#that's also why it's not as dark as night should be

[yuuchama]

Sometime during the VDC training camp, when everyone on team Night Raven is sleeping over at Ramshackle Dorm:

Ramshackle Dorm has no shortage of spare rooms, but their condition is another story. You've managed to get enough of them decently clean. They're not as nice as your room, which has had far more time invested in it and is well lived in, but your groupmates should be able to spend a few days at the dorm without issue and are more than free to tidy up rooms as they please.

Yet on one of the first nights, you hear the door of your room creak open. It's dark and you can't see the intruder, though you know it's not one of the ghosts. The approaching footsteps aren't as heavy as Grim's, even after he's cleared out the entire fridge in one sitting. You're also pretty confident Grim is fast asleep beside you.

"Hello?" You groggily lift your head and call out to the intruder. If it's anything malicious, you hope the ensuing scuffle will cause enough noise to wake everyone else up.

A weight pushes the edge of your mattress down and there's a gentle touch at your shoulder. "Prefect, do you mind if I spend the rest of the night here?"

"Jamil?"

You almost don't recognize him in the dark with his hair down. You feel around for a bedside light. Grim groans in his sleep when it clicks on and turns over, shielding his eyes with tiny arms.

Jamil looks exhausted. "Please, I'd really appreciate if you could let me sleep here tonight."

"Yeah, sure. Of course." Maybe it's the sleep addling your brain or your trust in Jamil. You see no reason to turn down his request and didn't question why he was coming to you instead of Kalim. You nudge Grim over to make room for one more on the bed.

The vice housewarden does his best to fit in the cramped sleeping conditions, assuring "I'll pay you back for this. Thank you."

He's turned towards the wall, back touching your side so that he doesn't fall. You wait to make sure he's fully secure in bed before turning off the light. In the calm that follows, you notice he's almost imperceptibly shaking. Sure, the dorm is cold, but not that cold. Especially with three in one bed.

"Jamil, are you okay?" The longer you spend awake, the more concerning this whole situation feels.

"I'm fine. Goodnight, Prefect." Jamil already has his eyes shut and seems adamant about not discussing things further.

"Okay... Goodnight."

You lay down and silence settles over the room once more. It's really warm between your two friends. Sleep is quick to catch up to you, you find yourself nodding off within minutes of your head touching the pillow.

Before you fully drift off, Jamil turns to face you. His hair drapes over the side of the bed and he places a hand on your pillow, lightly grazing your cheek.

"Thanks again," he whispers. "I feel a lot better with you here. Your room doesn't have bugs on the wall."

[straylightdream]

late night calls

𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭: choi seungcheol x f.reader

↳ it’s four am and there is only one person that he wants to talk to.

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: non idol au, idiots to lover, friends with benefits

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.8k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: the mc is mad at seungcheol, angst, smut (more warnings to come about that)

an: this is a part or my loosely connected SVT series all for you.

𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: unprotected sex (mc is on birth control), oral fem receiving, creampie, size kink, some dirty talk

Laying in his bed he stared at his phone wondering If he should call you. Your last phone call hadn’t exactly ended the best. Things between you had started to become strained. The call ended with you telling him you weren’t just his booty call and hung up on him leaving him with a major case of blue balls.

Things with you two weren’t always like this. You were friends long before you started hooking up. You met Seungcheol through his roommate. You and Joshua worked together and you’re really close with his girlfriend. You just so happen to also live in the same building as him. You lived one floor above him. When you met Seungcheol you’re pretty sure Joshua's plan was for you to date his roommate. There was a clear instant attraction between the two of you, but things didn’t work out. The timing was bad. You were nursing a broken heart, and Seungcheol started to see a new girl. Even though you didn’t start anything romantic you and him became very close. You would often hang out with the roommates and Joshua's best friend before they became official.

From the beginning you couldn’t really kick your small crush you had grown to have on Seungcheol. When you started sleeping together your little crush didn’t magically go away either. You just did a good job at burying it. You were fine with being friends with benefits. You just hated when Seungcheol treated you like just his fuck buddy. You like to remind him that you’re friends before anything else. Recently he’s been kind of distant and when you hook up it feels like the lights are on but no one’s home. He’s not caring like he normally is.

Your last call when he asked you “to come over and fuck” pissed you off. You didn’t want to just go over for sex. You normally hang out first and then it would lead into to sex. You never called him with just the intention of sex, and in the beginning he didn’t either.

It was four in the morning and he couldn’t sleep and he knew only your voice could soothe him to sleep after such a shitty day at work. He laid in the darkness of his room with the only light coming from his phone.

Unlocking his phone, he scrolled through his contacts and saw your name with a heart next to it. Taking his bottom lip between his teeth he pressed your name.

