. The feel of his cock growing hard against your thigh only making your head race faster. 

He shifts above you, lips reaching for yours as his hand around your tit travels down and between your thighs. The warmth of his touch is nothing like your warmth. He slips behind the opening of your robe, his fingers itching to your bare cunt ever so slowly, moving like he’s trying to help you decide. Though he’s doing the complete opposite — making it all the more challenging to answer with your mind whirring like it is. 

He lines the crease of your cunt with the pad of his finger, brushing up and down with the lightest, faintest of touch �� his lips resting against yours so he can swallow your jittery breaths. The strokes from him are almost mindless, brushing over you like he’s unaware of the effects he has on you. Still has on you after all this time. 

“This?” he whispers against your mouth while his finger trails up the slit of your pussy, grazing over your folds.

You nod against him in response, the motion gentle and careful.

Logan teases over your cunt’s lips, collecting the slight build up of slick to smear and trace over you — spreading your arousal with his light touch. Working you up the and more. He pulls away to look over you, wanting to watch your face. 

And when your eyes find his, that’s when he slips his middle finger into you. Holding onto your gaze as he presses inside with the utmost of ease. 

It was what you needed, not what you wanted. And he could tell — the knitting of your brows and slightly unsatisfied crumple of your nose telling him before you even got a chance. And as you open your mouth to speak, mere milliseconds away from asking him to add another, he’s already lining his ring finger up with you, slipping it inside to accompany his middle. 

The steady rocking of him further blurs any sense of coherency in your mind, the slow massage-like fucking of his fingers against your g-spot loosening you up nicely for him. 

Your hand in his hair moves to the side of his face, grip desperate as you hold him there, muffling incoherent words of thanks — each murmur being overshadowed by those blissed noises he can never seem to get enough of. And while you keep his face to yours, your other hand is reaching for his arm between your thighs, fingers struggling to enwrap the meat of his upper wrist. 

The pumping of his fingers into you is steady, each graze of him from the inside coming from a place of leisure, like the concept of haste is the furthest thing in his mind. 

Though, he’s only human and there’s only so much he can take. Especially when you’re squirming under him like you are. The clicking of his fingers in your pussy only making it harder on him. 

So, he slowly retracts from the wet warmth of your cunt, strings of your cum remaining connected to him, until they don’t. And as he pulls himself away from you, he licks over his knuckles, lapping over the milky white band you left around him.

Logan sits on his heels between your thighs as he unbuckles his jeans, his dry hand tasked with the job of unbuttoning. He gives the band a hasty tug down, the act nothing short of pure desperation. 

He digs down the front to grab a hold on himself, grasp tight around his dick as he pulls it out over the top of his jeans. Cock hard and heavy within his hold. And as he gives himself a few preparatory strokes as he leans back over you in his prior hovered position — weight anchored on his free arm beside your head.

Guiding his cock to you between the opening of your robe, he pushes his head through your lips, collecting your arousal like it’s his personal, endless supply of lube. And only when he deems himself ready, he’s lining up with you, the tip of his dick pressing up against you for a brief moment before he’s easing in. Slowly but surely feeding himself into your cunt. 

Upon the entry of his thick, heavy cock, your hands fly up to his face, holding either cheek to keep him close, lips skimming like they did just minutes before. Breath being caught in your throat, the air almost trapped as you feel him sink further and further inside, filling you entirely with himself.

He stills, keeping the whole, full length of his cock plugged inside, the motion of his hips non-existent as he gives you a quick second to get reacquainted with his size. He lowers his head, pressing his forehead against yours while he catches his own breath, the suction-like feel from your cunt having the same effect on him as he does you.

You squirm underneath him and your knees cling to his sides, keeping him glued to you.

“Move,” you whisper, the word like that of pure need. “Come on.”

His lips straighten against yours, a subtle smile forming. “Thought’ya liked the buildup,” he speaks quietly. 

The hand that was around his dick, feeding into you, now rests on your face — carefully manhandling you and keeping you put. Logan nips at your lips quickly, pressing a chaste kiss to them as he rolls his hips into you, bumping his cock up.

“That’s what you wanted?” he teases, pressing a kiss just under your chin, making you tilt your head back. Hand moving with the motion of him, palm grazing to rest at the base of your throat. “It is, ain’t it?” he continues with his teasing, muttering between kisses along your jaw. “Hm?”

You hum, the noise sounding like a whine amongst your other blissed sounds. The concept of formulating coherent speech seeming to be far too difficult with the way he feels inside of you. All you can do is squeeze your eyes closed and nod, unable to do anything more than that – just lay beneath him, taking his tender, loving fucking. 

Logan’s one true goal: to replace all prior feelings of pain with pleasure, wanting to make you forget about your upset from before. And with the way his dick is winding into you, he’s getting closer to that goal. 

⎯ ☆ ⎯

including the moodboard bc she’s cute

[dissapointu]

Hello, I wanted to ask you a little drabble with all the arcane characters.

Like how they fell in love with reader ( like what captured their attention etc)

It would be pretty cool in my opinion.

Have a wonderful day\night.

Aaaugh, I made of made this a bit long-(really long, that was sarcasm) I'm splitting it into two portions

Jinx-

Jinx didn’t know what to make of you at first. You weren’t loud or flashy like the people she was used to dealing with. You weren’t trying to prove anything, and yet, there was something about you that screamed different.

She first noticed it when you didn’t flinch at one of her explosions—not the way most people did, anyway. The boom had rattled the room, shaking dust from the rafters, and yet, there you were, brushing soot from your shirt like it was just another Tuesday.

“Nice touch with the blue sparks,” you’d said, nodding at her latest contraption. “Adds flair.”

Flair? Most people would’ve called it destruction. Most people would’ve screamed or run. But you? You tilted your head, eyes bright, genuinely impressed, and for a moment, Jinx was at a loss for words.

It wasn’t just that you didn’t fear her; it was the way you saw her. You noticed the little things—the care she put into her work, the way she tinkered endlessly to perfect her machines. While others saw chaos, you saw art, and for someone like Jinx, that was everything.

The next time she saw you, it was intentional. She didn’t need to bring you a gadget she’d been working on—it wasn’t even finished—but she wanted to see how you’d react. Sure enough, you examined it like it was the most fascinating thing in the world, pointing out details she hadn’t realized anyone else would notice.

“This is genius,” you murmured, tracing a finger along a carved design she’d barely remembered adding. “You really think through every detail, don’t you?”

Her heart did something weird then, like skipping a beat but more… explosive.

From there, it snowballed. You became her favorite person to show her creations to, the only one she trusted to see her work before it was ready. You never judged, never laughed when something misfired—just smiled and asked how you could help.

And Jinx? She realized she’d fallen for you one day when she caught herself trying to impress you. The realization hit her like a grenade: she didn’t just want you to like her inventions—she wanted you to like her.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” she said one night, leaning against her workbench, tools scattered around her. Her voice was softer than usual, almost unsure. “Most people don’t get me, but… you do.”

You’d just smiled, that easy, genuine smile that had hooked her from the start. “That’s because you’re worth getting.”

And just like that, Jinx knew there was no going back.

Vi –

Vi wasn’t looking for anyone. She didn’t have time for soft moments, not with everything she had on her plate. But then you came along, and she couldn’t help but notice how you carried yourself—steady, calm, unshakable.

The first time she really noticed you, it wasn’t some grand, sweeping moment. It was quiet. You were helping some kids in the Lanes patch up a rickety swing they used to pass the time. Nothing fancy, just you, a coil of rope, and that determined look in your eyes.

She hadn’t meant to stop and watch, but something about you drew her in. Maybe it was the way you didn’t hesitate to get your hands dirty or how the kids laughed around you, their faces lighting up despite everything the Lanes threw at them.

“You’re good with them,” she said after working up the nerve to approach you, trying to sound casual.

You glanced up at her, wiping sweat from your brow, and gave her a smile that hit her like a sucker punch. “Someone’s gotta be. They deserve better than this, don’t you think?”

It wasn’t just your words that stuck with her—it was the way you said them. Like you meant it. Like you actually believed in something better, even when the world gave you every reason not to.

From then on, Vi found herself noticing you everywhere. The way you stepped up when others hesitated. The way you didn’t back down, even when things got messy. You had this quiet strength about you, the kind that didn’t demand attention but earned it anyway.

She started finding excuses to stick around—helping with repairs, walking the kids home, sparring with you in the courtyard when the opportunity came up. And each time, she found herself drawn to you a little more.

“You’re somethin’ else,” she admitted one night, sitting beside you on a crumbling wall, the city’s broken skyline stretching out before you.

You raised an eyebrow at her, clearly amused. “That so?”

“Yeah.” She rubbed the back of her neck, uncharacteristically shy. “Most people would’ve given up on this place a long time ago, but not you. You stick it out, no matter how hard it gets.”

You shrugged, your gaze softening as you looked at her. “Same could be said about you, Vi.”

That was the moment it hit her—like a punch she didn’t see coming. It wasn’t just admiration anymore. It was something deeper, something she couldn’t ignore.

She fell for you in pieces, each small moment stacking up until it all clicked. It wasn’t about grand gestures or dramatic confessions. It was the way you fit—like you were exactly what she didn’t know she was missing.

And when she finally worked up the courage to tell you, your answer came with that same steady smile that had captivated her from the start.

“Figured it out, huh?” you teased, and she rolled her eyes, though her grin gave her away.

Yeah, she figured it out. And she wasn’t letting you go.

Sevika-

Sevika didn’t believe in love. In the Lanes, it wasn’t something people had the luxury of chasing. Survival came first, and attachments were just liabilities waiting to stab you in the back.

But you were… different.

The first time she noticed you, it wasn’t because you were trying to catch her attention. You were too busy holding your own, stepping into a dispute between two gang members over stolen supplies. She’d leaned back in the corner of the Last Drop, watching the chaos unfold, ready to step in if things got messy.

But then you surprised her.

You didn’t raise your voice or threaten anyone. Instead, you stood tall, calm as you defused the tension with a few sharp words and an unflinching glare. You had this presence, like you weren’t afraid of anyone in the room—not even her.

“Bold move,” Sevika had said when you approached the bar afterward, ordering a drink like you hadn’t just stared down two brutes twice your size.

You glanced at her, your lips quirking into a small smirk. “Someone’s gotta keep things from falling apart.”

That was the moment she started paying attention. You didn’t just survive in the Lanes—you thrived. You didn’t let the weight of the place crush you like it did everyone else. And more than that, you cared. Not in some naive, starry-eyed way, but in a way that made you fight tooth and nail for the people who couldn’t fight for themselves.

It pissed her off at first. The way you carried yourself like you weren’t afraid of the darkness around you. She thought it was reckless, stupid even. But the more she watched, the more she realized it wasn’t recklessness. It was conviction.

You weren’t scared of getting your hands dirty, but you never lost sight of what mattered to you. That’s what got under her skin, what kept her coming back to the same barstool night after night, just to see what you’d do next.

She started finding reasons to stick around. Sometimes it was to share a drink, other times to offer backup when things got rough. You never asked for her help, but you didn’t push her away either, and that intrigued her more than she cared to admit.

One night, after a particularly close call with one of Silco’s rivals, you patched up a cut on her arm, your hands steady as you worked.

“You’re too damn stubborn for your own good,” she muttered, watching you through half-lidded eyes.

You chuckled, your touch gentle as you tied off the bandage. “Takes one to know one.”

It was such a simple moment, but it stayed with her. The way you looked at her—not like she was some feared enforcer, but like she was just… Sevika. It wasn’t something she was used to, and it scared her as much as it thrilled her.

Over time, she realized she was looking for you in every crowd, waiting for the nights you’d sit beside her and trade sharp banter over a drink. She fell for you quietly, begrudgingly, like it snuck up on her before she could stop it.

And when she finally admitted it—to herself, to you—it wasn’t some grand confession. It was a gruff, almost reluctant, “You mean more to me than you should.”

Your response? That same infuriating, endearing smirk. “Took you long enough to figure that out.”

Sevika huffed a laugh, shaking her head, but the truth was, she didn’t mind. Because for once, letting someone in didn’t feel like a weakness. It felt like strength.

Silco -

Silco had always been a man of control, ambition, and sharp edges. In the underbelly of Zaun, survival demanded nothing less. Trust was currency, and affection? A distraction. He had long since accepted that power was the only thing worth chasing.

But then you appeared.

You weren’t loud or showy, not one of those people clawing for his attention. No, you worked quietly, efficiently, in the background of the chaos he ruled. You were just another piece in his intricate machine at first—just another person serving a purpose.

What caught his attention first was your unyielding patience. Where others in the Lanes were frantic, desperate to prove their worth, you moved with a calm certainty, like you weren’t afraid of the storm around you. You fixed what was broken—tools, machines, even people—without asking for anything in return.

One night, you’d been tending to one of his injured men after a skirmish, your hands steady as you stitched him up in the dim light of the hideout. Silco watched from the shadows, curious. The man hissed in pain, and you responded with a soft laugh.

“Hold still, or I’ll sew you up crooked,” you teased, your tone warm but firm.

It wasn’t the words that struck him—it was the way you carried yourself. There was no fear in your voice, no need to prove yourself to anyone. You didn’t care about earning his favor or gaining power. You just… were.

For someone like Silco, who thrived on manipulation and control, it was unnerving. People were supposed to want something from him. But you? You treated him like a man, not a king.

It wasn’t long before he started seeking you out. At first, it was subtle. A lingering glance as he passed through the room, a quiet question about your work. You always answered him honestly, without flinching under his piercing gaze, and it left him unsettled in a way he couldn’t quite name.

One evening, after a particularly brutal day, he found you sitting by the docks, staring out at the toxic waters of Zaun. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly at the sight of you, though he didn’t understand why.

“You should be careful out here,” he said, his voice low as he stepped closer.

You glanced over your shoulder, smiling faintly. “And miss the chance to breathe? I think I’ll take my chances.”

It was such a simple thing, but it stayed with him. In a world that demanded constant vigilance, you allowed yourself to simply exist. It was a quiet defiance, one that intrigued him more than he cared to admit.

Over time, you became a constant presence in his life, slipping through the cracks of his carefully constructed walls. It wasn’t grand gestures or impassioned declarations that made him fall for you. It was the quiet moments—the way you never cowered under his gaze, the way you challenged him without hostility, the way you saw him for more than his scars.

One night, as the two of you shared a rare moment of silence in his office, he finally allowed himself to admit what he’d been feeling.

“You’re dangerous,” he said, his voice soft, almost amused.

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back in your chair. “Dangerous? To you?”

He smirked, though there was no malice in it. “You’ve managed to do what no one else has.”

“And what’s that?”

