#so here we are in Inspiration Paralysis

[lizord-lord]

hyperspecific agony of the day: Want to Write About The Character, do not actually have anything coherent to say. Want To Read About The Character, but keep getting sidetracked wanting to write more. There is so much in my brain and yet I feel like it’s locked in a room somewhere I cannot find or, perchance, an imaginary rock in my shoe. I should PROBABLY just go to sleep but have you considered: The Character

[shivunin]

Filed Under 398.2

In which Lucanis and Rook don't quite manage to have a post-game interlude in the Necropolis library. (Inspired by this post) *The beginning of this is a bit risqué, but not explicit

(Rook Ingellvar/Lucanis Dellamorte | 2,470 Words | AO3 Link)

“We only have—mph—half an hour, maybe forty-five—why do you have so many belts?”

“Poisons,” Lucanis murmured against Rook’s mouth, hands already working deftly at the buckles. “Throwing knives. Other things that I—ah!” 

Lenore caught his lower lip between her teeth, thumbs already hooked into her underthings to push them down and out of the way. The library shelves, carved sturdily from stone, absorbed his weight admirably when she pushed Lucanis back into it. Sometimes, she wished she was just a little taller, or that she owned any shoes with a heel. It was hard to reach his mouth for kissing without a little assistance.

“Where is everyone?” he asked, shedding three belts in quick succession and starting on the last. 

“Symposium,” she told him. “Compulsory. I waited until they swept for apprentices or we would’ve had company. That’s why we only have half an hour.”

And she was infinitely grateful she’d worn a dress for once. Lucanis was coming straight from a contract, and thus his clothing would take significantly more work to get off. She couldn’t complain, though; it’d been nearly a month since she’d seen him and he’d have to go straight back to Antiva from here. She was fortunate they had even this long. 

Climbing to her own quarters would have taken too long, and she’d been content with catching up in a crypt while they’d waited for the library to clear out. He’d given her the wide bracelet she wore on her left wrist now, malachite beetles inlaid with gold. She’d given him wyvern venom enchanted with a potent paralysis spell, just in case his target had built up a resistance. It was tucked into the bandolier on his belt now, discarded amongst the others on the library floor. It was gratifying that he’d seemed to appreciate it—his thanks had been enthusiastic enough that they’d wound up, well, here. 

It was unfortunate that she held the Necropolis too sacred to do this in the crypt because they probably would’ve had a little more privacy. Ah, well; she’d have to thank Emmrich later for holding a symposium at such a convenient hour. Sex in the library was so much better than no sex at all. 

As she thought so, Lucanis’s sword belt fell to the floor. In an instant, he’d gathered her up into his arms and reversed their positions. His mouth was—she’d missed kissing him so much. She’d gone much of her life not doing it or thinking about it at all; it seemed ridiculous that she would feel the absence of it so keenly now. It was not something she could understand through logic, so she’d stopped trying. 

There was something disarming about the way he sometimes curled his hand around the back of her neck, as if she was something precious, something that must be held carefully. Nothing else in the world—no accomplishment, no heady wine or hard-won victory—ever made her feel the way she did when he touched her. It wasn’t even the sex she needed, it was just—being near him, feeling his hands on her skin. The need was as urgent as breathing. 

His hands slid up her thighs now, pushing the dark fabric out of his way with agonizing care. Lenore had wrapped her legs around his back for stability, but she shifted them enough for him to move the skirt out of the way. All that remained between them was a thin, unfastened layer of leather. So very little was left to separate them.

“Are you ready?” he asked, and tipped his head so his kisses fell over her exposed collarbones. Lenore squirmed against him, half-laughing. 

“Ready? I’m melting,” she told him, and made a soft, wanting sound when his hand slid between them to trace the length of her. She loved the quiet Antivan curse he mouthed against her skin, the devastating care present in every touch, the heat of his skin, the—

She loved him. She loved all of him. 

Lucanis removed his hand from her waist and looked up—presumably to find a spot to brace against. Slowly, his eyes focused on something to the left of her head. Oh, dear. There were spiders and wisps and things in here sometimes. Had one of them crept closer? She turned her head to look where he did and smiled. 

Ah. No, not a wisp or a spider at all. 

“The Ways of Wyverns: Provincial Folklore and Mythology,” Lenore read aloud. 

Lucanis cleared his throat, glancing at her and then up again. 

“I don’t suppose I could…borrow that? Return it to you later?” he asked. 

“Enchanted, I’m afraid,” she told him sympathetically. “Whole section is. We’ve the best research collection on monster hunting here, all donated by a foremost Nevarran scholar on the subject. There’s a standing bounty for any copies of a lot of them and they’re only lent out on special occasions. After the third or fourth theft, they took measures. Nothing from the collection leaves the Necropolis.”

Absently, she reached over her head and slid the volume free, propping it on her exposed thigh. 

“Oh, I’ve read this one,” she told him. “It’s actually rather interesting. The folk in rural Orlais have all these elaborate traditions around wyvern hunts. There are altars and rituals associated with them, even given how dangerous wyverns can get when fully grown. One of the families even…”

She trailed off, abruptly aware of the position they were in. Half-naked in the arms of the man she loved and hadn’t seen for a month and she was telling him about wyvern hunting traditions in Orlais. How were things like this always happening to her? It was nearly as bad as the time she’d had to stop touching him so she could coax a freshly animated skeleton to leave her quarters. 

“Go on,” Lucanis said, angling his head to look at the book. “What do they do? I have heard about the hunts, but I have never seen this—” 

Lenore snorted, then laughed, moving the book out of the way so she could press her face into his half-exposed shoulder. For a moment, laughter overtook her and she was helpless to explain herself. 

When she gathered herself at last, she lifted her head to look at him. Already, she could see the shift in his expression. It was the same one she felt herself. It hardly mattered that they’d been waiting to see each other for a month or that they had very little time before he would leave again. The idea of sitting propped in his arms while they read together was every bit as attractive as making love against the cold bookshelves of the Grand Necropolis. 

Actually, it sounded more attractive than what they were doing. Her hip was starting to hurt and the shelves really were frigid. This had seemed a lot more spontaneous and romantic than it actually felt. Ah, well. One fantasy punctured by reality, one likely realized—if he felt as she did. 

“You are perfect,” she said, and unwound her legs from his back. “Why don’t we read this together instead?” 

“You’re certain?” he asked, setting both hands on her hips. He was frowning, as if trying to work something out. “You don’t want to…?”

“I’m certain if you are,” she said, still half-laughing. “But only if you stay close to me. I’ve missed having you close enough to touch.”

“I was going to say the same to you,” he told her, dipping his head to kiss her again. 

He really did feel perfect, she decided happily, sliding down his body. She could see her underthings just behind him. If she hurried to get them back on, they might make it through two or three chapters before their time was up. Last week, she’d even found an inordinately large chair near this section, one big enough for two if the two were comfortable with each other. 

They passed nearly an hour together in the quiet library, Lenore snuggled back against his chest while he paged through the volume on wyverns. At intervals, Lucanis would set the book down to exclaim over some piece of trivia and Lenore would respond with other things she’d gleaned from the library. 

“Why do you know so much about wyverns?” he asked her after one such moment. 

Lenore, now fully clothed and comfortably ensconced between his chest and the arm of the chair, grinned at him. 

“Why do you think?” she asked him. 

Lucanis set the book face-down on her lap, which covered his. 

“You read this for me?” he asked, reaching for her face. Rook pressed her cheek against his palm, closing her eyes. 

“When I miss you, sometimes I come down here and read about them. I think about which things you’d like, what I ought to tell you later. I have a list somewhere. Under a book in my rooms, probably.”

“You—” 

Lucanis cut himself off, surging forward to kiss Rook. Carefully, he lifted both hands and cradled the base of her skull, holding her exquisitely still. His lips moved against hers, delicate at first, as if conveying some unspeakable emotion. Slowly, he leaned into her, pressing his cheek to hers. Lenore’s hands slid down his shoulders, touching the leather below, the criss-crossing belts, the vee of bare skin below his throat and above his heart. She’d grown accustomed to the soft brush of his beard, the way he angled his lips against hers, and she cherished it all. 

How horribly she’d missed this while he’d been away. She’d never truly understood how lucky she was to always have him near the Lighthouse. Being with him, especially like this, felt right in a way she had no means to articulate. 

For long, sweet moments, he simply rested against her, their lips pressed softly together. When he pulled away at last, it was only far enough to rest his forehead against hers. 

“You think of me,” he said at last. 

“Of course I think of you. Both of you. I’ve boxes of things for Spite to smell and touch too, if we have time. When we have time.” 

He touched her face, tracing the angle of her jaw and the curve of her cheek. He didn’t move away from her. 

“I want to stay,” he said. “For tonight, at least.” 

“Don’t you have to go back to Treviso?” she asked him. The lines beside his eyes deepened. 

“I can send word that I’ve been delayed. It will give us until dawn at the earliest.”

Lenore leaned back, studying his face. They both knew who’d demanded he return as soon as this contract was completed. It was the same person who’d chosen contracts increasingly far afield. Any contract would do, so long as the fee was paid and the target was far away from Nevarra. 

“I can’t ask you to do that,” she said at last. 

The book still rested on her lap. She flipped it closed to protect the pages, leaving a finger tucked into the edge to save their place. 

“You don’t have to ask,” he said. 

“Lucanis, I don’t…” 

Didn’t what? She wanted him to rest in her bed, to read with her, to be there when she tracked down that list of things she’d wanted to tell him. How could she say no to any of that, especially when she’d rather his grandmother trip into a canal than get to have him back? 

And it was precisely that—the animosity between her and Caterina Dellamorte—that meant she was reluctant to be the one who asked him to stay. His family was everything to him; it was not a bond she would test for her own gratification. 

“Do you want me here, Rook?” he asked, resting his hand over hers on the book. 

“Of course I do.”

“Then I will stay,” he said. “We can take this book to your rooms. Finish what we started.”

Yes. Oh, she wanted that so badly that it almost hurt to imagine. She’d resigned herself to sleeping alone already, had braced herself for the pain of curling up alone in her bed after having him for so brief a time. 

Solitude still came more easily to her than company. That was what she told herself when he was gone, anyway. It was easier to tell herself so than it was to admit that it cost her something vital every time she left him at the eluvian to Treviso. 

Endearments did not trip easily from his tongue, and she would have accepted them with just as little grace if they had. Long experience had taught her that there were other words that amounted to the same thing. 

“Lenore,” he said quietly, and brushed his thumb over her cheek. “Lenore. I would always wake with you if I could.”

“I know,” she told him, and slid from his lap so he couldn’t watch her gather herself. “Come on. If we stay up late, we can finish this in my rooms.” 

Already, there were voices at the doors to the library. The symposium must be done, later than expected. No doubt, she would hear the broad strokes of it tomorrow. If not, she’d get the tale from the one who’d led it. Catching up would keep her busy, and that would be good. 

But—none of that had to matter right now. Corpses and spirits and necromancy could wait for tomorrow. Right now, she had a book to read and an assassin to hold. 

The voices drew closer. As if he did not care whether or not they saw, Lucanis took her hand and kissed it slowly, one knuckle at a time. It had been the first place he had kissed her and the gesture, no matter how briefly it was performed, always did something funny to her knees. When he was done, he did not let her go. His thumb ran over her knuckles instead, back and forth, as if reminding himself where they were. 

Lenore swallowed around the tightness in her throat and hurried toward the exit. Every moment of happiness they’d ever had together had been carved from a universe that didn’t want to share. This would be no different than any of those other moments. They had a whole night ahead of them—eons and eons of time stretching out before her, so much more than she’d thought she would have. She didn’t want to waste a second thinking about his inevitable departure, how he would turn to look at her one last time before he stepped through the mirror to the Diamond. 

No. Instead, she would think about…about wyverns. 

As long as he was with her, as long as she could feel him near, she was satisfied.

[blissfullyecho]

Habits & Behaviors We’re Leaving in 2024

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As the year draws to a close, it’s time to take a hard look at the habits that have no place in the life of an evolved, high-value woman. We’re stepping into 2025 with elevated standards, refined taste, and a resolute refusal to entertain anything—or anyone—that doesn’t meet our expectations.

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13. Engaging in Drama

Drama is for people with nothing better to do. Elevated women rise above it. Keep your energy focused on your goals and let others exhaust themselves with their nonsense.

14. Spending Energy on the Unreciprocated

Whether it’s love, friendship, or support, one-sided effort is out. We’re investing in relationships and opportunities that invest back in us. No more watering dead plants.

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17. Not Celebrating Your Wins

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18. Neglecting Boundaries

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[drdemonprince]

where do you get living space design/decor/etc inspiration? im pretty sure ive seen you mention that you used to never decorate or invest in a pleasing living space but you have been more recently. i am similar for reasons ive seen you mention, but also because of decision paralysis. i am about to be in my own apartment for the first time and i really want to try making the space pleasant and comfortable to be in but i dont really know where to start

Marta Rose of The Spiral Lab has some truly wonderful videos - I always learn a lot and feel affirmed in my own preferences, even as her taste and mine diverge a lot:

(she also has some great design stuff on The Spiral Lab substack).

I also like Nick Lewis:

beyond that, I follow a lot of vintage-focused interior design blogs on here -- 80s and 90s decor are so much more interesting to me than contemporary trends, and I love a midcentury warm industrial look as we know. I also try to pay a lot of attention to my surroundings -- I look in windows, browse vintage shops, try and really take in what works in a friend's place and what doesnt, all to try and develop a sense of my own taste.

[jals-stuff]

dudeeee orter is SOOO overworked it's crazy. man just looks like a stick and he can probably sleep while standing it's almost scary 💀 love him tho!

IKR man can probably sleep with his eyes open too, just imagine laying in bed and he's sitting in an armchair in the corner of the room with his eyes wide open but he's sleeping LMAO best sleep paralysis demon tbh. your ask did inspire me tho thank you anon ♥ just a very short one!

word count: 900 ish

Train ride.

"Are we there yeeet?"