Holding his phone to his ear he listened as it rang praying you would pick up. He knew you were probably sound asleep and probably wouldn’t be exactly the happiest that he was waking you up. You also had a full day at work, and from what his roommate had told him. Work has been pretty tough for you and Joshua this week.

On the fifth ring he heard your raspy voice, “Seungcheol, why are you calling me four in the morning?”

He swallowed slowly, “I couldn’t sleep and your voice always calms me down.”

Your soft laugh echoed in his ears, “did you wake me up for phone sex?”

His eyes roamed his dark room for a moment wondering if that’s deep down inside why he called you. “No,” he whispered.

“Choi Seungcheol, why did you call me then?” You yawned. He never liked the sound of his name more than when it was spoken by you.

“I just wanted to hear your voice,” he sighed. “I’ve missed you.”

He wasn’t lying, he missed the sound of your voice and he missed being able to hold you. He had barely seen you in two weeks, and he hadn’t been able to talk to you on the phone since you had hung up on him.

“Do you really miss me?” He could picture you half asleep lying in your bed.

“Yeah,” he rasped.

“I’m sorry I hung up on you last time,” you sighed.

“I need to treat you better. I know you're not a booty call,” he stretched his body out and rolled onto his side looking over to the empty side of the bed where he wished you were laying.

“Cheol, did you want me to come over?” You sighed. He loves when you call him that. You instantly latched on to his nickname right after being introduced.

“How about I come to you baby girl?” he asked. Your heart always flutters when he calls you that. You love when he calls you your name, but being called “baby girl” makes you melt.

“I’ll come to you but this isn’t a booty call?” You stated.

“We don’t have to do anything. I just want to cuddle,” he sat up in his bed and pushed his fingers through his hair.

“Cuddling sounds nice. I’ll walk down to yours and Shau’s place right now. You better have the door unlocked,” you softly.

“I’m getting up right now.” He says before you hang up.

He quickly got out of his bed and quietly walked down the hallway towards the front door. He opened the door to find you standing outside with a hoodie on and a pair of tiny shorts. You didn’t say anything. You silently walked past him and headed off towards Seungcheol’s room.

He smiled as he followed behind you. You took your hoodie off and placed it on the floor next to the bed and then crawled into the bed and pulled the covers up. He crawled in behind you and moved his body close to yours so you were spooning. This has always been his favorite way to sleep with you. He loves being able to hold you close to him.

His lips ghosted your shoulder as he nuzzled against you. “I miss you baby girl,” he murmured.

“I missed you too.” He hands rest on your stomach pulling you even closer to him. “Cheol what are we?” You asked him the question that had been on your mind for months.

“I don’t know,” he sighs.

“I don’t like that answer,” you place your hand on top of his.

“What do you want us to be?” He knows you need to have this conversation but he’s scared.

“I wanna be yours.”

He pulls away from you. You lay on your back looking up at him. His eyebrows are knit together as he stares at you looking confused. “You’re already mine.”

“Not fully,” reaching up and resting your hand on his cheek.

“What do you want me to do?” He asked.

“I don’t want to be just your fuck buddy anymore. I want you to be more.”

“I’ll do anything you want. If you want us to be more. Let’s be more.” He gives you a gentle smile.

Leaning down he presses his lips to your for a heated kiss. “Let me show you how I care for you.” When you originally came over you told yourself you wouldn’t sleep with Seungcheol tonight. But things have seemed to drastically change between you.

“I don’t want you to fuck me. I want you to show me how much you care,” you sigh.

“I’m going to take care of you.”

Soon your clothes are stripped away just like Seungcheol. Laying in his bed completely bare with your legs spread. He was kissing his way across your skin. Your eyes were closed as you took in the feeling of his lips on your skin.

As his lips brushed your sensitive nub you couldn’t help but moan. Seungcheol knew all the ways to drive you wild. He knew that if he ever wanted to turn you on all he had to do was kiss the sweet skin right below your ear. Often you would be hanging out and he would come up behind you and brush your hair out of the way and press his lips to the sweet spot upon your skin.

Your fingers tangled in his hair as he laid between your legs pushing you closer and closer to your release. A white hot wave washes over you as you moan his name.

Looking up from between your legs he stared at you in awe. According to him you never looked more beautiful than you do after you come.

Soon he was hovering over your soft body slowly thrusting into you. He rested on his forearms so he was as close as possible to you. Your lips moved together desperate to stay close.

“Fuck,” he moans against your lips.

Your leg hooks over his butt pulling him close to you. He’s thrusting into you at a slow but deep pace.