“You’ve made me want something I didn’t think I needed.”

Your smile widened, warm and unguarded, and for once, Silco didn’t feel the need to look away.

In you, he found something unexpected: a quiet kind of strength, the kind that didn’t demand attention but commanded respect. And for a man who had spent his life fighting for control, letting himself fall for you felt like the ultimate rebellion.

Vander -

Vander wasn’t a man who fell in love easily. His life had been shaped by too much loss, too much responsibility. The people of the Lanes leaned on him, and he carried their weight with quiet strength. Love, to him, felt like a luxury he couldn’t afford.

But then, there was you.

It wasn’t some grand moment that captured his attention—it was the small, steady things. The way you moved through the chaos of the Last Drop, keeping the peace in your own quiet way. The way you never demanded his time but somehow always knew when he needed someone to sit beside him in silence.

What struck him first was your kindness—not the soft, fragile kind, but the sort that had edges. You didn’t let people walk over you, but you never hesitated to offer a hand to someone in need. In a place like Zaun, where survival often demanded selfishness, you were a rarity.

He noticed it one night when a brawl broke out in the bar. Two rowdy patrons had nearly overturned a table, and before Vander could step in, you were already there. You didn’t raise your voice or throw a punch. Instead, you placed a firm hand on one of their shoulders, your calm, measured tone cutting through the tension.

“Save it for the street, boys. We don’t spill blood where we share drinks.”

To his surprise, they listened. Vander couldn’t help but chuckle as they slunk off, muttering apologies.

“Got a way with people,” he said later, handing you a drink as thanks.

You shrugged, offering a small smile. “Just trying to keep things from falling apart.”

Those words stayed with him. It was how you carried yourself—like you were always holding the pieces together, not because you had to, but because you chose to.

Over time, he started finding excuses to be near you. A quick conversation here, a shared drink there. You had a way of making him feel… lighter. Like he could let go of the weight he carried, even if just for a moment.

It wasn’t until one quiet evening, after the bar had emptied, that he realized how deeply you’d settled into his heart. You were sitting on one of the tables, cleaning up a spill, humming a tune under your breath. The soft glow of the lanterns lit up your face, and for a moment, Vander just… watched.

“You’re staring,” you said, not looking up.

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Caught me.”

You glanced at him then, your smile warm and teasing. “What’s on your mind, big guy?”

He hesitated, uncharacteristically unsure. But then, he decided to just say it—Vander was never one for dancing around the truth.

“You. The way you care about this place. The people. Me.” He exhaled, leaning against the bar. “Never thought I’d find someone like you in all this.”

Your eyes softened, and you set down the rag in your hands, crossing the room to stand in front of him. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you teased gently. “Took you long enough to notice me.”

He laughed then, a deep, rumbling sound that made your chest warm. “Oh, I noticed. Took me a bit longer to admit it.”

And when you reached up, resting a hand against his face, he leaned into your touch, his eyes closing for just a moment. In you, he found something he hadn’t realized he needed—a steady flame in the chaos of the Lanes.

Ekko -

Ekko didn’t believe in distractions. The Firelights needed him, the Lanes needed him. His days were spent fixing the mess left behind by Piltover’s greed and Silco’s reign. He had no time for anything else—least of all love.

But you? You didn’t give him much of a choice.

It wasn’t a single moment that caught his attention. It was a collection of them, like the pieces of a clock coming together. He first noticed the way you moved—quick and deliberate, like you belonged to the rhythm of the chaos around you. No hesitation, no wasted motion. Whether you were patching up one of the Firelights after a mission or organizing supplies in the hideout, you carried yourself with a quiet confidence that made it impossible for him not to watch.

What hooked him, though, was your laughter. The first time he heard it, he froze. It had been after a particularly rough raid. Everyone was tense, the weight of the day pressing down on their shoulders. And then you cracked some joke—stupid, honestly, but something about the way you delivered it had everyone laughing, including Ekko.

That was when he realized it: you didn’t just survive the Lanes. You thrived in them. You brought light into a place where most people only saw shadows.

It started small—an extra second spent talking to you, a lingering glance when he thought you weren’t looking. He’d catch himself gravitating toward you without even meaning to, drawn to the way you lit up a room with just your presence.

But it wasn’t until one night, long after the others had gone to sleep, that he truly understood how deep you’d gotten under his skin. You were sitting by the glow of a makeshift lantern, tinkering with some piece of tech you’d salvaged. The light cast shadows across your face, highlighting the curve of your cheek, the focus in your eyes.

“Burning the midnight oil?” he asked, leaning against the doorway.

You glanced up, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Someone’s gotta keep this place running.”

He stepped closer, hands shoved into his pockets. “You do too much, you know that?”

“Says the guy who can barely take a break,” you shot back, raising an eyebrow.

He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Fair point.” For a moment, he just stood there, watching you work. The quiet stretched between you, comfortable and warm.

“Why do you do it?” he asked suddenly.

You paused, looking up at him with a tilt of your head. “Do what?”

“Care so much. About all this.” He gestured vaguely, as if to encompass the entire hideout, the Firelights, the Lanes.

Your gaze softened, and you set the piece of tech aside. “Because someone has to. And because… I believe in you, Ekko.”

The sincerity in your voice hit him like a punch to the gut. You believed in him. In a world that seemed determined to tear him down, you stood beside him, unwavering.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, reaching out to take his hand. “Guess you’re stuck with me anyway.”

That was the moment Ekko fell. Completely, irreversibly.

Jayce -

Jayce had always been drawn to brilliance. Invention, ambition, ingenuity—they were the cornerstones of what he admired in others. And yet, none of it had ever prepared him for you.

The first time he saw you, it wasn’t in a polished Piltover workshop or a grand council meeting. It was in a small, crowded market on the edge of the Undercity, where the scent of oil and metal clung to the air. You stood at a stall, bartering for scraps and materials like your life depended on it—because, as he’d later learn, it did.

What caught his attention wasn’t just your resourcefulness or the sharp wit you wielded against the vendor. It was the way your eyes lit up when you held a seemingly useless part in your hands, already envisioning the endless possibilities it could unlock.

He didn’t even mean to approach you. His curiosity had a mind of its own. “What are you going to do with that?”

You turned, a little startled, but you didn’t back down from his inquisitive gaze. Instead, you held up the twisted hunk of metal like it was a crown jewel. “Turn it into something brilliant. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

It wasn’t arrogance—it was certainty. And Jayce, who had spent his life chasing impossible ideas, saw a kindred spirit in you.

From that moment, you became an enigma he couldn’t resist unraveling. Every conversation revealed new layers to your ingenuity, your resilience, your unshakable belief in making the impossible possible. And the more time he spent with you, the more he realized it wasn’t just your mind that captivated him—it was your heart.

You were unafraid to challenge him, to push him, to remind him that the world wasn’t just equations and theories but people and dreams. Your passion reignited something in him he hadn’t realized he’d lost: a love for the why, not just the how.

One evening, as the two of you sat side by side, tinkering with a device in his lab, he found himself watching you instead of the work. The way your hair caught the light, the quiet determination in your expression, the soft smile when something finally clicked into place.

“You’re staring,” you teased without looking up.

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just—how do you make everything seem so effortless?”

You grinned, glancing at him with that spark he’d come to love. “It’s not effortless. I just don’t let the hard parts stop me.”

In that moment, he knew he was a goner.

Jayce Talis, the golden boy of Piltover, had fallen in love with you—not because of what you could build, but because of what you built in him: a renewed faith in the beauty of dreaming big, of chasing the spark no matter where it led.

And it apparently led to you.

Viktor-

Viktor didn’t notice you at first, not in the way others might have. He was too focused on his work, his mind consumed by blueprints and equations. But you… you were patient, always there in the background, asking questions no one else dared to ask, seeing things no one else cared to notice.

It was one of those late nights in the lab when you caught his attention. He was hunched over a schematic, frustration etched into every line of his face. You, seated quietly at the far end of the room, had been watching him—though you’d never admit it aloud.

“Did you eat today?” your voice broke through the silence.

Viktor didn’t even look up. “I’m fine,” he replied, a rote answer that wasn’t convincing in the slightest.

You set down your work and crossed the room, standing just out of his peripheral vision. “Fine isn’t food, Viktor.”

When he finally looked at you, there was something in your eyes that made him pause. It wasn’t pity or condescension—two things he’d grown accustomed to. It was understanding, genuine and unyielding, as if you knew exactly what it felt like to lose yourself in something bigger.

That was the first moment he realized you were different.

It wasn’t the last.

You had a way of grounding him, of pulling him out of his own head without judgment. Your presence was quiet but powerful, a steady force that didn’t demand his attention but earned it nonetheless.

What truly captured him, though, was your mind. You didn’t just accept the world as it was; you questioned it, challenged it, sought to understand it. You weren’t afraid to debate him, to push back when you thought he was wrong, and yet you did so with a respect that made him listen.

He found himself looking forward to your late-night conversations, the way you’d linger in the lab long after everyone else had gone home. You’d ask about his work—not just the mechanics but the why behind it, the hopes and fears he buried beneath his relentless drive.

One evening, as you sketched out a rough design on a scrap of paper, Viktor caught himself smiling. Not at the drawing, though it was clever, but at you. The way you bit your lip in concentration, the furrow of your brow, the quiet hum of satisfaction when you got something just right.

“You are remarkable,” he said softly, almost to himself.

You glanced up, surprised. “What?”

His cheeks flushed, and he looked away, fiddling with a wrench. “Nothing. Just… your ideas. They’re… innovative.”

But it wasn’t just your ideas. It was you—the way you saw the world, the way you saw him. Not as a man constrained by limitations but as someone capable of more.

You believed in him, not just in his work, and that was something Viktor hadn’t realized he craved until you offered it so freely.

And as the days turned into weeks, then months, he realized something else: He believed in you, too.

It wasn’t some grand epiphany or dramatic moment. It was in the quiet, shared glances, the lingering touches when you handed him a tool, the way his chest felt lighter when you were near. Somewhere in the midst of late nights and whispered dreams, Viktor had fallen in love.

Not just with your mind or your presence, but with the way you made him feel—seen, understood, whole.

And for a man who’d always fought against the odds, loving you felt like the greatest invention of all.

[visionsofmagic]

◜ mk1 men showing their kinks to you ◞

▸ characters: liu kang, kuai liang, bi han, tomas, johnny cage, kung lao, raiden, syzoth ◂ ▸ wc: 4k+ [wow, once again]

▸ tags: nsfw, soo spicy, lord kink, various kinks, power play, master kink, inappropriate usage of abilities, begging, licking, nudness, humiliation, praising kink, dom/sub dynamic, sub!mk1 characters, dom!mk1 characters, pet names, filming, spanking, ropes, fingering, cum, eating out, kneeling, brat!reader, f!reader, use of yn, personal assistant!syzoth, and more in the work! first time writing kung lao, hope it fits him well. ^^ enjoy! ◂ ▸ m.

THE TITLE • LIU KANG doesn’t have a god complex, not at all, he’s a humble creator – demi god, even though he has great power of fire, martial arts, and more. he expects all of his friends to see him as an ally, not a mighty god, and kneel before him because he wants to be accepted as one of you, staying beside you and protecting the realms at any cost.

well, it is like that for any other – including you, for most of the time anyway. however, he has a thing for a certain title whenever it leaves your pretty shining lips, making him go dizzy even though he is steady, not leaving any of his emotions getting away so easily – but around you, he loses focus a little bit, desiring to have you – wanting you to call him ‘lord’ again and again until he makes you cum, creating a mess on him – your lord.

it’s your idea – to call him by his ‘lord’ title as if it’s blessing coming out of your parted lips, additional teasing by your fingers, hands, and gazes don’t help at all – they just make him lose his control of being an ally, the rising heat causes him to give you more so that you can scream his name within the title.

it has both an affection tone, showing how much you love and trust him – using his title out of respect you have for him, for what he does for the sake of all realms – and a seductive tone which drives him crazy, and having you under him the moment he has a chance to do such thing. he makes you cum again and again as he listens to all the pretty noises you’re making because of him and how his warm cock enters your clenching pussy.

“ohhh – my lord!” you scream, “l-lord liu kang! it’s so good – sooo good.”

“oh, is it my love?” he will sound innocent even though his actions prove otherwise, cock slapping into your warm walls rapidly, “then cum, make a mess for your lord.”

his white eyes shining brighter than before as you hug his arms, forehead to forehead, nose to nose, lips to lips, you cum on his cock, making sheets go dirty within it as you moan his name so loud that he smirks down at you – cock side of him showing, “ohh, my pretty love is so good for her lord. let your lord give you more, will you?” you nod and it turns out that he hasn’t enough of you calling him by the title – he wants more.

ROPES • KUAI LIANG only used his weapons as defense and attack tools – well, it was the case until he met you, got to know you better, fell hard, loved you with his soul and heart, and finally got intimate with you.

it takes some time until you both bring the things you like to the bed – both afraid that the other will not approve. when you tell him first, the thing you want to do to him, he makes it come true because he is there to satisfy his lover, you, in the most pleasurable way – you deserve the whole world after all.

then, he brings his desires into bad as the sessions become more intense with each one – he learns how to give you pleasure and how to receive – yet, there is a certain one he likes to have – the one which includes one of his weapon, kusarigama without its kama, only cold metal chains he likes to see on your body – using it as a rope whenever he has you in front of him – ass up, face on the pillow, moaning mindlessly, body jolting forward whenever he spank your ass since you move so much, try to get your hands release – however, it’s impossible to do it even though you want to touch him.

the cold metal around your body, ending on your wrist, and being held by the warm hands of kuai liang sends chills down your spine because of how cold it feels compared to his body and cock buried deep inside you. he has a tight hold on the chain, using it as a rope to help you arching your back, ass getting higher as he fucks you from behind. “is it too much love?” he will ask, a bit teasing, looking at the beautiful sight in front of his eyes – red marks on ass cheeks, pussy soaking, breasts bouncing – the chains around them make them look delicious, face full of heat.

“you have no idea how beautiful you look right now my lady, as always, magical,” he says, increasing his warmness to make you moan his name louder, “will have you like this, wrapped with these chains, until you cum again and again. will make its marks appear on your whole body.”