Your voice took him out of his intense focus as he looked up from his book, golden eyes narrowing in annoyance at your childish whine. You had been Orter's teammate for about a year and a half, so he was pretty much used to it now.

"Will you stop asking? The train left less than an hour ago."

A deep sigh escapes your lips and you rest your head against the table in sheer boredom. It was your idea, after all, not to bring any distractions because what's a few hours long train trip anyway? Nothing you can't handle, or so you thought.

The two of you were on your way back to the Bureau after a long, exhausting mission that should've been mainly investigation, but had somehow escalated into a wild goose chase after the main suspect had ran away.

Your eyes shot up to look at him but his attention was already back on his book. Out of curiosity, you switched your seat and plopped down next to him to read a few lines of it— which was dumb, he was already midway through the book.

His eyes travelled to your form for a few seconds before he resumed his reading, not minding your closeness as long as you wouldn't disturb him. "Why didn't you bring a book? Or... whatever things you allow yourself to be entertained by."

You shrugged dismissively as your eyes kept carefully following the lines. How interesting is it that the human brain can make something this boring look so enticing whenever there are no other distractions around?

"It's fine... I can read your book, too."

He decided not to respond and flipped the page to keep reading. What was interesting, however, was to know what kind of books Orter likes to read, even though you couldn't really guess what the story was about right now.

"Aren't you tired?"

He adjusted his glasses on his nose and quietly cleared his throat.

"What gave you this impression?"

Answering him that "oh, your reading speed is slower than usual, your hair is just a little messy and you blink very slowly" would be admitting that you've been staring a little too long at his handsome features.

"...call it a hunch." You chuckled softly at your own thoughts and he raised an eyebrow but didn't dig any deeper.

He flipped yet another page after a while, but it was just a little too quick for you.

"Hey, hey, I wasn't done! ..let me hold the book on this side." He sighed deeply but knew very well that if he didn't abide to your tantrum, you would probably be more annoying.

So here you were, holding half of a book while he held the other part of it. Your thumb was holding the page a little deeper than necessary to make sure the book wouldn't escape your grasp or that he wouldn't try to turn a page without asking.

Another page flipped, and you found yourself quite relaxed, your shoulder resting against his, reading peacefully... until he was done with the page you were holding— or almost.

You see, your thumb was covering a small part of it, and instead of asking out loud, his hand made his way to yours and he gently brushed your thumb aside so he could keep reading.

Needless to say, you were really agitated now. You decided to let him turn the page, unable to focus on the story any further and trying to control this embarrassing blush that had crept on your face.

No questions were asked, and he flipped the page again. You tried to read the first few words again, but it now felt like you were fully aware of his shoulder against yours, of his leg against your own on the train's sofa, and of his soft sighs as he kept on reading.

You really did try to keep reading for a long time, and you realised Orter hadn't flipped the page in a while now. Was he... waiting for you? You were about to apologise for taking so long when you felt his head against your shoulder.

He hadn't let go of the book, but he was now peacefully asleep, looking very relaxed against your shoulder.

His warm, soft breathing against your neck only made you more flustered, but it was somehow extremely soothing. You carefully removed his glasses and folded them on the table.

You slowly pushed the bookmark inbetween the pages and closed the book, sliding it on the table as he let his hand fall back to his lap.

Now, to see which of you would be more embarrassed when he would wake up...

After three or so hours, his eyes fluttered open, only to be greeted with an unusually blurry vision... where were his glasses?

As he was about to reach for them, he felt some kind of weight against him and, upon further inspection, it seemed to be your limp figure, sleeping with your head on top of his.

One movement too quickly made and your head fell from his, landing on his shoulder and visibly not disturbing your sleep enough for you to wake up. You only gave a quiet groan as you softly nuzzled him.

He gave a deep sigh as he looked at you and your messy hair, eyes closed and looking so peaceful...

He mindlessly brushed a few strands of hair away from your face, gently placing them behind your ear, his thumb lingering a little against your cheek as he chuckled quietly.

He rested his head on top of yours and closed his eyes again. The ride wasn't over yet, surely he could indulge in a bit more of this temporary peace, right..?

[autistic-mandalorian]

I would love to hear this

Oh sure! Fair warning, this gets long, so it's under a cut:

So I have looked carefully at Maul post-bisection, specifically at where his abdomen ends and his prosthesis begins, and I believe that he was bisected between the L3 and L5 vertebrae, or just above his pelvic bone. Here is a diagram I drew on of where he was cut:

Image Description: The first image is a screenshot of Maul with his prosthetic legs from TCW. The screenshot is annotated to note where exactly Maul is divided between flesh and prosthesis. The second image is two diagrams side-by-side, one of the human body focusing on organs, and the other of the spine. Both have a line drawn around where the belly button is to note where Maul was bisected. End ID.

So in terms of what he lost, it was a LOT. Not just his legs, but most of his intestines, his bladder, his pelvis, his gonads, half his bones, most of his blood volume, and a lot of his abdominal and back muscles (as well as their attachment points, making the remaining muscles limited in their usefulness).

Image description: A diagram of the human musculature, from the ventral and dorsal sides. The diagram has a line drawn across it to show where Maul was bisected.

Fortunately for him, most of the organs in humanoids are located in the chest cavity (because the intestines need a LOT of room to work), so he kept his kidneys, liver, stomach, lungs, hearts, pancreas, gallbladder, etc etc. However, his intestines are interesting in that by getting chopped in half, his small intestine was actually disconnected from his large intestine. The small intestine connects to the large through the ileocecal valve, which is located on the left inferior side of the abdominal cavity. He got chopped right through the middle of the abdominal cavity, so he lost his entire cecum, the majority (if not all) of his ileum, and the valve that connected them. This means that anything he digested would just ooze into his abdominal cavity even after the giant wound repaired itself, unless he got surgery to reconnect them. We will say for the sake of the story that he fixed it with The Force while living in his trash hole.

Now, it is possible for people to be bisected like he was and survive, just only in a medical environment. It's an extremely rare and radical surgery called a hemicorporectomy. It's the last of the last resorts, because it leaves you with a lot of problems. Here are some of them:

Maul would need both a colostomy and urostomy bag, since his rectum and bladder are both gone. These would need to be regularly cleaned and emptied.

His missing intestines would also result in his not digesting most of his food fully, so he would need supplemental nutrients to help combat malnutrition. He obviously does not get these for most of his life (if ever) so he is almost certainly malnourished.

Due to his newfound Nightmare Castration, he would need regular doses of hormones or would risk osteoporosis. Which hormones is up to the reader (I nominate estrogen)

His spinal cord is, thankfully, fine--- it doesn't actually extend past L1-L2. However, he did lose the filum terminale, meaning his spinal cord is kinda unanchored in his spine and floating around, which isn't great and could lead to nerve issues down the line. Some of the nerves that were cut in his lumbar spine (specifically, the L4 lumbar nerve supplying the quadratus lumborum muscle) could also cause partial paralysis in his back, as well as some wicked back pain.

Shoutout to @necropocene for inspiration as well as the following headcanons:

Maul's lungs and other organs are constricted by his intestines being forced upward into his chest cavity, reducing his lung capacity

Maul suffers from chronic nausea

Maul's prosthesis needs to be very well-cushioned because the waist is not a load-bearing structure (too squishy!)

Now onto my specific headcanons for his prosthetics and mobility devices:

The thing about pelvises is not only do they let you use legs, they also allow your organs and muscles to attach to something rigid. For this reason, I think Maul should have two pelvises: one internal, being more like a metal frame that his abdominal and back muscles attach to, and one external and connected to his legs.

The lumbar spine and sacrum are what allow the spine to connect to the pelvis, so in order to use his prosthetic legs, I think it would be prudent to give Maul a prosthetic spine, Borg Queen-style. Now, this would admittedly be a pretty big infection risk (piece of metal sticking through the skin and all) but I think it's cool so I am invoking The Rule of Cool on this one.

Maul's legs are not something I spent much time on, because his canon ones are fine.

I do have headcanons for a wheelchair, though!

His wheelchair wouldn't be designed like your average wheelchair, because those are generally designed to accommodate people who have pelvises. His would probably look more like a plant pot or a baby bjorn, imo? It would have to support him without putting too much pressure on his torso, so I think a sort of foam well with a backrest, attached to wheels would be a good design.

I also think that his prosthetic spine should be able to dock with the wheelchair so that he can control it as an extension of his body, like the prosthetic legs.

Image description: Three pencil drawings on notebook paper. One is of Maul post-bisection, with each of his organs labeled and colostomy, urostomy, and gastronomy ports. The next two are of his wheelchair, which follows the description previously given. End ID.

And yeah, those are my headcanons! Thanks for asking :) I love talking about fantasy biology!

[neutron-stars-collision]

For some of us, we stan Luke because he's much needed neurodivergent representation and we defend him because we've experienced the same misunderstanding of our behavior in our own lives. Neurotypicals don't understand what it's like to experience ADHD paralysis and go on to accomplish things regardless. They don't understand what it's like to not get neurochemical reward for the things you do and only experience the struggle of it. You end up going - what's the point?

Think of it this way - say you have celiac and you have to travel across town to the specialty store to get things you can eat. That's hours out of your day gone that people who can just pop to their local grocery store don't have to lose. And then you have to cook it all yourself. We literally have to fish for dopamine wherever we can find it so that we can have enough to perform functions other people can just readily do, because their brain makes it properly. We literally can't function without it. We need the snacks, the TV binges, the video games... If you don't experience it, kindly stfu. Would you rail against a diabetic for needing insulin? If you don't understand him, educate yourselves.

We like Nicola fine, she just reads as very neurotypical so she isn't as inspirational to us as him. There have been studies that show that kids with ADHD <12yo experience 20,000 times more criticism from other kids, teachers and even their own parents than neurotypical ones. 20,000! Do you know what that can do to a person? Especially in a rejection-heavy industry like entertainment? Throw a learning disorder in there and you could easily make misery soup. He's done extremely well for himself, even by neurotypical standards, and some people are over here feeling superior to him while engaging in ableist bullying! Kindly go to hell if you're one of them. He isn't a puppet for you to use in your fantasies, he's a real person with real struggles who's only "crime" is sharing his talent with you. This fandom is full of soulless, petty, superficial demons with no empathy and no real understanding of anyone's humanity. It's no wonder he shares almost nothing anymore.

Thank you for saying all this. I hope it will make someone understand what the issue is and why we will always defend Luke.

I can only speak from the pov of a dyslectic and someone with anxiety disorder, but still - Luke’s impact for neurodivergence is undeniable. And if you don’t get it, then just stop talking. Stop paying attention to us, if you don’t even like him.

[the-self-indulgent-corner]

Genshin Characters x a reader with adhd (part two!)

Summary: Your adhd may be strange, but you're convinced your (boy/girl) friend is stranger despite that.

Or, how the genshin characters react to a reader with ADHD. (Ft some lesser known aspects of ADHD)

Featuring: Hu Tao, Collei, Cyno. Can be read as romantic or platonic (except for Collei, I wrote hers only platonically)

A/n: Hey it's me again after *checks notes* about nine months. Whoops.

I don't have any crazy stories I just lost inspiration. Truth be told I had 2/3 of this already written out mostly but lost inspo and also time so it was kinda left in the drafts for a while. And I only finished writing it today with minimal proofreading so if there's mistakes no there isn't-

Anyways, you don't need to read part one to understand this, but as I said before I do use some more less known features of adhd in these hcs so i'm putting a general index of what they mean here. It's not a perfect summary but it'll give you a general idea of what it means.

And disclaimer! While I do have adhd, not everyone's adhd is the same. So what's common for me might be super uncommon for other folks with adhd and vise versa. So don't take this index or hcs as verbatim and do your own research if you don't know about something!

Index:

Executive dysfunction/ADHD paralysis: Wanting to do your job/work, but it feels like you’re physically unable to.

Food sensory issues/selective eating habits: A lot of people with ADHD are ‘picky eaters’ and refuse to eat certain foods even if it's good for them. Usually we pick foods with high sugar since it causes a ‘dopamine surge’.

Auditory processing disorder (APD): Having difficulty making out what someone is saying or processing what someone said too slowly.

Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria (RSD): Being much more sensitive to rejection or perceived rejection.

Verbal stim: Exactly the same as other stims (Like bouncing your leg or clicking a pen) but just with words. Usually being a certain phrase, sentence or singing, although any vocalization can be a verbal stim. 

Time blindness: Becoming so engrossed in something that many hours can pass when it felt like a much shorter amount of time.

Intrusive thoughts: unwanted disturbing thoughts and ideas that come to mind randomly. Can either be mildly unnerving to totally distressing.

Now with that word vomit out of the way, onto the hcs!

Hu Tao

Y'all can't tell me this girl also doesn't have ADHD. 

Once you tell Hu Tao about your ADHD she'll go "ayo that sounding kinda familiar 🤨"

Whether or not she has ADHD is up to the court to decide but NONETHELESS Hu Tao can absolutely relate to at least a few of these.

Impulsive? Check. Stimming? Check. Time blindness? Check. 

(Society not liking how you act? Check. /J)

If Hu Tao hasn't already latched onto some of your stims she definitely will after you tell her, even if she doesn't realize it right away LOL

You also steal some of hers <3 like her idle animation with the hillichurl song?? Yeah that. 

You two don't even notice it until someone (probably Zhongli) points it out.

The amount of times you two impulsively went out is kinda impressive tbh. Either one of you will be like 'hey are you busy?' And if the other says no they're dragged off somewhere LMAO

You two always have fun though

She’s good at helping you out but her ways are kinda unorthodox 

If your executive dysfunction or smthn is acting up girl will literally just. Pick you up and bring you where you need to.

“What? You need help getting somewhere and I can help! Besides, you said having others around helps you work, right?”

Stop being right about this Hu Tao how dare you /j

Really tho girl can and will just. Pick you up to get you to do something/go somewhere LMAO. Only stops if you get genuinely upset by it.

And while she’s good at helping you she’s also a bit 50/50 on what she does help you with.