“Cheol you’re so big.” You’ll never get over the feeling of him stretching you. You’ve never been with anyone as big as him. He’s so thick it always takes a little bit to adapt to the feeling of stretching you open.

“You take me so well.”

Your eyes are practically rolling back in your head. With each thrust his bulbous head is nudging your g spot over and over again.

“I’m close,” you whimper.

“Are you coming to come on my cock?” You love when he talks to you like this.

“Please,” you’re trying to stay somewhat quiet. You aren’t sure if Seungcheol’s roommate Joshua is home.

“Baby you can come,” he groans. You fall apart moments before him. He finds his own release pairing your walls white with his thick come. He slowly thrust into you, helping you ride out your high.

Seungcheol is still inside of you hovering above. Leaning up you pressed your lips to his for a gentle kiss. “It’s like you were made for me,” his voice was low as he stared into your bright eyes.

“I sure hope that we were made for each other,” you reached up and ran your fingers through his soft hair.

He removed himself from you and laid down on his bed. He looked over at you and smiled, and you knew you were always supposed be more then just fuck buddies. You’re glad you can now see him as more than just a friend. He gets up and cleans up your release.

“Can you hold me,” you ask, reaching for him. Crawling into bed he pulls your body close to yours. Your head rest on his chest and his hand slowly rubs your back making you relax even more. “This is nice.”

“Thank you for coming over. I’m sorry if I hurt you in the past. I’m gonna try to never hurt you again.”

“This is new for both of us, but we’ll figure this out together.”

Snuggling close to him, things feel different in the best way possible. It didn’t take long before you fell asleep with you in his arms.

If you have asked to be tagged I request that you please reblog. If you could leave comments and tags that would be greatly appreciated.

[itacats]

2 Lines Means Positive (mini-series)

FT: Simon Riley x reader

Warnings: pregnancy, worries of repeating the past/being a bad father, please let me know if anything else should be here!🙏

A/N: Baby fever is in full swing this last little while, and I thought why not plague you all with a mini-series! There will be more to come for some of the other TF141 gang, but they'll just have to wait their turn.

SUM: Simon, a man haunted by a turbulent past, finds an unexpected moment of peace in a quiet Manchester evening. When you call him into the kitchen with life-changing news, he’s forced to confront the shadows he thought he’d left behind.

Soap MacTavish John Price

Whispers of Hope

In the heart of Manchester, the rain poured steadily, creating a rhythmic backdrop that seemed to wash the world in a muted symphony. The room was bathed in a cozy, golden glow from the dim lamps scattered around, their light reflecting off the dark wood accents and worn leather couch. Shadows flickered gently, forming a mosaic of memories on the walls—memories that Simon Riley could never quite leave behind. These walls had seen him at his most vulnerable, his most broken, but they had also held the echoes of laughter, soft conversations, and the comfort that you both had woven into this place over time.

From his seat on the couch, Simon watched you glide through the kitchen with the kind of ease and grace that he found both foreign and comforting. There was an air of simple beauty about you as you moved, your sleeves rolled up, strands of hair slipping down past your ears, framing your face. You didn’t need to look up to feel his gaze; the warmth of his presence filled the room like a tangible force, blending with the aromas of herbs and simmering vegetables. It was these small moments—your content hum, the sizzle of food in the pan—that painted the portrait of a life he never thought he’d be part of.

You had pieced together a life of quiet sanctuary from the fragments of two turbulent pasts. Here, the ordinary became sacred: the unhurried evenings, the lazy weekend mornings, the feeling of safety that had been so hard to come by. It was fragile yet profoundly resilient, like the ivy that grew stubbornly through cracks in the cobbled streets outside. Every meal, every tender moment shared was a testament to your joint determination to build something out of nothing, to push back the darkness with a relentless light.

As he rose from the couch, crossing the worn wooden floor toward the kitchen, Simon felt a swell of emotions that had taken him years to understand, much less articulate. In the delicate frame of the person he loved, he saw a reflection of his own transformation—a man haunted by wars, scars, and regrets, now finding himself on the cusp of something he never believed he deserved: hope. The shadows in his mind receded a little as he approached, drawn forward by your voice.

“Simon! Can you come here for a second?” Your voice held an edge of anticipation, soft yet weighted, as if bracing for the impact of the moment. He quickened his pace, heart drumming in sync with the rain outside, a mixture of curiosity and unspoken worry bubbling beneath the surface.

“Sure, love. What’s up?” His words were casual, but his heart pounded as he watched you, a small plastic stick in your hand, held with the care and fragility of a message that could alter everything. Your eyes flickered with something unreadable—a mix of wonder and anxiety—and it was a look he’d come to know well: the way you gathered strength before sharing something you held close to your heart.

