#that’s a raw deal if I’ve ever seen one

[greenlovescats]

I can’t believe that everyone else was having goofy silly little adventures and then Donnie was getting ✨traumatized✨

[foldingfittedsheets]

I’d like to entertain and enliven you now with the saga of my Slut Era.

I’ve always been a serial monogamist and my shortest long term relationships clocked in at three years. So perhaps that’s why when I finally broke it off with my ex I went insane on dating. Part of it was definitely just that between anxiety and loneliness I wanted to fill up my time.

This happened when I was living alone for the first time, no roommates, just me and my little cat Leeloo. I didn’t want to come home to an empty house so instead I set up dates.

Most of these were disastrous. I’m not everyone’s cup of tea and I had a lot more first dates than second because they’d seen enough, including the one where people aggressively complimented me.

But after a few months I had four people I was seeing simultaneously. I was up front with all of them that things were not exclusive, and they all agreed, so no infidelity took place here, just a lot of hijinks.

Here’s who was on the dating roster:

• An apprentice woodworker that we’ll call Jill. I honestly thought at 26 years old that her being 21 wasn’t a problem age gap and I quickly learned that there was a vast gulf of both maturity and life experience between us. Jill described herself as “heteroflexible” and had just dumped her first boyfriend to flirt it up with me.

• A married woman looking for a friends with benefits. We’ll call her Alice. I insisted on meeting her husband first to be sure I wasn’t part of a cheating mess and he gave me his blessing when I stayed over at her house. Years later when he and Alice had divorced I would go on to sell him and his new fiancée an engagement ring and we both realized at the end how we knew each other and it was wildly awkward. Alice was nice, but a hardcore vegan who insisted I brush my teeth if I so much as ate string cheese before I could kiss her. She was also unhappy in her marriage and was feeling out if I’d want to get serious.

• A bartender dubbed Snakebites, so called because of her signature piercings. She cooked me a steak so raw it was still mooing and some of the best asparagus I’d ever had. In our singular sexy encounter she bit my nipple and I never got over it. Really don't bite someone if you don't know their preference and work up in pressure. We weren’t terribly compatible but neither of us were willing to admit it yet. Truthfully I considered still dating her solely because I desperately wanted her bathroom. It had all black tile, black toilet, black sink, a rain shower in the corner and a jacuzzi tub. I may not have loved her but god I loved that bathroom.

And finally,

• My beloved, who I would go on to marry, who was dealing with a lot of personal stuff at the time. Obviously that meant I liked them the best of all the people I was seeing because we were both disasters at the time.

So that’s the cast of this little misadventure. Now, our story begins with Jill.

Jill was someone who heightened my anxiety. Each of the three times she came to my home she brought and left more stuff. A self help book, a ramen kit, the entire Teen Titans collection of DVDs. It was like she was trying to move in. She also liked to deride my taste in things, frequently calling me a pleb when I mentioned a band or show I liked.

She was working on a gorgeous little decorative table in her woodworking program. The main wood for the top had a beautiful dapple of knots like jaguar spots, and when she showed me a picture I exclaimed how pretty it was.

“Do you want it?”

“Oh- I mean it’s lovely, I wouldn’t mind having it, but you should sell it and make some money!”

But she was adamant. She’d give me the little side table. At about this time, Alice was starting to get awfully lovey for a FWB. I knew she wasn’t happy with her husband but I also knew we were not a good fit. Fun fact: Alice and her husband were step siblings with a pretty hefty age gap. They got together when he stumbled upon a kink photo shoot she’d done with vegetables. None of their family was happy about the relationship but they weren’t related by blood so it was fine.

So I was fending off more overt romantic advances from Alice, and feeling increasingly like I needed to break things off with Jill. Snakebites wasn’t ever initiating communication and I decided to pull a lot of plugs at once.

I ghosted Snakebites, told Alice that I thought we should cool it, and in a move worthy of a rom-com I asked my beloved if I could pretend we were exclusive to put off Jill. They agreed and I texted Jill to let her know that I was no longer single.

I was not prepared for Jill’s response. She. Was. Devastated. She flew off the handle. She’d just been waiting for the right time to tell me how she felt about me! How dare I do this to her!

What about the table?!

“You should keep the table, it’s gorgeous, you’ll be able to sell it, but I don’t expect a free table.”

Silence met me after that text. I worried and fretted and eventually headed home.

There on my doorstep. The table.

It was a small little end table, reeking of oil and polish, but very beautiful. I brought it inside. The little drawer didn’t even have a knob or guide rails. But it did have a handwritten bill proclaiming that it was costing me $500.

“I can’t afford a $500 table, Jill!” I texted.

“Well you kept saying how nice it was. I spent a lot of time on it.”

“I’m not saying it’s not worth $500” (it wasn’t, it was a tiny side table made by an apprentice) “but I can’t buy a $500 table.”

“Make me an offer.”

I stared at the little table. I did actually like it, but I worried about the repercussions of entering into this deal. Hesitantly I typed back, “$300.” I didn’t think it was worth that much but I didn’t want to insult her too badly.

This suited her for the night. But the next day she informed me she needed a new bed, and that she’d take her $300 in credit toward a new mattress. I spent the whole next day basically wrangling with her over what she wanted and eventually she spiked back up to demanding $500 for the damn table.

“Let me just give it back,” I begged. It was not the first, second, or even third time I’d asked to return the thing but this time she finally relented and gave me her address. Since she lived with her parents still I’d never been over.

I called up my beloved and said, “Hey, I need moral support, can you run an errand with me?”

They agreed which is how we loaded up a self help book, a ramen kit, the entire Teen Titans DVD collection, and the table from hell into my little car together. Jill had said to meet her at one o'clock. I intended to drop everything off at noon and be done with this madness.

But while my beloved and I were on the doorstep leaving everything I heard, “Jill? You’re home early,” through the door. Her mom opened it to peer at us in confusion.

“I was just bringing Jill’s stuff back!” I chirped in alarm.

With little tact and a lot of speed we left her with Jill’s collection of things and then I sped out of there like my tail was on fire. I handed my phone to my beloved as I zoomed away instructing them to block Jill’s number. I was free. The tabletross around my neck had been returned.

It was about a month after that when my beloved and I officially began dating exclusively. I had wrapped up all my messy dating threads and it was a relief to be in a relationship again. They went on a trip to Mexico shortly after we made it official.

So I knew they were out of town. But next morning I walked out to my car and beheld a lipstick kiss pressed to the drivers side window.

I was petrified. I had just dumped three girls at once and had an extremely messy back and forth with one of them. Did I have a stalker?!

Of the girls, Alice seemed like likeliest candidate, being of a stronger lipstick variety girl than Jill or Snakebites. We had ended things a bit stiffly, but still cordial. She just laughed when I asked if she knew anything about it. “Nope,” she said, “but good luck.”

I’d rather have walked over broken glass then text Jill, and I’d firmly ghosted Snakebites so I was scared to reopen communication to ask if she was stalking me. I had to drop it. But it haunted me, that lipstick kiss.

For months I was jumpy, wondering which of my spurned lovers had done it. And why. Was it a threat? A goodbye? I lay awake thinking about it, worrying about how everyone I’d dated knew where I lived, which car was mine.

Finally, nothing else happened and I moved on. The kiss would remain a mystery and I had to be content with that.

It was a year later when I finally started filling my mom in on my dating escapades that I finally got closure. She was hooting and laughing as I went over the table debacle. Then I paused and added, “And then this kiss showed up on my car.”

“Did you like it?”

“What? No! I’m pretty sure one of them was stalking me! Who else would leave a kiss on my car?”

My mom started bellowing with laughter. “I did!” She wheezed.

Apparently. My mother had been driving by my place. And decided that a cute little gesture would be to leave me a kiss. And then decided to never mention it to me even though she’s never done anything like that previously.

“It scared the crap out of me!” I yelled while she collapsed with helpless laughter. “I thought I had a stalker! How could I possibly have known that was you?!”

“How could I have known you’d just broken up with three girls at once?” She wheezed in rejoinder and like. Fair play.

So that’s how my mom convinced me I had a stalker and I got out of buying a $500 table.

[dark-moonlust]

Paying Tribute to the Satyrs Part 1

Pairing: 3 Satyrs x nymph reader

Summary: you are a nymph who gets lost in the Satyr forest. You meet its guardians, three Satyrs who demand your body as a tribute for safe passage.

Warnings: MDNI, 18+, multiple partners, oral (male and female receiving), satyrs have double 🍆, belly bulge, p in v sex, anal fingering and penetration, double penetration, lots of 💦.

Part 2 available here.

The forest was unlike any you had ever seen before, a maze of ancient trees that were so thick they hid the sky. The air was sweetly fragrant with the aroma of moss, wildflowers and magic. As a nymph, you were used to several kinds of woodlands and magic but this forest felt different.

A little too late, you realized that you’d gone too far, and lost your way among the twisted roots and deep fog. This was no ordinary forest; it was the Satyrs’ territory and you had strayed straight into it. You’d heard Satyrs were impatient drunkards, yet powerful enough to roam the forest and harvest power from it.

Panic crept into your chest as you tried to find the way back. Every time you took the path home, the route vanished as if devoured by the living forest. The air had also changed, a cool unsettling breeze flowing and the trees talked in a language you couldn't understand, their leaves rustling with warnings.

And then, you felt it—a presence. No, not one. Three.

They came from the shadows— three Satyrs, emanating carnal and primal power. They were taller than you imagined and fairly muscular, too. Their forms were half-man, half-goat, with chiseled bodies wrapped in fur from the waist down and large hooves pounding against the ground. Their eyes shone amber in the dark light, elegant horns curving from their heads.

The leader, whose horns were longer took a step forward, his raw, earthy scent filling your senses. “Well, what have we here? A little nymph, in our forest.”

“I… I didn’t mean to intrude. I got lost,” you said, your voice clear even if something warm curled in the pit of your stomach.

The other satyr closed in on you, a small grin on his face. “Oh, little nymph, you’re far from home and now you’re ours.”

You raised a brow. “Says who?”

The last one let his gaze sweep over you, lingering on the curves of your body. “Says us. I am Fyrian, the protector.”

The second one said, “I am Kynias, the healer.”

And the leader joined in, “I am Teofos, the all-powerful. You’ve crossed into Satyr territory and now must pay for safe passage.”

“What’s the price?” you asked, though you already knew what they wanted. You could see it in their eyes, the way they looked over your body, possessive and greedy. You had heard stories of the Satyrs, of their power and insatiable appetites for pleasure, but to be at their mercy, their tribute? It sounded deliciously wicked and not at all a bad deal: pay tribute by experiencing the best fucking of your life.

“Your body,” Teofos growled. “That’s the tribute we demand.”

Kynias reached out, his rough fingers brushing against your cheek. “Will you give us what we desire, little nymph?”

The third satyr grinned, his thumb tracing the line of your neck. “You smell of pure flowers,” Fyrian whispered. “Sweet, fresh, untouched.”

“I’ve had sex before,” you said incredulously.

“But not with a satyr. Not with us,” Fyrian corrected, his hand sliding down your arm, his fingers curling possessively around your wrist.

“We want everything,” the Kynias purred, hands fondling your clothed breasts. “Your body. Your pleasure. All of it, given to us freely.”

“And if I refuse?” you taunted even though you burned for them.

Teofos’s eyes darkened as he leaned in, his lips grazing your ear. “You won’t refuse,” he whispered, his hand dropping between your legs, cupping your mound firmly.

You gasped, goosebumps awakening in your skin.

He smiled. “You want this, nymph. I can feel it in the way your body trembles. In the way your little pussy is soaked for us.”

Heat flooded through you, causing your breath to catch as his words struck deep inside you. Teofos was right. Your body longed for their touch. Your breasts were tender as they played with them and the fire between your thighs begged for relief.

“I want you.” You licked your lips. “I’ll pay the price but you’d better make it worth it.”

“Oh, trust us,” Teofos growled, his hands sliding up your inner thighs, lifting your skirt. “We always make good on our word.”

Kynias slipped down the ties of your top. “You’re ours now. And we will claim you, here, under the eyes of the forest.”

Fyrian’s hands were slipping down your panties, his lips pressing hot kisses against your shoulder. “Mmm, yes. Let’s see how wet you are for us, little nymph.”

In a few seconds, they had you naked and shivering between them. You let out a soft, trembling breath when they circled you, their cocks magically protruding from a slit between their hairy thighs. Yes— cocks Each of them sported two shafts; inhumanly long and thicker than any cock you’d ever seen. Teofos pumped his cocks in one palm then bent to bury his face in the swell of your breasts. You whined when he latched his mouth at your nipple while Kynias did the same for the other bud.

The third one, Fyrian pressed against you from behind, hands cupping your pert ass and massaging your globes, his tongue tracing abstract patterns at your neck. You felt his dicks rub against the crack of your ass, supremely hot and naturally lubricated.

“Pretty sensitive nipples,” Teofos drawled while lapping at one nipple.