If it's actively hurting you in some way she'd absolutely stop it, but if it's a bit more hehe silly goofy she'd prob just do it with you

Don't like this texture of food? Yeah her neither, let's get something else. Found something shiny and now you're distracted? She's looking at the shiny thing with you. 

If you mask/Your ADHD isn't very obvious people would view you as the one who keeps Hu Tao in check which, depending on what kind of person you are, could be true but it's much better imo if you both are equally as strange

Stranger: Oh, you'll keep Hu Tao in check, right?

You, about to do the same thing as her: Yeah of course!

Tbf even if you did try to keep everything in line Hu Tao has a way to always convince you to do it her/another way instead. She knows how to trick you.

You fall for it each time 😔

"Wait. We aren't supposed to be here! We have to go to-"

"Too late! We're already here! May as well have fun!!"

If you're playful like her you two love to tease each other all the time. The amount of inside jokes y'all have is insane

As long as you're fine with it you two try to one up embarrassing each other in other people's presence LMAO

"Hey, 'Tao, remember that one time when you-"

"If you're talking about the knuckleback incident then it's not even half as embarrassing as that time you-"

This can go on for days.

You two have a relationship not many understand but it doesn't really bother either of you. As long as you're both happy you couldn't care less.

You two are little freaks of society /lh 

Although, if you're also a bit of a troublemaker like Hu Tao, y'all turn into team rocket. Prepare for trouble and make it double fr

"Hey, y/n! You'll never guess what I just found!"

"Whatever it is, it better have the ability to mess with someone."

"It does!" 

"Perfect."

The people of Liyue often wonder how you two have that much energy. 

Hu Tao is a pretty good listener and loves to hear whatever you want to talk/rant about.

Probably the best person out of this list to rant about your hyper fixation to because girl will match your energy even if she doesn't care/knows nothing about it. If it's important to you, it's important to her!

You'd be stimming happily talking about it and she'd be doing the same; not to mock you but because if you're excited she's excited too and also needs to let out that energy 

Even if you're talking at 2x speed, she somehow keeps up with all of it. 

She also likes when you space out because it becomes 10x easier to scare you back into reality. She can’t help herself. What can she say?

“Boo~!”

“Ah! Hu Tao!? Why!”

“You were spacing out! Cmon, we can find something better to do besides staring at a wall all day.”

“... Who do you want to prank?”

“I'm so glad you asked!”

You're preoccupied for the rest of the day.

Collei

You 🤝 Collei

BEING NEURODUVERGENT/HAVING A MENTAL DISABILITY 

Even though ADHD and PTSD are nothing alike, girlie is still so happy she's found a kindred soul who personally understands (at least some of) what she has to deal with that many others don't. 

I'ma be real with you tho I don't think Collei really knew what ADHD was before she met you lmao

I feel like at most she's heard the term but not much beyond that. With that said though I don't think she'd have any preconceived notions on what ADHD entails, she's prob the easiest to explain your disability to honestly.

She also hears you explain some symptoms and is like ‘hey wait… Some of this sounds familiar to me!'

She actually confides in you quite a bit because of this. usually about her the lesser known aspects of her PTSD. It's usually the parts she feels bad about telling Tighnari, things like intrusive thoughts. 

She probably thought she was a terrible person for thinking that, unaware that intrusive thoughts are, well, intrusive. Once she tells you about them you tell her about yours as well and probably have to explain that it doesn't make her a bad person. 

Although a good bit of you and her talking about your guys mental disabilities is just that spider man pointing meme since quite a few things overlap LMAO

“Oh! So you say some things repetitively, too? I thought only I did that!”

“Yeah! I have a lot of vocal stims, honestly. Like one where I- Uh… you good, Collei? You look kind of confused.”

“Vocal stims…?”

Despite relating to quite a few things and already knowing she has a mental disability she's completely in the dark about more nuanced things than the standard. You'll have to teach her some things about it 😭

Although some things she's a bit lost on, she's got the spirit!

She can be a bit awkward about the things she doesn't relate to, though. She doesn't mean to be! But this is uncharted territory for her, and she's not quite sure what to say at times. After that initial phase of uncertainty though she sees it's not as scary/intimidating as it sounds on paper.

For example you'll tell her of your executive dysfunction and she'll get so nervous and absolutely blow out of proportion how bad it is/looks but when she once catches you just laying around while you were meant to/want to work she's like ‘oh, that's not as bad as I thought.’

She definitely tries to help you if you need it though. If you had food sensitivity issues she would prob try to make foods you dislike taste better. 

(Even if it failed you appreciate the attempt she made.)

You also teach her how to manage some of her own habits as well by sharing your own tricks. 

Some work perfectly and she's forever grateful you told her about it, but others completely flop.

(Even for those that don't work, she also appreciates that you tried.)

Sometimes though, she's completely flabbergasted by your antics lmao. 

She’ll see you working on something new and asks you about it, to which you respond in 2x speed about how you went down a rabbit hole these past few days and now are trying to learn a completely new skill from scratch and she lost you after your second sentence.

“Okay so basically a couple of days ago I saw this person who was making some pottery and I thought about how cool that was, so I looked into it and-” 

“Wh-what…?”

Girlie means the best but she's so confused 😭 by the end of your tangent she's giving hesitant encouragement because while she has no clue what you're doing or why you seem to be having fun at least. 

But honestly Collei worries about you sometimes, but that's more because she's anxious and even if she's been around you for years can probably never fully get used to your antics lmao. 

She's worried that others will see you as weird since at times you can be so unapologetic with your ADHD and worries you won't fit in.

She's too sweet. 

You always reassure her that even if that did happen, you wouldn't want to be friends with people who think you being yourself was weird or a bad thing.

If you keep this up you're going to completely rewire Collei’s brain. 

You probably inspire Collei quite a bit. She's a shy person so seeing you so open with your disability (and helping Collei with hers as well) makes her look up to you a little. She thinks it's so cool you can be so upfront and honest about it without really worrying about what others think of it. 

At some point, Tighnari pulls you aside and thanks you for being her friend. You helped her by just being someone who can relate to and understand her in some way, something that he can't do. Showing her that no, she isn't less than just because of a disability.

Congrats you officially joined the family.

“Ah, y/n! There you are! I um, have been meaning to give this to you… it's a plush of that character you like a lot! You've helped me a lot so I… wanted to give this to you as thanks! I-I hope you like it!”

Cyno

Congrats Cyno for being the only one on this list to know what ADHD is besides just knowing it exists!!!!!!

Fr tho I think Cyno knows a good bit about ADHD, like how it ties into other mental disabilities, sensory issues or even things like going non verbal… but at the same time he falls for a lot of the misinformation/generalizations about it as well 💀💀💀

If you mask well, he absolutely will not be able to tell you had ADHD. Completely unaware of it LMAO. But he's trying, give him a break.

It might even take a bit longer to explain to him since you have to correct any misinformation he has about it unlike the others who come in with mostly a blank slate. 

Like, no Cyno, not everyone is super hyper. No, not everyone is unable to sit still. No, some of us can mask. No, we aren't all connected to the ground itself- where'd you even hear that from!?

He grasps onto it pretty quickly though, and he remembers everything you say about it. And by extension, how it affects you specifically. 

“You shouldn't buy that.”

“?? Why?”

“It has that material you dislike the texture of in it.”

“Oh shit I didn't notice-”

Tbh Cyno is probably one of the best people to help with your ADHD since he's so observant. He’ll recognize when you're about to hit your sensory limit, remind you to do things you forget, and even helps you when your executive dysfunction is acting up. 

Although Cyno isn't perfect at everything and… honestly, you'll probably lose him at a couple parts.

He doesn't mean to be rude or anything, but some parts he just genuinely does not get. 

That doesn't mean he doesn't respect them or anything, but like when he hears you talk about verbal stims he’ll both think ‘huh that's kinda weird how they have certain vocalizations they like to say I don't think I've heard of that before’ and ‘it's cool they feel safe enough around me to tell me that I wonder what their vocal stims are’ simultaneously. 

Mans doesn't fully understand why you do some of the things you do (and tbf you don't either) but he also doesn't care as long as you're happy.

And while he's a great help, you can't forget that this is Cyno. Since he's helping you so much you know there's only one way to pay him back…

It's time to d-d-d-d-d-d-duel!!

That's right he forces you to play tcg with him LMAO.

He doesn't really care if you've never played before or not, he will lend you his cards and teach you right then and there if he must.

And if he gets you hooked on it? (or you already are hooked on it) Oh boy-

You two could battle each other for hours, you both probably have before. Cyno is so happy to have someone who likes the game as much as he does tbh. Even if you're not a pro, he still enjoys the battles. 

And if you are a pro, then you may just confuse everyone else around you with your in depth conversations about the most optional strategies and best support cards. 

But if you're not talking about and/or playing TCG, he'd love to hear about your current hyperfixations. He can keep up with you if you talk at 2x speed so don't be afraid to go crazy with it lmao.

He’ll listen attentively and even ask questions about it every now and then, but he tends to keep quiet when you talk about your own interests. Content to just listen to you ramble on and on. 

However with all this new information about your hyperfixation you've given him you accidentally made a monster. Because now that he knows how it works/what it's about, Cyno is going to make bad dad jokes about it and you can't stop him.

When he sees you again he'll tell you his new greatest joke about your hyperfixation. 

“So you remember when you info dumped about that book series to me yesterday?”

“Yeah? Why?”

“*Pulls out a written list* okay so I've got some new jokes about it and-”

Please he's SUCH a dork. Laugh at them he’ll be so happy about it.

He’ll be even more happy if you make your own jokes/add onto his. You literally just made this mans whole month with that. 

Cyno may even repeat these jokes to others if your hyperfixation is something well known.

Cyno will also probably find himself repeating some of your own stims (verbal and non verbal) too. Generally he only does your quiet/silent ones, (quiet humming, tapping a pen, clenching and unclenching his fists, etc…) 

I like to think that once or twice he repeated one of your more bizarre vocal stims and then just. Didn't elaborate.

He probably won't even notice himself doing it until someone else points it out. He doesn't mind it though, just probably was surprised he did it at all lol.

At first Cyno would probably see your ADHD antics as strange (and to an extent, he still kinda does lol) but takes it in stride. As said before he's of the mindset of ‘as long as they're happy and not hurting anyone I don't mind.’

After a while though it definitely grew on him lmao. Now he actively initiates conversations about it to better understand you and your adhd. 

If you ever feel upset about your ADHD he's kinda shocked because you probably never mentioned it before. Def the type to listen to your worries and calmly yet rationally tell you how that's actually not as bad as you think it is. Besides, you have like a thousand other redeeming qualities, so what if you can't always pay attention? Who else is Cyno going to duel with on a random Saturday afternoon?

… Yet even after learning all this about ADHD, he's still going to come to you asking weird questions.

“Y/n, is it true that people with ADHD like shiny things?”

“Cyno, that's every human.”

“Oh.”

He tries his best, okay?

Ending note: Annnnnd that's a wrap! Sorry if this one is shorter/less detailed than the last one but i'm tired. However if I don't do this now I probably won't post it later because of a lack of confidence oof. Anyways thanks for reading this far and I hope you liked it!

Also what characters do u think I should do next if any?

[theresattrpgforthat]

do you have any recommendations for games with interesting superpower mechanics? bonus points for a clear love of superhero comics as a genre

THEME: Superpowers

Oh gosh do I have some recommendations for you. I have likely spoken about pretty much all of these games before, but I feel very strongly about them and I can’t help myself from talking about them again!

Exceptionals, by Bramble Wolf Games.

Exceptionals is a game inspired by X-Men about and for the spaces and communities marginalized peoples make for themselves. Play as a Geno, one of little less than 0.5% percent of the population that has gone through a mysterious process called Claremont-Simonson mutation, as you try to navigate a world that won’t make room for you. Exceptionals is a game about what the mutant metaphor means to you and the different lenses through which we view it. Punch back and build something of worth together in this narrative tag-driven tabletop role playing game.

What Exceptionals does differently than the other games mentioned here is that it ties all of your character abilities to descriptive words or phrases. You’re not just heavily armoured, you have bone spikes and you’re exceptionally good at resisting extreme temperatures. Your powers can just as easily be things that slow you down and get in your way as they can be handy weapons or powerful resources. Not only that, but your character is also defined by their role in the community. Are you excellent at socializing and often called on to provide a distraction? Or are you good at noticing details, and therefore asked to investigate local mysteries? Each answer gives you a tag you can use to improve your chances of success.

If you have some experience with Fate, you might find Exceptionals to feel pretty familiar, with the biggest difference being in the dice used. The system itself uses 2d10, with modifiers applied through tags, the environment around you, and social bonds. Your bonds are crucial to improving your chances, and that is why Exceptionals champions community. If you want a game that cares deeply about the media it’s drawing from, then I recommend Exceptionals.

Spectaculars, by Scratchpad Publishing.

Spectaculars is a tabletop roleplaying game where players create their own comic book universe, craft heroes and villains to populate that universe, and then play through full-length campaigns to tell incredible stories of heroism and villainy in a world of their own creation.

Spectaculars has different decks of superpowers depending on the kind of genre you’d like to play in, but you can also mix and match if you’d like. Your superpower options are dealt to you randomly, with five basic superpowers always available if you don’t like the options you’ve been given. You get five unique cards, out of which you can choose up to three. I really like this because it prevents analysis paralysis, while still giving you a good number of unique options!

Your superpower ability is usually tied to a percentile - 80 being your best power, 70 being the second best, and 60 being the tertiary (should you choose to take all three). Rolling under that number means you succeed, and you can also roll advantage or disadvantage dice to determine extra details - like whether your move sets up another superhero really well. Each superpower could have up to two different effects, using situational limitations or time tokens to debuff anything that is extraordinarily powerful.

So for example, the Corrosion power gives you the ability to reroll any advantage dice you roll once, as long as you are trying to corrode non-living matter. However for Light Manipulation, you can make whatever light effect you evoke last for longer if you put two time tokens on your card, and you can allow yourself to use your power and do something else at the end of the round by adding four time tokens to the card. At the beginning of your turn every round, you get to remove a time token. This is a great game for folks who love tactile play, as the tokens, dice and power cards give you a lot to handle.