As you looked up, drawing a breath, the world around Simon slowed. All the battlefields, all the sleepless nights, all the walls he had built around himself felt oddly insignificant. He could feel the gravity of this moment settling over him, seeping into his bones, as the words left your lips:

“I’m pregnant.”

The words reverberated through the kitchen, hanging in the air like an incantation. For Simon, it was as if time had splintered. A swirl of thoughts collided within him—visions of childhood, flashes of solitude, echoes of a life filled with struggle and survival. But above all, one thought loomed larger than the rest: Could he be the father this child would need? He had always thought of parenthood as a distant, almost impossible concept—a role reserved for men without his past.

His gaze flickered to yours, searching for the strength he suddenly felt slipping through his grasp. “Wow…” he whispered, the word barely escaping. Simon could feel the old fears creeping in, familiar and unwelcome. His own childhood flickered in his mind like a reel of dark images, a life marked by pain and isolation. How could he, someone so steeped in darkness, nurture a life so fragile and innocent?

You stepped toward him, your hand reaching for his arm, grounding him with a gentle pressure. “Simon? Are you okay?” The tremor in your voice softened as you met his gaze, unwavering, clear—a lighthouse guiding him back to shore.

He closed his eyes for a moment, sighing as he combed a hand through his dark hair, trying to gather his scattered thoughts. “I just… I don’t want to screw this up. I’m afraid, love. Afraid of what I carry inside—afraid that I’ll let you both down.” His voice trembled, each word revealing cracks in the armor he’d worn for so long.

You held his gaze, firm and sure, your hand rising to rest over his chest, right above his heart. “Simon, you’re more than your past. You’ve faced so much, but you’ve never faced it alone, and you won’t now. We’ll do this together.”

In that moment, Simon felt an indescribable warmth—a kind of healing light that began to seep through his defenses. Here, in the heart of your small kitchen, surrounded by the comforting scent of dinner and the quiet rain outside, he felt something rare: hope. His world, once defined by battles and shadows, was now tinged with the promise of something softer, something worth fighting for in a different way.

“I want to be there for you—and the baby,” he confessed, feeling the weight of the words settle like an oath in his heart. It was a declaration, one spoken not from fear but from love.

“And you will be,” you whispered, a tear slipping down your cheek, the warmth in your eyes a mirror to his own. For once, Simon wasn’t haunted by the ghosts of his past but guided by the love in your gaze.

He pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you, feeling the reassurance and strength of this newfound purpose. Together, you stood amidst the rain’s gentle rhythm, a silent promise lingering between you. For the first time, Simon Riley felt a light within him strong enough to break through any darkness—a light he would carry forward, forged not by fear, but by a love that would lead him into the unknown.

Here's the current post schedule with some upcoming stories to look forward to!

[hurtspideyparker]

When Steve and Tony move in together they discover a lot of differences.

Tony leaves the light on in every room. He's always had either hired help or an AI to turn it off for him, and he's never sweat an electricity bill.

Steve turns off every light when he leaves a room, even if he's only gone for two seconds. It's an old habit from not having reliable electricity growing up or in the military. Tony will catch him squinting at his book in the dim light until the sun fully sets and he's bathed in darkness, or turning off a lamp Tony's using because "you already have two more on!"

Steve always makes the bed first thing in the morning. If Tony's still sleeping in it, then he gets tucked in...tight. Sometimes he struggles to get out.

Tony rolls out of bed with his eyes still closed. The sheets follow him to the floor, his pajamas are strewn on the ground until he's caffeinated and showered.

Steve's showers usually last 5 minutes. 10, if it's post-mission and the dirt still clings. A slightly warm temperature that leaves no steam on the mirror.

Tony's last 25 at minimum. When Steve asks what he's even doing in there he says "enjoying the moment". Steve has listened through the door and has found that to mean enjoying scalding hot water while talking math through with Jarvis, singing, or...yeah. Steve usually follows him in for that one.

Steve is a "do the dishes right after a meal" kind of guy. A meal that should be eaten at a kitchen table. He also refuses to use the dishwasher.

Tony is a "let them soak" man. Which he usually forgets about and Steve ends up doing. He'll also leave the dishes wherever he pleases. Coffee table, work bench, dresser. "Tony why is there a coffee mug in the bathtub. Again."

Steve runs hot. Tony runs cold. Steve has long since given up trying to mess with the thermostat ever since it started yelling at him when he touched it—he thought about protesting the heat by wearing less clothing, but Tony would just enjoy that too much.

Instead he started refusing cuddles. He wasn't even lying about how hot and uncomfortable it got when Tony lies on top of him like a weighted blanket. A week into the boycott the temperature got lowered a whole 5 degrees, and has been ever since. (Steve still sweats a little in the night when Tony clings under the duvet, but he never really minded it; the benefits outweigh the drawbacks).