MASTER • BI HAN is the grandmaster of lin kuei – it gives him power and authority. he likes to have it since he’s crazy for power for his clan, being stronger, better, and more determined with each passing day, doesn’t stop until he’s satisfied –he knows he has great strength but he seeks more and more – so, he doesn’t get satisfied even a bit – however, he can’t hide the truth that he likes to be master only for power, yes, it was the case for him but it changed a little bit when he saw the power he has on you while fucking you.

he doesn’t think of it as a kink, he’s too careless to think about what a kink is – he just enjoys it, it amazes him how he turns on immediately in the moments you call him your master, showing him respect, giving yourself fully to him both as a warrior and his lover.

he prefers being delicate with you but his true instincts make him go crazy around you, losing the control of creating a balance between a gentle lover and a rough fucker for you – he doesn’t think about it that much yet he knows he does two of them at the same time – love you so delicately, protecting you at all costs, telling all pretty names whenever you’re alone while fucking you rough, making you turn into a mess for him and his cock, earning lots of moans and rapid breaths from your agape lips.

he tries to stay calm yet when you use his title in a way no one dares to say it, affection and greed can be heard through it as he fucks you – every hole you have from pussy to ass and his favorite, your shining lips.

eyes rolling, salvia appears, tears wash your pretty face – what a magnificent sight to have in front of him as you stay on your knees, hands gripping his thick thighs, soaking onto the floor under you, and moaning how good he tastes while he has a grip inside your hair, pulling and pushing you, fucking your mouth as he pleases. he feels his empowerment inside your eyes – the look you give him scream how you are pleased to give your master pleasure at the highest level, letting him use you as his personal fucktoy – he smiles at the idea, the free hand caresses your chin full of wetness, creating two opposite sense and sending it to your core.

“how pretty,” he says lowly, “master’s favorite fucktoy,” adding, he smirks at his own statement when he earns a loud moan from you which is shut down by his thick cock inside your warm mouth. “yeah, like that? sure you do my personal toy – offering every hole of her to me – to his grandmaster,” he leaves your mouth, holding his dick and slapping your face with it, “say it,” he orders, “say who’s your owner.”

waiting for a response, he laughs when you give an answer, “master -! my grandmaster bi han!”

“that’s right pretty. let your master fuck your remaining holes as well after I fill your pretty mouth with my cum.”

PRAISING • TOMAS is so shy that he can’t tell his kink aloud even when you encourage him to say it after you explain yours one by one, feeling shy too yet wanting him to know what makes you turn on right away, wanting him to have you in the exact same moment.

he doesn’t judge you, not for a single time, contrary to that, he gets turned on as well, smiling widely, scratching his neck hair, and telling you how he will make them turn into reality the moment he has a chance to. he tries to get better in every one of them as well, wanting you to reach the highest pleasure, not leaving them only as statements.

so, it’s not surprising to discover his kink while having an intimate session with him, not paying attention to it fully but after it ends, you spend alone time, thinking about it with a logical and peaceful mind, you realize what turns him on in sex – putting attention to them and discovering which one is the most effective one on him.

can’t wait until you get together, alone, in the room you share, you just use your theory after a mission ends. you watch him closely yet do not alert him that you do it on purpose, calling him ‘good boy’ after he does his best in the mission, and completes it effortlessly. the word you use shows its effects immediately – he freezes for a moment, eyes shining as he looks at you with them widening, furrows raising, and chest going up and down rapidly for a moment before he gets himself together, saying thanks but sounding so delicate.

you know it’s not just the word – it’s the thing you do – praising him, his efforts, his support – all of it.

the next thing you know he literally moans loudly when you praise him as he eats you out, kneeling before you, the head between your inner thighs, fingers playing with your breasts as you hold him by his grey hair, pulling it and moaning shamelessly, “ohhh, such a good boy for me – baby, doing soo good!”

he freezes once again – yet, rather than turning into an innocent one he prefers to let it go, understanding what you’re doing and finding great lust in it as he moans again and again, eating you further, wanting to get more praise – even his fingers find your pussy, entering it, doubling the feeling up.

it makes you go crazy when you see his hardened cock inside his boxers, “pretty boy!” you scream, head throwing back, eyes going white as he fucks you with his tongue and fingers. soaking wet, you add, “be a good boy and make me cum tomas!”

“yes, yes, yes – ohhh, my goddess, will be a good boy – your good boy, will earn lots of cum from this pretty pussy – ohhhh, so delicious.”

FILMING • JOHNNY CAGE would never thought he would have a certain kink like this one – yes, he has lots of them – and having them with you, well, the ones you’re comfortable with as well as doing the things you want him to do. he pleases his woman as best as he can – giving you pleasure boosts his ego, wanting to please you further until your mind is only full with him – nothing else.

when he has you under him, below him, in front of him – in every position, he watches how your pretty face lightens up with the lust, desire to have more – listens to the lewd voices your pussy creates, mixing the sweet voice you make, especially moaning his name – smiles and looks down at your pussy as he clenches around his length, sending a jolt that flows through his entire body, making his mind go dizzy.

it’s perfect – from the beginning to the end, it’s just the description of perfection – you are the perfection for him. and being a great actor, addicted to his camera – his phone, he realizes something he wants ultimately, the reason why he pictures you even after he has you – he daydreams about you all day, waiting for it to end and finally getting together with you again.

he misses you so much that he can’t stand it, and he understands what he needs to do.

the first thing he excepts from you is to laugh, can’t take it seriously, then, not agree – but, you don’t utter a word when he says it, only looking at his face with heat on your body because of hearing how he thinks you look so beautiful – out of this world, dreamy, while you have his cock inside your holes – he expresses his desire to capture it, watch it later, and seeing you in every aspect as possible as he can.

then, you agree, don’t judge, just accept it and realize how you want him to film you whenever you have mind-blowing sex – it becomes a habit of yours now – he films when he fucks you from behind, the camera captures your pretty face so close that he cums the moment he watches it. he puts his camera on the table beside him when he has you on his lap, riding his cock as he drinks his favorite alcohol, watching you fuck yourself on his dick. he even takes a video of you while you suck his cock – his favorite so far because how obedient and cock slut you’re for him.

he smirks, taking you by the chin, making you look up, and winking at the camera of his phone as you suck his cock as if it’s the most delicious thing your tongue taste of – salvia leaves your mouth, eyes shining, nose has a little redness, cheeks burn, and tears flowing down to your face since his thick cock fills your entire mouth. “oh baby –“ he says, chuckling, “you’re my favorite sight to see in a movie! in our personal fucking movies – ohh, how much I like to watch ‘em only to see the expressions you make – so innocent yet lustful. my pretty lady will make you watch it too!” he laughs, caressing your face, “taking my cock so well – maybe will publish it so that everyone can see what a slut you’re for me! would’ve been my biggest hit!”

HUMILIATION • KUNG LAO is full of ego – thanks to his wins strength, and attractiveness, he has great self-love and he acts as such, telling his best qualities again and again – he does it around others just because he has a habit of doing it but with you? oh, the reason is different for doing it when it comes to you.

he remarks them to show off – to make you fall for him even though you’re literally his lover who fell hard for him, getting excited to see him – to watch him as he fights, and listening to all the bubbles he says including his ego. you leave chuckles, bright eyes shine with enjoyment, letting him show himself off because it entertains him that his favorite girl loves him as a whole – for who he is!

he can swear even he can’t think one of his desires would include an opposite kink compared to his general self. he can’t say it aloud either – he’s too shy to do that, to allow himself to get the knowledge of his deep desires – turning on by you humiliating him in bed out of all places – not to joke, not to tease – to take out his secrets into the surface.

it happens when he utters a few words about him being the greatest in bed, and you tease him about it by mocking, “oh, really? is magnificent kung lao the best fuck? maybe if you try enough you cute boy, being my personal fucker, it can be. what do you think?”

he can’t think about anything at that moment – his mind freezes – he even can’t think!

it takes some time for him to get back, hearing your worried questions about whether he is okay or not – you say sorry if it makes him uncomfortable – then, both you and he look down at his hardened cock, the tip is pink, dripping precum as he exhales the air rapidly than ever, words being cut as they reach to his dry throat.

“y/n –“ he nearly moans your name lowly, looking so fragile with the way his hands on your thighs shake as he holds them – you try to move your hips, caging him between your legs, getting closer, you chuckle, hands find his shoulders as you sit down on the table still, letting his exposed hardened cock press to your bare pussy.

you clench around nothing, and his cock twitches with your husky voice, mocking him more, “oh, will all mighty kung lao cry? will make a mess because of me? hm, is it the case you got a boner now, pretty boy?”

he moans this time, hands gripping the flesh inside his palms tightly, trying to earn a kiss from you as he leans closer but you put your forefinger on his lips, smirking and pointing the ground under his feet. “to earn it, you have to please me, my personal fucker,” you lick the side of his lip, winking as he begins to blush – redness appearing on his shocked face, the tip of his dripping cock hitting your pussy, wanting to get inside. your finger enters his mouth, pulling his warm tongue out as he whimpers, getting harder as if it’s possible, “on your knees, my good boy. show your owner how good this tongue is.”

BEGGING • RAIDEN is a humble man who knows his worth. he’s well aware of who he is, what his worth is, what he wants, and in which cases he will lose it all – only for you, his significant other, the owner his heart and soul.

he’s a gentle lover indeed, you can give him that – bringing gifts to you, kissing you fondly, showing great affection and love, especially when you’re both alone and comfortable – the peace runs in the air as you show the love you have for one to another openly, no fear of getting rejected – the knowledge of your worth in each other’s eyes is visible through the gazes, words, and actions.

it feels like a miracle when he finds both love and friendship in one person – and he thinks he is the luckiest person in whole realms when the tension you share completes each other perfectly – getting closer to you, he discovers his self – his kinks as you tell him about, he still has questions about them though yet he tries his best to please you while he gets you better, further – no one else, only him.

the help he receives from you about these all kink situations deserves a big thanks and he tries to give it to you by fucking you with his cock, his tongue, his fingers – which one you would like to have.

he puts more focus on you than himself, yet, you have other plans – you want him to understand the importance of being aware of knowing his deepest desires to take the best feelings from your body as well as his.

so, you tell him how words have a different and effective role in intimate sessions mixed with actions – you try to make him see its effects on him firstly because it’s the most remarkable and permanent way to learn about it – so, you study him, trying to see what makes him turn on and what turns him off. among others, one thing catches your attention – begging.

raiden never begs – not to others, or for other things. however, he is ready to beg for you even though he’s yet not know it fully – it takes time for him to get there, and being a helpful lover, you take your role gladly, using your knowledge in one night when you begin to make out. raiden appears behind you, hands wrap around your belly, pulling you closer to him, his cock slowly getting hard as it touches the lower part of your back – the thin fabric you have makes the sense breathtaking.

you chuckle, looking at his face as he rests his chin on your shoulder, “needy?” you tease and he blushes. nodding, he does his little tricks and before knowing it, you find yourself on top of him, cock is buried deep inside your walls – it twitches, wanting you to move and ride him.

“y/n –“ he whimpers, eyes getting brighter, tears ready to leave them.

“yes, my pretty boy?” you ask, head tilting to the side as you rise up and sit down on his length suddenly, making his head thrown back onto the pillow, moaning. “need something?”

“need you – to move – y/n, move already!” you chuckle, hands on his exposed well-built chest.

“then beg for it! we both know you can do better than that farm boy.”

and he listens, starting to beg loudly, hands positioned on your waist, holding tightly, tears washing his pretty face as he begs for you to move – then, he begs for more – he begs so beautifully that you ride him so well and he even begs as he cums into your pussy, making a mess. “yes, yes, please – oh my love, please! ohh – s’ much! s’ good!”

PERSONAL PLEASER • SYZOTH chose to be your personal assistant and lover at the same time – the idea of being by your side all the time, giving you the support you need, being the one you call first is always amazes him, causing him to accept your offer and take the title of right-hand man, giving aid and help in every way he is capable of.

he doesn’t feel any humiliation because you’re there to show your love for him, how you think of him as an equal, not below you, no – he’s your lover before being your personal assistant and protector. you are at the same level, and you don’t stay back by showing it to him and all the others – you have him beside you every time you attend meetings, parties, festivals, and business works. he’s always there – he lets you introduce himself as your lover first, then says how he’s also your right-hand man who is best at everything – your own luck.

yes, it makes him feel shy but not as shy as he feels when you have him alone – in your office, in your bedroom, in your garden – it doesn’t matter, the shyness he has is exactly the same in every place. it’s the way of help that makes him go all red, or warm, or crazy even.

you say besides being his right-hand man, he’s also your personal pleaser – you let him fuck you rough, showing the beast he has under his pretty face, “agghhh – fuck – syzoth!”, you let him get undressed and jerking himself off as you watch him – his eyes don’t leave yours, watching every expression you have on that pretty face of yours he likes to see as he jerks himself, cum into his fist and earning the same one from you, “syzoth – so – so good to watch!”, you let him go invisible and eating you out in public as you sit down under a table, trying to suppress your moans when he’s tongue swifts into his natural form, entering deep inside, “syzoth!”, you let him kneel before you, on his knees, watching you approaching him slowly, and then, taking him into the bed as he begs for it. “ohhh – syzoth!”

his answer will always be the same, “yes, my goddess? need me?” he mocks you as if he isn’t the reason why you’re like that – weak on the knees, shaking, soaking wet, wanting nothing but him.

the way he enjoys being your personal pleaser besides assistant drives you crazy – the intensity of having him both as a lover and pleaser rising up. you can’t even blame him for using his power inappropriately – it feels too good to utter the words that warn him. he doesn’t care – he does what he needs to do – what you deserve – his full attention and effort.

“my goddess, let me show my gratitude to you – as your right-hand man, it’s my duty to make sure you get what you want.”

[callsign-rogueone]

the spider - l.m.

Liam Mairi x reader When you find an uninvited guest in your room, you find yourself knocking on Liam's door to ask him for help. words: 861 🏷: no book spoilers at all, just fluff! mentions of spiders but nothing too detailed (mild arachnophobe here) and Liam handles it for you 🥰 reader is referred to as a girl once, but no pronouns used. this was originally going to be for someone else, but I realized I haven't fed the Liam lovers in a while, so here you go!

“I need you,” you blurt as soon as Liam opens his door.

He blinks, thoroughly confused. “What?”

You take a breath and try again. “There is a ginormous spider in my room and I need you to do something about it. Please.”

“And I was the first person you thought of?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. He has a point — you hardly know each other. 

“You’re my neighbor, so yeah, you were,” you answer, your cheeks warming. “Please, Liam?”

He doesn’t think you’ve called him by his first name, ever. To hear you whining it as you blink up at him, pleading… 

“Before it crawls into my bed or something,” you add urgently, shuddering at the thought. 

“Well, we can’t have that,” he says with a soft laugh. “Lead the way.”

He knows where your room is, knows you’re right across the hall, but he still trails a few paces behind as you make the incredibly short walk over.

You unlock the door and usher him inside, remaining out in the hallway.

He steps forward, taking it in; he’s caught glimpses over your shoulder, but never set foot inside.