If you want a more in-depth review of Spectaculars, you can check out this summary by Deeper in the Game.

MASKS, by Brendan Conway, at Magpie Games.

Halcyon City has had more than its fair share of superheroes, superteams, supervillains, and everything in between.

Your team of young supers must forge your own path amidst the pressures of a world full of people telling you what to do and who to be, and kick some butt along the way!

Masks: A New Generation is a superhero tabletop roleplaying game full of action, youthful angst, and dazzling bravery. Take on the roles of members of the latest generation of superheroes, young adults trying to figure out who they are and what kind of heroes they want to be.

I am remiss if I don’t talk about MASKS, the first game I would turn to if I wanted to replicate Young Justice, Teen Titans, or anything from the Spiderverse series. This game is often cited as one of the definitive examples of what a Powered by the Apocalypse game can do, and for good reason. The superhero powers are present as picklists tied to each playbook, while what separates the playbooks is the inherent struggle of the character. Are they trying to hide their mundane identity? Are they struggling with feeling like a freak? Do they have a legacy to live up to?

I think these thematic elements show a deep love for the superhero genre, and I also love that the chances of success aren’t tied to what your abilities are, but rather your reasons for using them. If you are trying to protect someone, you’re rolling Savior, but if you’re trying to do damage, you roll Danger. In either situation you could be using your powers, but it’s intent that matters - and then you describe how you want to do it in order to give us an idea of what success or failure would look like.

FASERIP, by Gurbintroll Games.

FASERIP is a neo-clone game of super heroes, based on a classic 1980s role-playing game. The game contains a flexible yet streamlined super power system, and a completely new character generation system which keeps the fun and unpredictability of the original game’s random character generation but tempers it with an emphasis on balance and player choice.

This is a retro-clone from another superhero game that has since gone out of print - I think perhaps Marvel Super Heroes? Unfortunately I’m not familiar with the source material, but I can tell you that this version is free!

FASERIP is pretty granular in your ability level, ranking characters and difficulty levels from Zero to Infinite. Your superpowers in this game have a few important factors - source (how you got the power), rank (how effective it is), and boosts (how flexible your abilities are. Powers are determined randomly in FASERIP, with roll tables used to determine what kinds of powers you get and how many boosts you get. If you’re a fan of older rules systems and random power generation, I recommend checking out FASERIP.

Those of Us Who Know Better, by C.J. Linton.

Those of Us Who Know Better is a tabletop roleplaying game about transgender superheroes whose powers come at a price. Civilians by day, in community every other Thursday evening, and heroes by night, the players use their powers to problem solve and offer protection and support around town. These powers must be used sparingly, however, because every use of a superpower demands a specific and costly remuneration.

For some reason or other, your characters are under a contract that gives them powers. How that contract came to be and how it functions is up to you, but the result is this: every time you activate your superpower, you must pay a price. If you do not pay this price, your character is immediately subjected to intense physical pain.

The book has a short list of some common superpowers, such as flight, fire manipulation, and super senses. It also has a short list of consequences - with options such as get an animal to bite you, run for five minutes, and take a shot of alcohol. The book has some basic guidelines for what to consider when creating your own powers and prices, so I think the world is your oyster with a game like this.

[lesmisletters-daily]

The Bishop In The Presence Of An Unknown Light

Les Mis Letters reading club explores one chapter of Les Misérables every day. Join us on Discord, Substack - or share your thoughts right here on tumblr - today's tag is #lm 1.1.10

At an epoch a little later than the date of the letter cited in the preceding pages, he did a thing which, if the whole town was to be believed, was even more hazardous than his trip across the mountains infested with bandits.

In the country near D—— a man lived quite alone. This man, we will state at once, was a former member of the Convention. His name was G——

Member of the Convention, G—— was mentioned with a sort of horror in the little world of D—— A member of the Convention—can you imagine such a thing? That existed from the time when people called each other <i>thou</i>, and when they said “citizen.” This man was almost a monster. He had not voted for the death of the king, but almost. He was a quasi-regicide. He had been a terrible man. How did it happen that such a man had not been brought before a provost’s court, on the return of the legitimate princes? They need not have cut off his head, if you please; clemency must be exercised, agreed; but a good banishment for life. An example, in short, etc. Besides, he was an atheist, like all the rest of those people. Gossip of the geese about the vulture.

Was G—— a vulture after all? Yes; if he were to be judged by the element of ferocity in this solitude of his. As he had not voted for the death of the king, he had not been included in the decrees of exile, and had been able to remain in France.

He dwelt at a distance of three-quarters of an hour from the city, far from any hamlet, far from any road, in some hidden turn of a very wild valley, no one knew exactly where. He had there, it was said, a sort of field, a hole, a lair. There were no neighbors, not even passers-by. Since he had dwelt in that valley, the path which led thither had disappeared under a growth of grass. The locality was spoken of as though it had been the dwelling of a hangman.

Nevertheless, the Bishop meditated on the subject, and from time to time he gazed at the horizon at a point where a clump of trees marked the valley of the former member of the Convention, and he said, “There is a soul yonder which is lonely.”

And he added, deep in his own mind, “I owe him a visit.”

But, let us avow it, this idea, which seemed natural at the first blush, appeared to him after a moment’s reflection, as strange, impossible, and almost repulsive. For, at bottom, he shared the general impression, and the old member of the Convention inspired him, without his being clearly conscious of the fact himself, with that sentiment which borders on hate, and which is so well expressed by the word estrangement.

Still, should the scab of the sheep cause the shepherd to recoil? No. But what a sheep!

The good Bishop was perplexed. Sometimes he set out in that direction; then he returned.

Finally, the rumor one day spread through the town that a sort of young shepherd, who served the member of the Convention in his hovel, had come in quest of a doctor; that the old wretch was dying, that paralysis was gaining on him, and that he would not live over night.—“Thank God!” some added.

The Bishop took his staff, put on his cloak, on account of his too threadbare cassock, as we have mentioned, and because of the evening breeze which was sure to rise soon, and set out.

The sun was setting, and had almost touched the horizon when the Bishop arrived at the excommunicated spot. With a certain beating of the heart, he recognized the fact that he was near the lair. He strode over a ditch, leaped a hedge, made his way through a fence of dead boughs, entered a neglected paddock, took a few steps with a good deal of boldness, and suddenly, at the extremity of the waste land, and behind lofty brambles, he caught sight of the cavern.

It was a very low hut, poor, small, and clean, with a vine nailed against the outside.

Near the door, in an old wheel-chair, the armchair of the peasants, there was a white-haired man, smiling at the sun.

Near the seated man stood a young boy, the shepherd lad. He was offering the old man a jar of milk.

While the Bishop was watching him, the old man spoke: “Thank you,” he said, “I need nothing.” And his smile quitted the sun to rest upon the child.

The Bishop stepped forward. At the sound which he made in walking, the old man turned his head, and his face expressed the sum total of the surprise which a man can still feel after a long life.

“This is the first time since I have been here,” said he, “that any one has entered here. Who are you, sir?”

The Bishop answered:—

“My name is Bienvenu Myriel.”

“Bienvenu Myriel? I have heard that name. Are you the man whom the people call Monseigneur Welcome?”

“I am.”

The old man resumed with a half-smile

“In that case, you are my bishop?”

“Something of that sort.”

“Enter, sir.”

The member of the Convention extended his hand to the Bishop, but the Bishop did not take it. The Bishop confined himself to the remark:—

“I am pleased to see that I have been misinformed. You certainly do not seem to me to be ill.”

“Monsieur,” replied the old man, “I am going to recover.”

He paused, and then said:—

“I shall die three hours hence.”

Then he continued:—

“I am something of a doctor; I know in what fashion the last hour draws on. Yesterday, only my feet were cold; to-day, the chill has ascended to my knees; now I feel it mounting to my waist; when it reaches the heart, I shall stop. The sun is beautiful, is it not? I had myself wheeled out here to take a last look at things. You can talk to me; it does not fatigue me. You have done well to come and look at a man who is on the point of death. It is well that there should be witnesses at that moment. One has one’s caprices; I should have liked to last until the dawn, but I know that I shall hardly live three hours. It will be night then. What does it matter, after all? Dying is a simple affair. One has no need of the light for that. So be it. I shall die by starlight.”

The old man turned to the shepherd lad:—

“Go to thy bed; thou wert awake all last night; thou art tired.”

The child entered the hut.

The old man followed him with his eyes, and added, as though speaking to himself:—

“I shall die while he sleeps. The two slumbers may be good neighbors.”

The Bishop was not touched as it seems that he should have been. He did not think he discerned God in this manner of dying; let us say the whole, for these petty contradictions of great hearts must be indicated like the rest: he, who on occasion, was so fond of laughing at “His Grace,” was rather shocked at not being addressed as Monseigneur, and he was almost tempted to retort “citizen.” He was assailed by a fancy for peevish familiarity, common enough to doctors and priests, but which was not habitual with him. This man, after all, this member of the Convention, this representative of the people, had been one of the powerful ones of the earth; for the first time in his life, probably, the Bishop felt in a mood to be severe.

Meanwhile, the member of the Convention had been surveying him with a modest cordiality, in which one could have distinguished, possibly, that humility which is so fitting when one is on the verge of returning to dust.

The Bishop, on his side, although he generally restrained his curiosity, which, in his opinion, bordered on a fault, could not refrain from examining the member of the Convention with an attention which, as it did not have its course in sympathy, would have served his conscience as a matter of reproach, in connection with any other man. A member of the Convention produced on him somewhat the effect of being outside the pale of the law, even of the law of charity. G——, calm, his body almost upright, his voice vibrating, was one of those octogenarians who form the subject of astonishment to the physiologist. The Revolution had many of these men, proportioned to the epoch. In this old man one was conscious of a man put to the proof. Though so near to his end, he preserved all the gestures of health. In his clear glance, in his firm tone, in the robust movement of his shoulders, there was something calculated to disconcert death. Azrael, the Mohammedan angel of the sepulchre, would have turned back, and thought that he had mistaken the door. G—— seemed to be dying because he willed it so. There was freedom in his agony. His legs alone were motionless. It was there that the shadows held him fast. His feet were cold and dead, but his head survived with all the power of life, and seemed full of light. G——, at this solemn moment, resembled the king in that tale of the Orient who was flesh above and marble below.

There was a stone there. The Bishop sat down. The exordium was abrupt.

“I congratulate you,” said he, in the tone which one uses for a reprimand. “You did not vote for the death of the king, after all.”

The old member of the Convention did not appear to notice the bitter meaning underlying the words “after all.” He replied. The smile had quite disappeared from his face.

“Do not congratulate me too much, sir. I did vote for the death of the tyrant.”

It was the tone of austerity answering the tone of severity.

“What do you mean to say?” resumed the Bishop.

“I mean to say that man has a tyrant,—ignorance. I voted for the death of that tyrant. That tyrant engendered royalty, which is authority falsely understood, while science is authority rightly understood. Man should be governed only by science.”

“And conscience,” added the Bishop.

“It is the same thing. Conscience is the quantity of innate science which we have within us.”

Monseigneur Bienvenu listened in some astonishment to this language, which was very new to him.

The member of the Convention resumed:—

“So far as Louis XVI. was concerned, I said ‘no.’ I did not think that I had the right to kill a man; but I felt it my duty to exterminate evil. I voted the end of the tyrant, that is to say, the end of prostitution for woman, the end of slavery for man, the end of night for the child. In voting for the Republic, I voted for that. I voted for fraternity, concord, the dawn. I have aided in the overthrow of prejudices and errors. The crumbling away of prejudices and errors causes light. We have caused the fall of the old world, and the old world, that vase of miseries, has become, through its upsetting upon the human race, an urn of joy.”

“Mixed joy,” said the Bishop.

“You may say troubled joy, and to-day, after that fatal return of the past, which is called 1814, joy which has disappeared! Alas! The work was incomplete, I admit: we demolished the ancient regime in deeds; we were not able to suppress it entirely in ideas. To destroy abuses is not sufficient; customs must be modified. The mill is there no longer; the wind is still there.”

“You have demolished. It may be of use to demolish, but I distrust a demolition complicated with wrath.”

“Right has its wrath, Bishop; and the wrath of right is an element of progress. In any case, and in spite of whatever may be said, the French Revolution is the most important step of the human race since the advent of Christ. Incomplete, it may be, but sublime. It set free all the unknown social quantities; it softened spirits, it calmed, appeased, enlightened; it caused the waves of civilization to flow over the earth. It was a good thing. The French Revolution is the consecration of humanity.”

The Bishop could not refrain from murmuring:—

“Yes? ’93!”

The member of the Convention straightened himself up in his chair with an almost lugubrious solemnity, and exclaimed, so far as a dying man is capable of exclamation:—

“Ah, there you go; ’93! I was expecting that word. A cloud had been forming for the space of fifteen hundred years; at the end of fifteen hundred years it burst. You are putting the thunderbolt on its trial.”

The Bishop felt, without, perhaps, confessing it, that something within him had suffered extinction. Nevertheless, he put a good face on the matter. He replied:—

“The judge speaks in the name of justice; the priest speaks in the name of pity, which is nothing but a more lofty justice. A thunderbolt should commit no error.” And he added, regarding the member of the Convention steadily the while, “Louis XVII.?”

The conventionary stretched forth his hand and grasped the Bishop’s arm.

“Louis XVII.! let us see. For whom do you mourn? is it for the innocent child? very good; in that case I mourn with you. Is it for the royal child? I demand time for reflection. To me, the brother of Cartouche, an innocent child who was hung up by the armpits in the Place de Grève, until death ensued, for the sole crime of having been the brother of Cartouche, is no less painful than the grandson of Louis XV., an innocent child, martyred in the tower of the Temple, for the sole crime of having been grandson of Louis XV.”

“Monsieur,” said the Bishop, “I like not this conjunction of names.”

“Cartouche? Louis XV.? To which of the two do you object?”