[kanasbinwriting]

Hello! Could you possibly write a Sol x gn reader where the reader calls Sol and tells him to come inside and cuddle with them because they've been tired mentally and emotionally and just want to be held? And that they actually know that he's been sneaking in their apartment but they don't really care and actually they find it a little cute

Also I'm sorry if this sounds awkward, I don't know how to words things properly 😅

SOL X READER

Thank you so much for your request ^^ I really enjoyed writing this!! I hope I did an okay job

Fun fact, I'm actually working on making a Sol figure out of clay 💪

Anyway, enjoy!!

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

It was dark outside; nothing could be heard but the wind rustling through the leaves and the occasional hum of cars driving by. You felt tired, but no matter how hard you tried to fall asleep, nothing worked—the stress consuming you whole.

You sat up on your bed, trying some breathing exercises you saw online to calm your racing mind, but to no success. Your mind was occupied with all sorts of things that caused you a great immense of stress and you couldn't help but feel emotionally drained as a result. Oh, to have someone hold you close right now. You let out a small whine as you rubbed your eyes. You glanced over at your phone charging on the bedside table, thinking to yourself. Sol, wouldn't mind if you called him, right? You picked up your phone and checked the time. Sol should be on his way right now. But waiting for him would be a bit awkward, you doubted that he'd even go near your window if he saw that you were still awake. You looked to your bedside table once more, where a glass of orange juice stood untouched, waiting for you to take a sip. You could just drink it and let the sleeping pills do their work, or at least that's what you think that he'd put in your drink to ensure you'd be sound asleep around the time he arrived for his nightly visits.

With a deep sigh, you decided to not drug yourself tonight. Maybe you could just give him a call. It wouldn't come off as weird, right? In all defence, he was the one breaking into your apartment every night. If anyone was weird then it was definitely him and not you for calling him at this ungodly hour. You tapped on his contact and raised your phone to your ear, calling him. No answer. Was he asleep? No way. He wouldn't be. You looked at your phone in disbelief and tried it again after a few seconds. You stood up from your bed and made your way toward the window when he finally picked up.

"H-Hello..?" He greeted you in a hushed tone.

You let out a chuckle.

"Are you serious?" You asked playfully.

"Huh?" Sol replied in complete confusion. "What do you mean...?" his tone shifted nervously, but before he could question further, you cut him off with a smug grin.

"Look up." Now looking down at him from your open window.

He froze and went completely silent, not daring to move a single muscle.

"W-what—"

You hung up and leaned further out the window.

"Why, hello there!" You called, winking unbeknownst to him.

He slowly raised his head to look at you and the look on his face was priceless. You gave him a knowing smile, waiting for him to say something. "I can explain...!" He stammered, raising his hands in defence.

"Can you now?" You settled your chin in your hand, your elbow propped up on your windowsill.

"I-I was... just going for a walk" You looked at him with a bored expression on your face

"Oh, really?"

"Yes." He nodded trying to look confident. He might've convinced you if it weren't for his all-black outfit and mask. With a sigh, you decided to end the senseless interrogation.

"Just come inside."

"What...?!" He exclaimed loudly in bewilderment.

"You... want me to come inside?"

"That's what I said, yes."

You walked away from your window and sat on your bed. It took Sol a few seconds to process what had just happened. He pinched his cheek to confirm he wasn't dreaming. Upon realising that it was, in fact, real, he quickly but carefully climbed to your apartment. As he slipped in through your window, making sure to close the window, he now stood before you, his face flushed crimson red. You let out a yawn and made yourself comfortable on your bed to which his breath slightly stutters."Can we cuddle?"

"What...?" he stammered, looking taken aback. "I said, can we cuddle?" You repeated, motioning for him to join you. He hesitated for a moment before muttering a quiet "Fuck it..." before walking toward you. He awkwardly tried to make himself comfortable next to you, keeping his arms close to himself, too nervous to touch you. His whole body tensed when you, without warning, wrapped your arms around him snuggling your head against his neck. Inhaling his scent, you let out a contented sigh. He lets you wrap your limbs around him, sensing that there's something wrong. He began to ease up in your embrace, wrapping his arms around you and began to gently stroke your head.

"Thank you..." You whispered quietly against his neck and he felt a shudder run down his spine. "No problem..." He whispered back, as a lovesick expression appeared on his face. Not paying him any mind you closed your eyes and slowly began to drift off to sleep in his his embrace.