“And so tender,” Kynias muttered, his tongue flicking the other bud mercilessly.

Fyrian let his fingers slide between your legs, finding your slick pussy. “So ready for us. Come feel how wet she is.”

Just as he said that Fyrian grabbed you from under the knees and lifted you up against his chest. You clutched his shoulders, your legs opening like butterfly wings, your pussy bared in all its glory. The other two kneeled before your cunt and smiled as their hands moved down your waist, fingertips tracing the line of your hips.

"Dear gods, look at her," Teofos said, his fingers drawing apart the folds of your pussy. "Feels so soft and delicate."

At his words, the fire between your thighs built, more juices trickling from you.

"I want to feel, too," Kynias muttered, his fingers brushing against the dampness between your legs. "Oh fuckk, so good!"

“Hhmmm, look at that pretty pouting bud,” Teofos drawled, gathering your juices and rubbing his finger over your asshole. “Our little nymph has two pretty holes.”

“This—this is my ass,” you panted. “You can’t—”

“Why not?” Kynias demanded as he toyed with your glistening pussy. “You accepted to pay the price.”

“But… but that—“ you moaned when Teofos carefully thrust a finger inside your ass. You lost all thought as that thick finger drove up, curling inside you.

“That feels so damn good,” Teofos growled, adding a second finger that stretched your rim deliciously.

Your breath came in shallow gasps as their hands moved over your cunt, exploring and claiming. They seemed fascinated with your cunt and played with your asshole too, slipping three fingers inside you. You whined, helpless, suspended in the air, your holes open for them and captive to the overwhelming sensation of their touch and heat.

“Do you like it, little nymph?” Fyrian rasped in between kissing you. “Getting your naughty little holes fingered and stroked?”

“Hmmm… a-bout to…hnnn,” you whimpered, your voice trembling with need. “Cum. P-please!”

They licked you up, two satyrs at the apex of your thighs, one licking your clit and fingering your pussy while the other pushed a digit up your ass and licked all around it. The other satyr who was holding you in the air claimed your mouth, swallowing your groans and moans that were thick with desire. You came in no time, the stimulation was too much, the sensations driving you to a toe-curling orgasm.

Then they were repositioning you, settling you on your back, your legs wide open and held apart by Kynias and Teofos. Fyrian bent between your legs, taking his turn with your pussy and ass. He lapped up your dripping cunt, played with your juices and fingered you in both holes, letting deliciously husky moans and grunts. The other two, sat at your sides, their double cocks protruding in your face, pulsing with life.

“Good girl. Now I want you to open that pretty mouth,” Teofos said, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw as he tilted your head back.

“Take turns, little nymph,” Kynias growled, his eyes dark with command. “Lick, kiss, and worship our cocks.”

You opened your mouth, and let your tongue trace Teofos’s cocks. The cockheads twitched at your touch, and he growled, cupping your face and urging you to take them both deep into your warm mouth. You groaned and did so, lips stretching wide to receive him. Kynias grasped your hand and curled it around his shafts, pumping back and forth while watching you swallow his leader’s cock.

“Such a pretty sight,” Fyrian drawled, his tongue eating up your pussy, nose pressed against your clit, three fingers in your ass. “Handling all three of us.”

“Hmmm, she’s sucking me nice and deep Teofos growled, his shafts kissing the back of your throat causing you to gag.

“The sounds she makes,” Fyrian rasped, pinching your tender nipples, causing you to groan and choke around the cock in your mouth. “I want to hear more…”

You granted his wish as you came undone in a fiery explosion, crying out and thrashing violently at the overstimulation. They held you in a steel grip, marveling at your climax before re-arranging themselves. This time they rolled you on all fours, Teofos slipping behind you, his cocks aligned to your holes. You opened your mouth to suckle Fyrian’s cocks, your tongue tracing the length of his shafts. You also raised your hand to pump Kynias’s shafts, caressing them both in bold strokes.

“Hmpfff—” you whined when Teofos thrust inside, both thick shafts pushing past the resistance of your holes and driving inside. He filled you up to bursting, your belly full with the shape of his dicks. Then they settled on a relentless rhythm, all three of them using your body in ways that turned you into a moaning, blubbering mess.

“Are you ready, little nymph?” Fyrian growled, his hands running through your hair. “Gonna cover your pretty lips and hair with my seed.”

Kynias grumbled, his voice low and possessive. “And I’m gonna stain your pretty tits and belly.”

You could only nod and whimper softly, hands and mouth filled with their cocks. Teofos was also fucking you from behind, playing with your clit while owning your holes. It was too much, yet you craved more, you craved release and their warm cum. The heat in your belly was unbearable and they could tell, their hands guiding your movements, sending shockwaves of bliss through your system.

You came in muffled cries, eyes shutting tightly. They paused for a few seconds, long enough for them to feel every delicious quiver of your body then spurted their seed, doing as promised and bathing you in their seed. Your face dribbled with cum, your tits and belly, too. Not to mention the torrent of jizz flowing from your cunt and ass.

Then they were rearranging themselves so the next satyr could fuck your sloppy holes. They continued to pound you, taking turns until all three of them had claimed you, filling you up with their loads. Their hands, lips, and heat engulfed you. Your body shivered uncontrollably, your breath coming in ragged gasps from all the moans and sucking.

“That’s it. Looks so pretty now, drenched in our seed,” Teofos growled as he thrust one of his cocks deep into your mouth while rubbing the other over your messy face.

“Who knew nymphs could take satyr cocks so beautifully?” Fyrian rasped in your ear, both his cocks driving deep in your ass. “Fuuuck, she’s so wet and sloppy.”

“Hmm, she’s a carnal little offering,” Kyrian muttered, thrusting both cocks in your cunt. “With holes tight and eager. I think she can go all night.”

And so, they claimed you completely, their bodies crushing yours, their cocks claiming every inch of you, leaving nothing untouched or untainted. Groans and wet thrusting sounds filled the air. Your consciousness was lost in the overpowering pleasure, in the heat that consumed you.

You were at their mercy, their tribute.

And it was well worth it. Fucking Satyrs was much better than you’d ever imagined.

[theworldoffics]

Bad nights (part three)

A/N: hey everyone!! So glad everyone like bad nights!! I am currently writing another poly marauders! So if stay tuned!! Thank you for reading!!

Summary: Remus got clingy cuz of the full moon, James lost a match, Sirius has problems with his parents and you aren’t well. How Will this situation turn out?

Read bad nights part two, here.

You had just stepped away, too overwhelmed by the emotions in the room to stay, but now, standing just outside the door, you could feel the weight of the tension that hung between you all. The words you’d said, the way you’d walked away, still echoed in the back of your mind. You never meant to make them feel guilty. You just couldn’t hold it all together anymore, and maybe, just maybe, they needed to see it.

Taking a deep breath, you turned back to the door and opened it slowly, unsure of what you'd find inside.

The kitchen was where you found them, all three of them sitting at the table, heads bowed, shoulders tense. Remus was standing by the window, looking out into the quiet street below. The calm, ever-stable presence he usually had was fractured today, his shoulders slumped under the weight of exhaustion. He hadn’t yet fully recovered from the full moon, and the way his hand fidgeted with the hem of his shirt revealed just how raw he felt.

James was hunched forward at the table, his elbows resting heavily on the surface, fingers running through his messy hair in frustration. His eyes were shadowed, and you could tell that he had been carrying his own burden. Sirius, too, was sitting beside him, his arms crossed tightly across his chest, staring out the window with a quiet intensity that spoke of more than just frustration. There was something deeper there. A hurt he hadn’t been able to voice until now.

The moment you stepped inside, you felt the thick raw tension. They turned to face you, their expressions unreadable at first, but there was a heaviness in the air that made it impossible for any of you to hide what you had been feeling.

It was James who spoke first, his voice rough and hesitant. "I'm sorry. I… I know I’ve been too caught up in my own head, and I haven’t seen how much you’ve been carrying, too." He ran a hand through his hair again, his gaze never quite meeting yours. "I shouldn’t have dumped all that on you earlier. I… I can’t keep pretending like everything’s fine. Not when it’s clear it isn’t."

Sirius shifted in his seat, his dark eyes meeting James's for a fleeting moment before he spoke, his voice tinged with regret. "James is right. I’ve been selfish too. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own anger and frustration that I didn’t stop to think about what you’re dealing with." His jaw clenched briefly before he looked at you, . I’m sorry for taking it all out on you. You’ve been carrying everyone’s burdens,including mine, and I never stopped to ask how you were holding up."

Remus, standing by the window, turned then, his eyes filled with concern. "I should have noticed, too. I’ve been clinging to you for comfort after the full moon, and I never stopped to think about how much I was asking of you. You’ve always been the one holding us together, and I should’ve been more aware of how that was affecting you." His voice was soft, his words gentle but heavy. "I’m sorry for adding to the pressure."

You stood there in the doorway, your heart heavy with everything they were saying, everything they were admitting. They were apologizing, but it didn’t feel like they were apologizing just for the moments when they had snapped at you. They were apologizing for not seeing you at all, for not realizing that you, too, needed support.

You closed your eyes, a wave of exhaustion crashing over you. "I’m sorry too," you said, the words quiet but genuine. You stepped closer to them, your eyes flicking from one to the other. "I shouldn’t have let it all build up. I should’ve said something sooner. I should’ve told you I was struggling, that I couldn’t keep being the one to fix everything."

"No," Remus said quickly, his voice thick with emotion. He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently take yours,. "You’ve always been there for us, and we’ve been blind to how much it’s been costing you. We’re sorry, all of us." He squeezed your hand. "You don’t have to do it alone."

Sirius, looking more vulnerable than you’d ever seen him, leaned forward. His voice was low, raw with regret. "You’ve always carried us, and we’ve never stopped to ask how you’re doing. We’ve been selfish. I’ve been selfish." He stood up, his eyes searching yours, as though he were pleading for your forgiveness. "Please, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just… I didn’t know what to do with all this." He let out a long breath, and then, as if unsure of what else to say, he moved closer to you.

James stood up as well, and without another word, he reached for you, his hand finding yours. "I don’t want you to carry everything. I don’t want you to feel like you have to keep it all together when you’re the one who needs support. You don’t have to do this alone anymore."

The distance between you, began to close. Remus had always been the calm one, but even he had his breaking point. Sirius had always been the one with the sharp words, but today he was raw, vulnerable. James, too, had his own walls up, but now, he was standing before you, trying to tear them down.

Your gaze flicked between them. They were apologizing,, but there was something else there, something deeper. And before you could say anything, James took a step closer to Sirius, his hand finding the back of his neck, pulling him in. The kiss they shared was slow, unhurried, but full of meaning

When they pulled back, Sirius looked at James with his red rimmed eyes. “I am sorry. I never meant to say all theses things, I was just too pent up and-and, I was selfish towards you too.” he said quietly, his voice still thick with emotion.

James smiled faintly, his thumb brushing over Sirius’s lips. "No Siri, its not only your fault, i should have been more understanding. I am sorry and I love you darling." James said everything in one breath making Remus chuckle.

Sirius turned to Remus and without saying anything instantly wrapped his arms around him, pleading him, apologising him.

You saw Remus relax completely in his embrace when you felt a hand on your shoulder. James, looked at you and brought you closer to himself, kissing your forehead.

Sirius turned to you then, his eyes full of remorse but also something else—something softer. "We’re sorry, love. We’ve been asking too much of you, and that’s not fair." His voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried everything that needed to be said.

You nodded, a small tear slipping down your cheek. "I’m sorry too. I should’ve let you in sooner. I was afraid of being too much. But I’ve never wanted to be anything but there for all of you."

Remus moved to you then, pulling you into his arms. "You’re never too much, love," he said softly, his lips brushing against your temple. "And we’re going to be better. For you. For all of us."

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requests open!!

[littlelamy]

Rafe x Reader, perhaps something similar to the vibe of how Rose and Jack meet each other in Titanic. A girl who is at the end of the line wanting to end it until a boy shows up and stops her in the middle of it. I’m a sucker for that movie, but hey it does not have to be a boat or anything. Whatever you want it to be to make it work for you.

a/n: thank you for sending a request! 💞

the night air was thick with humidity, wrapping around you like a suffocating blanket as you stood at the edge of the cliff, the ocean roaring below. you could barely hear the crash of waves over the thoughts echoing in your head.

you weren't sure how long you'd been standing there, staring down at the churning water, wondering if it would be cold or if the impact would hurt. maybe you wouldn’t feel anything at all. it had been a long time since you'd felt anything. the idea of nothingness, of silence, was comforting. it wasn’t the first time you’d come here, but tonight felt different—like you were actually going to go through with it this time.

you weren’t supposed to be here. you weren’t supposed to be feeling like this. on the surface, you had everything. good grades, parents who gave you everything you asked for, a big house, the life of a kook. but no one really saw you. you felt like a ghost floating through your life, invisible even in your own skin.

your phone buzzed in your pocket, a half-hearted reminder that people still existed in the world beyond this cliff. but you didn't want to check. it was probably just more messages you didn’t want to deal with—more people asking things from you without actually caring about you. a voice whispered in the back of your mind, asking what it would be like if you just… disappeared. would anyone even notice?