A momentary silence ensued. The Bishop almost regretted having come, and yet he felt vaguely and strangely shaken.

The conventionary resumed:—

“Ah, Monsieur Priest, you love not the crudities of the true. Christ loved them. He seized a rod and cleared out the Temple. His scourge, full of lightnings, was a harsh speaker of truths. When he cried, <i>‘Sinite parvulos,’</i> he made no distinction between the little children. It would not have embarrassed him to bring together the Dauphin of Barabbas and the Dauphin of Herod. Innocence, Monsieur, is its own crown. Innocence has no need to be a highness. It is as august in rags as in fleurs de lys.”

“That is true,” said the Bishop in a low voice.

“I persist,” continued the conventionary G—— “You have mentioned Louis XVII. to me. Let us come to an understanding. Shall we weep for all the innocent, all martyrs, all children, the lowly as well as the exalted? I agree to that. But in that case, as I have told you, we must go back further than ’93, and our tears must begin before Louis XVII. I will weep with you over the children of kings, provided that you will weep with me over the children of the people.”

“I weep for all,” said the Bishop.

“Equally!” exclaimed conventionary G——; “and if the balance must incline, let it be on the side of the people. They have been suffering longer.”

Another silence ensued. The conventionary was the first to break it. He raised himself on one elbow, took a bit of his cheek between his thumb and his forefinger, as one does mechanically when one interrogates and judges, and appealed to the Bishop with a gaze full of all the forces of the death agony. It was almost an explosion.

“Yes, sir, the people have been suffering a long while. And hold! that is not all, either; why have you just questioned me and talked to me about Louis XVII.? I know you not. Ever since I have been in these parts I have dwelt in this enclosure alone, never setting foot outside, and seeing no one but that child who helps me. Your name has reached me in a confused manner, it is true, and very badly pronounced, I must admit; but that signifies nothing: clever men have so many ways of imposing on that honest goodman, the people. By the way, I did not hear the sound of your carriage; you have left it yonder, behind the coppice at the fork of the roads, no doubt. I do not know you, I tell you. You have told me that you are the Bishop; but that affords me no information as to your moral personality. In short, I repeat my question. Who are you? You are a bishop; that is to say, a prince of the church, one of those gilded men with heraldic bearings and revenues, who have vast prebends,—the bishopric of D—— fifteen thousand francs settled income, ten thousand in perquisites; total, twenty-five thousand francs,—who have kitchens, who have liveries, who make good cheer, who eat moor-hens on Friday, who strut about, a lackey before, a lackey behind, in a gala coach, and who have palaces, and who roll in their carriages in the name of Jesus Christ who went barefoot! You are a prelate,—revenues, palace, horses, servants, good table, all the sensualities of life; you have this like the rest, and like the rest, you enjoy it; it is well; but this says either too much or too little; this does not enlighten me upon the intrinsic and essential value of the man who comes with the probable intention of bringing wisdom to me. To whom do I speak? Who are you?”

The Bishop hung his head and replied, <i>“Vermis sum</i>—I am a worm.”

“A worm of the earth in a carriage?” growled the conventionary.

It was the conventionary’s turn to be arrogant, and the Bishop’s to be humble.

The Bishop resumed mildly:—

“So be it, sir. But explain to me how my carriage, which is a few paces off behind the trees yonder, how my good table and the moor-hens which I eat on Friday, how my twenty-five thousand francs income, how my palace and my lackeys prove that clemency is not a duty, and that ’93 was not inexorable.”

The conventionary passed his hand across his brow, as though to sweep away a cloud.

“Before replying to you,” he said, “I beseech you to pardon me. I have just committed a wrong, sir. You are at my house, you are my guest, I owe you courtesy. You discuss my ideas, and it becomes me to confine myself to combating your arguments. Your riches and your pleasures are advantages which I hold over you in the debate; but good taste dictates that I shall not make use of them. I promise you to make no use of them in the future.”

“I thank you,” said the Bishop.

G—— resumed.

“Let us return to the explanation which you have asked of me. Where were we? What were you saying to me? That ’93 was inexorable?”

“Inexorable; yes,” said the Bishop. “What think you of Marat clapping his hands at the guillotine?”

“What think you of Bossuet chanting the <i>Te Deum</i> over the dragonnades?”

The retort was a harsh one, but it attained its mark with the directness of a point of steel. The Bishop quivered under it; no reply occurred to him; but he was offended by this mode of alluding to Bossuet. The best of minds will have their fetiches, and they sometimes feel vaguely wounded by the want of respect of logic.

The conventionary began to pant; the asthma of the agony which is mingled with the last breaths interrupted his voice; still, there was a perfect lucidity of soul in his eyes. He went on:—

“Let me say a few words more in this and that direction; I am willing. Apart from the Revolution, which, taken as a whole, is an immense human affirmation, ’93 is, alas! a rejoinder. You think it inexorable, sir; but what of the whole monarchy, sir? Carrier is a bandit; but what name do you give to Montrevel? Fouquier-Tainville is a rascal; but what is your opinion as to Lamoignon-Bâville? Maillard is terrible; but Saulx-Tavannes, if you please? Duchêne senior is ferocious; but what epithet will you allow me for the elder Letellier? Jourdan-Coupe-Tetê is a monster; but not so great a one as M. the Marquis de Louvois. Sir, sir, I am sorry for Marie Antoinette, archduchess and queen; but I am also sorry for that poor Huguenot woman, who, in 1685, under Louis the Great, sir, while with a nursing infant, was bound, naked to the waist, to a stake, and the child kept at a distance; her breast swelled with milk and her heart with anguish; the little one, hungry and pale, beheld that breast and cried and agonized; the executioner said to the woman, a mother and a nurse, ‘Abjure!’ giving her her choice between the death of her infant and the death of her conscience. What say you to that torture of Tantalus as applied to a mother? Bear this well in mind sir: the French Revolution had its reasons for existence; its wrath will be absolved by the future; its result is the world made better. From its most terrible blows there comes forth a caress for the human race. I abridge, I stop, I have too much the advantage; moreover, I am dying.”

And ceasing to gaze at the Bishop, the conventionary concluded his thoughts in these tranquil words:—

“Yes, the brutalities of progress are called revolutions. When they are over, this fact is recognized,—that the human race has been treated harshly, but that it has progressed.”

The conventionary doubted not that he had successively conquered all the inmost intrenchments of the Bishop. One remained, however, and from this intrenchment, the last resource of Monseigneur Bienvenu’s resistance, came forth this reply, wherein appeared nearly all the harshness of the beginning:—

“Progress should believe in God. Good cannot have an impious servitor. He who is an atheist is but a bad leader for the human race.”

The former representative of the people made no reply. He was seized with a fit of trembling. He looked towards heaven, and in his glance a tear gathered slowly. When the eyelid was full, the tear trickled down his livid cheek, and he said, almost in a stammer, quite low, and to himself, while his eyes were plunged in the depths:—

“O thou! O ideal! Thou alone existest!”

The Bishop experienced an indescribable shock.

After a pause, the old man raised a finger heavenward and said:—

“The infinite is. He is there. If the infinite had no person, person would be without limit; it would not be infinite; in other words, it would not exist. There is, then, an <i>I</i>. That <i>I</i> of the infinite is God.”

The dying man had pronounced these last words in a loud voice, and with the shiver of ecstasy, as though he beheld some one. When he had spoken, his eyes closed. The effort had exhausted him. It was evident that he had just lived through in a moment the few hours which had been left to him. That which he had said brought him nearer to him who is in death. The supreme moment was approaching.

The Bishop understood this; time pressed; it was as a priest that he had come: from extreme coldness he had passed by degrees to extreme emotion; he gazed at those closed eyes, he took that wrinkled, aged and ice-cold hand in his, and bent over the dying man.

“This hour is the hour of God. Do you not think that it would be regrettable if we had met in vain?”

The conventionary opened his eyes again. A gravity mingled with gloom was imprinted on his countenance.

“Bishop,” said he, with a slowness which probably arose more from his dignity of soul than from the failing of his strength, “I have passed my life in meditation, study, and contemplation. I was sixty years of age when my country called me and commanded me to concern myself with its affairs. I obeyed. Abuses existed, I combated them; tyrannies existed, I destroyed them; rights and principles existed, I proclaimed and confessed them. Our territory was invaded, I defended it; France was menaced, I offered my breast. I was not rich; I am poor. I have been one of the masters of the state; the vaults of the treasury were encumbered with specie to such a degree that we were forced to shore up the walls, which were on the point of bursting beneath the weight of gold and silver; I dined in Dead Tree Street, at twenty-two sous. I have succored the oppressed, I have comforted the suffering. I tore the cloth from the altar, it is true; but it was to bind up the wounds of my country. I have always upheld the march forward of the human race, forward towards the light, and I have sometimes resisted progress without pity. I have, when the occasion offered, protected my own adversaries, men of your profession. And there is at Peteghem, in Flanders, at the very spot where the Merovingian kings had their summer palace, a convent of Urbanists, the Abbey of Sainte Claire en Beaulieu, which I saved in 1793. I have done my duty according to my powers, and all the good that I was able. After which, I was hunted down, pursued, persecuted, blackened, jeered at, scorned, cursed, proscribed. For many years past, I with my white hair have been conscious that many people think they have the right to despise me; to the poor ignorant masses I present the visage of one damned. And I accept this isolation of hatred, without hating any one myself. Now I am eighty-six years old; I am on the point of death. What is it that you have come to ask of me?”

<i>“Your blessing,”</i> said the Bishop.

And he knelt down.

When the Bishop raised his head again, the face of the conventionary had become august. He had just expired.

The Bishop returned home, deeply absorbed in thoughts which cannot be known to us. He passed the whole night in prayer. On the following morning some bold and curious persons attempted to speak to him about member of the Convention G——; he contented himself with pointing heavenward.

From that moment he redoubled his tenderness and brotherly feeling towards all children and sufferers.

Any allusion to “that old wretch of a G——” caused him to fall into a singular preoccupation. No one could say that the passage of that soul before his, and the reflection of that grand conscience upon his, did not count for something in his approach to perfection.

This “pastoral visit” naturally furnished an occasion for a murmur of comment in all the little local coteries.

“Was the bedside of such a dying man as that the proper place for a bishop? There was evidently no conversion to be expected. All those revolutionists are backsliders. Then why go there? What was there to be seen there? He must have been very curious indeed to see a soul carried off by the devil.”

One day a dowager of the impertinent variety who thinks herself spiritual, addressed this sally to him, “Monseigneur, people are inquiring when Your Greatness will receive the red cap!”—“Oh! oh! that’s a coarse color,” replied the Bishop. “It is lucky that those who despise it in a cap revere it in a hat.”

[xpao-bearx]

This is dedicated to the absolutely beautiful hooman bean @basketobread 💕 They are truly one of the best people I've EVER met and has such a kind, wonderful heart!!! Furthermore, all of their artworks are literal ✨️MASTERPIECES✨️ They and their works are a constant source of joy for me and I just got inspired to write this very short, very simple fic of my BG3 Tav and their much beloved character Lunara meeting 🥰 It's not much, but I hope y'all like it and I hope even more that I did Lunara's amazing character justice! This is also my first time writing my Tav in a story format so it's great practice and an opportunity to flesh her out more before I post my fic of her and Astarion :)

More about my Tav here + this is the song she's singing in this story (and fun fact: I headcanon the singer to be my Tav's voiceclaim!) ❤️

Fic is under the cut and thanks sooo much for reading!! \(^o^)/

Darkness consumed the drow cleric's entire visage. A darkness that reminded her of her past in the Underdark; a waking nightmare she miraculously escaped, forging a path of her own, under the light and guidance of her Lady of Silver.

But this time, she feared that this smothering darkness would be...permanent. She could feel herself blinking, yet only blackest black and the stinging prick of her tears greeted her. She felt the ground beneath her and she doesn't think she broke any bones--or so she hopes--but she couldn't move. There was a looming heaviness in her chest and ice gripping at her heart.

Is she...dying? Eyes fluttering shut, she's resigned to her paralysis, but has not given up hope.

Because fuck that, she's most definitely not a quitter.

"M-My Lady of S-Silver..." She murmured, weak in physique but ever strong in her faith. "P-Please watch o-over me, h-help me overcome..."

She hasn't the faintest clue how long she stayed like that, strengthening herself in prayer, though eventually her ears perked up at the sound of...footsteps?

Something--or, rather, someone--sat next to her. She heard some shuffling then the soft strum of a lyre being played and a beautiful, soothing voice reverberating in her head.

"Flower, gleam and glow

Let your power shine

Make the clock reverse

Bring back what once was mine"

As the mystery songstress continued, she could feel power coursing through her veins, slowly but surely. She blinked once more and faint spots of light danced amidst the shadows.

"Heal what has been hurt

Change the Fates' design

Save what has been lost

Bring back what once was mine

What once was mine"

She felt her fingers twitching, toes wiggling; and, like a flower blossoming, she rose. She let out a sharp gasp as she sat up, chest still heavy but not as excruciating as it was before.

She's alive.

She blinked rapidly, perfect vision returning. She had hardly a moment to gather her bearings when someone's voice rang excitedly.

"Holy hells! I'm so glad you weren't, like, completely dead! Good thing I saw you just in time!"

Her gaze landed on the young woman before her. A half-drow with a smile as bright as the sun and mismatched eyes (one, she noticed, being a rather unusual blood red with a prominent scar across it). She was pretty--ahem, very pretty, might she add--but looked worse for wear. Something she was sure she looked, too.

Before either of them could say anything else, a migraine hit them both like a spiked club. They both cradled their heads in their hands, fragments of a hellish nautiloid swirling in their minds, waiting for the pain to pass and their eyes meeting in recognition.

When it finally did, the stranger piped up once more.

"Oh, wow, we're parasite pals!"

Despite the situation of it all, she laughed. A welcoming warmth radiated from the strange stranger, enveloping her and easing the tension of all of today's utter bullshit. From being kidnapped by godsdamned Mind Flayers to being infected by a disgusting parasite, she laughed and felt comforted that, at the very least, she was not alone.