[imagineitdearies]

~ A Flawed Eternity ~

(AKA drabbles set in the Perfect Slaughter universe. 🩵 Special thanks to @secretbraintwin for the ko-fi request! 🩵 Also as a love letter to you PS enjoyers still out there--as braintwin put it, "this is terrible but we're going to help each other through it" is a sentiment many of us could use right now.)

~

In which Astarion gets worse and worse at not being in love, i.e. Chapter 22. Content warning for dubious consent.

~

Astarion didn’t like magic on principle, after how many ways it had been used to make his life a living Hell. Not that he would dissuade Tyrus from all the useful tricks the drow creatively employed to make their existence a bit less miserable. To feed Astarion, even, despite what it cost him.

And until recently—until Cazador took Tyrus away for an entire year, and then just a single, life-ruining night—the little magic Astarion had a knack for seemed useless anyway. Right up until he started secretly researching Polymorph for the chance to give Tyrus something for once, and happened upon Prestidigitation in the opening chapters of an arcane book.

It felt dangerously easy, practicing the incantation and hand somatics just a few times one morning until Astarion felt the spark of something in his hands. But that was just before the door opened and Tyrus walked in late with a flat, empty look in his eyes, pulling Astarion away from the little discovery.

Astarion tried to cheer him with a warm, “Good morrow, love,” as Tyrus shut the door, wondering if he should share his private studies now to lift the drow’s dour spirits. 

But Astarion quickly forgot the notion when he saw Tyrus’s face crumple into something terrified and broken as their eyes met.

Astarion didn’t think further before snapping the book shut and tossing it onto the bedside pile, going upright. He had to hold himself back from a faster speed, really, not wanting to rush Tyrus despite his hurry to reach him.

In the meantime, Tyrus was murmuring something Astarion only belatedly realized must have been a few spells, his dark ruby eyes flashing with just the smallest twinkle before he stared at the wall to Astarion’s right. And the terror faded back behind that flat, empty expression again, in the bare seconds before Astarion stood in front of him.

“Tyrus?” When Tyrus made no answer, Astarion reached out—then stopped himself. “ What’s happened?” he entreated instead, stepping just a bit closer.

Finally, Tyrus looked at him again, his pale brow furrowing as he asked the last thing Astarion expected: “Can I kiss you?”

Astarion wanted to kiss him every day. He wanted to hold him and touch him, make him smile and bring him pleasure. He wanted Tyrus, with a true desire he’d thought had been lost decades ago.

But in his imaginings of how it would go, the first time they tried intimacy again after Cazador’s assault on Tyrus, Astarion had pictured kissing him after some lovely day of reading stories, or listening to Tyrus ramble about the arcane, or once Astarion had provided Tyrus with a bit of blood.

Not when Tyrus looked the way he did now: scared, resigned—hopeless.

Astarion could only make terrible guesses as to why. “Darling, what’s the matter?” he asked, just barely stopping himself from reaching out a hand and cupping the other man’s cheek.

“I . . .” Tyrus grimaced, looking further crestfallen as he admitted, “I just wanted to ask, before I explain.”

Explain what, part of Astarion wanted to ask right away. But the rest of him didn’t look forward to bad news. Clearly, Tyrus was holding onto something terrible. And the fact that he wanted to kiss Astarion first was concerning on top of strange—but as Astarion looked over Tyrus’s face, he could somehow tell the question was genuine. The desire for Astarion was there, only half-smothered by a thousand other worries and fears and needs at the moment.

It wasn’t close to the ideal kiss Astarion had imagined . . . but outside of whatever else was going on, it seemed to fully be Tyrus’s choice.

With that knowledge, “How could I say no?” 

Astarion took the chance to hold him a bit, on top of joining their lips. And just sliding his palm to press against the small of Tyrus’s back felt like so much combined with the way Tyrus was kissing him, his lips clinging to every movement of Astarion’s as if unwilling to let the kiss end. Whilst a growing flame of desire flared within him, Astarion wrapped his other hand around Tyrus’s shoulders, felt a greedy satisfaction as Tyrus reached up to do the same, and wondered if he needed to know about whatever Tyrus thought should be explained. If they couldn’t just lay down and get lost in each other, just like this, instead.

But Tyrus broke from the kiss and spoke poison into the air: “He’s watching.”

The fire in Astarion’s belly abruptly died a cold, damp death.

The gift of permission into the favorite spawn chamber, so long as Tyrus allowed it, was already tarnished by why Cazador had granted it. And anytime Astarion forgot and felt himself growing too happy, a haunted look would cross Tyrus’s eyes and remind him. Or worse, something dead would flatten the drow’s expression. And Astarion had nothing save useless words and the futile effort of gathering gold to offer.

Nothing, save his own blood.