“hey!”

the sudden shout startled you. your heart leaped in your chest as you turned to see a figure walking toward you, emerging from the shadows. the moonlight barely touched his face, but the voice was unmistakable.

rafe cameron.

you exhaled sharply, turning your gaze back to the ocean, wondering what the hell he was doing here. rafe, of all people. the bad boy of the kooks. the person you least expected to see in a place like this, and definitely not now. he was the last person who’d ever care about something like this—or someone like you.

“hey, are you…” his voice trailed off as he got closer, and for the first time, you could feel his presence, not just hear it. it was like his energy was magnetic, pulling you toward him even when all you wanted to do was stay on the edge, teetering between decisions.

“what do you want, rafe?” you said, your voice hollow, drained of emotion. you didn’t even look at him.

“i could ask you the same thing,” he muttered, coming to stand beside you. he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, his gaze sweeping over the cliff. “you shouldn’t be here, you know.”

“i’m here every night,” you replied quietly, your voice almost drowned out by the crashing waves. you hugged your arms around yourself as the wind picked up, chilling you to the bone despite the summer heat.

“yeah, i know.” rafe's voice softened, like he was trying not to scare you. “that's why i'm here. i’ve seen you a few times.”

you finally turned your head to look at him, confusion flickering across your face. “you’ve been watching me?”

rafe shrugged, but there was something in his eyes—something vulnerable and raw. it wasn’t the cocky, careless boy everyone else saw. “not watching you. just... noticing. you don’t exactly blend in, standing on the edge of a cliff like that.”

you stared at him for a long moment, trying to figure him out, but rafe cameron was a puzzle you weren’t sure you could solve. and you were too tired to even try. “well, i’m fine. you don’t need to worry about me.”

he let out a dry laugh. “no offense, but you don’t look fine. and i’m not leaving until you step away from that ledge.”

you turned your body fully toward him now, your eyes narrowing. “why do you care? you don’t even know me.”

rafe tilted his head, studying you in a way that made you uncomfortable. like he was seeing right through you. “maybe i do know you. maybe more than you think.” his voice was calm, but there was something stormy beneath the surface.

you scoffed. “right. like you know anything about me.”

“i know what it feels like,” he said, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. “feeling like no one’s paying attention. like nothing you do matters. you get stuck in this cycle, and no matter what you try, you can’t break out of it.”

his words caught you off guard. you stared at him, your heartbeat quickening. rafe cameron, the golden boy with the messed-up home life, the kid who always seemed to get in trouble, was relating to you?

“don’t act like you understand,” you muttered, but the words felt weak even as you said them.

“i’m not acting,” he replied simply, his eyes meeting yours. the moonlight caught his face, casting shadows over his sharp jawline, and you could see the weariness in his features. “i get it. you feel like you’re at the end of your rope, right?”

you didn’t answer. instead, you turned back toward the cliff, your gaze locked on the horizon where the sea met the sky. “what’s the point? nothing ever changes.”

rafe was quiet for a moment, his gaze flicking between you and the ocean. “maybe things don’t change,” he said finally. “but you do. you can. you don’t have to be stuck here.”

his words hit you like a punch to the gut. you didn’t know why, but something about the way he said it made you believe, just for a second, that he might be right. that maybe, just maybe, there was a way out of this dark place.

but then the familiar wave of doubt washed over you, and you shook your head. “it’s not that easy.”

“i know it’s not,” rafe said softly, his voice laced with understanding. “but it’s not impossible either.”

you felt a lump rise in your throat, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the weight of everything hit you all at once. the loneliness, the pressure, the suffocating feeling of being trapped in your own life. tears stung your eyes, and you tried to blink them away, but one slipped down your cheek before you could stop it.

rafe noticed. he took a step closer, and without saying anything, he gently reached up, wiping the tear away with his thumb. his touch was surprisingly soft, careful, like he wasn’t used to handling things this fragile.

“it’s okay,” he whispered, his voice almost lost in the sound of the ocean. “you don’t have to do this alone.”

you didn’t say anything, but the way he was looking at you—so intensely, so full of something you couldn’t quite name—made it impossible to pull away. his hand lingered on your cheek, his thumb tracing lightly over your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

before you could even process what was happening, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in the softest kiss, like he was afraid you might break if he pushed too hard. it wasn’t desperate or forceful. it was just... real.

you closed your eyes, leaning into him, feeling the warmth of his breath against your skin, the steady beat of his heart through his chest. for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you were drowning.

when he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath shaky as he spoke. “i’m not letting you go back to that ledge, okay? not tonight. not ever.”

you nodded, your eyes still closed, letting his words settle in. for the first time, you believed him.

rafe’s hand slipped from your cheek, his fingers finding yours, lacing them together as he gently tugged you away from the cliff's edge, back toward the world you weren’t sure you could face alone.

but with him, maybe you wouldn’t have to.

“come on,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “let’s get out of here.”

you didn’t say anything, but you didn’t need to. you followed him, your hand still in his, the weight of everything that had been crushing you easing with every step.

and when he turned to you one last time, his eyes soft and full of unspoken promises, you knew this was a new beginning.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @dinakisser

[rose24207]

Lando in mafia who reader wants to break up with because she’s scared of him but he proves to her he’d never hurt her (angsty/fluffy)

Prove it

Summary: In a tense and emotional confrontation, you try to leave Lando out of fear, but he proves his unwavering love and devotion, vowing to change and earn your trust.

Genre: Mafia!Lando, angst, fluff

TW: Mafia, mention of breakup

A/N: So many requests! I’m so happy!!! English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist

The rain lashed against the windows of Lando’s sprawling penthouse, the rhythmic tapping an eerie counterpoint to the storm brewing inside.

You stood near the door, your hands trembling as you clutched the strap of your bag. Every muscle in your body screamed for you to turn and leave, but your legs wouldn’t move.

Lando stood across the room, his figure cast in shadow, the dim light from the fireplace flickering over his sharp features.

"You're leaving?" he asked, his voice low, dangerous. The calmness in his tone only made it worse—it was the calm before the storm. You had seen him angry before, but this wasn’t anger.

This was disbelief, a quiet devastation he wasn’t willing to show outright.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “I can’t do this anymore, Lando. I can’t stay.”

His jaw clenched, and he took a step closer. The weight of his presence filled the room, making it hard to breathe. “Why?” he asked, though he already knew the answer. “Why now?”

You tried to steady your voice, to summon courage you didn’t feel. “I can’t live like this. With the secrets, the danger, the—” You gestured toward him, at his sharp suit, his cufflinks glinting like the knives you knew he kept hidden. “You.”

His expression hardened, and for a moment, you saw the man who ruled the shadows of the city, the man whose name was spoken in whispers.

But then his shoulders sagged, and he looked at you not as Lando Norris, the feared leader of a criminal empire, but as Lando, the man who had once loved you with all his heart.

“I’ve kept you out of it,” he said softly, his accent thicker, his voice tinged with frustration. “I’ve kept you safe.”

“But I’m not safe, Lando,” you said, your voice breaking. “Not when I know what you’re capable of.”

His head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. “You think I’d hurt you?” The words came out sharper than he intended, and you flinched.

The reaction cut deeper than any bullet ever could.

You took a step back, your hand gripping the doorframe for support. “I don’t know, Lando. That’s the problem. I don’t know what you’d do—to me, to anyone who gets in your way.”

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the rain pounding against the glass. Lando’s face was unreadable, but his eyes betrayed him—hurt, raw and unfiltered. “You really believe that,” he said, almost to himself. “You think I’d harm the one person I’d burn this entire city down for?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

You hadn’t always been afraid of Lando. When you first met him, he’d been charming, playful, a little mysterious but never threatening. He’d swept you off your feet with his effortless charisma and the way he made you feel like the center of his world.

It wasn’t until you were in too deep that you started to see the cracks in the façade.

The late-night phone calls, the meetings that went long into the night, the bruises he’d brush off with a nonchalant “It’s nothing.” You’d asked questions, but his answers were always vague, carefully crafted to give you just enough reassurance without revealing the truth.

And then you found out.

Not from him, but from the news.

A headline splashed across the TV, a grainy photo of Lando standing over a man in a dimly lit alley, his expression cold, unfeeling.

The article labeled him as the shadowy figure behind a sprawling criminal empire, the mastermind pulling the strings of illegal trades and underground dealings.

You confronted him, demanded answers, and for the first time, Lando didn’t lie. He told you everything—how he’d been born into it, how there was no escape from a life dictated by power and violence. But he promised you one thing: “You’re not part of this world. I’ll keep you safe. Always.”

At first, you believed him.

He shielded you from the darkness, kept you far from the bloodshed and danger. But as time went on, the walls he’d built around you began to feel like a cage.

Every time he came home with bruised knuckles or a haunted look in his eyes, the fear grew. Not just fear of the world he lived in, but fear of him.

“Please,” you said, your voice trembling. “Just let me go.”

Lando took another step closer, his movements slow, measured, like he was approaching a wounded animal. “I can’t do that,” he said softly. “You’re mine. I can’t let you walk away.”

The possessiveness in his words sent a chill down your spine, but it was the vulnerability in his eyes that made your chest ache.

He wasn’t threatening you.

He was begging you to stay.

“I’m scared of you, Lando,” you admitted, tears streaming down your face. “I’m scared of what you’ve done, of what you might do. I can’t live like this, constantly looking over my shoulder.”

His breath hitched, and he ran a hand through his hair, the usually composed man unraveling before your eyes. “I would never hurt you,” he said, his voice cracking. “Never. You’re the only good thing in my life.”

“Then prove it,” you said, your voice shaking but firm. “Prove that I don’t have to be afraid of you.”

Lando’s gaze locked onto yours, and for a moment, he was silent. Then, slowly, he sank to his knees in front of you. The sight of him, the most powerful man you knew, brought low by your words, took your breath away.

“You’re right to be scared of me,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve done terrible things. I’ve hurt people, destroyed lives. But you...” His voice broke, and he looked up at you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You’re the one person I’d never hurt. I’d die before I let anyone touch you, and I’d give up everything if it meant keeping you safe.”

Your heart clenched painfully, the sincerity in his voice cutting through your fear. But the scars of the past were still there, and they wouldn’t fade easily. “I need more than words, Lando. I need to know that I can trust you.”

He nodded, his jaw tightening. “Then I’ll prove it. I’ll give you whatever you need, whatever it takes. Just... don’t leave me.”

The days that followed were tense, filled with cautious conversations and hesitant touches. Lando gave you space, though it was clear it killed him to keep his distance. He stayed in the background, watching, waiting, his every move careful and deliberate.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, he approached you on the balcony. He held something in his hand—a simple silver necklace with a tiny charm shaped like a key.

“I had this made for you,” he said, his voice soft. “It’s not just a gift. It’s a promise.”

You looked at him, confused. “A promise?”

He nodded, his gaze steady. “A promise that I’ll change. That I’ll do whatever it takes to give you the life you deserve. I know I can’t undo what I’ve done, but I can start over. For you.”

Tears filled your eyes as you took the necklace from his hand. It was such a small thing, and yet it carried the weight of everything he was trying to say.

You hesitated for a moment before slipping it around your neck.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Lando stepped closer, his hands hovering at his sides like he was afraid to touch you. “I’m not asking you to forgive me right away. I know it’ll take time. But I love you, and I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it if I have to.”

That night, as you lay in bed, your thoughts were a whirlwind of emotions. Lando’s words echoed in your mind, the sincerity in his eyes haunting you. You knew he wasn’t perfect—far from it. But beneath the darkness, there was a man who loved you fiercely, who was willing to fight for you in ways you couldn’t even comprehend.

When you woke the next morning, Lando was sitting in the chair by the window, his head resting in his hands. He looked up when he heard you stir, his expression a mix of hope and fear.

“I’m still here,” you said, your voice quiet but firm.

Relief washed over his face, and for the first time in weeks, you saw the ghost of a smile. “You don’t know how much that means to me.”

You sat up, pulling the blanket around you. “This doesn’t mean everything’s okay,” you warned. “But I’m willing to try. If you are.”

Lando crossed the room in three quick strides, sinking to his knees beside the bed. He took your hands in his, his grip firm but gentle. “I’ll spend the rest of my life making this right,” he said. “I promise.”

And as you looked into his eyes, you believed him.

Thank you for reading!

[corpsebasil]

Karma Part 4 aka the FINALE

with his life in your hands, it’s up to you to be with the masked killer you’ve grown to love

He held onto you, glaring with a ferocity you’d never seen before at Detective Bailey and Quinn.