"Indeed we are!" She grinned before holding her hand out. "Thank you so, so much for saving me! My name is Lunara and you are..?"

The stranger beamed, shaking Lunara's hand and her other hand making a theatrical waving gesture. "Mon'sun, at your service, fair maiden! Perhaps you've heard of me, perhaps not. The tale of my titillating life is still being written, you see~"

'Ehe. TIT-illating.' Lunara thought to herself, letting out a small chuckle before clearing her throat. She was a toootally mature adult, after all.

"Well, Mon'sun, Selûne's blessings upon you!" Lunara did a half bow, mimicking Mon'sun's theatrics which Mon'sun definitely approved of. "Besides your incredibly kind and gracious act of saving me, I'm positive my Lady of Silver led you here for a reason. What say you we band together and find a cure for this parasite?"

"Oho, asking to team up so fast? I would say take me out to dinner first, but I'm pretty easy sooo..." She joked, making a show of thinking before gasping dramatically, pretending to cry tears of joy. "Yes! A thousand times yes!"

Lunara just as dramatically placed a hand over her heart, sniffling. "Thank you! I promise to make you a happy woman!"

As they both stood up chattering and laughing away, preparing for the thrill of adventure ahead, Lunara noticed she was missing her coin pouch.

"Have you seen my coin pouch? I could've sworn I had it tied tightly around my waist, so there's no way it could've fallen off after the nautiloid crash." Lunara questioned as her purple eyes darted around their surroundings, ash and smoke rising from all the debris.

"Perhaps it burned away from the flames of the crash." Mon'sun replied smoothly, helping Lunara seek for her humble riches.

(Pssst, Mon'sun is lying and has Lunara's pouch in her pack, but she rolled a Nat 20 on ✨️deception✨️ sooo...)

"Well, nevermind then!" Lunara shrugged, smiling. "I'm sure our Lady of Silver will grant us great blessings for our journey. In fact, she has already bestowed upon me a most wonderful blessing in the form of a kind, trustworthy new friend!"

Narrator: *As the two drow kin embark on their perilous quest to free themselves of their parasites, a haunting voice echoes deep within the recesses of Mon'sun's mind; her own parasite. One of a different, godly breed taunting her--tormenting her.*

"Do you wish to find comfort in the presence of another inferior god, spiderling?" Lolth cackled, cruel music flooding Mon'sun's ears, vicious mockery only she can hear. "Such foolishness will only bring about disappointment...much like your new companion. But I am here, spiderling. Always watching. It is only a matter of TIME for you to bathe in her blood."

Mon'sun abruptly stopped in her tracks, shutting her eyes tight, nails digging into the palms of her hands that nearly drew blood as she willed the spider goddess to not so kindly fuck off. She was used to this by now, the lure of Lolth's appalling temptations always merciless, sickening, and...gratifying.

But no. She will never ever give in. Absolutely fucking NOT!

"Are you alright, Mon'sun?"

Mon'sun's eyes snapped open, sweat beading down her temple and wide, frantic eyes landing on Lunara, a few feet in front of her staring at her in concern.

"...I forgot!" A beat too late, a beat too nervous. But thankfully, Lunara didn't seem to notice it, only watching in curiousity as Mon'sun rummaged through her pack that was literally ripping off the seams.

Mon'sun then procured a small purple pouch, smiling sheepishly as she handed it to Lunara.

"Apologies, friend. I stole picked this up earlier and just remembered it now. This must be yours, yes?"

Lunara caught Mon'sun completely off guard when she launched herself at the other girl, wrapping her arms around Mon'sun.

"Oh, our Lady of Silver truly blesses me! Thank you, friend, your kindness knows no bounds!" Lunara giggled.

Mon'sun was still for a few moments before returning the embrace, laying her head against Lunara's chest. Her bardic ear listened close, the faint thrum of Lunara's heartbeat--as lovely as its owner--lulling her to a wonderful sense of security.

No matter how temporary.

[void-ink-studios]

Nightmare's Rampage

Inspired by a comment left by @scumbkat, behold, a very very bad night for Scarab.

Not much left to say other than that, so enjoy!

TW: Implied/Referenced torture, Scarab has a major nightmare/PTSD response.

Word Count: 2,100

"Scarab..."

Scarab groaned. He was on the ground, he could feel cold tiles against his bruised and cracked shell. His limbs twitches painfully. Like they were... bent? Bent at wrong angles, twisted in some way.

"Scarab."

He tried to push himself up, but his arms and legs protested, pain shooting up and down his spine. His head throbbed.

"SCARAB!"

The beetle jumped, an undignified chirp falling out of his mouth. His wings twitched as he blinked his eyes open, trying to make sense of where he was, what was happening.

"Oh, good, you're awake."

A large shadow loomed over Scarab. The beetle could see the glint of those ridiculous sunglasses staring down at him.

"So. Have you learned your lesson?"

Lesson? What lesson was he meant to learn? His head was filled with wool, his thoughts sluggish and blurred. He couldn't speak, like something was sitting in his mouth.

"What...?" His voice sounded slurred. What had happened?

"Oh, Scrabs, buddy. Still? You still need to be taught?"

Taught what? What did he do?

"Wait..."

"Scrabs, buddy, you know I'd hate to do this to you." His sickly sweet voice dripped like poison over Scarab's head. "But you need to learn your lesson."

What lesson? Please, what lesson was he supposed to learn? Why did everything hurt? What was going on?

"Tell ya what. If you can tell me what you did wrong, we can be done for today. You can rest up, and get back out there. Just tell me what you did to deserve this."

Scarab wracked his brain. He tried to cling to memories, what happened before this? What did he do to make Orbo mad? What happened this time? Every time he thought he had it, the memory slipped through his fingers like water. He uselessly tried to summon words to his throat, but it was drier than a sand dune. His mouth and throat filled with gritty mud, drowning in silence.

"Really mate? Nothing? It's almost like you think you didn't do anything wrong. Pity. You know I don't want to do this, but you've left me no choice. You know, order from the Higher Ups and all that junk."

Scarab saw the shadow roll to his other side. He tried to turn, tried to crawl, tried to do anything except lie there, but it was as if he had his strings cut. He couldn't move his limbs, could barely twitch his fingers.

"Please..."

"You're begging? Not very becoming of an Auditor, Scrabs. Just keep quiet and try not to make it worse on yourself."

The shadow let out a loud whistle.

Scarab heard footsteps, heavy ones. They surrounded him, boxed him in from all sides.

"Let's see... we took your antenna last time, already an improvement... what should we take this time? Something that'll make sure the message really sets in."

Scarab felt like a scientific specimen. His limbs were occasionally poked and prodded, lifted to be dropped, almost a little too much weight pressed into his hands and joints. He held his breath. He was waiting for it. What "it" was, he didn't know. He just knew it was coming, whatever it was.

"Hmm... No, you need your arms, you'd be useless otherwise... Legs are probably necessary too... What about your extra arms? You really need four arms, mate?"

Scarab made a light pleading noise, his wings unconsciously flaring out, trying to carry him away, away from here, away from the shadow.

"Ahh. Now there's an idea. Thanks for the suggestion, bud."

No. No no no no...

"Hold his back open. Ugh, it's gross that that's even something I can say. Let's just get this done quick so I don't have to look at it anymore."

Rough hands gripped the seams of his elytra, forcing them open as wide as possible, painfully pulling on the joints in his shoulders. His wings twitched, still trying to fight through this foggy paralysis.

"No... No please no..."

"Hmm? Fellas, you hear something? Me neither. Come on, get on with it."

He felt a hand grab at one wing, sending stinging shivered up and down his back.

This wasn't happening, this couldn't be happening, he couldn't be losing his wings of all things... He'd already lost his antenna; he could be losing his wings too... His beautiful wings, the ones he preened over, the ones others admired... they'd never been touched by anything but his own hands, until now. Until now, when they're being pulled by strangers he couldn't even see.

He wept. He pleaded in the murmurs that he could force through the muck in his throat and lungs, his wings thrashed as they were tugged.

He tried to pull his mind elsewhere. But all he could recall is the words of older members of the mounds, telling him to be careful with his wings. That they're meant only to be touched by someone special.

In this moment, even his own mind betrayed him.

"Do it."

And Scarab's back was set alight.

And all that could bubble up through the mud was a broken scream.

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

Prismo didn't think much when Scarab said he was tired. While he himself never felt sleepy, he could imagine it'd be different for someone who lived their entire life as a 3 dimensional living thing. Maybe it was just out of habit.

So, Prismo gave him a soft peck on the cheek, jokingly wishing him a good night, and watched Scarab slink into the basement, probably to one of his burrows.

The Wishmaster had assumed he'd see Scarab again in a few hours, they'd work on their story, and maybe browse the tv wall for something interesting.

What he was not expecting was a horrid scream, followed by a loud bang to echo up from the depths of the Time Room.

It startled the heck out of both him and the wish maker he was currently talking to.

"Uhhh... Wish granted" he panicked, not even thinking about how to monkey paw this wish, before sending the mortal on their way and diving into the basement.

And he was met with a wreck.

It looked like something had bulldozed its way through the walls, smashing everything it could find until the Time Room was some winding cave network.

Okay, this was bad.

"Scarab? Lovebug, are you okay?"

He followed the trail of destruction, a creeping feeling of dread bubbling into his chest. Claw marks scraped into the walls, along with dents that implied something smashing its body into the wall over and over.

"Scarab!" He yelled for his partner, growing a bit desperate.

"AWAY! STAY AWAY!"

Prismo froze.

That was not a voice he was used to hearing. He'd been told what Nightmo sounds like, a sandpaper like guttural hiss. Now he knew what they were talking about. It sent shivers down his nonexistent spine.

"...Scarab?"

He heard movement down a smashed open tunnel, a scratching, growling sound. He peered into the cave, drawing in a sharp breath.

Scarab was not here right now. His Nightmare was glad to meet him though.

His small, elegant Lovebug was not bound by his logical view of self anymore. This shadow stretched gigantic, almost the same size as Prismo himself.

It reminded him of a black centipede or spider almost. His limbs were long and jagged, fingers fused into sharp looking, stabbing hooks. His eyes were filled with a bright purple, mandibles much bigger and sharp looking, mouth filled with dagger like fangs of the same bright purple.

"Oh Glob..."

Prismo was at a loss for what to do. He knew what Nightmo was like in this state...

Whatever Scarab was afraid of was... intense.

"Hey... Lovebug? It's me."

He decided to try and do what he usually did when Scarab panicked. Offer a hand.

The Nightmare hissed violently, shoving itself into the corner farthest away from the Wishmaster.

"STAY AWAY! WON'T LET YOU! WON'T LET YOU!"

Prismo's hand stopped a few feet from the Nightmare's body, still clearly in its sight.

"I won't touch you, Lovebug. If you want it, you can come to me, just like always."

"WON'T HURT! WON'T HURT ANYMORE! WON'T LET YOU!"

Prismo gulped, feeling his heart break. Ah. So that's what happened. Scarab finally saw the Nightmare's extended wings, trying to look as big and threatening as possible. Its poor, torn wings.

"I won't hurt you. Scarab knows I wouldn't. It's nice to meet you. I'm Prismo. You know me, don't you?"

"YOUR FAULT, ALL YOUR FAULT! HURT WAS YOUR FAULT!"

The words stung, but he knew they weren't meant. Scarab had told him, he doesn't blame Prismo for what happened.

But it seems the Nightmare didn't get the memo.

"Hey now... The one who hurt you can't anymore. Orbo can't touch you anymore. I wouldn't allow it. The Organizer wouldn't allow it. You know her, don't you?"

"SHE LEFT US! LEFT US TO ROT! LEFT TO BE TORN APART!"

"She didn't leave you, Lovebug, you know that. You know how much she cares for you. Come on, come back to me, Scarab."

The Nightmare growled and hissed lowly, not convinced. It looked at Prismo's outstretched hand like it would bite.

"WON'T BE FOOLED! WON'T BE HURT!"

"You won't be, Lovebug. Come on. It's time to settle down."

Prismo conjured a small flashlight, at the ready in case this thing lashed out.

"Orbo's not here. It's just you and me. No one can hurt you here."

"LIAR! WON'T BE HURT!"

"You won't be. I promise you, you won't be. I know you're frightened. You're trying to protect Scarab. You're doing such a good job. But I can take it from here. You did so well, you deserve to rest."

The Nightmare warbled, a hesitant hiss echoing in the cave. It eyes Prismo's hand again. It stretched out, extending a claw, hovering a few inches away.

"WON'T BE... Hurt..."

"You don't be. You come to me when you're ready, Lovebug."

"Lovebug..." it whispered.

The Nightmare shrank, its rough edges slightly smoothing out. It hissed warily as it touched Prismo's hand.

"There we go... You did such a good job, protecting him... I'll take it from here, and finish what you started."

The purplish-black spider-like nightmare hesitated before folding itself into a protective curl, still touching Prismo's hand, as it faded into blue.

The blue shadow held still for one second, then two, then finally looked up at the Wishmaster with wide, uncertain eyes. He looked around at the cave he had built out of the shattered walls of the Time Room.

"There we are... Hey Lovebug..."

And Scarab wept.

Not like how he normally cries. This was a rough, breathless, heaving sob, one that made Prismo immediately curl around his poor beetle.

"I-I-I... I-I'm sorry..."

"Shh... It's okay, Scarab. It was your first time handling your Nightmare aspect... The Time Room can be repaired, don't worry."

Scarab shoved his face into Prismo's side, muttering apologies through his tears, his shell shaking, rattling even. He didn't seem to know what to do with himself, unsure if he should cling to the Wishmaster, push him away, open his wings or keep them as tightly shut as possible.

"It's okay, baby. I'm right here. Let it out..."

Scarab shuddered, seemingly declining speaking for the time being. That was okay. Words didn't need to be said.

"Must've been some dream to pull you into your Nightmare aspect..."

"...I-I... I..."

"You don't have to talk. Don't force yourself to."

Scarab closed his mouth, his mandibles clicking nervously against each other.