Considering how long it’d been since Cazador’s fuck-feeding of the poor man, Astarion had guessed another encounter was imminent. Tyrus would have little chance to resist if he didn’t get a single drop of sustenance in the meantime—and perhaps this was the price.

Maybe Astarion should be grateful it was him Tyrus was likely being forced on again, not Cazador himself. 

He wasn’t.

“He wants us to do something,” Tyrus explained, confirming his guess, and Astarion felt abruptly nauseous. Grateful in a rational way that Tyrus was telling him the truth, while also furious in a childish way that he couldn’t have continued on in blissful ignorance. “For me, to—to—”

Astarion’s mind flashed through a dozen terrible possibilities, and suddenly he had to know, so his mind could replace the disgusting, terrifying memory of hurting Tyrus in the kennels with anything else. “For you to what, Tyrus?” he asked, keeping his voice slow and careful despite his inner rage.

It burst out of Tyrus like a convoluted geyser, then. Something to do with Cazador blackmailing Tyrus into performing oral sex on him, first with the promise of blood, then a threat on Astarion, before settling on the likely-more satisfying conclusion of getting to watch the both of them in misery while Tyrus went to Astarion instead.

Not so bad as Astarion had feared, truly. But the misery on Tyrus’s face made sense—Astarion knew the withering, soul-crushing pain of guilt well, despite his own best efforts to cultivate a bit of sadism to counter it. With how much Cazador pulled the strings, the few semblances of choice he offered were almost always equally terrible, detrimental to the soul. But certainly in this case, Tyrus had correctly chosen the lesser of two evils, he thought.

Not that Tyrus seemed to believe it. Either that, or they had already run out of time—for then Tyrus began moving to his knees in front of Astarion as if to start things here. With such a miserable, forlorn expression on his pretty face, Astarion didn’t think even a direct compulsion from Cazador would manage to stir interest in his groin right now.

“Tyrus,” Astarion entreated, putting a hand on the man’s robed shoulder as he checked, “can you wait?”

Tyrus’s eyes widened in sudden horror. “Yes, sorry, whatever you’d like,” he said in a hurried, guilty tone, head ducked as he rose back up and nodded.

Astarion couldn’t stand to see him so unsure, so afraid, when he could still do something about it. So he took a page out of the drow’s own book and pulled Tyrus in, wrapping arms tight around him and feeling his throat tighten at the slight tremor he could feel in Tyrus’s body. 

“That’s alright,” he assured carefully, biting back his usual indignation at useless apologies. Now wasn’t the time to chide Tyrus; it was the time to do everything in his power to make this a neutral or even good experience, if that was possible. “It’s just, the first and only time we did something like this you seemed . . . very hurt, afterwards. Do you remember?” he asked, though it was highly unlikely Cazador would make Tyrus forget anything about initiation. “I even very uncharacteristically agreed to stay a while after, I felt so terrible leaving you in that state. And that was before the—the whipping, the party, and Cazador.”

Tyrus winced against him, even as he mumbled, “I’ll be fine,” into the crook of Astarion’s neck.

But Tyrus was trembling even harder at the reminder, and Astarion refused to simply weather through this, to just try and minimize damage like he had the first time. It hadn’t destroyed them before, but that was likely because nothing had been built yet to destroy. If they just numbed themselves and behaved like rote, obedient animals now, he had a feeling Tyrus wouldn’t be able to enjoy intimacy together ever again. Maybe, neither would he.

So Astarion let out a scoff and pulled from the hug to grab one of Tyrus’s hands, nodding down at how Tyrus’s fingers shook. “Will you?” he pushed back.

Tyrus didn’t answer right away, Astarion was happy to see. The drow’s pale brow furrowed while his eyes began flicking about. Calculating, if Astarion had to guess, in a quick, intelligent, self-aware manner that reminded Astarion of one reason why he was so deeply fond of the man.

The fear was slowly replaced by a small but firm resolve in his expression, before Tyrus asked, “Could you hold me, after?”

And there exemplified yet another reason. 

While the warmth in Astarion’s chest was just as terrifying as it was wonderful and precious and rare, what could he do but lean into it and promise, “After? After you can have whatever you’d like, my love.”

By now, he knew better than to think Tyrus would want the act reciprocated, even if Astarion would happily even their score that way. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try to give Tyrus what he truly needed, if the arcane text was correct in saying Polymorph was not a self-casted spell only.

Once they were on the bed—Astarion purposefully on his back to impose the least amount of control, Tyrus kneeling with hesitant movements between his spread legs—Astarion wistfully thought of how he’d imagined their first array into consensual, sexual pleasure. They’d just start out kissing, like they used to when he snuck down to visit in the spawn dormitory, until Tyrus instinctively started grinding against him. Then Astarion would sneak a hand into his trousers, kiss his neck and ears until Tyrus was a whimpering mess again, except this time take him in hand . . .  