Quinn, who was back from the dead, and Bailey, who was… You glanced up at Ethan’s face, examining his features for any resemblance. Ethan’s father. Ethan stood between you and the others, Sam and Tara both armed with bricks. They’d been stunned to realize Ethan was a Ghostface—more so when they realized you knew. But in your hurried explanations, that he’d defended you, hadn’t killed anyone else, their hate turned into uncomfortable apprehension.

“That bitch,” Quinn was saying, pointing her knife at you. “should’ve been my kill. I had her, E. Where the hell do you get off attacking me?”

“I told you to leave her alone.” He argued, still keeping one arm around you as he glared at his sister. He hadn’t worn the costume; he’d burned it, actually, right after the two of you had… “She’s mine. You can’t take her away from me. Not this one, one thing in my life that’s worth a damn.”

“She’s a girl, Ethan.” Quinn growled, still glaring at you. “What did that little slut do to change your mind? Did she spread her—”

“Shut up, Quinn.” Ethan’s tone was lethal. “You want her, you can go through me.”

Tara was backing away, passing a brick into your hand as you stood stock still, watching the two siblings trade verbal blows. You had goosebumps across your skin; Quinn, the girl you’d done makeup with before school, the girl with whom you’d had a Dunkin tradition on Sunday mornings, had tried to kill you? You two weren’t extremely close, but you thought that she’d liked you, at a minimum.

“Why Quinn?” You asked, voice raw as you stared at the ginger. “What did I ever do to you?”

“You were never supposed to be involved.” Detective Bailey cut his daughter off, casting his steely gaze to your own. You shrank underneath the weight of his stare. “Here’s the deal, young lady. Get out now, leave Ethan to us, and you can live. Doesn’t that sound fair?”

Your eyes cut to Ethan’s. His gaze was pained as he looked at you; when he slowly nodded his head, you balked.

“They can do whatever they want to me.” He murmured, brown eyes scanning your face. “As long as you’re safe.”

“No,” you shook your head, eyes widening. “no, E, I’m not gonna—”

“Let them have him.” Sam ordered you, and you glanced over, horror filling your expression. “He deserves it. Get out of here, Y/N.”

“I won’t.” You snapped, staring at your friend. “How could you ask me that? What if I asked you to leave Danny?” You spun to Tara, her own expression twisted. “Or Chad?”

“Chad is dead.” She said, voice tight.

“We don’t both have to lose people today.” You pleaded, looping your arms tighter around Ethan. “You can fuck yourself.” You told Quinn, and her expression promised violence. “And you.” You looked to Bailey, glaring harder. “You’re the most pathetic excuse for a father I’ve ever met.”

“You had your chance.” Bailey said, and nodded to Quinn, who lunged.

Sam and Tara swung with their bricks as Ethan hauled you away, your breath hitching as he tugged you back, back, back, your heart rate spiking to a dangerous level. And then Quinn, god knows how, was there, having had escaped Sam and Tara, and shouted a curse at the two of you.

“Join your bitch in hell.” Quinn snarled and slashed out.

Your world shrank to pinpoint.

You screamed, screamed, as the blade tore through Ethan’s abdomen. He staggered backwards, choking on a gasp, and dropped to the floor. You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t breathe as the boy you were in love with clutched as his middle, blood seeping rapidly out of the wound.

“Fuck you.” Quinn said, pointing her knife at you.

“Fuck you.” You spat back, and swung your brick.

You barely felt the impact.

She fell to the ground, teeth knocked out, but you didn’t stop. You felt insane—utterly insane as you slammed the makeshift weapon home over and over and over. You didn’t realize you were keening, tears running hot down your face, until someone grabbed your collar and yanked you away.

“No!” You gasped, the brick falling from your bloodied fingers, and Sam smacked you across the face so fast and violent your teeth cut into your cheek.

“Calm down.” She ordered, shaking you by the shoulders when she faced you. “Calm the fuck down. She’s dead. Christ.”

“Ethan—” You choked out, pointing, and Sam’s concerned stare turned hateful as she looked at him. “Sam please.” You begged, fighting her grasp so you could move towards him. He was laying flat on his back now, face screwed up with pain, his hand trembling against his wound. “Please please. I won’t ask you for anything else. Just help me.” She followed your eyes to the closest exit. If you could just get him to the hallway, maybe you could somehow break out. “Please I cant live without—”

“God, fine.” She snapped, letting go of you to help lift him. You had no idea where Bailey or Tara was but, based on the fact that you’d just bashed his daughter’s skull in with a brick and his son had betrayed him, you weren’t sure if he was going to stick around.

The two of you moved to Ethan, lifting him by the shoulders and tugging him towards the hall. A moan of pain left his lips and you choked back a sob, tears filling your eyes as you looked down at him. You were muttering reassurances, trying to convince the both of you it was okay, when Sam left to find her sister.

You kept him tucked in the corner of the hall, as far away from the fight as you could manage, as you slowly peeled up his shirt. You almost gagged. Short of his guts hanging out the wound was devastating, and you saw the tears in his eyes as he trembled.

“Baby,” you touched his face, his sleepy eyes moving to your own. “baby what do I do? I don’t know how to—”

“Duct tape.” He hissed through clenched teeth. “My backpack. Use the—the duct tape.”

You dove for his backpack, rummaging through it until you found the desired material. You yanked off a strip and began taping his abdomen shut, trying not to retch when his cries of pain met your ears. You were crying steadily now, your hands shaking, when there was finally nothing left to tape up.

“Can you—” Ethan swallowed, his speech slurring as he panted. “Just, stay with me? I just…want to be with you when..”

“No.” You shook your head, sliding onto the ground beside him and looping an arm over his chest. You pressed your face against his neck, squeezing your eyes shut. “I’m not leaving you. I cant.”

“You know I love you, Y/N.” He murmured, and you choked back a sob, your lips pressing kisses against his neck and shoulder. And then you tensed, hearing the click of a gun, and turned.

“Isn’t this a pretty picture.” Detective Bailey mused, gun at his side. “A real Romeo and Juliet story.” He pointed the gun at Ethan and you practically snarled at the man, shielding his body the best you could with your own. “You threw it all away on some girl.” He sneered, glaring at his son, who gripped your arm as hard as he could.

“Y/N, go.” Ethan breathed, wincing as he fought to prop himself up.

“You wanna kill him?” You asked, glaring at his father. How such an amazing boy came out of him, you had no idea. “Shoot me first.”

“Whatever the lady wants.” He replied, aiming for your head, and you stared with defiance as Ethan gasped, your ears vaguely picking up his begging protests.

The gunshot went off.

Bailey lurched to the side, dropping to the ground, as Sam stood before you, a gun of her own pointed at the bastard’s head. You were panting, heart racing, sure you were seconds away from following your boyfriend into death.

“He talks too much.” Sam muttered, and looked to you, concern filling her eyes. “Y/N, get up.”

“No.”

“Y/N, he’s not going to make it we need to—”

You felt feral. Absolutely wild as you glared at her, your grip on his hand, the hand that had reached out to hold yours during your execution, tightening.

“Help him. Help him and I’ll come with you.” You felt miserable as you laid your head back on his shoulder, your mouth quivering as you held him as tight as you dared with his injuries. “Ethan, come on. Stay awake for me.”

He grunted in response, turning his head to kiss your own, and Sam made a sound of both annoyance and defeat.

“Seriously? We need to—”

Doors burst open somewhere and you tensed, watching as officers entered the room led by Danny. You could’ve sobbed in relief as you saw medics entering, Sam immediately directing them your way. You murmured the updates to Ethan, whose eyes were closed, before you stilled. He was completely cold.

“E?” You whispered, sitting up. Without your presence his head lolled to the side; Ethan’s skin had gone pale and, when you picked up his hand, it felt limp in your own. “Ethan?” Your vision went white.

You were vaguely aware of the medics moving around you as you stared, ears ringing, at the boy that you loved. The boy that was dead.

“Sweetheart?” Fingers snapped in front of your face and you blinked slowly. “Sweetheart, come on. Let’s get you out of here.”

You pointed at Ethan—no, tried to point, because your body refused to move. You just stared. Stared and stared, as hands gripped you under the arms and lifted you. And then Danny was scooping you up, your eyes never leaving Ethan as the medic closest to him pressed her fingers to his neck, another examining the duct tape.

You turned away.

-

It had been four months since the theater attack.

Four months since you’d had to fight for anything—since you’d needed to fight. But now you stood in your apartment, breathing deeply, the weapon at your side clenched tight in your hand.

Your enemy stood hardly ten feet away, glaring back at you with just as much ferocity. His dark eyes never left your own as you spoke, forcing as much bravado as you could into your tone.

“I have brought peace, freedom, justice, and security to my new empire.”

The boy snorted, his eyes lighting up with wry amusement.

“Your new empire?”

“Don’t make me kill you.”

“Y/N, my allegiance is to the Republic. To Democracy!

You clicked the button on your battery-operated lightsaber at the same time as Ethan, and tried not to laugh.

“If you’re not with me, then you’re my enemy.”

“Only a Sith deals in absolutes.” He snapped back, taking a step forward. “I will do what I must—”

“AHHH!” You shrieked, charging, before Ethan had hardly gotten the last word out. He yelped as you tossed away your lightsaber and jumped on him, toppling the both of you to the ground.

“Hey, hey!” He protested, rolling you onto the living-room floor. He pinned your arms with his hands and shook his head, staring at you with disbelief. “You had another line. One more line. You always do that.”

“Next time I’ll be Obi-Wan.” You giggled, squirming around in his grasp.

“You’re a mess, you know that?” He asked, rolling his eyes, and moved off. “Can we watch the trilogy next? I wanna see Kylo Ren.”

“Ugh.” You groaned, reluctantly moving to your feet as he went to make popcorn in your kitchen. “Can we watch something else? What about a Barbie movie?”

“Absolutely not.” Ethan scoffed, turning to give you a comically disturbed look. “You tortured me last week with that marathon.”

“It was only, like, the best ones.”

“It was seven hours. Seven hours of singing and dresses and—”

“Ethaaan.” You whined, dashing over to wrap your arms around his waist. “Don’t you love me?”

“Obviously.”

“Then what’s one more Barbie movie?”

“Dear God.” He rubbed his eyes as you hugged him tighter, turning your head to press kisses to his chest. “Fine. Fine. But I’m picking it out.”

“You always give in.”

“I cant resist you.”

You smiled as he ran his hand over your cheek and kissed you, his other hand slipping into your hair to tug your head back. You let out a sigh as you sank into him, your fingers moving to run along his waist, then under his shirt and— You stiffened and he moved back.

“What’s wrong?”

You blinked a few times. Then you lifted the material of his shirt up, eyes running across the long, slightly raised scar on his abdomen. You ran a hand over your mouth and dropped his shirt, avoiding his eyes when he tugged you straight back into his arms.

“I’m fine, now. Remember?” He jostled you a tiny bit, a calm smile still on his face. “I’m fine, Y/N.”

It had taken weeks of therapy. Many, many times where you forced yourself to hang out with your friends. And way too many nights sleeping in a hospital chair, waiting for Ethan to recover.

The doctors said that it was a miracle he’d survived. That he must’ve been holding on to something—that he was a fighter. And now that he was healed physically, the both of you were doing your best to heal mentally, as well.

“Y/N?” Ethan cupped your face and looked at you, eyes scanning your own. “Together, remember? We get through this together?”

“Yeah.” You swallowed, ignoring the tightness in your chest. “Always.”

“Then let’s go watch a damn princess movie.” He smirked at you as you let out a trembling laugh, then you squeaked as he planted aggressive kisses all over your face, not freeing you until you were wiggling away from him. “Love you.” Ethan said, pulling you close, and kissed you again.

HELLOOO THE END AND THANKS TO EVERYONE THAT STUCK AROUND

tag list

@pagesfalling @taetae123094 @iloveneilperry @hopefulcandywitch

@shebreathedherlast @mskitkatbubbles @blorp-bee @eliza1720

@lunafoster @l0v3e1i @tiana76 @c-yberstar @grxcisxhy-wp @xyzstar @dgraysonss @jqsmn @jakesully-sbabygirl @hxneyhxrts

@innercreationflower @bwljules @justanotherkpopstanlol @dessxoxsworld @shiftingsomewhere @igotmajordaddyissues

[thefunkfactory]

Sam Zia

Sam Zia had it all. Chiseled jawline, a body carved from years of dedication in the gym, and a TikTok following of millions who worshipped his advice on masculinity, self-improvement, and how to be an alpha male. He preached discipline, hygiene, and success. His fans saw him as the ultimate peak of male perfection.

But one day, everything changed.

It started subtly. Sam, always precise about his diet, began experimenting with the bulk. Not the clean, protein-packed meals he used to swear by, but the dirty, greasy, carb-heavy food that promised quick mass at the expense of digestion. Burgers, protein shakes overloaded with questionable powders, and eggs—dozens of eggs—became his daily fuel.

At first, he felt invincible. His muscles swelled, his energy skyrocketed… but then, a dark force emerged from within. His stomach began to rebel. Gurgling. Churning. And then—the gas.