It looks… lived in. There’s a pile of boots by the door, tonight’s homework and yesterday’s notes spread over the desk, and he could swear that’s a romance novel on your nightstand — you’re almost finished with it, judging by the location of the scrap of colorful parchment you’re using as a bookmark.

The bed is unmade, blankets pulled back as if you’d just gotten out of it. A small stuffed dragon sits on your pillow, a soft green thing that looks remarkably like Blythe.

And everything about this room smells like you, soft and sweet — he’s never figured out how you manage to do that, to smell so good when everyone in this entire school uses plain unscented soap.

His eyes finally catch on the intruder. It’s an ugly little fucker, but nothing to write home about, just a harmless garden variety.

“You know, it’s probably more afraid of you than you are of it,” he says with a glance over his shoulder.

“I highly doubt that,” you huff. “There is no reason why anything on Amari’s green earth should have that many legs. It’s damn creepy. Can you just smush it, please?”

“That’s a fair point. But it’s too big, if I smush it you’re gonna have spider juice on your wall.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Ew, okay, fine, um. There’s paper on the desk, and an empty cup.”

“See, you have the tools,” he begins, grabbing the aforementioned supplies, “you just need to take the leap and follow through with it.”

“No, thank you,” you reply from the corner of the room you’ve pressed yourself into, as far away from the thing as you can get. “I’ve faced enough of my fears this year already. This one is gonna have to wait.”

“Understandable,” he acknowledges, trapping it inside the cup and sliding the paper overtop it.

You give him plenty of space as he walks out the door, not leaving the corner until he returns a few minutes later. 

He holds up the paper silently, showing you the front and back, and flips the cup upside down, shaking it to prove that the spider is, in fact, gone.

“Where did you put it?” you ask, still paranoid.

“In the bushes, as far from your room as possible. Clear across the courtyard.”

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

He sets the paper and mug back on the desk where he found them, looking back at you. 

You pull him into a loose hug, wrapping him in that lovely scent — orange blossoms and vanilla, he decides. It’s intoxicating.

“Thank you,“ you say quietly. “For dealing with it, and for not thinking it’s dumb or making fun of me.”

He falters for a moment, but quickly brings a hand up to rest on your back. “I’d never make fun of you. And it’s no problem, really.”

You realize you’ve never so much as shaken his hand before. You pull away quickly, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, that was… forward of me,” you manage.

He laughs softly. “It’s okay. Come get me if any of its friends show up. I’ll give them a talking to.”

You can’t help but smile. “Thank you, Liam.”

There you go again, saying his name and making him feel things.

He offers you a soft smile that nearly brings you to your knees. “Goodnight, pretty girl.”

“Goodnight,” you breathe, shutting the door after he’s back in his own room.

“He thinks I’m pretty,” you whisper aloud, smiling.

“Of course he does,” Blythe says, amused.

You jump. “What have I told you about eavesdropping?” 

She sounds like she’s rolling her eyes. “And what have I told you about broadcasting your every thought to me?”

You sigh, conceding. “I’m still working on that. I’m sorry.”

“All in good time, soft one. All in good time.”

You kick off your boots, flopping down onto your bed with a sigh and picking up your book again, but you’ve lost interest. Knights in shining armor be damned; all you can think about right now is Liam.

[sleepyparalysisdmon]

Seventeen with a partner who is insecure about their body

Genre: equal parts angst and fluff, suggestive content (MDNI)

A/N: vaguely written so this is friendly for any insecurity. Be kind to yourselves please. You deserve love. 🖤

Won’t hear a word of it - Seungcheol, Hoshi, Mingyu, Seungkwan

A little bit aggressive in how intensely he disagrees with you. He’s so obsessed with you and now he’s set on proving why. He might even call you crazy and stand you in front of a mirror. He’ll squish your face and make you look him in the eye through the mirror so you can see how serious he is while he tells you in great detail all the things he loves about you. The details might fluster you because of how explicit it is sometimes, but it does wash away a bit of the insecurity if only because you can tell how much he means it. For good measure, he’ll make a point to physically prove it, in and out of the bedroom. His goal is to have you feeling like you’re the hottest person on the planet because that’s exactly what he thinks of you. He’ll just keep trying until you finally get it. In quiet moments though, he will remember to tell you all the other non-physical things he loves about you. Prepare for compliment overload because he’s determined to get you to accept them from now on.

Will be so gentle about it - Jeonghan, Joshua, Wonwoo, The8, Dino

Very soft and maybe even a bit emotional about the fact that you’re willing to be vulnerable and admit this to him. He really wants to understand why you feel the way that you do - have you always felt this way, did someone say something mean to you about it, how do you usually deal with this insecurity. Then when the one-sided game of 20 questions is over, he’ll be smothering you with affection and making sure his stance is clear. He’ll let you disagree, but he’ll be steadfast in insisting that you’re the most attractive person he’s ever met. In the coming days and weeks, there will be subtle things that let you know he’s trying to help you feel better about yourself and lift your spirits. Gentle offers to go shopping for clothes that you like, or take a walk to get some fresh air and move your body, or try new makeup - whatever your concern is, it doesn’t matter because he’ll find a solution for it. He’s absolutely not trying to change you, would never dream of it, he just desperately wants you to be comfortable in your own skin and will bend over backwards to help you find tools to do that with.

Feels like a bad boyfriend - Jun, Woozi, DK, Vernon

Where as the first group responds with outrage and the second responds softly, this group would respond with a little bit of devastation. Does he not tell you how much he loves and adores you every goddamn day? Does he need to say it louder?? Does he need to worship the ground you walk on more obviously??? Okay, he will, but not before retreating a little bit to reflect. He feels guilty that maybe he’s contributed to this insecurity unknowingly and replays every conversation you’ve had for the entirety of your relationship so far. In the days after that conversation, he’s touchier and ten times more adoring. He lays it on a little thick on purpose. It’s you who will have to squish his face and say ‘Okay, I get it’ when he’s telling you how pretty and cute and beautiful and hot you are for the thousandth time during dinner when you’d love to talk about anything else. But he doesn’t believe it because your face when you admitted your insecurities is seared into his mind and he won’t be forgetting this anytime soon. Just get used to the new norm which is them being your biggest and loudest cheerleader.

[muffinsin]

hi!!! I have a request for you!!! could we get some general headcanons for how the sisters adjust to having a human s/o? like what are some quirks they've had to get used to/what do they find odd about the things humans do now that they live with one!

thank you!!

Hi, hon! :) Awhh, absolutely! :)

Let’s get into it🙌🥳

Masterlists

Bela

Out of all the three sisters, Bela is the most understanding of you and human nature

She’s wiser than most, using her immortality and spare time to educate herself on many matters that pick her interest

One of them, the human body

Where her sisters struggle, she often excels, or at the very least performs slightly better

She has more information on humans than them, and especially cares to learn more about them

She knows how to treat the staff and even picks up a little regarding their wants and needs

She knows humans are- naturally- more fragile

There’s so many things to harm them, blades and weapons, catastrophes and fire, even the cold, too

They prove easy to bruise, their poor little bones breaking as easily as toothpicks under her touch

She would never want this to be your fate, though

In her time, she has learned to adapt, thankfully long before even meeting you

Out of her sisters, she’s best at controlling her strength, which she proves on a daily

She’s especially careful around you

You know, Bela would never want to harm you, and she never would

She also has the biggest knowledge on humans out of her sisters, ranging not only from their fragile nature, but their appetites, too

That being said, she isn’t always keeping it in mind

After all, it’s been so long, decades of only being with her sisters and mother

Decades of sharing their prey, corpses and animals, the meat often and usually raw, even

As such, it’s up to you to keep an eye out occasionally, as she will sometimes mindlessly offer you a glass of blood or blood wine or a plate of raw meat

She doesn’t mean anything bad by it, and of course would never want you to eat or drink it

That doesn’t mean she isn’t forgetful, too used to being around her sisters and mother only

If you want to prevent eating any of that and spending a good hour puking it back up, you should check the food and drinks she offers you and ask her what it is

Still, she will always hold you and apologise with a flushed face when she forgets about your diet

This was especially a problem in the beginning, but as time goes on, Bela becomes better at reminding herself of your limits when feeding you

She keeps a notebook of your favorite foods, often even seeing to it that you get those

Sometimes, she even agrees to try some

More importantly, she keeps a list of all food humans should not be eating, as well as notes on any allergies you might have and such

As such, food is not a problem in time

What truly caught Bela off guard, especially at the start, is your body temperature, though

While her own is nearly constantly cold, as is her skin, it came as a surprise when she first felt your touch

Of course, she realistically knows that others have warm bodies. Even Alcina’s body and touch is significantly warmer than Bela, Cassandra and Daniela’s

It still surprised her, though

As such, the first time you hold her hand she jumps and swarms wildly, completely caught off guard

The rest of the day you laid on top of her, letting her curl against you and use you as a personal heater

This, she still likes to do, especially in winter

She hates that she can’t quite produce warmth without help

You’re more than happy to keep her warm

Cassandra

In a way, humans are a lesser life form to her

Slower, destructive, treacherous, hardly durable

They’re prey

And she’s a predator

They’re playthings

A game to her, her pets kept in the basement, awaiting her arrival with dread

They make good puppets to test out her tools, good little things she can take her frustrations out on

As such, she usually doesn’t bother studying them too closely, nor even interacting with them

Medically speaking though, Cassandra knows plenty of humans

She is a skilled woman, after all

And as she loves to torture and explore one’s limits, she does have a vast knowledge of humans

Only medically speaking, though

Still, it comes in useful

Most fatal wounds, Cassandra can stitch for you

She knows your body well, knows its limits and how to fix your fatal wounds should you ever get in the situation of being wounded like this

A smaller wound, though…?

Well, she knows how to treat cuts

Bruises, not so much

She’s never bothered learning about that, butchering up her victims to the limit and stitching them back together, usually

Thankfully, due to this knowledge of hers, she’s not too surprised about how very easy it is for you to get hurt

That doesn’t mean she wasn’t surprised by parts of it, though

Such as how easy you are to bruise

Often, she needs to adjust her own strength, fearing she might hurt you

Her hands aren’t made for gentleness, she’s sure…

As such, you often experience feather light touches from her, too scared any firmness could mean a broken limb

You reassure her, it’s okay

She can’t quite allow herself to be too comfortable

She would never want to hurt you, despite her sadistic nature

Only in time does she find the balance to it, holding you tight but never too tight, never too light

Alas, this was only a part of what surprised her

No, her biggest shock comes in the form of your scent

Of course, the huntress is familiar with the scent of human

Maidens, or villagers or poor, lost little humans straying and getting lost in the forest, that is

Not the scent of you at random times throughout the day

At least once a day you find yourself pinned down upon entering her room, like an intruder at her territory

She doesn’t understand

Humans adapt new scents so very quickly, sadly

As such, you make it a point to build up a routine of sorts

The same shampoo and body wash. Either never using perfume, or always the exact same one

When you hug someone aside from Cassandra, you’re certain you will be tackled again

She feels bad for it, too

And still, relying on her somewhat feral instincts is in her nature

At least, in time, both of you can adapt to this

You even find it somewhat endearing, your girlfriend pouncing like a wolf when you come too close and are too out of sight for her to set her eyes on you

If only you didn’t bruise so easily, you’d surely find it more endearing

And lastly, your habits and limits

While being better at caring for a human than Daniela, Cassandra often forgets that you aren’t quite like her

As such, she’ll occasionally ask for you to bite at her neck, or bite at yours a tad too hard and cause bleeding that she’s fast to tend to

Usually with an adorably embarrassed facade, too

Something she often likes to forget are your physical limits

She likes to play with you, either chasing you or going hunting with you

During this, she forgets your stamina is nothing compared to hers

While she can play for hours, run and swarm excitedly, your limit is reached far faster

You’re often doubled over, fed cups of water by her after having been chased by her for hours

You don’t mind, though

She always takes excellent care of you after, keeping you hydrated and allowing you a seat by the warm and comfortable spot by the fireplace at her room

Daniela

With Daniela, you move fast

Yours hers quickly, as she is yours

You know, there have been many human lovers in the past, and you know of what became of them

Alas, Daniela holds no more thoughts of them

You’re her everything

Her soulmate

She’s sure of it

Despite this, she doesn’t know all that much about humans

And, if you knew how many of her past lovers died, you’d likely be rather concerned

Daniela’s biggest problem is that she doesn’t quite know a lot about humans

In the past, lovers have often been forced to consume raw meat and blood, just like here

And you’re hardly any different, having been given meat and blood and wine, too

Thankfully, she listens when you tell her: humans can’t eat those things

That being said, she doesn’t understand

Being surrounded by her family, she doesn’t quite understand why you can’t eat what she eats

After all, she can eat what you eat, too, even if she doesn’t always like it

Still, she wants you to be safe, and she trusts you

She figures, you’ll know what to consume instead

To make up for her lack of knowledge, she likes to surprise you with your favorite foods sometimes, even sneaking a bite when she thinks you aren’t looking

Secondly, one of Daniela’s biggest problems is her strength and your vulnerability

She knows, humans are so very sensitive

Poor little humans, bruising and bleeding and breaking far too fast

Poor little Daniela, unable to control her strength properly at times

In the past, she’s often unintentionally hurt her lovers, breaking hands and fingers when holding them in hers, cutting up limbs and tearing skin with her claw-like nails

And poor Daniela always cried so terribly when it happened

She would never want to hurt you

Would never want to hurt her lovers

She wears her gloves around you nearly all the time, worried her sharp nails might nip your sensitive skin

Additional to that, she’s incredibly worried about harming you by misusing her strength

Your heart breaks as you notice this

She’s so clearly depraved and in need of affection, yet starves herself of it by worrying

As such, you hold her hand gently instead, squeeze and kiss it because you know she’s too scared to squeeze your hand back

You cuddle and and hold her gently, kiss her and let her cuddle up to you

In time, eventually, she grows a little more confident

Testing out and practicing the use of her strenght on random maidens and prisoners,-

she doesn’t dare practice on you, and her sisters and mother just don’t do, being as enduring as her

- Daniela eventually figures it out

While still occasionally worried about her strength, especially when she feels excited, she gets to hold you normally, now

And lastly, the other thing surprising her plenty

That being your weakened senses

Often, you’ll be cuddling when she shoots up

Her golden eyes wide, her head turning

If she was a cat, you’re sure her ears would be twitching and pointing up, listening

You don’t hear a thing

At other times you find her with her head hidden against your stomach, trying to escape whatever smell currently annoys her

Again, you don’t smell a thing

You don’t mind, though

In fact, it makes you giggle more often than not

That is, when she isn’t jumping up and clawing at the bed when she suddenly hears a noise at night, keeping both of you up

[isalisewrites]

A Deep Dive into JKR's Terrible, Amateur Writing - Part Two

Welcome to my ballsy series where I will prove to you, dear reader, that J.K. Rowling, author of the Harry Potter series and resident Twitter TERF, is actually a very, very poor writer.