Prismo decided to lean down and nuzzle. He did it exactly like how Scarab often did, nuzzling with the forehead on the side of the cheek. He planted his own little peck at the end.

"...Do you want to come up? Or would you rather stay down here for a bit longer?"

Scarab curled up tighter, right where he was. Guess that answered that question...

"Okay, Lovebug. We can stay right here. Just breathe."

The two stayed that way for a long time. No one word was exchanged between them. No words needed to be said.

Prismo just kept himself curled around Scarab, feeling his every breath and shiver. He softly, gently, pet the space between Scarab's wings. The beetle shivered and wept a little harder at the touch, but whined pitifully if Prismo tried to pull his hand away.

This wasn't a good night, and the Wishmaster knew that. But, he could at least be here to ride it out with his Lovebug.

He was needed.

And he were right where he needed to be.

[sauron-kraut]

Blood Moon

Summary: Amandil encounters a strange being in his dream.

The second of two little Kinktober prompt fics that took me forever to finish because I had other projects going on and because I had surgery in October - but that I did not want to abandon, so here we are!

Thanks to @cilil, who gave me the prompt "wet dream & mind control" from her lovely prompt list for Mairon/a mortal of my choice. This might have turned out more... horror-ish than I anticipated, and some elements might be inspired by my own experiences with sleep paralysis. Here you go, dearest. 🖤

Pairing: Mairon x Amandil

Words: 592

Warnings: explicit content, pwp, nightmares, mind manipulation, sleep paralysis

As always: If you like this little piece, comments on AO3 are appreciated! 🖤

Not beta read!

Find the smut under the cut.

Darkness all around him, save for a sliver of pale moonlight bathing part of the bedding in silver solitude. It extends across the bedpost, the wall. It touches the creature astride him. Amandil fails to move a limb. All four of them feel odd, his entire body feels… strange. Weightless, and terribly heavy. Floating and drowning all at once. All sensations converge in his lower stomach, and a bouquet of red hot pleasure sprouts from his groin area. The being frantically rolls its hips, mouth open. Too wide, it opens too wide like a gaping black wound. A witch, it must be a witch, with eyes of fire and hair of gold. Amandil wants to moan, wants to thrust up into the thing’s hot insides that clench around him. No sound makes its way past his lips, and his hips remain still. Bodiless whispers fill the air with dread, tingling pain like pinpricks all over his skin. The thing wails, and the walls come closer. The moonlight turns a murky red. A weight on his chest, restricting Amandil’s breath. The creature above him pants and groans like an animal, fear strangles him and yet spilling himself into that red-hot slickness sliding up and down his achingly hard length is everything he wants. Everything Amandil has ever wanted. He needs no other thing. 

The witch’s distorted features smoothen, cheekbones rise, tousled hair forms luscious curls, and the open hole of a mouth becomes perfect lips, glistening in the blood moon’s light like a promise.

The creature smiles.

Its thin robe slides off one shoulder, revealing a small pale breast, rosy nipple hard and skin flushed with feverish lust. Amandil wants to reach out, touch, thumb at that nipple to wrench more wanton moans from the now invitingly curved mouth that forms another silent oh, can’t, can only feel how the slick warmth tightens around him, hot, pulsating, and all of a sudden Amandil’s throat tightens with it, he chokes, tries to gasp for air, watches the thing as its cheekbones rise higher, the face of a fair maiden now distorted into something else, less youth and more eternity, features perpetually angelic, sharper, deadlier. No less beautiful. Amandil chokes on the thought, chokes again.

The creature parts its lips, moans, then laughs, its eyes molten gold. The air becomes warm and thick.

Amandil’s heart beats in his throat, as though desperately keeping his body from failing. 

The creature bends down, its cascading hair framing them both. Its face is close now, so close, and Amandil recognizes.

The king’s advisor, the one contorting him into a traitor, into a shadow of a regal man. Captive, priest, god, the coddled demon. A scream lodges itself behind Amandil’s tongue when Zigûr brings his lips to Amandil’s ear, hips rolling frantically.

Puffs of hot, damp air on his skin as the Maia breathes, in his ear, and Amandil fears they will worm their way past his eardrum and into his brain.

Let go, Amandil, he whispers to him, and Amandil does. He drowns in pleasure.

Amandil jolts awake. Cold sweat soaks his night clothes and runs down his temples, making him shiver in the night air. A stain of warm wetness between his legs and hot shame burning on his cheeks. He tries to catch his breath and clears his throat, sits up in bed. The night is silver and the walls where they belong. He is alone.

When Amandil turns his head, eyes searching the dark of his sleeping quarters, two fiery orbs gaze back at him.

[imnotasuperhero]

Cover me in sunshine (and everything will be alrigt)

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: When the dark looms over you, it’s good you always have someone who can resque you.

A/N: OMG! It’s been like.. OVER 2 YEARS! (Yes, I checked the date) BUT I FINALLY GOT THE PERFECT CONTINUATION TO THIS ANGSTY PIECE!! And while this idea had occured me a few weeks ago, I just got to finish it tonight, And. It’s. EVERYTHING! I honestly don’t know what will follow, but if you have something specific you wanna know or an idea for another story in the same AU, hit my inbox. For now, hope you enjoy this one 🫶

"You're staring."

And how could you not?

She was back. After 5 damned years, she was in your arms. Right where she belonged.

Your left hand reached her cheek, cupping her face so tenderly. The pad of your thumb smoothing invisible wrinkles on her soft skin with the gentlest touch you could muster. Afraid that if you caressed her a bit too hard it’d send her away.

But she was here. Wanda was by your side, on your bed at your dad's house and you felt yourself breathe, finally allowing your lungs to enjoy the oxygen that filled them with every single inspiration.

But the deep breath you inhaled got stuck mid-way as you felt your heart constricting itself, making your whole body ache and your lungs were no longer working as you witnessed how the brunette in your arms turned to ashes once again. 

And you wanted to scream, to beg her to stay, but your body was unresponsive and you thought this was what sleep paralysis felt like because you just stood there witnessing how her eyes begged you to hold her, asking you to have mercy and to not let her go. But all you could do was look at her with tears running down your cheeks while your insides burned from the excruciating pain that was consuming every cell in your body, making it impossible to move.

And the more you wanted to scream, the bigger the gag in your mouth, ricocheting your palpitations by the second, hearing the blood running through your veins clear as day in your ears.

When your lungs started to burn, the dizziness started to consume you, making your vision close until there was only darkness.

The sound of the beeping machine echoing in the room felt like thousands of nails in your brain and the sunlight made you shut your eyes at the brightness.

“It hurts,” you hoarse to the body besides your bed.

“Detka!” The brunette cried.

The look of pure anguish turned into the brightest teary smile you’ve ever seen and all your insides warmed up at that exact moment.

Lifting your hand, you cupped her cheek, feeling the lightest weight when Wanda leaned her face into your touch. “Hi, Witchy,” you smiled.

Suddenly, your personal space was filled with Wanda’s. And wrapping your arm around her, you just prayed to whichever god out there to let you keep her forever. 

“What happened?” You asked when she moved to lay by your side, holding your lock around her like a scarf, with your hand over her heart. The steady beating sending you into some sort of hypnosis.

“I don’t know, really.” The redhead’s eyes glued to you as the hand on your bare chest caressed your warm skin, careful not to ruin any electrode. “You just… You were dreaming and then you passed away after staying still for a few minutes.”

Flashes of your dream started to play and tears started to form in your eyes. 

Turning on your side, you snuggled impossibly closer to Wanda, “Please, never leave me again.”

But her voice never came. Instead, Dr. Cho walked into the small room.

“Glad to see you’re awake, Y/N,” the woman smiled tenderly as she started to check on the machines.

After what seemed like eternity full of different tests, you were dismissed with the promise of you starting therapy for ‘this is all in your head’ the dr. said. But all your plans flew out the window when your dad requested you stay in the compound with that ugly metalic band on your wrist.

“But what if we want intimate time?” You countered, seeing your dad’s face turn awry.

“First, ew.”

“Hey! Don’t say ew to my girlfriend.” You frowned.

“Honey, she’s like my kid. I don’t want anything to do with your… that.” Tony sighed tiredly. “About the wristband, please. I can’t have you-” He paused, looking at Wanda, then at your pleading eyes. “You owe me that much.”

Sighing, you just nodded your head, never meeting his eyes after the look of pure panic in his brown orbs. That hand around your heart squeezed it like a lemon, and its juice was your tears gathering in your eyes. 

“You’re one of the most important things I have,” he walked the distance, placing a warm, calloused hand on your chin, making you look at him. “I-”

“I know, dad. I'm sorry,” you blinked rapidly trying to brush your tears away, but it was of no use when the strong pair of arms secluded you into the comfort a fatherly hug could bring.

Looking at the scene unfolding in front of her, Wanda couldn’t help the mourning settling in her chest. She’s lost five years of your life and it wasn’t rocket science to understand you weren’t at your best. But just as her lungs started to hurt, Tony’s eyes indicated her to stay calm, “Gotta be patient.” he mouthed soundlessly.

And that she was. Wanda had kept quiet about her concerns, never speaking about them and always staying quiet, listening and analyzing every single interaction around her, paying special attention to the way Natasha behaved with you. Always hugging you, always touching you in some way ‘just friends’ don’t do, at moments, always so secretive. And she’d be lying if it didn’t poke at her heart.

The idea of you having had something with Natasha twisted the small knife inside her, making it harder to stay put.

Granted, you’ve been clinging to her since she came back, always making her feel loved and pampering her with love. But the greeny monster inside her kept tugging at her heart, reading too much into the situations in front of her eyes.

“I need air,” she kissed your hair before detangling her arms from around you.

“I can go,”

“No, Detka. Stay with them,” Wanda conjured the best smile she could fake. No need to add to whatever thing your brain was dealing with.

The pure oxygen the trees around her provided, was enough to keep her lungs happy. But the solitude of the leafy park she was in, made the crispy air pierce to her bones. And she wondered if maybe you felt this way. Maybe the cold in you needed the warmth she always provided until she disappeared, so you sheltered yourself in Natasha’s. Maybe- 

‘No’

She couldn’t let her demons crawl up to the surface. She couldn’t let her fears come in between the two of you.

“I might not be the telepathic one, but I still can hear you.”

The chills Wanda was experiencing only intensified at the voice beside her.

Turning around, the redhead faced the hard woman in front of her. Her fingers itched to pat that smirk away.

“What do you want?”

“I want to talk, that’s all.” Natasha raised her arms, showing her surrenderness.

“There’s nothing to-”

“It’s about Y/N,” Wanda’s mannerisms changed at the sound of your name.

“Is she okay?”

“She is,” Natasha nodded, signaling to a near bench and Wanda followed suit.

“The five years you weren’t here, Y/N had…” The older woman paused, looking for the right words to say. “She’s been through some very rough patches. She was in complete misery, and she did some not-so-good things.”

“What things?” Worriness started to shred her skin from the inside out.

“She’ll tell you when she’s ready.”

“What about me?” Wanda spat venomously.

“It’s why I’m here,” Natasha placed a hand on her thigh, sending some sort of calmness through her body. “I can only imagine what it must have felt like. I won’t say I understand because I stayed. But you gotta know she was never alone. And no, there was nothing between us.”

“How you-”

“I’m a spy, Wanda. I know how to read people,” Natasha shrugged.

Just like that, the looming darkness over her dissipated into thin air, allowing the sunrays to shine through. 

She still had a lot of questions that needed answers, but Natasha’s words allowed her to see clearly again.

“Thank you.” Wanda nodded. “For being there for her,” she spoke shyly.

“I can’t say it was the best experience, but I’d do it again.” She joked and Wanda laughed softly, knowing how big of a pain in the ass you could be. Sometimes you reminded her of Pietro.

“Between us?” Natasha drew her attention. “She always talked about your emo phase,” she winked something Wanda didn’t know how to identify as, and stood up. “I gotta go, don’t be long. She could use some time with you.” Natasha walked away, leaving a dumbfounded Wanda behind.

“Hey, W.E.D.N.S.D.A.Y.? You sure there’s nothing to do about this thing?” You asked the AI, inspecting the silver gadget on your wrist, racking your brains about fooling its bio results.

“I’m sorry Miss Stark, your father blocked me from giving you the information.”

Sighing you rolled in bed, grunting against your pillow.

Maybe you could ask that girl, Skye, you met at shield. She was a hacker and was one of Coulson’s favorites. You knew he wouldn’t oppose giving you her contact.

Now, if only you could think of something infallible…

But said line of thought was interrupted when your bed sank. Turning your head to the side, you gasped when your eyes focused on the brunette. Your fingers automatically curling around that soft hair you missed oh, so much.

“You dyed it?” You asked wide-eyed.

“I guess you like it,” Wanda blushed under your gaze and you couldn’t help the smile growing.

“I love it!” You giggled, trying really hard to keep your eyes away from the silky chocolatey locks, but failing miserably.

“Should I get jealous of my hair?” Wanda joked, staring at you.

“Maybe,” you smirked before you kissed her lips. “Hi,”

“Hello,” Wanda smiled in the kiss, wrapping her arms around you and laying you back in bed, her on top of you.

The distant voice calling you was closer with every step you took, but muffled at the same time. Like interference in a radio.

The smoggy air around you provided little clarity for you to see. Everything around you iced your blood the more you looked at the dry, crooked trees that seemed on a mission to capture you.

“Y/N!” The melody in the voice you loved to hear, has been replaced by horror. And the way your heart thumped against your chest felt like a march. Tu-tum tu-tum tu-tum. The same beat repeating in your ears, sending goosebumps down your body.

“Y/N!” The voice sounded louder, stronger, as a hand appeared in front of you and you begged for it to take you out of it.

Adjusting your eyes to the dim light coming from Wanda’s side of the bed, you allowed yourself to drown in those green eyes, taking it all from them, like the oxygen your lungs needed to survive. Wanda’s soft hands adding to the comfort from where they were placed.

“Detka, it was just a dream,” the brunette coed as her thumbs rubbed against your warm skin.