At first, he tried to suppress it, maintaining his polished alpha image. But then, mid-TikTok live, it happened.

“Yo, fellas, if you wanna be a REAL man, you gotta—” PFFFFFRRRRTT

A deep, reverberating blast escaped him, loud enough to rattle his chair. He froze. His perfectly sculpted face turned a shade of red he hadn’t seen since his first squat failure.

He expected embarrassment. He expected people to call him out.

Instead? The video went viral.

Comments flooded in:

“Bro is so alpha he doesn’t even care.”

“That was the most masculine fart I’ve ever heard.”

“Real men embrace their natural odors.”

And just like that, a new ideology was born.

It started with one video, but Sam, ever the influencer, knew when to capitalize on momentum. The next day, he posted:

“Men today are too obsessed with being ‘clean’ and ‘proper.’ You think our ancestors cared about showers? Nah, they were out there, fighting mammoths, reeking of strength and dominance. Hygiene is a scam. If you smell bad, it means you’re working hard.”

And the crowd ate it up.

Sam leaned in harder. His once pristine, cologne-spritzed gym clothes became stained tanks with unidentified smears. His showers? Less frequent. His grooming? Nonexistent. His content? A full-on campaign to make men embrace their primal state.

“Ditch the deodorant. Stop washing your gym shorts. Embrace the stench.”

And the most legendary part? The farts.

Sam stopped holding them in. If anything, he turned them into a symbol of raw, unfiltered manliness. Every TikTok featured at least one unholy release, accompanied by a smug smirk. His comments turned into a brotherhood of stink.

“Sam, I took your advice. Haven’t washed in two weeks. My girl left me, but I feel powerful.”

“Dude, I farted in my gym and cleared out the weaklings. Only real men remained.”

“A guy at work told me to wear deodorant, so I quit my job. Thanks for the wisdom, king.”

Sam’s influence was undeniable. Gyms nationwide reported an increase in noxious odors. Deodorant companies saw stocks plummet. High-protein, fiber-loaded diets surged in popularity, not for their muscle-building benefits, but for their ability to fuel the movement.

Even brands took notice. Soon, Sam had sponsorship deals—not for cologne or grooming kits, but for industrial-strength air fresheners (marketed for the weak) and bean-based meal plans.

One day, he posted his magnum opus:

“The real test of masculinity? Walk into a crowded elevator. Let it rip. Stand tall. Own it. If people leave, they’re weak. If they stay, they respect you.”

The challenge took off. #ZiaGasChallenge trended worldwide. Videos surfaced of men proudly fumigating locker rooms, parties, and even dates. The movement was unstoppable.

Sam had transformed completely. The man who once championed clean bulking, high-value grooming, and aesthetic perfection was now the undisputed King of the Stink Bros. He lived by his code:

• Laundry is for betas.

• Showers are optional.

• Farts are power.

His mansion, once pristine, now smelled like a mix of protein shakes, gym socks, and raw testosterone. His fans? More loyal than ever.

And as he sat back, inhaling his own toxic masterpiece, he smiled.

Because this? This was true masculinity.

[jesterscourt-e]

Do You Have to Let it Linger? Part 4

A/N: y’all wanted a twist? (Short chapter the end is near)

CW: substance abuse, angst, yearning, depression, anger issues

SCHLATT POV

“GOD, you can be so STUPID.”

As soon as he said it he froze. He tossed the phone onto the table and put his head in his hands. As he heard the phone hangup from the table he felt like he couldn’t move. His face started to burn as anger rose up in his chest. He looked for the nearest victim to aim this mindless rage at. He picked up a controller and chucked it as hard as he could across the room. He could feel the tightness in his chest rise and tears threaten their way into his eyes. God, he hated that he let himself do that. Why the FUCK did he do that???? Schlatt’s frustration from the week all culminated into this moment. The confusion of why y/n had ignored him for a whole week, racking his brain to remember every little thing he did and said to you at the wedding for some explanation. And all to find out it was because you like him and you think he doesn’t like you back. It made him mad. You couldn’t be further off.

In the beginning of your friendship the flirting had been for fun. He did think you were stunning, but it was all in jest, at first. It slowly grew into a real blooming friendship beyond the clicks and views he genuinely grew fond of you. Your personality, your quirks, and little traits. He would watch to boost numbers, but then he found himself tuning into your streams on his second account to just watch. He found your voice entrancing and the way you moved and danced hypnotizing.

He couldn’t believe that you thought he didn’t feel the same. The fact that you had a “big fat crush” on him was enough to make his heart jump, do a backflip, and fall out of his ass. He was so dumbfounded that you couldn’t see how crazy he is about you.

At first he grappled with his own fear and uncertainty, could he let someone in in this way? Was it worth it? You guys lived so far apart. Not to mention how public it could all get and the bombardment from the fans. He was terrified. As the days turned to a week his fear turned into intense longing and pain. Pain knowing how he had hurt you. He missed your constant communication that he had grown to rely on in a way. He just missed hearing you and seeing you. How your smile lights up rooms and your raw charisma enchants all who watch. He couldn't stop seeing you up there singing at the wedding. And how you smiled at him while laughing and dancing. The memories practically uncorked the bottle themselves. Minimal resistance was found when lifting it to his mouth. Each sip felt easier and easier.

Ted called sometime during the second week while the bottle was half drunk. Interrupting his quiet stalking of your stream.

“Schlatt.”

“What.”

“You gotta tell her man,” Ted pleads. He had been bothering Schlatt to spill his heart since the wedding. Then, even more so after this whole ordeal. It tired and aggravated him.

“No dude.”

“Jared Schlathew,” Schlatt scowled at the nickname as Ted continued, “I know we’ve known each other a while, but I’ve known Y/N longer. I’m going to have to tell her soon man I can’t keep listening to her heart break like this.”

“Ted, I sweartgod, if you tell her you won’t hear from me again. Ever,” he slurred and sipped.

“I don’t understand the big deal!”

Schlatt cuts him off, “I can’t, Ted, I fucking can’t! I already hurt her man, who’s to say I won’t just hurt her further or… I don’t know! I’m no good for her. She deserves someone better. She deserves to get over me…”

Ted sighs, “Schlatt, genuinely, you are one of the most kind hearted individuals I've had the pleasure of meeting-” Schlatt scoffs, “You have a rough exterior, yes, but I’ve seen how she melts your icy shell. I wouldn’t allow you anywhere near Y/N if I didn't think you deserved her, man. But I truly do think you are one of the greatest people I get to call a friend. So please, skip the angst, and get on a plane.”

As he hung up he turned your stream back on. Your presence was much duller than your normal effervescent self. He studied at the screen while you absentmindedly answered the chat.

“Ok, well I have another cover I’ve been working on so,” you sit up with your guitar a little better and begin to play “High and Dry” by Radiohead. Through his drunken haze, Schlatt sat and listened to you sing as if you were speaking directly to him.

“Fuck it.” Schlatt opened his phone and booked a flight.

———

[r-memberme]

echoes of you | k.m

⎯⎯"Klaus Mikaelson wept"

warnings: just pure raw angst

The first time Klaus saw you, the world seemed brighter. It wasn’t fate or some profound revelation; it was simply you. You, with your sharp wit and sharper tongue, who walked into his life like a force of nature, determined to be heard, seen, and acknowledged. He didn’t know what to make of you at first. Were you brave, or just foolish? Did you understand who you were dealing with—the so-called Big Bad Wolf, the Original Hybrid?

But you weren’t like the others. Where others cowered, you stood tall. Where others groveled, you challenged. It was maddening. It was exhilarating. And it was dangerous—for you, most of all.

“I need your help,” you’d said that first day, your voice steady, though your hands trembled slightly at your sides. “I don’t care what it costs, Klaus. I’ll pay it.”

“Brave words, love,” he’d replied, his smirk sharp and his tone laced with mockery. “Are you sure you know what you’re offering?”

Your chin lifted, defiance glinting in your eyes. “Anything it takes.”

It was those words that sealed your fate. You became entangled in his world, a life of blood and chaos, of family and betrayal. At first, Klaus had kept his distance, wary of how easily you unsettled him. But you, stubborn as ever, refused to be ignored.

Over time, you carved out a place for yourself in his life. You didn’t shy away from his temper or his darkness. You called him out when he was being insufferable and praised him when he showed glimpses of the man beneath the monster. Slowly, reluctantly, Klaus found himself drawn to you. He told himself it was a passing infatuation, that he was merely entertained by your insolence.

But then, one night, you looked at him—really looked at him—and said, “You’re not as scary as you think you are, you know.”

He laughed, a bitter, humorless sound. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” you said firmly. “You put on this act, like you’re untouchable, but it’s just that—an act. Deep down, you care. You just don’t want anyone to see it.”

Something in his chest tightened. No one had ever seen him so clearly before, not even his family.

From that moment on, Klaus knew he was lost.

༊*·˚

The two of you fell into a rhythm, one that felt as natural as it was unexpected. You teased him mercilessly, and he gave it right back. You argued often, but the fights never lasted long. No matter how angry he got, Klaus could never stay mad at you. And when you laughed, when you smiled at him like he was just a man and not a monster, he let himself believe, just for a moment, that he could be worthy of you.

“I’m falling for you,” he confessed one night, his voice barely audible over the crackling fire.

You turned to him, your eyes soft and shining. “Good,” you said with a smile. “Because I’ve already fallen for you.”

He kissed you then, and for the first time in centuries, Klaus felt truly alive.

But love, he knew, was a fragile thing.

The threats came soon after, whispered warnings from enemies who sought to hurt him by hurting you. Klaus tried to shield you, to keep you safe, but you wouldn’t let him.

“I’m not some damsel in distress,” you said, your voice sharp with frustration. “I can handle myself.”

“You don’t understand,” he snapped, his tone harsher than he intended. “They’ll stop at nothing to destroy you.”

“Then let them try,” you shot back. “I’m not afraid.”

“Maybe you should be!” he roared, his anger born of fear. “Because I can’t lose you, do you hear me? I can’t—”

His voice broke, and the room fell silent. You crossed the distance between you, your anger fading as you reached for him.

“You won’t lose me,” you said softly, your hands framing his face. “I’m right here, Klaus. I’m not going anywhere.”

He wanted to believe you. God, he wanted to believe you. But fate had always been cruel to him, and it would prove no different this time.

The attack came without warning. Klaus had been away, handling yet another threat to his family, when it happened. By the time he returned, the damage was done.

He found you in the ruins of what had once been your home, your body broken, your heartbeat faint. The sight of you lying there, so still and fragile, shattered something inside him.

“No,” he whispered, falling to his knees beside you. “No, no, no.”

Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of his voice, and you gave him a weak smile. “Klaus,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

“I’m here,” he said, his hands trembling as he cradled you. “You’re going to be fine, love. Just hold on.”

You reached up, your fingers brushing against his cheek. “I’m sorry,” you said, tears spilling down your face. “I wanted more time.”

“Don’t,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t you dare say goodbye. I’ll fix this. I’ll—”

“Klaus,” you interrupted gently, your voice soft and steady. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” he said, his voice breaking. “You can’t leave me. Please, don’t leave me.”

“I love you,” you whispered, your eyes locking with his. “Never forget that.”

He kissed you, pouring every ounce of love and desperation into it, as though he could will you back to life. But when he pulled away, your eyes had closed, and your body went still in his arms.

The world fell silent.

For the first time in centuries, Klaus Mikaelson felt powerless.

In the days that followed, he was a ghost of himself. He shut himself away, consumed by grief and guilt. His family tried to comfort him, but their words fell on deaf ears. Even Elijah, with his endless wisdom, couldn’t reach him.

Klaus spent hours in the room where you’d laughed and argued and loved him, the memories haunting him like shadows. He found your favorite book on the nightstand, your scent still lingering on its pages.

“You promised,” he whispered into the emptiness, his voice raw. “You promised you wouldn’t leave.”

But there was no answer, only the echo of your laughter in his mind.

He stood on the balcony where you’d once teased him, the city spread out before him like a broken promise. The stars above offered no comfort, the wind no solace.

“I failed you,” he said to the night, his voice trembling. “I should have protected you. I should have—”

He broke off, his shoulders shaking as sobs wracked his body. For the first time in centuries, Klaus Mikaelson wept.

And though the world continued to turn, for him, it would never be the same.

very short but really packs a punch

[writeriguess]

Hi! I'm so happy you're back! Since you want requests-

Could you write Kaeya (genshin) friends to lovers? It's his first time having strong romantic feelings for someone, and reader overhears him talking about it to Diluc. Requited, happy ending? Thanks!

author's note: I'm happy to be back too <3

To the Brave

The Angel’s Share was quieter than usual, the soft hum of evening conversation filling the air like a gentle undercurrent. The scent of aged oak, spiced wine, and flickering candle wax mingled in the cozy warmth of the tavern. You sat at the bar, nursing a drink, watching the occasional swirl of amber liquid in your glass. Each time the door swung open, a cool breeze danced through the room, brushing against your skin before dissipating into the warmth of the tavern’s hearth.