And when I say ‘poor writer,’ I’m talking about her prose, her sentence structure, and her scenes. I am not going to discuss anything about the HP world nor the overall plot of the books. 

This is all about the nitty gritty in the craft of writing itself.

Part One Link.

Disclaimer for all readers of this series: 

I’m going to sound very confident in my posts where I work under the assumption I’m a better writer than JKR; because I am. My apologies if this rubs you the wrong way. You’re simply witnessing the culmination of over two and half decades of experience with the intensity from a neurodivergent who is hyperfocused on her special interest. I didn’t just learn how to create stories; I learned the craft of writing to a minutia of details.

I’m not a perfect writer. No one is. I’m not a talented writer either. I’m experienced and skilled through years of study and practice.

I don’t care about J.K. Rowling. At all.

If you’re triggered by the concept and fact that JKR is a terrible crafter of writing, then you might want to take a step back and self reflect on that personal issue.

I still very much love and adore Harry Potter; you’re still allowed to love Harry Potter.

This is not a series to bitch or bash. This isn’t a shitpost. This isn’t an attack on JKR, no matter the disgusting bullshit she spews forth on Twitter. However, my hope is people awaken to the fact that JKR isn’t the goddess of writing we’ve all been led to believe.

This is a place of study and learning, where the purpose is to help students gain critical thinking skills and writing analysis tools to become better in their craft.

And, sorry, one more disclaimer for this specific post: 

Fanfiction is written for fun and is posted for free. I put most of my effort into my main fanfic, Terrible, But Great. (Yes, I intend to update Moon Rite soon, too) However, I also have two fanfics that are cowritten with another author; thus, the style of Shall I Stay and Badger Prey are understandably different. I spend three to four times the hours to edit a chapter versus drafting it. My process for fanfiction: I draft. I do one expansion edit. I do one proofread edit. I post.

However, if I were to publish a novel where people are expected to drop money on said book, my work flow would be vastly more extensive. To be clear, I’d do all of the following myself. I would not outsource. My process for published novels: I would draft. I would do three to four expansion edits. I would do two to three cutting edits. I would do three proofread edits. 

See the difference?

Because I don’t go through a cutting edit for my fanfiction, I’ll often come back later and see things I think are weak. I’m constantly seeing where I can tighten my work. There’s always room for improvement.

Remember: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix is a paperback book that costs $10. My fanfics are free. If I, someone who writes for free and puts what she considers the bare minimum of effort into them, have a higher standard in the quality of my writing than a paid traditionally published novelist, there’s a problem here. 

All right, with that nonsense out of the way, buckle up, my writing friends. Grab a snack. Hydrate. Remember to take what resonates and leave what doesn’t. Let’s begin.

Class is in session.

In this post, we’re going to discuss these five pages from HP5 and dissect one paragraph and a line from page 731. All dialogue is highlighted in blue.

(My favorite book in the series, btw. I fucking love fifth year the most. JKR did a damn good job with Umbridge.)

Since a certain anon lacked the skill to comprehend the difference between too much dialogue and stories driven by a high saturation of dialogue, let's go into further depth about dialogue.

What did I mean last week when I said: "Too much fucking dialogue!"

Today’s lesson will focus on the overall issue in JKR’s dialogue and in the prose surrounding those dialogue lines.

And since, apparently, I “lack the self awareness” to know most of my fics are “oversaturated with dialogue,” I’m going to use weaker examples of my own writing. Chapter 24 of TBG is heavily driven by dialogue with twenty-one named characters to juggle, something that's very difficult for me to manage. Though the chapter is lovely, I do feel it's some of my weaker work. In the end, I just didn’t have the energy to edit it a second time nor go through cutting edit.

Here are three different pages (some connected, some not) from Chapter 24 of Terrible, But Great. All dialogue is highlighted in blue.

You can already see the difference, I'm sure.

So, what’s the difference between a scene that has 'too much fucking dialogue' versus a scene that is highly saturated with dialogue?

Because there is one.

Let's set the scene for HP5. In the middle of an OWL exam, Harry received a vision from Voldemort, showing him that Sirius has been captured. He's being tortured to get something from a shelf, but Sirius refuses. Harry believes the vision is real. He tells Ron and Hermione, then asks for their advice on how to rescue Sirius. Ron and Hermione are both like, pardon, wtf, sir? (As they should be.)

We have five pages of this fight between them. These five pages are mostly dialogue with very little else surrounding it.

Also, note the final page where it has the worst sins of adverb usage. That page is what triggered me to begin writing this series in the first place, btw.

There's too much dialogue here. There's no description. I'm being told stuff, but I'm not being shown anything. There are no emotional anchors to Harry either. The more I reread this scene, the more I realized what was wrong.

There’s an emotional disconnect from Harry in the prose.

Do not misunderstand me: it is NOT to say that Harry isn’t emotional here. It's that the prose doesn’t grip me, the reader, by the chest and twist my heart with his overwhelming emotions. The prose doesn't prove anything, doesn't show me anything. This is an intense, terrifying moment for Harry. It should feel visceral. It should feel tangible. I should be able to taste his fear.

We also don’t get too much information about the emotional states of Ron and Hermione. We have hints, of course. But we can’t feel them. The emotions of the scene are dampened, muffled, dull even.

With an untrained eye, you might disagree. It's okay. You'll see what I mean soon.

Page 731 exact quote:

"I dunno how," said Harry. "But I know exactly where. There's a room in the Department of Mysteries full of shelves covered in these little glass balls, and they're at the end of row ninety-seven...He's trying to use Sirius to get whatever it is he wants from in there....He's torturing him....Says he'll end by killing him..." Harry found his voice shaking, as were his knees. He moved over to a desk and sat down on it, trying to master himself.

(Btw, punctuation issue: you do not use an ellipsis and a period together and there should be a space after the ellipsis.)

This is the only instance in the five pages where we get any information about Harry's physical state.

And it's written in such a weak 'telling' instead of 'showing' way, too.

How and where was his voice shaking? How are his knees shaking? Are they knocking together in a weird way that's kind of physically improbable? Or was it actually his legs were shaking? Isn't he leaning against the door? If his weight was resting against the door, then there'd be less shaking in his knees or legs because his knees would be locked to brace his body against the door. His arms and hands would be shaking, though.

How does Harry master himself? What does that look like? Slow breaths? Running a hand through his hair? Rubbing his face and eyes? How is Harry mastering himself? Is it mentally? Then, where are those mastering thoughts? What are they and why do those thoughts in particular help Harry 'master' himself?

What's Harry's tone as he talking about Voldemort threatening to kill Sirius? How is Harry feeling about this? Give me MORE!

The dialogue is presented to the reader in a bland, empty fashion. Harry is relating something to Ron and Hermione. I could switch the dialogue out with anything and it'd still make sense.

There is little surrounding the dialogue to anchor it.

So, let's rewrite this, shall we?

"I dunno how," said Harry, letting out a shaky breath. His hands clenched into fists against the door of the classroom. "But I know where—they're in a room in the Department of Mysteries that's filled with rows of shelves holding these... weird little glass balls. They're in row ninety-seven. Voldemort, he's—" Harry's voice broke. His breath caught in his throat. The memory of the vision returned full force into his mind, the image of Sirius on the floor at Voldemort's feet stark in his mind. He ducked his chin; his chest inhaled in a desperate breath and the edges of his eyes burned. He's torturing Sirius—I can't just wait around. I can't lose him. Harry looked up at Ron, whose face had grown pale, while Hermione stared at him with wide, terrified eyes. The strength in Harry's legs weakened. "He needs Sirius to get whatever it is he wants and he's—" Harry sucked in a gasp, his voice trembling like an autumn leaf in a thunderstorm. "—he's torturing Sirius... says he'll kill him in the end." His knees buckled. Harry stumbled to the nearest desk; Ron reached out with a steadying hand on Harry's upper arm and silent gratitude filled Harry's heart. With shaky arms, Harry lifted himself onto the desk to sit and twisted around to face Ron and Hermione. He licked his dry lips, rubbed his eyes with a hand, and took slow, deep breaths to master his fraying emotions.

The original canon text has 57 words of dialogue with a total of 83 words.

My rewritten version uses 56 words of dialogue with a total of 247 words.

I'm going to drill this concept into your heads, my lovely students: this is what I mean when I keep saying JKR's writing is both bloated and underwritten.

I only rewrote a single paragraph and its following line. The five pages I've provided are filled with this kind of empty dialogue.

So, what have I done here? Can you see the difference? Can you feel the difference?

Let's analyze what I focused on in this scene to show Harry's body language and his thoughts. I upped the physical effects on Harry's body. His fear causes his voice to break in the middle of explaining what's going on. He's terrified of losing Sirius, the only father figure he's ever known. Voldemort might take another parental figure from him. 

And now the prose reflects these feelings, not just in his thoughts, but also in how he speaks and reacts to what is around him. He is not just speaking at the reader.

Harry exists in his world. 

And you can feel it.

When he stumbles to the desk, Ron is there for him. Hermione reacting could also be added here. There is a lot that can be added to this scene, if one wanted to expand this further. 

Yes, what I've done has increased the word count, yet it strengthens this short moment—and I'd do this for the entire scene.

What I did to the scene is merely one version of its potential. It could be rewritten in a multitude of ways and go in various directions. I spent 10mins to 20mins on it. I haven't edited it or refined it.

Can you finally see what I mean now?

If you compare the highlighted pages of HP5 to the highlighted pages of Chp 24 of TBG, you can visually see the difference in the density of the dialogue. JKR is the one whose writing is oversaturated with dialogue. My writing will always be highly saturated with dialogue because my stories are character driven. I prefer stories like that. But I also need the dialogue to be interesting and engaging, where the character feels alive in their world.

When I say there's too much dialogue, this scene is such a good example of this because Harry, Ron, and Hermione are all over the place in their interactions with each other. Yes, you want your characters to sound realistic, but you're also the author curating an experience for the reader.

There's a balancing tightrope act between having realistic dialogue and unnecessary dialogue.

There's a thin line between showing too much and telling too little.

Lastly, if I were to improve the overall scene, I would center the focus on Harry's desperation to rescue Sirius. As Ron and Hermione try to talk him out of it, where Hermione delivers that iconic line of 'you have a people saving thing,' I'd have Harry explode with something like this:

"You don't know what's it like! You both have your parents—I-I don't... You'd feel the same as me if it were either of your parents being tortured by Voldemort, yeah? I can't lose him—I can't lose Sirius."

I'm not bothering with description around it right now. I just wanted to give the baseline dialogue to show you the theme I'd carry through this scene. It's all about Sirius. It's all about the fear of losing him. It's about showing the emotion of the character and making the reader feel that deeply.

And that's what matters the most.

All right then.

We have come to an end of Part Two in this series. We have discussed fives pages in JKR's Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. The pages in question are 731 - 735 should you wish to look it up and study the scene yourself.

And so, please do the world the greatest of favors and write better than J.K. Rowling. I promise, it's not that hard once you see the differences.

Until next time.

Isa

[estrellogy]

How to Use Astrology to HELP, not Hurt

I’ve been an astrology student for years and here are some helpful things to keep in mind when you read your own chart:

- Aspects don’t stand alone. They are always communicating with other aspects. That’s how the energy in you works. Dont reduce yourself to a single aspect and obsess over it. I dislike astrologers who use this helpful tool to instill fear.

If someone ever tells you an aspect means you’re doomed, I really advise you to question the person telling you this. Astrology should be use as a self-development guide, not something that you’re tied to and have no control over.

- There are no good or bad aspects, only what you make of it. For example, Venus trine Mars is considered a great aspect by many while Venus square Saturn is literally seen as the devil.

Venus trine Mars simply means the planets’ energies communicate harmoniously with each other. But, where there’s no conflict, there’s also less potential for growth and self-knowledge. It can lead to complacency and lack of discipline. Since it often attracts and receive positive reactions from people, it can actually make you become dependent on others’ approval. When you’re used to things always being positive, a small negative incident feels really big. And that leads to more unhappiness than a negative aspect would.

People often want things to always be easy. But pain is a teacher. That’s why Venus square Saturn is actually not as bad as people say, as long as you’re a willing student of life. When you allow the harsh aspects to show you where you need to develop and grow, you will truly embody the potentials of that aspect.

Venus square Saturn people often deal with insecurities when they’re younger. It’s usually called the “Ugly Duckling” aspect. They can become extremely judgmental with their appearance and always feel like they need to be physically perfect to be worthy. They overcompensate to prove their worth.

But once they learn that they’ve always been enough and recognize the beauty they hold WITHIN, they glow up without much effort at all. Even though they had to go through a lot, the confidence that they get from overcoming pain will be genuine, authentic, and lasting. It will not be affected as much by outside influences like Venus trine Mars. They actually become so magnetic because nothing shines more than inner beauty and self-assurance.

— If you want to use astrology terms, this is coming from someone with an Aries Moon, Virgo Venus, and Cap Mars. I am not afraid to tell you the truth, even when it’s unpleasant. I think a great teacher is someone who helps you recognize your own power, not instill fear and make you feel small. It’s tough love but I believe that this will help at least a few people patient enough to read through it all 🤍

[bansheeboyy]

Cade knew his stepmom was strict, knew she’d had a varied and honestly quite mysterious career before meeting his dad, but he’d never expect this.

Sure there had been some friction since he’d come home from university, some…personality clashes. Chores done to an ‘insufficient’ standard were the common catalyst for their little bickering matches, but other times it was Cade rolling his eyes a little too obviously at her fawning over his dad. She’d say he needs to get used to her being loving to his dad, that it was here to stay, and she was a very expressive person. Cade would say something rude back, and the fireworks would begin. They weren’t nasty fights, they didn’t hate each other, but they were common enough for things to be a little tense.

So when Cade woke up from a nap he’d taken in the living room when lounging in his underwear (another thing his stepmom griped at him about) tied meticulously to the recliner with his legs bowed and arms reaching up behind him, he was shocked to say the very least.

He was even more shocked to see his stepmother looming above him.

“You know, Cade I really didn’t want it to come to this, but I think it’s about time I taught you some manners.”

And she’d started tickling him. His feet, his sides, his vulnerable pits, her long nails proving to be dastardly tools of torture when it came to tickling. Unluckily for Cade, tickling was a significant weakness for him.