Focusing on the absentminded pattern she was creating, you allowed your body to relax against her touch.

“I’m so sorry,” she cried, hugging you close to her.

“What for?” You mumbled confused against her chest, basking in the warmth of her embrace.

At the silence settling fastly between you, you broke the hold, not caring about the magnetic force fighting to blend both your atoms.

“Wand,” you questioned softly, grabbing her hands in yours.

“I… I think I projected my dream onto you.” The brunette looked down, hiding from scrutinizing eyes.

“I thought you didn’t feel anything?” You mused, remembering her explanation of the five years she’s been blipped away.

“I don’t think it is because of the blip.” Wanda whispered.

“What do you mean?”

You looked back into those weepy eyes as they begged you to drop it. But that only lit up the curiosity inside you.

“What.” You pushed.

Seeing Wanda fidget in place, visibly uncomfortable, made your arms itch to shield her. But the hunger for knowledge won. 

Squaring yourself waiting for the worst, you studied your girlfriend. The usual carefree stance disappeared to display this anxious shy persona you haven’t seen in so long. Not after she started to move on from Pietro’s death.

“Nat told me,” her voice barely audible.

“Told you, what?” You braced yourself.

“When I was gone,” she paused and you saw how her tongue wetted her lips, misguiding you in the meaning for a second too long. “She told me you weren’t alright. And I know I have to let you speak about it in your own time. But the silence and secrecy about it all it’s starting to affect me because it’s not fair everyone else knows and I, as your girlfriend, am kept in the dark.”

“I-” You sighed, feeling the looming cloud fall over you in a heartbeat.

You always loathed the moment it would come up, because you knew avoiding her would be fruitless. The fact you had to open up to Wanda about your darkest years was something you always kept at the back of your mind. You weren’t ready to break her like you did the others. She deserved only love. But you knew she also needed the truth, no matter how hard it’d stomp over your relationship.

“I don’t know how it happened or what possessed me to do it,” you paused, trying to find the right words. “After you were blipped, all in me became a shell of the person I used to be. Every moment I replayed the same scene over and over again,” you sobbed, feeling your eyes burning and your throat starting to close itself. “One second you were smiling at me and a blink after, you turned into dust floating away from my arms,” you dried your tears with the sleeve of your shirt. “My mind kept repeating the same images over and over and I-” You had to stop yourself as you felt your body starting to tremble as you saw how Wanda’s eyes erupted with tears. The beeping coming from your wrist kept you grounded as you trusted the AI to inform everyone that it wasn’t a crisis.

“I lost myself,” you shrugged, smiling tearily as the shame took over you. “I lost myself and I became an addict.” You finally confessed, not daring to look up at the glassy eyes scrutinizing you, feeling your body burning up. You wouldn’t be able to keep on living if -when, you saw the disappointment in them.

“I became an awful person,” you laughed wickedly. “I became all the things I always stood against. And-”

The guttural, painful moan that roared from within you had you melting into those soft yet strong arms that encircled you in a securing grip.

Your cries turned into tremors as Wanda kissed your head repeatedly, her hand drawing circles on your lower back.

"I'm sorry," she cried alongside you, allowing you the time to calm down while she never stopped her ministrations. No matter how her eyes burned with the falling tears, the need to comfort you came first.

After a few moments, she laid you both in bed, your head over her chest. You sighed tiredly as your body relaxed against her. Wanda's beating heart casting a spell on your exhausted body.

"You have to let go," Wanda's voice was barely a whisper, almost afraid the calm that slowly started to reign dissipated away.

At your silence, she continued. "Someone once told me that who our alter ego was didn’t matter as long as we took over and allowed ourselves to heal."

You smiled silently at those words. Your heart pumped a bit easier at the knowledge she remembered them after all these years.

"Guess I should follow my advice," you tightened your hold on her middle section, basking in the comfort you craved for so long.

"I love you, detka." She cupped your cheek, making you look into those green orbs you loved to dive into. "And I'm never leaving you again." She promised.

You inspected her eyes in search of any trace of a lie. But you came up empty-handed.

Leaning up, you kissed her softly, slowly. Hoping she’d feel in that kiss all the devotion you withheld for her. And in consequence, allowing your mind to finally understand Wanda was here. She wasn’t going anywhere. Not unwillingly, at least.

Breaking the kiss for much-needed air, you snuggled against her as you inhaled her essence, filling your insides with the aroma that never failed to calm you down. 

The craving for the serenity you've been suffering from these excruciating years was finally subsiding the more you listened to her calm heartbeat. Because you knew that no matter how tumultuous your mind was feeling, Wanda always managed to.

Time ago, your heart bled whenever you saw people laughing, wishing with all your will for the day you would, too. And even if it seemed far away, her soul got you through another day.

After all, and even more so now with her in your arms, with Wanda by your side, everything would be alright.

As always, comments and reblogs are appreciated (:

Forever (wanda) taglist: @summergeezburr​ @red1culous​ @wandabear​ @xxxtwilightaxelxxx (If you wanna be added, let me know (:

[mousegirlvorecast]

Have a Heart

Happy vore day y’all! This is a shorter one which was inspired by a convo we had with @yourdarlingpuppy about Gila Monster preds!

Cw: light blood, pain, paralysis, vore, implied digestion, cruel pred

The poor dog girl awakens from her slumber in a haze, her eyelids heavy and her head pounding. She sits up from the sand and gets a good look at her surroundings… she seems to be in some kind of desert? Even more alarming; she notices that her clothes, bag, and even her phone are gone. The last thing she remembered was being on the bus, taking a late night commute home from work. She remembered a stinging pain on the back of her neck and then…

She rubs her neck tenderly and looks around nervously as she hears something approaching.

“H-hello? Is someone there? I’m Liz, I—I don’t know where I am, please just help me get home, I’ll do anything!”

Liz continues to look for where the source of the footprints are coming from, but she can’t hep but feel like someone is hiding from her

Her attention strays to the ground near where the footsteps seem to be coming from. She notices a few rocks that she had overlooked in her panicked stupor; but it quickly becomes clear that they aren’t rocks, they seem to be… bones.

Right as that realization hits she hears a loud snap, followed by a cackle as a large reptilian figure emerges from behind some rock. The figure’s yellow eyes stare right into Liz’s soul, and her forked tongue idly pokes out of her grinning lips as she eyes down her prey.

“The keepers brought me a lively one today~ if you stay still I’ll make it quick, but you and I both know that isn’t happening~”

Liz barely has time to process the woman’s words as the lizard pounces towards her. Liz scrambles to run away, and barely takes a few steps when she feels a burning pain at her tail. She shoots her head back to see the woman’s razor sharp teeth clamped around her tail; saliva and blood dripping from the woman’s lips. Liz screams and kicks the woman, freeing her tail, before running away as fast as she can. The large reptile just watches her prey run away and grins, wiping a strand of blood and venom from her lips.

Liz runs for as long as her legs let her, but she isn’t exactly fit; and the pain from her tail is getting worse. She looks back; and not seeing her predator behind her she ducks behind a rock

“What… what the fuck, did I do something wrong? Fuck I just need to get out of here”

She whimpers and goes to check her tail, but finds that she can’t move it at all. She knows it’s still there; she can still feel every agonizing bit of pain, but the muscles simply won’t move. Before she can worry too much about this, she hears those same footsteps as before; and immediately gets up to run. As she gets up that pain from her tail rings out in her thighs, and she cries out instinctively…

“Gotcha~”

Liz didn’t wait to hear what the beast had to say; she pushed through the pain and started dashing away once more; the pain only intensifying with every step.

“Please don’t do this! GASP! I’m a person like you!”

Her predator giggles softly at the pup’s protestations, and simply walks after her nice and calmly. At this point Liz prepares to scramble over just a shin-high rock; but finds a moment too late that her thighs and knees seem to be locked like her tail is. She slams her legs into the rock and hits the sand below hard. She cries out in pain and turns over, sitting up the best she can to see her predator slowly approaching. Tears escape her eyes as she grips her legs, desperately trying to make them work like normal again

“There’s no use in that little snack, my venom is making short work of your silly escape attempt~ I told you I’d make it quick if you didn’t run… so just remember that everything that happens from this point was your own choice~”

Liz sobs and tries to scoot backwards, but as the venom reaches her arms she can’t do anything but watch the reptile woman approach, and cry as she is lifted up by her shoulders. Her entire body is in agonizing pain, and even her neck at this point is paralyzed. She isn’t sure if it’s luck or not that her organs aren’t paralyzed yet

“P-please no… I’m begging you please have a heart and let me go!”

The woman cackles at this, and squeezes her meal tight enough to force out a pained yelp

“I have a heart~ don’t worry you’ll get to know it’s beating quite well~ I just don’t care about my meals. I hope the rest of you is as tasty as your tail was~”

She licks her lips and opens her mouth wide, her forked tongue lapping at Liz’s tears. Unable to squirm, or even tilt her neck; Liz is forced to stare into the woman’s pulsing throat; watching as bloody saliva drips from her teeth onto her tongue. She is pushed inside; her head barely fitting inside the woman’s maw. It’s tight and humid; and for a moment Liz tricks herself into thinking that she might be too big for the reptile to swallow!

These hopeful thoughts are silenced with a loud

GLLLRK

As her head is pulled into the monster’s maw; tight slimy muscles pulsing all around her threatening to crush her poor skull. She feels as her body is lapped at; bitten, sucked on; and every few moments came a deafening

GULP

Which shook her to her core and led her ever closer to her acrid grave. Inside the throat, the reptile’s heartbeat is absolutely deafening; each beat only intensifying the pressure she feels around her. After what feels like hours; the pressure around Liz’s head seems to lessen; and as her bloody shins pass into the reptile’s maw, her head is deposited into her stomach. Liz’s eyes water as the acidic air irritates her skin. The smell is enough to make her gag and it only gets worse as one more large gulp sends her legs down into the woman’s gullet.

As Liz is swallowed down her head plunges into the pool of acid below. Her face isn’t under long as the rest of her body slips inside the tight organ not long after; but it’s enough that her entire face stings with a pain she’s never felt before. As her legs slip inside the beast’s guts, her body is forced to curl up tight into a ball. She tries to call for help but she finds that the venom has finally frozen her face. Laying there in complete darkness, Liz listens to the growls and groans of the gut around her as she is churned into bloody chyme. She whimpers gently as her predator rubs her bulging gut

“Aww, where did all that fight go~ you won’t last long I can tell; but you were absolutely delicious ~ maybe I’ll ask for more dogs in my diet”

She giggles and lets out a burp, which causes the stomach to get tighter around Liz. It isn’t long before she feels her nerves die down; the agonizing pain calming into a peaceful lack of sensation. She closes her eyes and tries to sleep, each step from the predator rocking her into comfort. At last her mind quiets and she falls into an unconscious state; never to awaken again.

[wlntrsldler]

poisoned mercury is so good! it’s truly one of my fav aus i’ve read in a minute and the way you write the characters is absolutely phenomenal ! i saw that you wanted some song recs for future chapters/inspo so here i am

“waste the night”/“vapor” by 5sos

>wtn is STUPID cute for luke and yn. “smoke in your lungs” is so them kissing on her their bench

> vapor i can see chris and luke writing for clar and yn respectively. like luke and chris just giggling and writing a song for their girlfriends is so cute

“perfume”/“cigarettes and wine” by del water gap

>perfume i can see luke writing as his first song out of writers block, after yn beats him in another game of pool in her cabin and he’s so enamored with her and she’s cocky about beating him and its cute and still ‘will they won’t they’

>cigs&wine i see as them having a full blown camp rock moment and they sing a duet last day of camp (although yn isn’t musically inclined, i picture her still being able to carry a tune)

”girlfriends” by the academic

> ITS SO THEM I CANT EXPLAIN IT

“lover” by the hunna

> luke writes it for their 1yr and it’s cute

hope these help with some inspiration and what not! keep up the great work!! can’t wait to see where it goes :)

OH ANON MY HEART IS SO ?!!?!!!!

waste the night/ vapor by 5sos

i love how we all collectively agree that poisoned mercury is 5sos in an alternate universe (especially 5sos in their self titled and sgfg era lol)

im definitely thinking of doing small blurbs of luke x five star interactions in between the longer chapters now because waste the night is SO perfect for them 😭

thinking of luke realizing that he needs to let five star call the shots in their “relationship” because he has a track record of failing at relationships and the last thing he wants to do is mess things up with five star before it even begins.

and five star is waiting begging for him to make a move because she realizes no matter how hard she tries, she was falling for luke castellan. but bc of her past, she’s afraid of making the first move.

the lyrics fit both of them in very very different ways, but they’re both just love-struck and pining and ugh!

for vapor, i can see luke and chris (both equally whipped for their girls) thinking about what will happen to their respective relationships when they leave chb. long distance isn’t easy. being the gf of a guy in a band came with it’s own problems. they both know that five star and clarisse trust them that they won’t cheat or do anything to jeopardize their relationships but they still cant help but worry about it :(((( (my angst sleep paralysis demon is clawing at my brain)

perfume/ cigarettes and wine by del water gap

perfume is set after r u mine? in my head!!!! i won’t say too much about this one because this will probably be one of the extras i write in the future hehe

cigarettes and wine is post chb!!!!!!! when poisoned mercury is back on tour and luke is missing five star extra. they definitely wrote it together because even tho five star isn’t musically inclined, i like to think that she can write (or at least says things to luke in a poetic way that inspires a song)

girlfriends by the academic

luke writes this about five star!!!!!! this is their song!!!!!! this is literally them ur so right

lover by the hunna

ONE YEAR OF LUKE AND FIVE STAR WHO ELSE CHEERED??????

“they’re not used to our ways” is def the public causing a commotion that luke castellan is in a COMMITTED relationship like the whole world is shook

“that makes me a better me” YEAAAAAAA THIS GOES FOR BOTH OF THEM!!!!!! they’re always better when they’re with each other. soulmates if you must.

anon, you are god-sent. these songs will go into the poisoned mercury playlist i’m creating. thank u for these song recs!