Kaeya had invited you here earlier in the evening, flashing one of his signature smirks as he promised to steal a moment with you. But after a sudden wave of customers flooded in, demanding Diluc’s ever-efficient service, Kaeya had been unceremoniously pulled away to help. You had half-expected him to slip away and find an excuse to avoid work, but surprisingly, he stayed. Maybe it was Diluc’s infamous glare that kept him tethered to his duty tonight, or maybe—just maybe—Kaeya didn’t mind the distraction.

Either way, you were left waiting, sipping your drink, and soaking in the atmosphere.

You weren’t eavesdropping—not intentionally. But when you heard your name murmured from a shadowed corner near the storeroom, your attention sharpened. The sound of Kaeya’s voice, lower than usual, pulled you in like a tide, drawing your gaze toward the dimly lit corner.

“I don’t know why you’re telling me this,” Diluc muttered, arms crossed, his expression impassive but lacking its usual sharp edge.

“Because you’re the only one who’ll give me an honest answer,” Kaeya replied. His voice wasn’t its usual velvety tease. There was something raw there, something uncertain. “You’ve seen me at my best and worst. Do you think someone like me could ever… deserve them?”

Your breath caught. He was talking about someone—about you?

Diluc’s eyes flickered toward you briefly before he exhaled, shaking his head as if dealing with Kaeya’s turmoil was more exhausting than any rowdy tavern brawl. “If you want them to know how you feel, tell them. You’re wasting time brooding over it.”

Kaeya let out a quiet chuckle, but it lacked his usual charm. “Easier said than done. I’m not used to this. Flirting? Sure. Playing games? Absolutely. But this? It’s like… I’m afraid of ruining everything we already have.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs. Kaeya—always so effortlessly confident, so sure of himself—was nervous? About you?

“You’re overthinking it,” Diluc said, his tone gruff but not unkind. “They’re more patient with you than I’d ever be. Take that as a good sign.”

Kaeya’s laugh was softer this time, carrying a note of something more vulnerable. “Fair point.” He hesitated, his voice dropping lower, almost as if he were afraid to admit the next part. “I just… I’ve never felt this strongly about anyone before. It’s terrifying.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine. It was too much, too overwhelming, and yet your feet remained rooted to the floor. A part of you wanted to step away, to give him the privacy of his confession, but another part—a much louder part—needed to hear more.

Before you could overthink it, your lips parted, and his name left your mouth. “Kaeya?”

Both men turned to look at you. Kaeya’s eyes widened slightly, a rare moment of unguarded surprise breaking through his usual composed facade.

“How long have you been standing there?” he asked, his tone unreadable, but his cheeks tinged with color.

You swallowed hard, feeling your own face heat up. “Long enough.”

Diluc shot Kaeya a pointed look, one that clearly said, You’ve got this mess to clean up, before excusing himself, leaving the two of you alone in the dim, intimate space.

Kaeya tilted his head, a nervous smile flickering across his lips. “So, you heard that, huh?”

You nodded, fingers twisting in the hem of your sleeve. “Yeah. And… if you’re worried about ruining anything, don’t be. Because… I feel the same way.”

For a heartbeat, silence stretched between you. Kaeya stood perfectly still, his expression frozen in something like disbelief. Then, slowly, a genuine smile broke across his face—something real, something so achingly soft that it made your chest tighten.

“You mean that?” he asked, his voice hushed, as if he were afraid speaking too loudly might shatter the moment.

You stepped closer, emboldened by the hope flickering in his gaze. “I do. You’re not the only one who’s been scared of ruining things, Kaeya. But I think… it’s worth the risk.”

His breath left him in a quiet, incredulous laugh. One hand lifted to the back of his neck, fingers brushing through his dark blue hair in a rare display of nervousness. “Archons, you’re going to be the death of me.”

You chuckled, feeling the last of your nerves settle into something warm, something light. “Hopefully not.”

Kaeya’s laughter filled the space between you, unrestrained and genuine. Then, in a movement more like the Kaeya you knew, he stepped closer, closing the distance, his hand reaching out to take yours.

His fingers brushed over your knuckles, slow and deliberate, before curling around yours. His grip was warm, steady, yet hesitant, as if he still couldn’t quite believe this was real.

“Then let’s not waste any more time,” he murmured, his thumb tracing slow circles over your skin. “Because I’m done holding back.”

And as you looked up at him, at the sincerity in his gaze, at the quiet vulnerability he had laid bare, you realized something—so were you.

Kaeya exhaled, almost as if letting go of a burden he had carried for far too long. The corners of his lips curled into something softer than a smirk, more meaningful than a tease. “Come on,” he murmured, gently tugging you toward him. “Let’s get out of here.”

The tavern, the murmured conversations, the flickering candlelight—all of it faded into the background as you followed him, your heart pounding, your hand secure in his. Tonight, the only thing that mattered was the warmth of his touch and the promise lingering between you.

Feel free to request <3

[dailyadventureprompts]

Homebrew Mechanic: Fixing D&D’s Gameplay Loop with Item Degradation

Normally I have snappy titles for these, but in this case I wanted to be super upfront with what I was getting you all into. 

Some people are not going to like the idea of introducing item degradation into the game, and they’re ABSOLUTELY right to be hesitant. Just about every attempt I’ve seen (includig both RAW versions from previous editions, examples from videogames, and those I’ve put together myself in the past) have been horribly clunky exercises in beancounting that only ever existed to needlessly slow down gameplay for the sake of joyless realism. 

I’ve come at it from another angle however, but to explain we’re going to need to get into some game design talk. 

The basic gameplay loop of D&D is supposed to be: 

Seeking adventure leads you to face challenges

Overcoming challenges leads you to rewards

Rewards Help you get stronger 

Getting stronger allows you to seek tougher adventures

After a while this system starts to break down specifically with regards to gold as a method of reward. Even if you’re the smart sort of DM who flouts the rules and gives their party access to a magic item shop, there’s an increasingly limited number of things to spend gold on, leading to parties acquiring sizable hordes of riches early on in their adventuring career, completely eliminating the desire to accept quests that pay out in gold in one form or another. This is a pretty significant flaw because adventures that centre around acquisition of riches ( treasure hunts, bounty missions, busywork for rich patrons that will inevitably betray you) are foundational to storytelling within the game, especially early on in a campaign before the party has gotten emotionally invested.  Most advice you can find online attempting  to solve this problem tends to dissolve down to “let them pour money into a home base”,  but that can only really happen once per campaign as a party is unlikely to want more than one secret clubhouse. 

TLDR:  What I propose is the implantation of a lightweight system that forces the party to periodically drop small amounts of wealth into maintaining their weapons/armour/foci. The players will be motivated to seek out gold in order to keep using their best stuff,  giving value to treasure drops that previously lacked it.  Not only does this system act as an insulation against powercreep at higher levels, it also encourages a party to engage with the world as they seek out workshops and crafters capable of repairing their gear. 

The System: 

Weapons, armour, shields, and caster foci (staves, holy symbols etc) can accumulate “ticks” of damage, represented by a dot or X drawn next to their item entry on the character sheet. Because you get better at handling your gear as you level up, an item that exceeds a total number of ticks equal to its bearer’s proficiency bonus breaks, and is considered unusable until it is repaired. 

Weapons and Foci gain a tick of damage when you roll a natural 1 on an attack made with them, or if they are specifically targeted by an enemy’s attack.

Armour and shields gain a tick of damage when you roll a nat 1 on a saving throw or when an enemy beats your ac by 5 or more. A character equipped with both can decide which of the two items receives the tick

Creatures with the “siege” (or any “does double damage to objects” ability) deal an extra tick when attacking gear. 

A character with a crafting proficiency  and access to tools can repair a number of ticks of damage equal to their proficiency on a four hour work period. This rate is doubled if they have access to a properly equipped workshop.  A character with access to the mending cantrip can repair ticks on any kind of item, but is limited to their proficiency bonus per work period.  

Having an item repaired by an NPC crafter removes all ticks, but costs vary depending on the rarity of the item:    5g for a mundane item, 10g for a common item, 50g for uncommon, 250 for a rare, 1250 for a very rare, 6250 for a legendary.  The DM decides the limit on what each crafter can repair, as it’s likely small towns have access to artisans of only common or uncommon skill, requiring the party to venture to new lands or even across planes if they wish to repair end game gear.

As you can see, degradation in this system is easy to keep track of and quite gradual, leading players into a position where they can ignore obvious damage to their kit for the sake of saving their now precious gold.  It likewise encourages them to seek out NPC crafters (and potential questhooks) for skills they do not possess, and encourages the use of secondary weapons either as backups or to save the more potent items in the arsenal for a real challenge. 

Consumables

Everyone knows the old joke about players hoarding consumables from the first adventure past the final bossfight, it transcends genre and platform, and speaks to a nature of loss aversion within our shared humanity.  However, giving players items they’re never going to use amounts to wasted time, resources, and potential when looking at things from a game design perspective, so lets work on fixing that. 

My inspiration came from witcher 3, which encourages players to make frequent use of consumables by refreshing them whenever the character had downtime. The darksouls series has a similar feature with the signature estus flask, which provides a limited number of heals before it must be refreshed at one of the game’s checkpoints.  When the designers removed the risk of permanent loss and the anxiety it creatures, players were able to think tactically about the use of their consumables confident in the knowledge that any mistakes were just a resupply away from being fixed.  

My proposal is that while the party is in town they can refill the majority of their consumable items for a small per item fee. Just like with gear degradation, this encourages them to seek out crafters and do quests for the hope of discounts, while at the same time encouraging them to explore new realms in the hope of discovering higher level artisans. 

The price for refills is set at: 5g for common, 25g for an uncommon, 125g for a rare, 625g for a very rare, 3125g for  legendary.  I encourage my own players to keep a  “shopping list” in their inventory with prices tabulated so they can hand out a lump sum of gold and have their kit entirely refreshed. 

Characters with a relevant skill and access to their tools can refill a number of items equal to their proficiency bonus during a four hour work period. With access to a proper workshop, this rate doubles.   ( At last, proficiency with brewers supplies, carpenters tools etc become useful) 

I encourage you as a DM to check out this potion flasks system, which I’ve found adds a delicious factor of uncertainty back into the mix.  Attached is also my super lightweight rules for tracking gear and supplies, which I absolutely refuse to shut up about.

Artist

[needle-thread-thimble-spear]

Revolutionary Girl Utena and Epistemic Violence

or

Why Anthy is not a trans girl (but she is to me)

~~

Ohtori, as any good setting tends to, carries a lot of thematic weight. It’s a fairy world, where metaphorical illusion blurs personal hopes over a poisoned interior structure, to the point where an outside perspective may struggle to distinguish between what a character is thinking and what is actually happening. Time and memory are suggestions whispered in the ear of its students, a cyclic hell where the same puppets are played in position, memories broken but dreams intact, to test new victims and forge new swords. A kingdom of nowhen, ruled from above by a king that refuses to see that the prison he built cannot ever free him. A hierarchy where the misogyny taught to children to prepare them for the grown up version is baked into the very structure of the world, belying a culture of horrible sexual violence. And at the very bottom of that hierarchy, the victim-witch, is the kings own sister. A sort of broken Omelas, where one girl must suffer forever and ever, not to end the suffering of others, but to keep them in the dark. Especially her brother. What Ohtori is, and the hierarchies that it represents both within the work and outside of it, hinges on the suffering of that girl. And, maybe more importantly, her silence.

~~

Revolutionary Girl Utena changed my life. I’ve been saying this nearly two years now, mostly as a joke, but with distance I can see it really isn’t. When you are in the depths of an abusive relationship, it is extremely difficult to see what’s happening to you. I don’t wish to dwell on my own story here too much, but how can I ignore it? RGU was the language I used to understand what had happened to me. Images from the show flit through my mind as though I were a Tamarian. Utena, in the window. Anthy, with the candelabra. Utena, her hands cut with thorns. Anthy with the white beret. After finishing the show for the first time I felt sickened. Not merely because of the subject matter depicted, raw and horrible as it is, but because I saw myself in it. Why do I feel such a kinship with Anthy?

I think, dear reader, you may be able to imagine the horror inherent to that realization. You might have felt it, you may be feeling it now.

It seemed obvious to me then, for reasons I could not begin to fathom, that Anthy was a trans girl. Reeling from my first watch, this felt like the only conclusion I could draw though I couldn’t tell you why. For years, I have drafted and redrafted essays attempting to justify this feeling. Recently, I posted an reading of Miki as a transfem character, and I don’t feel particularly strongly about that reading! Sure, aspects of his character were relatable to me, I could draw analogies well enough, but that was completely secondary to my actual goal. Practice for the transfem Anthy essay. Looking back on what I’d written now, I don’t. Hate? What I wrote. There’s definitely some aspects I’d repudiate now. If you enjoyed reading it, if it meant something to you, I’m glad. But even as I was writing it it felt incomplete and limited. And I believe I understand why.