“I was hoping being ticklish would run in the family, and I was right. You’re just as ticklish as your father, even slightly more maybe.” She cooed as she raked her nails down Cade’s pits and sides. “Tickling always works to persuade him; I wonder if his son is the same. Let’s see if you have the same death spot!”

And she crouched down by his feet, the poor student flinching in the rope, groaning through the gag, as she slowly dragged her nails from his heels, down the curve of his arches, and then scribbled those evil talons at the base of his toes rapidly.

Cade would have shrieked if he could have, thrashing in the rope as his most ticklish spot was explored by this wicked witch.

“Yep, looks like we have a winner!” She giggled, eyes shining with amusement. “Your dad’s feet are a killer spot, especially his toes. I’m very glad to see that little family quirk is hereditary. Look at you go!”

All the time she was taunting him, Cade was cackling into his gag, tears welling up in his eyes at the assault on his toes, straining in vain against the ropes tying him like a prize turkey.

Eventually she lifted her talons from his poor feet, and instead moved them to his inner thighs, kneeling in front of the chair so she could get a good, focused scribble in.

“Mphhhhppppppp!”

Unluckily for Cade, he was also ticklish on his thighs. Also unluckily for Cade, his thighs were a notorious erogenous zone for him, and about a minute into his thigh tickling, a stirring started emanating from inside his black boxer-briefs. Not helping the situation in the slightest was the direct view he had down her low-cut dress. His whines soared an octave as she clawed her way higher and higher up his sensitive thighs, almost to the rim of his boxer legs. The ropes held his crotch wide open. If she wanted to do something to his nether regions…he’d have no say in the matter—

DON’T THINK ABOUT THAT!

—he derided himself fiercely, but his body was already betraying him, his semi nudging at his boxers, unmistakably firm.

The finger’s ceased their brutal rampage on his vulnerable flesh.

“Cade. Michael. David. WILSON. Is that what I think it is!?” His stepmother hollered, standing up in a flash, face red with fury. “That’s it!” She cried, storming off upstairs.

He panted heavily in his blissful reprieve, chest starting to glisten with sweat. Fuck, he’d never been so humiliated: Turned on in front of his stepmom, his shameful weakness taken full advantage of, hearing details about his dad’s ticklishness he could have gone his whole life not knowing. What had he even done to deserve this? Not washing up on time? This was crazy! And the ropes…so tight and expertly done. Had she been a Boy Scout leader or something? Or maybe….something a lot less wholesome. He dreaded to think, partially because he wanted his boner to go down, not stay up.

She came back downstairs in a huff, brandishing two hairbrushes and a bottle of baby oil. To his dismay she started lathering his soles in the stuff, shaking her head at his attempts to kick his naked feet away.

“I was being nice before, Cade.” She tutted, finishing up oiling his feet and picking up the two wide paddle brushes, his muffled complaints washing over her. “But that little incident in your underwear; that’s too far. I’m your mommy now, whether you like it or not, and you’re going to have to treat me as such.”

She did not just say that.

She placed the brushes on his feet, stationary, the bristles prodding a good 3/4s of his soles at once, and he flinched, whining through the duct tape.

“God, I’m glad you take after your father.”

She slid the brushes up his slippery soles slowly and Cade’s eyes widened with shock at how ticklish it was, a high pitched sound emanating from behind the gag, shaking his head, eyes wide and desperate, pleading for her mercy.

“After around the two hour mark your dad is always truly broken. Let’s see if you can beat his record, hmm? I bet a sprightly young man like you can last at least three.

“Maybe by then you’ll have learned your lesson.”

And with the merciless glare of a battle commander, she let the brushes rip.

[yanderederee]

𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝒟𝑒𝒶𝒹, 𝒜𝓁𝓁 ℳ𝒾𝓃𝑒

Manjiro sano x reader

cw: suicidal thoughts and attempt of. Yandere heavy.

✦•·································•✦𓆩♡𓆪✦•··································•✦

“Right now. You’re dead.”

Confused beyond belief, you’re stricken with shock. What was going on?

Right now, you were sitting in the hallway of the apartment you lived in by yourself. Yet, face to face with, what appeared to be, your ex boyfriend.

You slowly begin regaining sense of what happened just moments ago.

You recall the endless pit of helplessness you found yourself in after a night out with friends. A night meant to make you feel better from the daily stress of maintaining your life.

Yet all you’ve done is mask, pretend, fake smiles, and stroke the egos of everyone around you, just so someone would give you a shred of attention.

This constant facade of happiness; trying to pretend like cracks cornering your life had finally become unrepairable.

You were becoming more and more damaged as the days pass. And still, not a single person will bat their eye in your direction. Acknowledge that maybe you could use a shoulder to cry on, to rant to.

The fun night filled with fake smiles and empty giggles finally winded down, and once you returned home to your empty apartment, silence surrounding you…

It was time to stop pretending.

Face reality once again that at the end of the day.

You are alone.

As good as dead, until the next conceivable excuse to rope you out came around. Not because it was for your own sake, but to maintain appearances.

“Because we’re friends, right?”

When… was the last time you felt such a connection with another person?

The thought made you laugh and cry all the same. Shuffling further in to the empty space that was temporarily yours, you finally couldn’t talk yourself out of it any longer.

This was reality.

It had been a long time since the last real attempt you made at stifling your own life. The tools were always at your disposal in waiting, waiting.

You were finally successful this time. Ready to finally commit to escaping the never ending cycle of inadequacy and inconvenience.

By now, you should be…

“…Dead.”

The words woke you again from the haze.

Were you?

“It’s okay. You’re dead now. You don’t have to worry about anything, ever again.” The soothing voice promised you so, so sweetly.

Your feint heartbeat and burning eyes proved this point false.

“Why are you here?” You asked quietly. Calmly.

“Because you’re mine.” He answered as easily as it was to breathe.

“Why did you stop me?” You croaked, fresh tears rolling down your face.

“… because you’re mine.” Manjiro repeated slower this time.

Shit. You cried, huddling in on yourself, unable to suppress the tremors that overcame you. There was nothing left you had to say to him.

“It’s okay,” he shushed you, forcibly handling you into his embrace, holding your shaking form tightly. “You won’t have to worry about anything, ever again..”

What kind of sense did that make, you had initially thought. As long as you breathe, you will never be satisfied going on. Continuously maintaining a facade of a person; never truly living.

Having no strength left to fight him off you, or any will to do so to begin with, you curled up into the little bit of warmth he offered, and cried. Heavily, without shame. For so long, you hadn’t even realized, you had cried yourself to sleep.

…

You would soon understand, that he was right; You Were Dead.

When you awoke, the surrounding memories of your old life were gone; as though permanently erased. No childhood photos or memories. No dangly earrings of cute designs.

A new life laid out before you. One where you needn’t put on appearances, now that you never made an appearance to anyone at all.

Because Manjiro only ever wanted you; the genuine, authentic, broken, you.

Time became constructive, as it primarily was. Days blurred. The sun rose and fell again, and again, and again.

The only thing that mattered, or changed, was when Mikey was and was not present.

Though the things surrounding you were expensive, quality, and plush, the only thing with genuine warmth, was him.

You were dead; the only presence of life being Manjiro’s own dead eyes, the same ones that lit up like stars, as if he were a child again, when he saw you in all your pitiful glory.

“You’re so beautiful,” he would smile. The only thing that brought the him or you any sense of life, was eachother.

Two broken halves that became whole once together. That was all you were, and all he was, anymore.

And still, you can’t see how death would be any better. For at least here, you needed only for the one who needed you.

art credit:@110mandarin

[akechiguro]

how hogwarts legacy boys would react to meeting your parents 💗

headcanons / imagines

Synopsis | various of Hogwarts Legacy’s boys reactions and scenarios to meeting your parents for the first time.

Included | sebastian sallow, ominis gaunt, garreth weasley, amit thakkar.

Word Count | 1217.

Content Warnings | gender neutral reader.

Author’s Note | please let me know if you would be interested in a female version <3

sebastian sallow:

“Hello! I’m Sebastian Sallow. I’m sure you’ve heard of me?”

-he’s very respectful and makes a point to show up with some sort of gift. he believes flowers are too impersonal, so he makes a point to get something that feels more homey than flowers that will inevitably die.

-he brags a LOT, not obnoxiously, but to prove to your parents that you’re in good hands. your father is very proud that you’re dating Hogwarts’ best duelist and your mother is very impressed that, despite being from Feldcroft, he’s a very polite boy.

-he offers to help with cooking dinner. solomon usually cooked for him and anne, but after she was cursed, he helped as much as he could— meeting your parents is no different. if all worked out, these would hopefully be his parents by law in the future, he needs to show them that he’s capable of more than dueling and adventuring.

-if you have little siblings, he’s very kind to them, even playful. after helping with dinner, he offered to watch the little ones, despite not being…amazing with kids. he showed them Levioso and Revelio as long as they promised not to tell anyone, and continued to answer any questions they had about magic; granted, with a bit of an exaggeration.

-after dinner, he bid farewell to them and brought you out of the house for a bit of late-night fun. an adventure was due after such a big event, even if it got his nicest suit dirty.

“Your parents are lovely! It’s no wonder you turned out to be such a gem.”

ominis gaunt:

“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. [L/N]. I’m Ominis Gaunt of House Gaunt. It’s lovely to meet you.”

-contrary to Sebastian’s beliefs, he insisted on bringing a magnificent bouquet of flowers. his parents have money and he’s fully making the most of it. the flowers he chose consist of daffodils, yellow roses, sunflowers, and yellow tulips. all to symbolize the new, positive relationship between him and your parents.

-he keeps his conversation respectful and professional. he doesn’t ask anything too personal of your parents and tends to deflect any questions regarding his family. they’re apprehensive due to the rumors of the dark arts they use, but his silver tongue eases their worry.

-though his disability prevents him from being able to help with anything around the house, he still entertains any requests your parents make— within reason. if whoever is cooking needs an ingredient they forgot, he’ll grab it for them. same with any tools or miscellaneous items they may need.

-he’s very awkward around little siblings. they’re too high energy for him, but he still makes an effort to keep them entertained. his near-sentient wand fascinates them, so he plays it up like there is a wizard trapped in his wand and he’s just keeping him hostage for his own service. he also tells them about the mermaids outside the Slytherin common room, in the event any of them get sorted into it. they find this all very, very entertaining.

-his parents are so sad to see him go, and make a point to tell you how lucky you are to have him after you leave, saying that inheritance money is going to be life-changing. you roll your eyes at this and leave to hang out with ominis before he officially has to go home. he says he loves your parents, and that you won’t love his; but he’s enjoying the moment while it lasts.

“I adore your parents. I’m looking forward to what the future may hold for us.”

garreth weasley:

“Hey, I’m Garreth! Garreth Weasley? Have they talked about me at all?”

-he brought sparkling cider for dinner after you convinced him not to bring a potion of his own concoction. he explained to you that the potion was supposed to make any food item taste better than anything you’ve ever eaten in your life, but after he said he’d never tested it, you concluded it was a bad first impression present.

-your parents fell in love with him immediately. they’re obsessed with his charisma and his overall energy and listen very attentively to his tales of potionmaking. they do worry about your safety, especially after hearing about how many of his potions end in disasters, but he assures them it’s nothing to worry about and he would never do anything to harm you.

-he’s actually very bad at cooking! he tried his hardest to help whoever is cooking with dinner, claiming he knew a “probable shortcut” (his words), and almost burned your house down. he lost favorability with your parents but made up for it by covering the cost of buying dinner from a local market…his aunt Matilda was not happy about this.

-this boy is a wizard with kids. your little siblings are naturally drawn to him and he’s excellent with them. he has a whole bag of tricks and treats to entertain them with if his already childlike personality isn’t enough. your siblings argue with you about sitting next to him at dinner because they like him so much.

-your parents invited him back home as soon as he left. your little siblings cried and begged him to stay. he came back after 10 minutes because he forgot his wallet. all is well.

amit thakkar:

“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. [L/N]! I am Amit Thakkar. I have heard so much about you!”

-like Ominis, he also brought flowers, but rather than fully putting thought into the bouquet, he brought stargazer lilies as an immediate icebreaker; “I’ve brought you stargazer lillies because my favorite hobby is stargazing!” your parents love his dorky charm right off the bat.

-though his initial conversations with your parents are very awkward, he doesn’t say anything to make himself look bad. your parents were mostly interested in his story of how you met and asked to see the famed telescope that brought you two together. they’re entranced with the thought of him being fluent in gobbledegook, and since neither of your parents have had an authentic encounter with the language, they’re very impressed.

-he cooked beforehand and brought a side dish, Scottish Rumbledethumps. he was so nervous to make a good first impression that he didn’t want to overcrowd your kitchen while cooking that he went ahead and made his own. your parents, once again, fell in love. your mother told you that this boy is a keeper immediately after he revealed he brought food.

-your little siblings do not like him. he’s far too awkward to do anything that will make them like him and they’re far too ruthless to even try and get along with him. putting them in a room together led to a couple minutes of excruciating silence followed by panicked screaming from your boyfriend and the distinct sound of war-cries from your siblings. you had to go in there and save him– though, some relationship between them was salvaged when he started to point out constellations.

-of the boys, your parents love him the best. he’s very respectful and very smart, and absolutely adorable, ultimately just the perfect boyfriend. before you left to finish the date with a bit of stargazing, they joked that if you didn’t marry him, one of them would.

[anemoiashifts]

how to enjoy shifting again & recover from burn out.

its always about the process & never the outcome.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚.

♡ mindset.

so what you didn’t shift ? shifting isn’t going away. you have an infinite amount of chances to shift & the greatest part is you only have to do it once “right”. you only have to get to your dr once & show yourself that you’re capable. prove the existence of shifting to yourself.

if you didn’t shift & say something like ���i hate that im still in this reality”, try flipping it to “the universe has more to show me in this reality so that i can have the tools to cope & enter my desired reality with more knowledge & insight”. every time you open an app like tiktok or tumblr you’re being exposed to new information which can be draining at times (all in moderation) but knowledge is power. knowing & exposure to information — different perspectives — can be eye opening. you’re also getting time. time to think about where you’re shifting to, to learn to put trust into yourself.

for those of you who have been trying to shift since 2020, what parts of life & lessons would you have missed out on if you had shifted on the first time trying ? the universe has more to show you & is teaching you patience.

the universe or god or even yourself — whatever you believe in — is “preventing” you from shifting for a reason. & guess what ? you’ll come out of it a more fulfilled & experienced person. the universe knows what’s best for you. when you don’t get what you want it’s because the universe has something better for you coming.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚.

♡ reflect.

would it have been good or healthy for you if you shifted to your first dr. think about the things you’ve scripted. would you really want that life or do you like the just thinking about it ?

reflect on your journey. look at your scripts & knowledge & everything you have come to know since discovering shifting. compare your mindset & journey & your knowledge from then to now.

are you in a better place mentally ? yes ? no ? if not, how can you get there.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚.

♡ routine & self.

create the routine your desired reality self has. what would she wake up & think everyday ? would she go to the gym & workout or shower ? what would her day to day look like ?

we must become out dr self internally before we can see things begin to materialize in the physical.

fall in love with the process. get excited about falling into those same patterns & routines & aligning with your higher, desired reality self. become her. expect what she expects.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚.

♡ find the beauty in life.

if you shift, you shift. if you don’t, you don’t. im not saying that you cannot care but be okay with waking up where you fell asleep. don’t put all your eggs in one basket & care about life here. why don’t you care about yourself here but worship your dr self ? it’s still you. it’s still your life. both are you. what’s the difference between the two of you ? nothing because your dr self is you. give yourself room for error & don’t beat yourself up over it. learn how to speak kindly to yourself. go outside on a walk & pick out three beautiful things in nature.

♡ balance.

find balance in life. create a healthy mindset & positive patterns. there is no need to obsess over shifting because everything will work out for you in the end. if you truly believe you will shift one day, then there’s no need to stress because you know the outcome already. you don’t need to think about how you get from a to b. what you need to think about is your worldview & how your thoughts & system of beliefs shape you & ask yourself “are they serving me”? you have time in this reality , how can you not be miserable ? how can you make life here more enjoyable ?

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚.

♡ cutting out things that don’t serve you.

somethings demotivating ? block or mute it. don’t like a method you’ve tried ? you aren’t tied to it. how about a piece of 2020 shiftok advice ? why are you letting someone’s expense have such a chokehold on you. just because it helped them at the time doesn’t mean it will help you. everyone learns differently.

there is no reason to be torturing yourself & putting your valuable time into holding onto things that don’t help you. there is no reason you should be so hellbent on shifting being this & not that. who cares what other people think shifting is ? all that matters is what you believe in to be because it benefits you. fighting someone in a comment section benefits nobody. stop disturbing other people’s journeys & putting unnecessary strain on the community. we all believe in shifting. we all should be supportive of each other, no matter what they believe shifting to be. you could be learning a lot from one another. knowledge is power. learn to appreciate other perspectives & outlooks & their insight. don’t be so quick to dismiss.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚.

♡ get excited.

start watching new shows so you can find new places to shift to. make playlists based on your dr. make scripts. make those paper mâché wands people made in 2020 if you’re shifting to harry potter. you’re allowed to get excited. you’re allowed to make it new & fun again. you can make a change for the better anytime. it’s never to late to start over & if restarting your journey from square one will help you then do it. literally adapt the mindset that this is the first time you’ve ever seen shifting on your feed right now. if this was the first video or post you’ve seen in shifting , how would that have shaped your perception of it ?

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚.

[chalkrevelations]

There are things I say to my partner in the privacy of our living room when I’m blowing off steam that I would never in my life say to friends or other family members or bosses or work colleagues or fellow community members. I do this not because I’m two-faced but because I’m human. I get frustrated, but I’m also a grownup who realizes that my frustrations and fears in that moment are not the entirety of who I am. I have a right to express them, but I do not have the right to inflict them on the people who would be hurt by them. That’s why those conversations happen in private, in a safe space of trust, where my relationship allows me to show my partner parts of me that aren’t perfect and allows my partner to show me that I don’t have to be perfect in order to deserve to be cared about. I get support through my petty moments until I can be a better person.

This latest attack on Build is a horrifying violation of privacy and trust that leaves me feeling literally nauseated. I once again reiterate that I don’t trust third-hand amateur fan translation to be accurate and contextual, particularly given the provenance of the material, but Build himself is apparently distressed enough by at least some part of the material to make a public apology. So, that being out there, I will say: This was a private matter that should have stayed private, out of respect for everyone involved. Whatever was actually said is nobody’s business except Build’s and now, unfortunately, any named individuals who this was inflicted on and who may have been hurt by it. Which, rest assured, was the intention - to hurt not only Build with this, but also, particularly, Apo and Bible, both of whom Poi has shown her dislike of and ill-will toward in the past. I suspect some people also don’t know how abuse works, and it shows, given that what was purportedly said is a reflection of Poi’s own views back at her.

Whatever the context, I see that purity cancel culture still insists on freezing people in amber in their worst moments - without recognition of any capacity for change or growth - as long as it provides ammunition for a smug, gleeful Particicution. You’re stuck on some unkind things Build supposedly said more than a year ago? Let me tell you what I’ll remember for the rest of my life: The small, broken sound of Build’s voice just a few months ago as he tried to protect Bible and Bible’s career from a sociopath, in a telephone call that he felt he needed to secretly record as evidence of how he was being manipulated and abused.

Meanwhile, I see that swathes of KP fandom continue to be complicit in Poi’s campaign of public and dehumanizing abuse of him, which now includes not only borderline revenge porn, but separating him from his friends and isolating him. This is what abuse looks like. It’s happening in front of your eyes. Do you even care? Do you actually, legitimately care about abuse, or is it just a tool for you to use to win petty shipwars and make yourself feel righteous? Because here it is. Take a good look. This is a textbook play. And if you’re participating in reposting those screenshots of private conversations and mocking Build’s relationships and spreading vituperative language about him and acting like he deserves to have his life and career destroyed, you’re enabling an abuser. You are aiding and abetting her, as the very scenario she threatened him with - in order to maintain access to him, to keep him under control and compliant - continues to get spun out. YOU are a bully and a hypocrite and an abuser, helping to prove that the most dangerous time for an abuse victim is when they leave.

But I guess some victims do have to be perfect, huh?

.

(ETA: 7/18/23, 1520 - This post is being linked on Twitter by @cherryluminary with my permission. I'm not over there, but I increasingly feel like it's important to name what's happened, and continues to happen, to Build online as what it is - abuse. Similar to to my last post that breached containment, I'm going to ask people to remember that the behavior of Build's fans reflects on him - however fair that may or may not be - and should remain above reproach. I understand being angry - I'm angry, and at more people than I've discussed publicly, at this point. But if I find out you've been descending anywhere near the level of the ugly little sociopath in my inbox who openly admitted they want Build to kill himself, I'll block you.)

[euphorajeon]

color you in | jjk

— pairing: boxer!jk x f. reader

— genre: fluff, slight smut | college au, boxer!jk

— word count: 3.1k

— warnings: long-haired, glasses-wearing jk, annoying and bratty oc, (shes just horny im sorry guys), neck kisses, tattoo tour by jk, a bit of past childhood story, all while jk does his coding assignment (again).

— summary: jeongguk just wants to do his coding assignment in peace. you won't let him.

— author's note: i wanted to write about jk's tattoo meaning since he shared such a personal thing with us.. but of course with boxer!gguk's oc.. that would be hard without some spice hahaha T_T tweaked some a bit to fit the non-idol nature of this jk. hope it doesnt take away the real meaning behind his tattoos :) enjoy!

masterlist | boxer!gguk masterlist

It’s ten minutes to six in the evening when you barge into Jeongguk’s bedroom to find him on his desk yet again, typing away at his laptop with glasses perched on his nose. The very same prescription glasses that made heat lick at your insides the last time you were here, a tool for his never-ending tricks of getting you to do what he wants. You’ve meditated after the events of that night to force your brain into thinking that Jeongguk in glasses does not look that hot for you to be drooling every single time, confident that you’ll get over them soon the way you got over his sleeve tattoos. One look at him now proves your efforts pointless, though, as he looks—for lack of a better word—even hotter in his glasses, black t-shirt (it’s not oversized this time!), and even longer hair than the last time you saw him.

How is it possible that you just saw him barely two weeks ago and his hair already reached his chin? (Which, combined with his glasses, makes him look so good you just want to jump him right here, right now—you already said that but whatever. Your boyfriend is hot. Period.)

Instead of saying hi like a normal girlfriend would, you climb into his lap sideways to tear his attention away from the codes on his laptop screen. Jeongguk blinks as he accepts the way your weight settles on his thighs, left arm wrapping around your body to prevent you from tilting backwards. You wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face in the crook of it, denying him of the eye-contact he tries to make.

“Hi…?” Jeongguk tries, the breath from his chuckle tickling the baby hairs on your forehead. “What are you doing here, babe?”

“Your mom let me in,” you mumble, not exactly answering his question.

“Yeah, she must have, I can see,” he muses, hands slowly going back to his keyboard to continue his assignment. “I suppose she didn’t tell you I’m doing my codes which is due tonight?”

“She did,” you hum. “She also told me to remind you to take a break and that dinner’s at seven. Told me I’m welcome to stay as well.”

“Sure you are, she loves having you around.”

“So you don’t?”

“I do,” Jeongguk chuckles. “But maybe not exactly right now. You’re warm, it’s distracting me from my codes.”

“That’s the point,” you say in a duh tone, turning your head to glance at his face. The light from his laptop screen reflects on the lens of his glasses, dancing across his brown irises in time with the speed of his fingers on the keyboard. You watch the codes go on and on for about five seconds before giving up, the array of symbols and numbers making your head spin. It’s amazing how his eyes stay unwavering behind the glasses, not at all bothered by the sheer amount of seemingly-random text on the screen.

“Why are you in glasses again? I thought you knew it does things to me.”

The way Jeongguk’s fingers halt their movement at once is almost comical.

“I’m … doing my assignment??”

You know your question sounds ridiculous and rethorical and your boyfriend’s reaction is a hundred per cent justified, but you don’t care. It’s his own fault for looking that hot in a simple getup of black t-shirt and prescription glasses, his own fault for letting his hair get so long it’s almost to his shoulder. It’s really his own fault that you’re repeating this monologue in your head, not being able to think straight anymore when your mind is echoing Jeongguk, Jeongguk, Jeongguk non-stop.

The jumbled thoughts in your mind manifests itself into you puckering up your lips to softly land them on Jeongguk’s skin, your first target being the mole on his neck. It’s one of your favorite features of his to kiss, to nip, to caress with your tongue until he’s a shuddering mess beneath your touch. You slowly trail your lips upwards to his jaw, to his cheek, to his sensitive ear where you give a small, almost playful bite with a faint scrape of your teeth. Jeongguk barely reacts, though, not even a hitch in his intakes of breath.

Instead of feeling upset, you feel more amazed at his self-restraint right now, being able to ignore his girlfriend literally sitting on his lap and peppering slow, sensual kisses on his skin. You decide to step up your game, brushing your fingertips against his skin to tuck his hair behind his ear so you can whisper into it and have your words be heard clearly.

“Wouldn’t you rather do me right now, Jeon?”

The way you let your lips faintly graze the shell of his ear is totally intentional, so is the huge sigh you let wash over the surface of his skin. Your lips go back on their journey down the side of Jeongguk’s throat, this time introducing your tongue to the equation that elicits a tiny shiver he tries to supress. His ever-so-solid resolve is starting to break and you’re happily opening your arms for when it crumbles down to the ground.

You’ve arrived back at the mole on his neck, wrapping your mouth around it before sinking down your teeth firmly on the flesh that (finally!) makes Jeongguk’s breath hitch. You continue your ministrations by licking over the bite marks, making sure to drag your tongue slowly over his reddened skin. When you start sucking on the spot to paint pretty bruises on his throat, a grip on your chin forces you to angle your head away only to receive a pair of lips over your own.

A contented sigh erupts from your chest, a sound you’re sure goes straight to Jeongguk’s nether region because he adjusts his position slightly, his left hand gripping your waist until your t-shirt is bunched up in his fist. In turn, you tighten your hold around his neck, preparing yourself for the onslaught of kisses you’re sure to receive from his warm mouth. Kisses that will lead to exciting events that involve you moaning out his name in pleasure.

Moan his name you do—in frustration in lieu of pleasure—when he pulls away from the kiss just as you were about to deepen it.

“Sorry, babe,” he says apologetically, a bit breathless from the onslaught of kisses you gave him. “But later, alright? I really need to get this done by tonight.”

Your response of quiet echoes in the room, your eyes glassy from both being clouded by lust and wanting to cry because that lust is not acted upon by your very hot boyfriend. The grip he has on your chin softens before he moves to craddle your cheek in his palm, stroking your cheekbone gently with his thumb.

“Hey,” he whispers. “I promise I will tend to your needs once I finish this assignment, okay?” When you’re still wordless, his hold on your cheek becomes firm, and you try to focus on his eyes while he talks. “Need you to promise not to distract me again, though. No orgasms if you do.”

“Nooo,” you whine, kicking your feet like a petulant child being denied a candy bar. You notice Jeongguk moving his leg yet again to adjust himself, a miniscule movement you’re sure he thinks will slip from your aroused mind. Little does he know your senses are heightened when you’re as strung up as you are right now, so you blurt out a fact that you both already know: “You’re semi-hard already!”

Jeongguk scoffs. “Yeah, your kisses are killer, baby.”

You continue to jut your bottom lip out, hoping it will be enough to change his mind. Jeongguk sighs, lips pulled into a straight line which makes the mole under his lip peek out, tempting you to lean forward to land a smooch on it. Before you have a chance to act out your thoughts, you’re halted by a firm grip on your shoulder courtesy of Jeongguk’s right hand. The hand that extends to a muscular, bulky, tattooed arm.

His tattoos. How could you forget about their existence only because of the twin lenses perched on his nose? How could you forget that before those goddamn glasses, it was those ink on his arm that made you weak in the knees? How could you?

Whatever words Jeongguk is saying right now sound like white noise to you, your eyes focused on the taut muscle of his bicep and the colored masks peeking from under his short sleeve. They seem to be dancing in your eyes, the blacks mingling with the colors contrasting the milky white of his skin tone, painting a beautiful picture with a story only he can tell.

When you speak next, you sound like you’re in a trance.

“Your tattoos … God, why are you so hot?”

Your boyfriend halts himself mid-sentence, round eyes blinking owlishly at your dazed expression before he follows your line of sight, chuckling when he realizes how focused you are on the tattoos on his arm. “Still loving the inks?”

You let out an affirmative hum, fingers slowly tracing the red tiger lily flower on his forearm. “You know … you never told me what your tattoos mean.”

“Really?” He lets go of your shoulder to fix his glasses before going back to his keyboard, fingers hovering over the keys and ready to type again. “I just assumed you already know some of them.”

“Well, just ones you got super early,” you say, grabbing his right arm to turn it around, searching for the tattoo you’re talking about. “Like this flower, and the Chinese saying on your elbow. And here … didn’t you use to have three stripes over here?”