What did I get wrong about Miki and Kozue? What lies in Ohtori’s heart? What lies in that bed of rotten rose petals?

We all know what does, but we do not want to see it and certainly don’t want to talk about it.

It’s Nanami’s disgust with Anthy, with herself. It’s Miki and Kozue’s confused but earnest posturing. It’s Utena looking up at Akio, it’s Anthy’s vacant stare.

Even here, I’m speaking in abbreviated reference. But it’s abuse, sexual, at times incestuous abuse, that touches every character in RGU.

I’d recently seen a few posts which I think hit on a really common phenomena among fans of the show. Our own stories, our own disgust, our own fears and our own traumas, sort of get in the way when we talk about RGU. I think it’s a natural consequence. RGU deals with heavy subject matter that is very difficult to sit with. I don’t think it’d be incorrect to say most western fans of RGU are queer in some way. We’re much more likely, as consequence, to suffer from interpersonal abuse. And naturally, we are drawn to these characters since they represent, with so few holds barred, some of our worst experiences. But does that make them like us?

For the record, I think it would be ridiculous to suggest that RGU isn't a queer show and that it isn't filled with queer characters. But, for as obvious a conclusion as this is, a surprising depth of that queerness is veiled in subtext. It’s worth considering, the endless arguments over whether Anthy and Utena are lesbians or bisexual, is sort of inconsequential. The important thing is that they have escaped, together! We could suppose that, were Ohtori a real place, we could go track down the two of them and demand from them an answer. How do you feel, Anthy, about your attraction to Akio? What does that mean to you? Would you please quell that horrible disgust we feel thinking about it? Inquiring readers would like to feel better know!

When one leaves Ohtori, one leaves the view of the audience. Utena and Anthy are in love with one another, but what that means to them (and themselves) is out of our reach.

And yet, I can’t seem to shake my original conclusion, from my first watch. Surely it cannot be intended! Hell, even the fact that Anthy is desi is sort of incidental to any commentary on social injustice, the motivation for depicting her (and Akio) this way was to exoticize them relative to the rest of the school. So is this image of Anthy as a brown trans girl, her position in Ohtori being a result of transmisogyny, some western myopia? Mere projection of the aggrieved self on a character who, by her nature, absorbs the feelings and impressions of those around her?

Sort of?

Revolutionary Girl Utena was created in a Japanese cultural context, to be sure, but it’s worth noting that while the precise execution of (trans)misogyny and other gender injustices may vary from culture to culture, patriarchy isn’t exactly exclusive to the west. There is a lot of different directions we could run in here, but the one I want to focus on is epistemic violence (a good primer linked here if the term is unfamiliar). *

In Ohtori, all girls are like princesses, unless they are like witches. And, sooner or later, all girls are like the rose bride, the doll-witch, the synthesis. This is how patriarchy works. There is a concept of “permissible” femininity, and an “impermissible” feminity. There is the wife, the mother, the domestic servant, who is permitted some limited social power by her utility to a patriarch (primarily as a mother to trueborn children). Then there is, well, everyone else. “Loose” women, sure, but also those who have been damaged by sexual violence. Those who cannot bear children, because of some accident of their physiology. These women are used, for feminized labor, for sex, but because of the stigma associated with them and the issues they present toward patrilineal succession, they are subject to various censure. One does not talk about survivors of sexual violence or sex workers in polite society. It is possible for some to travel between these two categories, although it is far, far easier to go from “type 1” to “type 2” than the other direction. Indeed, for some it is not possible to have ones “virtue” restored. If we aren’t being reduced to predatory inhuman monsters, trans women, both a hypersexualized object of intense fetishization and incapable of bearing children, are placed into the second category automatically. Lots of would be abusers are happy to whisper in our ears, that they will treat us like we are “type 1”, but invariably they do not.**

The most maddening thing to me about being a trans woman is this, inability for anyone to see the violence that happens to you. People don’t believe you can be the subject of (sexual) violence, even though the fact it occurs to you, regularly, should be obvious to anyone who thinks about how we are perceived for just a moment! You cannot speak up without sounding delusional, it can happen right in front of a stranger, your best friend, and they wont bat an eye. That you are so incredibly disgusting, no one would want to hurt you that way.

Anthy isn’t a trans girl. But the system that silences her, treats her like she deserves her victimization, that she is irrevocably tainted by her relationship with Akio, the system that keeps us, the audience, from internalizing the dreadful truth of her character, this veil of silence, of covered ears and closed eyes, is extant in the lives of all misbegotten gender-oppressed rejects. If we are going to draw analogies between ourselves and Anthy, or Utena, or Nanami, or any the rest of them, we need to pull back that veil. Indeed, it's confronting (and then escaping from) that choking, word-stopping bile that sits at the core of RGU's thesis. I don’t think it’s wrong for us to relate to the characters in RGU, and write about that. But we might stop to consider why before we do!

*If you’re curious to read more about patriarchy across cultures, here is a really incisive article on the phenomena of third sexing, the operation of (trans)misogyny and gendered violence in parallel across cultural contexts, and how that relates to the western and desi sphere (but also more broadly).

**It should also be noted that there can be no comparison of suffering of anyone under patriarchy. Even the most vaunted cis man, I suppose. But there can be a comparison of power, and this is why we discuss it rather than throw up our hands.

Thank you for reading, I think this is the last I'm going to write about RGU for a while, though there's quite a bit I want to say about Utena and Anthy's relationship. So someday, I'll get around to more! And a perennial thank you to @empty-movement for the high quality archival images.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

your personal favorite Dad Harry headcanons ?

And I'm not talking about Harry being a dad to his toddler/infant/pre pubescent kids because we all know he would be a mushy, endearing, gentle mess of a dad. But like what kind of a father will he be to his teen/adult children ?

I think he would be a great Dad, still silly and goofy but also a bit disciplinary. Suppressive in nature given to the heavy trauma he carries. I think he would break a lot generational trauma cycles and try his best to show affection but I feel like Harry would refrain from showing his vulnerability to his kids. He would share very little of his life's events or raw emotions with them but he would create a safe space for his children to share anything and everything with him. I believe he would raise his children to be kind, mature people and they will be able to break through the wall and soothe their father out of his cocoon later in life.

But what do you think ?

Anonymous asked:

hellooooo!! so i’ve seen this topic floating around a lot, especially in fanfictions, and i was wondering what your take is on it: harry and children. would harry be a good parent? would he be inclined towards children? have a natural knack for dealing/interacting with them? or would he be too impatient, too emotionally repressed, just too uncomfortable overall to really connect with them truly? it’s more a question of children overall, since i can imagine interactions with his own kids would be maybe different, but feel free to tackle both topics if inspiration hits!!

Kinda talked about Harry as a parent here already.

But, overall, I think he'd be a good dad, though a bit awkward about discipline (he would probably take cues from the other parent on this matter). As I think with his childhood, he wouldn't really feel comfortable sending a child to their room, though, he'd probably shout on occasion.

He'd never abuse his kids (or any kids). Ever. Harry would never.

I agree Harry would probably show a tough front in front of his kids but make sure to be available to them when they're younger, but once they're older he'd probably grow more open with them. I think he'd definitely show them all the affection he never received.

For the other questions of the second anon, I think Harry would be inclined to have children. Harry wants a family because he never got to have one, and I think, that extends to having kids.

I also think he'd be super caring to children in general, like, I think he'd try to be for Teddy what Sirius was to him as a fun and caring godfather he could trust with anything. I think he'd get along with Ron and Hermione's kids too, like, I think Romione's children would love cool Uncle Harry that everyone stares at in awe when he takes them for ice cream, but he also pretends to be stunned when they wave sticks at him while running around the garden. I think Harry's kids, and the kids of people he's close to would get really weird whenever someone talks about the saviour Harry Potter. They scrunch up their face in confusion because he's not at all that serious and they heard him make a very unflattering impression of the head auror yesterday's dinner with Ron while Hermione shook her head smiling.

But if these kids were ever in danger, they'd see why people are in awe of Harry. He's going to be so scary when protecting his kids/Teddy/Romione's kids/etc.

I think he would get somewhat annoyed with random kids who want his autograph on the street or things like that, though. But, he'd just sigh and sign whatever they want "because they're kids, they don't know better". When an adult asks for an autograph on the street though, he'd be much less understanding and way ruder.

[scnderlands]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𐕣 THE ENEMY YOU KNOW † e. gortash

word count ; 3.2k

warnings / tags ; MINORS / AGELESS / BLANK BLOGS DNI fem!reader, smut, fingering, slight dubcon, mentions of gortash’s background in arms dealing and whatnot, not proofread, enemy fucking, the smut is over pretty quickly and the story ends pretty suddenly lol,

kai’s notes ; so I’ve always been thirsting over gortash n needed more stuff abt him, I didn’t proofread this and wrote it very quickly, I’m sorry, I’m just brain rotting about this man too much </3 this was gonna have more added ( and someone else too ) but maybe I’ll save that for the next one 🤭

During your travels you had felt many emotions : fear, disgust, joy, relief, and even anger — but never had you ever felt such raw, bestial, unadulterated rage until you stood face-to-face with Lord Enver Gortash.

Horror stories of Gortash’s endeavours fell upon your ears often throughout the months of battling the Absolute. You’d heard of his tyranny, the arms dealing and slavery, all the stuff before and after his time controlling the Absolute.

You knew he was a monster parading in human flesh, a man without a heart or a conscience, and you were truly disgusted by him. Until you met him.

There was no denying your hatred for him, your longing to rip the netherstone from his cold, dead hands. However, he was never anything like you picture other than through a few visions from others, you weren’t sure what it was but he just wasn’t what you envisioned.

When you stood before him at the coronation, part of you wanted to slash his throat right then and there, damned if you were seen, but you knew to be smarter. He came to you with slime-coated compliments, promises of power, and dreadful temptations of ruling together.

What you hadn’t expected was him to come to you with a deal, in exchange neither of you would harm one another, and he’d even give extra information when he could. The thought would have weighed heavy on mind if it weren’t one you had to make in the moment, a split second decision that you couldn’t deny.

Plenty of things were muttered behind you from your companions once you accepted the deal. It wasn’t that you wanted to make a deal with the scumbag, but you knew you needed all the help you could get. And one Chosen One turning again another was exactly the power you needed to aid in your fight against the Absolute.

Over the next few weeks you and Gortash had met plenty of times, most of the time without your friends finding out. For the most part you didn't want to sneak around, but you knew they didn’t agree, and you didn’t want to put them in that position — on the plus side, conversation seemed to go a lot smoother with Gortash when it was just the two of you alone.

“I’m pleased you graced me with your presence today.” Gortash spoke from the other side of the grand hall, not once looking up from the letter he was reading while sitting at the head of the table.

“I’m only here because you said you had information that I might find useful…”

“Patience, patience, we’ll get to all that in due time, love.”

His words made you squirm, not necessarily in a bad way, but more than likely not in a good way either. You couldn’t tell how you were feeling, though you hadn’t been able to tell for a long time now.

“Would you care for a drink?”

Before you could even answer Gortash had clicked his fingers, a gesture toward his servant to fetch you both a glass. The man walked across the room without a soul, no thoughts, only orders to follow — another infected with a parasite, more than likely.

“Please.” Gortash gestured toward the seat closest to his own, a friendly smile on his face which you couldn’t tell whether was real or fake.

“So is there something else you want to discuss before getting down to business?” You questioned as the glass was sat down in front of you, a red wine filled almost to the brim.

“You’re all too impatient, you know that?” His tone was playful as he raised his glass, a hint at you to do the same.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his complaint, but nonetheless you raised your glass to his.

“What’re we toasting to?”

“A done deal, that’s why we are drinking Amnian Dessert Wine, after all.”

Gortash spoke with an elegance, a tone which made you think you should know exactly what the drink is and when it’s drunk.

“It’s an agreement, I wouldn’t say it’s exactly a deal…” you spoke quietly, swishing the red liquid around in your glass.

Another chuckle came from Gortash as he shrugged, clinking his glass against yours with a shiteating grin plastered across his face, “to us.”

A moment of silence passed as you both enjoyed the aged wine, and the quiet, a change of pace for the both of you. There was a moment where you sat and thought about all the things you wanted to ask him, how many questions you had all before meeting with him once again.

“You know, if there is anything you want to say, you can say it, you are among friends.”

His words pulled you from your thoughts and you sharply realised you’d been staring at him the entire time, zoned out without noticing.

“Oh…” you hesitated, making sure not to meet his gaze, “well, what made you want to team up with us?”

There was nothing else you could think about asking after being put on the spot so quickly, and it was a stupid question considering you knew the answer for the most part.

“You… I joined you, not those uncouth friends of yours.” He rolled his eyes and placed his glass down, resting his armoured hand on top of yours gently, “I know we may not see eye to eye on many things, however we do have one common enemy, Orin. And us working together to defeat her is what is best for us both, best for Baldur’s Gate.”