“I did,” Jeongguk confirms, softly pulling his arm from your grasp to take your hand in his to offer a bargain and plead if he has to. “I’ll explain one by one, but you have to promise to let me do my assignment. It really is due tonight at eleven fifty nine, and I’m only about three-quarters done. Please, babe?”

You pout. “It’s not like I’m not letting you work on purpose …” The look Jeongguk gives you is enough to make you relent. “Okay, fine, I’ll just sit here and trace your tattoos while you explain and work on your codes.”

“Good girl.”

You refuse to admit those two words have such an effect on you that you have to hold down a shiver like Jeongguk did earlier. Instead, you move your fingers to trace your boyfriend’s skin once again, finally settling on the cover-up of the three stripes tattoo he used to have near his wrist.

“Okay, this one. Why a snake?”

Jeongguk stops typing for a second to glance at the tattoo even though he only has one involving a snake. “Oh, we start heavy,” he chuckles. “Uh … how do I say this? You know that snakes shed skin, right? They do that to give way for a new one, for me that symbolizes growth. So this snake is to say that I want to keep growing … to be a better person every day.”

“That’s very … deep of you,” you say, entranced. “What about this treble clef? Always wondered about this one, honestly, does it have to do with the fact that you used to sing in junior high?”

Your fingers brush against the musical note next to the snake, one that you remember being there since the start and didn’t undergo a cover-up.

The smile Jeongguk slips out is wistful, the way his thumb joins yours in caressing the tattoo tells you that this ink is one of the important ones for him.

“Do you see it connected to a chain?” His finger trails said chain, until it reaches a mic and further back to a clock he has near his elbow. “And it connects to a mic, then a clock with the time of my birth. It was three twenty-three, or three twenty-six? Yeah, around that time …” He continues stroking the numbers on the clock. “And you’re right. I’ve always wanted to be a singer ever since I was little, a fact I’m sure you know from all those years listening to me sing growing up.”

You do remember the times when he would sing all day, on the way to school, in between classes, on school functions, on the way home. There was never silence in your friendship, either filled by his wonderful voice or by the sound of you two bickering. You thought it was just a phase, because as soon as you stepped into high school, he closed the mic and started his rainbow-colored-tshirt phase. It never occured to you that it was a buried dream he kept alive by blowing on the dying embers.

“Why didn’t you pursue it?” Your whisper rings loud in the quiet room.

“Singing?” He shakes his head. “Too many obstacles, not enough resources. Wasn’t worth my whole life to pursue something too unclear.” His fingers brush the clock tattoo all the way to the treble clef. “This is just a tribute to my childhood, a reminder that once upon a time, there was Little Jeongguk who dreamed to sing. A reminder to keep that dream alive, even by mere inks on my arm. Who knows, maybe one day you could see me on TV, singing those crappy pop song with my melodious voice, charming everyone in town.”

Jeongguk grins, and that’s enough to tell you that he has made his peace with the situation. He taps the tattoo twice, motioning for you to continue tracing over them for new meanings and new stories.

Your finger points to the tiger lily next to the treble clef, one of your favorite tattoos of his. It’s drawn in a way that it covers three words behind it: Please love me, in bold capital letters. You wonder if the two has any connection or if it was just placed like that for creative purposes.

“It’s my birth flower,” Jeongguk starts. “Tiger lily as a birth flower symbolizes confidence, pride. I want to always be confident even in places I wouldn’t normally be, so this tattoo is just to remind me of that.” His thumb rubs over the red-orange flower fondly. “Plus, it’s pretty, don’t you think?”

“It is,” you agree, liking the ink even more after knowing the meaning behind the beautiful shape and color. You realize he missed the explanation for the three words behind the tiger lily, so you inquire with a swipe of your thumb over the black letters. “Does this have to do with the flower in any way?”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve read some people said that tiger lily also means ‘I dare you to love me’ or ‘Please love me’, so I put the two together like that,” he explains, a playful lilt suddenly present in the tone of his next words. “Kind of a nudge at you too, though, when we were going away for college and you still saw me as the scrawny kid who you’ve gone through childhood with.”

You groan. “Will you stop?? I didn’t know!”

“Well, to be fair, neither did I until too late into the college years where I couldn’t see you whenever I wanted like I had used to, so. There’s that.”

“So you just realized that you liked me after being away from me for, what, two years?”

“Yep.”

“Very late realization, indeed,” you muse. “So, tattoo tour, over?”

“You haven’t even gotten to my upper arm yet.” Jeongguk rubs over his bulging bicep all the way to his shoulder, sliding the short sleeve of his t-shirt upwards for you to get a clear view of his shoulder tattoo. “Oh, and my shoulder too.”

“Well, I’d love to, but you’ve gotten preoccupied with explaining your tattoos to me that you haven’t touched your codes for the past fifteen minutes.” You grimace while looking at the blinking cursor on his screen. “But okay, I’ll bite. What is that on your shoulder? I can’t ever seem to figure it out.”

“Supposed to be a moon,” he says nonchalantly, sliding the sleeve back down to block your view of the fading tattoo. It looks rather gray against his skin compared to the other black or colorful ones, the odd one out among the others. “But it’s kinda ruined now and I need to get it recolored or covered up, which I’m too lazy to do so it just sits there like that for now.”

“Recolored?” An idea pops into your head. “How about I recolor it for you?”

Without waiting for his answer, you proceed to lean over his torso to slide his sleeve back up before promptly sinking your teeth down on the flesh, eliciting a surprised yelp out of him. Soothing the skin with your tongue, you make sure to trace the drawing with that wet muscle of yours slowly, sensually, so he’s reminded of the reason you’re here in the first place.

When you start sucking on the reddened flesh, he lets out a shuddering breath while holding your waist in a vice grip. He doesn’t pull you away, though, so you see it as a green light to continue. Might as well take your chance while you still can.

After several more bites, licks, and sucks, you deem his skin colorful enough to pull away. You brush your thumb over the pretty artwork you’ve just done on your boyfriend, feeling proud of your “recoloring” work. “There, all recolored.”

Jeongguk lets out a huge sigh, resigned to his fate. “You’re really horny, aren’t you?”

“Very.”

“Still wet from earlier?” He lifts one eyebrow, challenging.

“Always wet for you, baby.”

“Fuck.” Jeongguk takes a glance at the clock before pulling his glasses off his nose. “We got ten minutes.” He leans forward to connect his lips to yours, this time not hesitating to use his tongue and teeth. His right hand slips underneath the band of your sweatpants, past your underwear to swipe at your clit before teasing a dip at your entrance, making you moan.

“Huh, was about to ask if ten minutes is enough,” he says before biting your bottom lip. “If you’re this wet we’re gonna finish in five.”

“Fuck, I don’t care how long, just stop teasing and make me cum already.”

“So demanding. Watch that mouth when I give you two back to back.”

“Was hoping you’d give me more—oh.”

It’s gonna be a really packed ten minutes.

a/n: jk's tattoo tour felt like a fever dream—but maybe that's just because i dreamed of him doing the exact same thing around 3 years ago.. anyway. really thankful that he decided to share such a personal part of his life to us :') any feedbacks (and maybe ideas for the next shenanigans this couple could pull off) are welcome in my askbox or here! thank you for reading :D

[lovin-xiao-n-childe]

I wrote something

It’s my first ever fanfic don’t judge me

Royalty au

Childe (tartaglia)

Part 2

Warnings (this is not nsfw): mentions of blood, he’s basically your personal assassin, lmk if there’s more

This is not proofread

“Tartaglia” you look up from your paperwork at the bowing commander before you.

“Yes, your imperial highness?”

You slide a paper towards him at the other side of your desk. The paper contained an image, and a written description of a person. “You know what to do, don’t you?”

He rose from his previous bowing position and analysed the piece of paper that was given to him, “I’ll make sure that you won’t have to see them again, your highness” he didn’t know what that person did to anger you, nor will he ever gain the courage to ask. He is your sword, a tool for you to use and throw away as you see fit, and he was content with just that.

• • •

“Good evening your highness, how have you been faring lately?” A man said, having come to greet you at the imperial ball.

You smile politely “I’ve been doing well, and you viscount?” Your cold gaze lands on Tartaglia. The man he had supposedly killed was here, alive and well, and in your presence.

Tartaglia felt nauseous, how could he not? The man he has killed with his own two hands, standing before the person who had ordered him to kill. The person who could have his head is she wanted to, and suffer no repercussions for her actions. But most importantly, you were disappointed in him, not bothering to hide your disscontempt when he asks you to see him in a quiet room. Your annoyed voice when he cries, grovels and begs for your mercy, dismissing him, telling him you do not wish to see his face.

“Please, I beg of you, your highness, please.” Tears run down his face, on his knees he looks up at you. “I beg of you, punish me however you see fit but, please don’t send me away. I’ll kill him properly this time, I will bring you his heart, and scatter his remains across the continent, just please, I can’t bare not being in your presence.”

“Your loyalty is commendable, but it doesn’t change the fact that you didn’t properly carry out my orders. I do Not need a Commander that only does half of what I order him. You’re dismissed.” You got up to leave, but you felt something tugging at the hem of your dress.

“Please your highness, I do not care if you demote me to a mere servant, just let me be of use to you. I would gladly kill myself at your command, i would paint the banquet halls red with blood, I would tear down your enemies, just to be by your side one moment longer.” He lifted the fabric he was holding to his lips, as he looked up at you, the fearless commander has found something to be afraid of.

Being born into a position of power and authority, you’ve grown accustomed to your subjects kneeling before you, begging for one thing or another. But it never felt as though you were the one they kneel to, you were never the one they begged to.

They were begging the power you were born into, the position that you worked hard to hold. You grew tired of it quickly

But this man, kneeling before you, he felt different, he grovelled and begged to you, not the crown you happened to be wearing. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t affect you, he was the only person who didn’t only fear the crown you wore, but you as a person.

You pause, “I am feeling merciful tonight, but this is your only and final chance to prove that you aren’t useless to me. Kill him.” You drop a dagger right before him, since this is a banquet held in the imperial palace, one where members of the imperial family will be attending, guests go through a thorough inspection, to make sure no weapons are brought to the banquet hall.

As a member of the imperial family, those rules don’t apply to you.

“Thank you your imperial highness” he bows his head. “I shall not disappoint you this time” his breath hitched, you’ve granted him mercy, he’ll make sure to be more useful this time so that he won’t be thrown away.

[bg-brainrot]

Time to write something for the BG3 Holiday Fluffle! I wanted to do it for days, but finally got around to it-- fluff!

Prompt: Twinkling Lights

Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav

Series: Fits into Love at First Knife

Premise: Astarion and Rogue!Tav are more used to snuffing lights out, not putting up lights, but after a visit from one of their former companions, they realize that maybe, just for the season, they can make an exception.

Tags: Fluff, heights?, Established Relationship, POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, decorating

Word count: ~800

“Come on, Astarion,” you say, pushing your lover to the front of your house. “It won’t take longer than an hour.”

“That’s an hour we could better spend doing literally anything else,” he responds in a whine, all but digging his heels into the ground.

You can see the hardline of his shoulders as he resists, the open distaste on his face, but you don’t relent. “Gale said our house looked depressing. We don’t want our house to look depressing. Or to be made fun of by Gale!”

It was a winter tradition, to decorate your abode in bright lights and garish colors– something about warding against ice elementals in the chillier months. Likely some old wive’s tale, but you don’t care. You refuse to let Gale criticize your as-of-yet undecorated house.

“But it’s chilly outside,” he says with an exaggerated pout on his face. “Surely you wouldn’t make your sad, cold lover endure the snow?”

“It’s not snowing, Astarion,” you say, gesturing through your door to the clear night sky in front of you.

The vampire gives a click of his tongue, and finally begins to walk forward. “Ugh, fine, but I expect you to warm me up once we’re done.”

“It would be my pleasure,” you reply, as you follow him out the door. “Now grab on to the other end of this string of faerie lights that Gale gave me.”

Astarion dutifully takes the opposite end as you begin to climb the face of your house. “Darling, what in the sweet hells are you doing?” he asks, trying to hide the panic in his voice.

“Putting up these lights, what else would I be doing?” you respond, from halfway up the house.

He gives you a smile, a forced one that shows the tips of his fangs. “Yes, I see that. But don’t you want to use a ladder or perhaps a scroll?”

You pause your climbing for a moment. “Huh, that would have been a good idea. I’m already here though. Don’t worry, love! I’m a professional.”

Astarion remains silent for a moment, and you can practically hear the thoughts coursing through his head. I love an idiot. What am I supposed to do with this idiot? Why are these silly little lights worth any of this effort? This is all Gale’s fault.

All the while, you string up the lights with the help from your belt of thieves' tools. You begin humming a holiday song once you find a steady balance.

You enter such a lull that when Astarion next speaks, you almost fall off in surprise. “I think I can catch you.”

“What?” you ask, certain you’ve misheard what your lover said.

“If you fall,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “In fact, I know I can catch you.”

You’re not sure if it’s the cold air or the unwarranted confidence in Astarion’s voice, but you feel a chill run down your spine. “No thank you, dear. We might both perish.”

He scoffs, placing his hands on his hips, ready to argue his point. The sudden movement accidentally jerks the string of lights out of your hand, throwing you off-balance. Your foot slips and your arms frantically spin as you to try to right yourself.

“I’ve got you!” you hear below you, before you begin to plummet.

The hard crash you were expecting never came, and you find yourself floating gently down to the ground, landing squarely in Astarion’s waiting arms.

You look at him, quizzically. “How did you–”

He laughs at your confusion, before placing you gently on the ground. “I stole Gale’s boots.” As if to prove his point, he shows a foot off to you. You recognize the boots as Mystra's Grace, remembering that they grant Featherfall to their user. “I mostly did it because Gale annoyed me, who knew they would come in handy!”

“Oh,” you breathe out, heart still pounding in your ears. “Good foresight, dear.”

The grin he gives you is wicked as he responds, “Clearly a sign from the gods to steal from Gale more often.”

You give him a lighthearted smack on the arm before you turn back to the house, lights half-hung, haphazardly strewn across your roof. “What do you think?” you ask him, a grimace on your face.

“I like it. Very… artistic,” he turns toward it, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to pull you in to admire your ‘handiwork’ with him. A moment passes of simply staring into the loud, vibrant lights before he continues, “You know I’m more used to a life in the shadows, but I suppose this is nice too.”

You lean into his embrace, tilting your head toward him as you respond, “Isn’t it? Though, I do think I still prefer the shadows.”

“Mm, why is that?” Astarion asks, humming into your hair.

“It’s far less embarrassing when I slip,” you mutter as you bury your heated face into his shoulder.