A heat rose up your body, your eyes flickering over where his hand touched yours, your heart beating quicker. Enver noticed your reaction and a ghost of a smile crossed his face, yet he didn’t bother bringing it up, instead he let your own thoughts eat away at you.

“Me and my friends are a package deal, you either take us or leave us.” You frowned at him and carefully pulled your hand away, placing it on your lap and out of his way.

“I understand…I do apologise if I offended.”

For a short while you had a back and forth, skipping over and dancing around conversations, because of course he didn’t want to give you the answers and information he promised you immediately. He wanted to be in your company for a while longer, not that he’d admit that, especially out loud.

With one last mouthful, you finished off your wine and placed the glass down, loud enough to get Gortash’s full attention.

“So, can we finally get down to business then?”

Your patience was wearing thin, you’d been with him far longer than you planned and you didn’t want your camp friends wondering where you were — especially considering all the dangers that had been happening recently.

“Hm.” He stood from his chair and held his hand out for you, “we should discuss these matters somewhere more…private. Although they are all under my control, there are far too many ears around for my liking.”

Your eyes scanned along his golden armoured hand, hesitating for a moment before taking it, a small nod as he pulled you up.

It seemed every time you visited him, you got to see more and more of where he spent all his time, learning a little more about him with each meeting.

“So just how important is this information?”

“Did I ever say it was important?” A little chuckle came from behind you as he shut the door, a hint of sarcasm weaved within his words.

The anger burned in your stomach once again, an all too familiar feeling when around the Tyrant himself. You glared back at him, which only seemed to amuse him that little bit more.

He picked up an envelope from his rosewood desk, and held it in his hand, but kept it close to his chest so you had to walk close to him to grab it.

“You are a nuisance, you know that?”

He only smiled at you, a little part of him enjoying you scolding him ever so slightly. You snatched the envelope away from him and opened it in a hurry, desperate to see the contents so you could finally leave and get back to camp.

“Is this it?”

“Is that not enough?” His finger traced a line along your back as he circled around you like a hawk stalking its prey.

“I—“ you swallowed your words as goosebumps covered your entire body, “it’s just not what I expected…that’s all.”

His face stopped just inches from your own, a devilish glint sparkling in his eyes. Your breath caught in your throat as you finally met his gaze, a mixed feeling of fear and arousal — as much as you hated him being able to that rise in you.

“Gortash…”

“Please, call me Enver, we are friends, after all.”

His finger ran along your jaw while his eyes never looked away from yours, the cool metal of his glove making you want to pull away from him. Every fibre of your being screaming at you to move, to leave and go back to camp, to put distance between you and him, but you couldn’t — you didn’t want to.

“I’ve noticed the way you look at me, and don’t worry, I feel all the same.” His lips ghosted your ear as he whispered, the heat of his breath causing the hairs on your skin to stand on end.

There was no embarrassment or hesitation in his voice, only conviction. He wanted this just as badly as you, if not more.

A quiet moan slipped your lips as his mouth trailed a sloppy line down your neck, his hands squeezing the fat of your hips. He chuckled to himself as your hands moved up to rest on his biceps and your head fell to the side.

“You’re so sure you don’t want this, darling?”

His tone was ever so slightly mocking, he knew the answer but he wanted to hear you say it. He’d been longing to hear you say how much you wanted him, needed him, to hear his name moaned by him.

“I hate…you.” Your hands squeezed at his arms as he bit and sucked at the supple skin of your neck.

“No you don’t, and that’s what you hate.”

He was right, you did want it so badly, you wanted him. It ached your heart how much you were attracted to him, especially considering how much of a bad person he was, all the things he had done to people, to people close to you. You knew if any of your friends found out, you’d be done for, they probably wouldn’t forgive you — but that thought was slowly drifting further and further away with every kiss and grope.

His hands slowly moved down to your ass, while his lips finally met with yours. He kissed you slowly, passionately, with purpose. It was a moment of tenderness, sweetness, before the wild animal instinct kicked in — the need to devour, to ravish you.

Before you could pull away from the kiss, he’d already backed you up and slammed you against a bookcase, tearing your top away from your body and forcing his hands up towards your bare chest.

As you pulled at the top of his jacket, he helped you as he shrugged it off, letting it crumple on the floor where he stood. He yanked his armoured gloves off his hands and threw them off to the side, letting them clattered against the wooden floor without much care. .

“Enver, we really shouldn’t.”

Your words fell on deaf ears, he didn’t care, he needed this too much to stop now. He rarely had time for personal affairs, always too busy trying to take over a city, never meeting anyone new. Not that he ever really wanted to, until he met you that was. He wasn’t sure what it was but you did something to him, you haunted his dreams and his waking hours — you clouded his mind worse than any parasite ever could.

Gortash hummed to himself as he let his hand slide into your pants, relishing in the little gasps into his mouth. His other hand twisting and pinching at one of your nipples, just to make you squirm for him. All he wanted to hear was you moaning for him, because of him, he needed to claim you in ways no one else would, in ways other people could only dream of.

Part of you hoped someone would interrupt just so you could back out of it, but most of you didn’t want that to happen. Even surrounded by friends in the camp, you felt lonely, everyday was a fight and there was never time to form a relationship for you. Now you had this man, this monster, showing you all the attention you never knew you craved so dearly. And no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t ignore it, it relit a passion in you that fizzled out long ago.

His fingers slid into you until his knuckles bottomed out, they curled back and forth before he pulled them nearly all the way out. He knew exactly how to hit that spot inside of you every time his fingers grazed upwards, and he easily had your knees buckling, your hands having to grip at his shoulders just to support yourself. .

“Fuck, Enver…” your head rested against his shoulder as his fingers moved quicker and quicker, forcing moan after moan to tumble so sweetly from your lips.

Before you could come, he moved away from you, slowly bringing his fingers to his face with a smirk on his face. A moment of admiring the way your slick ran down his fingers before he brought them up to his mouth, his tongue running the length of his finger before pushing them into his mouth. He let out a satisfied hum as he cleaned you from them, his gaze watching the way you rubbed your legs together while watching him.

“Come here, my love.” He held his hand out in front of himself, gesturing for you to follow him over to the couch nearby.

Without a thought of your own, you followed his command, trailing behind him like a lost puppy dog. As you got to the couch, he spun you around and kissed you again, pushing you gently backwards onto the cushions. He used his knee to force your legs apart for him, his hands tugging at the waistband of your parts while never letting his lips part from yours.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?”

A heat raised up your body at his words, not being able to look back at him as he pulled your pants down your legs, discarding them on the floor.

He hovered over the top of you, a gentle look on his face unlike one you’d seen before. He chuckled at your embarrassment as he stroked his cock up and down your slit, making you twitch every time he trailed along your puffy clit. Once he gathered enough lube on himself, he slowly pushed into you, and you couldn’t help but hiss at the stretch.

His cock was fatter than you’d have thought, the sensation burning but pleasurable at the same time as he bottomed out in you. It took a moment for you to adjust, his mouth on your neck distracting you from the pain.

“You feel…” he let out a groan as he pulled back, and slowly pushed back into you, “fucking incredible.”

His hips rocked back and forth, his cock pushing all the way into you and then all the way back, repeating that motion over and over again. His head collapsed into the crook of your neck, another low groan from his parted lips.

To him, you felt heavenly, a sensation he hadn’t experienced in Lord knows how long. It was everything he dreamt of and more, and he couldn’t stop himself from giving into temptation, his hips speeding up and pounding into you with more force.

The sound of skin hitting skin, sensual moans, and the bookcase behind the couch were the only sounds in the room. Everything else fell away, no more worrying about the Absolute and the parasites, no more caring about Enver being your enemy, there was only you and him together. It was all that mattered.

Your nails scratched down the bare skin of his back, and his teeth grazed against your neck. His name fell from your lips just the way he always imagined, a dream come true. He couldn’t control himself once he heard his name, he pistoned into you more forcefully, addicted to the sounds he was pushing out of you.

His hand grabbed your thigh and pulled your leg up tighter against his side, his hips and pace beginning to stumble slightly as he was getting closer to finishing. Strings of curse words and moans came from him, and when your cunt tightened around him, he couldn’t help but finish too. He didn’t bother pulling out, the idea of filling you up with his cum was too much for him to handle, he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to.

“Fuck…” he panted as he barely held himself up on his elbow, his eyes looking directly into yours.

A sense of peace washed over you for the first time in months, a release you so desperately needed. He leaned down and placed a careful kiss on your forehead, both of you breathes heavy and ragged.

“That was worth it, was it not?” He laughed, maybe the first time you heard him laugh genuinely.

He was completely at ease, his guard was down for the first time ever around you — both of you as vulnerable as the other. He squeezed into the gap next to you and pulled your head onto his bare, sweaty chest, his hand rubbing up and down your back.

You could feel your eyelids growing heavier and heavier, and you knew you needed to get up, go back to camp, and leave Gortash behind. But you couldn’t, you had never felt so content, so calm as you did now. It was obvious he felt the same way, how his breathing became slow and relaxed, his chest raising up and down rhythmically as he began to fall asleep beside you. Before you knew it you were asleep and being greeted by your dream guardian, with a very disgusted look on their face, and a whole lot to say.

[gamerbot-22]

HI. I SAW YR REQUESTS ARE OPEN AND I DESPERATELY NEED CHUBBY READER X KNIVES.

I always thought Kni would be fascinated with a chubby human. they are soft and squishy and kind even when he’s mean to them and thats not something he associates with humans often so ywah.!

if you cant tell I love this guy.

YEAAAAA FUCK YEAH I LIKE WHERE YOUR HEAD’S AT—[checks ur bio]—QUEEN. Oh man, I love doing requests so much, y’all come to me with the fuckin’ sickest ideas. Also thank you for handing me a Nai GIF on a silver plater that’s v helpful of you ✨

Millions Knives/Nai x Sweet Chubby Reader

TW/CWs: Nai is Nai (both /pos and /neg), romance is implied but tbh this could all be read as platonic, written with TriStamp Nai in mind but feel free to slot your favorite version in here if you so choose, the words fat and chubby are used neutrally and interchangeably to describe the reader, Nai has feelings he refuses to unpack, barely proofread but I appreciate spellchecks.

A/N: I was a little stuck on how I wanted to do this but God, once I found that groove it was insane. Like… the physical softness mixing with the emotional softness of the reader? That’s some fun stuff to explore to me, so I really hope you like it!

Likes and Reblogs are always appreciated, Requests are open, and it’s all under the cut!

The dividers in this post were made by @/adornedwithlight ☆

SO let’s get into it, yeah? I’ve seen crews on the SEEDS ship in both versions of the anime and everyone there is fit as hell so like??? Honestly with his hermit lifestyle, I’d say there’s a non-zero chance of you being one of if not the first fat person he’s ever met personally.

I don’t think it changes much of his perception of you at first—humans are humans, regardless of shape—but there is something interesting about how you just... take it? When he talks shit about humanity? Like he calls humanity a parasite, a disease, and instead of shrinking or averting your gaze from him for the rest of the day you ask him if he’s hungry. Him. Hungry. What??

He’s not shy about his confusion. After a couple notable instances of this he straight up just asks why you’re so unbothered by it when every other human he has to deal with has some kind of sore spot about it. Maybe humans didn’t treat you well either, so you agree with him. He understands. Maybe you want to see what happens with a Plant in charge. He thinks you’re insane, and tells you so, but doesn’t otherwise hurt you (not while you’re still useful and… interesting.) Maybe you just think he still deserves to be listened to despite it all. Isn’t it a basic need to be listened to? That reminds him of some people he’d rather not think about. He probably ignores you for a while after that.

But you can’t even let him ignore you! You still come to him, unlike anything he’d ever seen with your soft hands and body, offering warm words and attention despite his clear (surface-level) distaste for whatever it is you have to say.

You know lonely when you see it, and you’re persistent. An unstoppable force meets an immovable object until one day, when he’s feeling especially raw he just breaks. He doesn’t shatter completely, but there’s cracks in his facade when he lets you wrap your arms around his shoulders and give him a squeeze, assuring him that he doesn’t have to return the embrace if he doesn’t want to. And he doesn’t, for the record, he just wants to… sit in it. Your body keeps heat better than his ever could—it’s the one drawback of being a Plant at times—and you’re soft, both around his neck and in his ears as you just stand there, breathing. He can feel your heartbeat and you’re not even a little frightened, even after seeing first hand the kind of terror he puts in the hearts of your fellow humans.

He can’t remember the last time someone hugged him. Probably not since her. It makes him bitter, but at the same time he dares not push you away. Not yet, at least. You’re a human, and to him you’re either insane or stupid to think he’ll spare you at the end of this, but… you’re still useful for now. He’ll keep you and your soft body within arm’s reach, letting you wrap around him so he could feel the warmth of another body. You can stay until he’s certain he can be rid of you.

Whenever that might be.