It didn’t matter. Instead, no instincts would be allowed save the one to protect, Astarion sternly reminded himself.

But then Tyrus leaned down and just kissed him for a while. And oh, how dearly Astarion had missed every second of this. It wasn’t a mechanical, precise act to satisfy his prey; it wasn’t a loathsome, dominating assault from Cazador. It wasn’t even a performance to please their unwanted audience—Astarion doubted Cazador was enjoying this part. It was simply something soft and warm and blooming between them, growing in passion with slow but reciprocated care. 

Astarion didn’t think twice about it, when he felt Tyrus pulling his shirt loose from his trousers, stroking the skin of his belly under it with soft fingertips. Just felt a swift punch of arousal, once Tyrus broke away to lean down and trail kisses there with his even softer lips instead. By the time Tyrus’s hand trailed lower, Astarion could already feel his cock hardening. And with just a few strokes of Tyrus’s hand over the fabric, it was starting to strain against his trousers.

Once Tyrus had unbuttoned them he hesitated, however. His eyes began to wander about the room, body tensing—remembering, as Astarion suddenly was too, now, who exactly his performance needed to please.

But Cazador apparently hadn’t given them any sort of timetable, and Astarion prided himself in being a seasoned expert at finding loopholes in the bastard’s commands.

“Tyrus,” Astarion murmured, “come back up here,” smiling at him as Tyrus gusted out a sigh and gratefully crawled up his body again. Then Astarion eagerly went back to showering the drow in kisses, on his lips and down his neck while Astarion removed the last barrier of clothing between them and what unfortunately needed to happen next.

Only on Tyrus’s timetable, however. Astarion would be happy to kiss forever—until Cazador gave up his hiding spot, banged down their door, and made them suffer the consequences, even. Rather that, than prod and persuade and gently pressure Tyrus into it for the sake of minimal pain, like Astarion had their first time. He loved . . . he cared for Tyrus much too deeply now for that. 

Where Astarion’s self-preserving nature had run off to, he didn’t know—which only seemed to prove Cazador’s point about things like love only making a person weak. 

But maybe, just maybe, whatever would replace it could be just as strong.

Astarion wasn’t to find out that day—for, a couple minutes later, Tyrus did pull away of his own accord again. And every touch of his hands and his mouth that followed was a painful reminder to Astarion that he hadn’t lost enjoyment of sex. He simply couldn’t call any of what he’d done in the last eight decades something close to it.

Tyrus went slow, of course, some touches starting hesitant, but he didn’t look to be retreating into the back of his mind or reliving some terrible memory, at least. Especially when trying to fit more of Astarion in his mouth, he didn’t seem very at ease—and if this was just the two of them, Astarion would have told him to not bother with more than the head if he didn’t want to. Given everything, he simply kept an eye on Tyrus and made sure to hold his hips perfectly still as the drow set his own pace.

But once a rhythm picked up, Astarion admittedly couldn’t pay attention to the subtle indications of how Tyrus was doing when the mere sight of him taking Astarion in deeper was enough to wash Astarion’s senses in sharp, full-body pleasure. And beyond the sight, the feel of his wet, warm mouth, the tight circle of his lips, and the steady strokes of his hand around the base of Astarion’s cock—it was enough to pull thoughtless, brazen words of affection from Astarion’s lips as he smoothed away the other elf’s silky hair from his face and rode the building waves of pleasure.

Astarion was fairly certain he attempted to warn Tyrus when he was close, but to no avail. Tyrus only seemed to take him in deeper, more determinedly, all at once until the pleasure reached a tipping point and suddenly flooded through Astarion’s entire body. He didn’t think much after that as he groaned through the consuming, bright pleasure of it, vaguely aware of Tyrus dutifully swallowing and continuing to gently stroke with his mouth and hand as Astarion shuddered through a slow, glowing comedown.

Eventually the sensations carried over into over-sensitivity, not prolonged pleasure, not that Astarion had the presence of mind to explain that to Tyrus. He only reached down and nudged at the man’s shoulder, sighing in relief as the stimulation stopped.

That sigh caught in his throat, when Astarion heard Tyrus suddenly speak in a hoarse, deadened tone, informing him: “This was a gift from your master.”

Then the afterglow sputtered out as quick as water over a flame.

Tyrus had put a hand over his own mouth, his eyes wide as silver platters before squeezing shut the next moment in clear shame. But Astarion didn’t need to see such a reaction, to know exactly who sent the message.

Every good, temporary enjoyment he’d felt during the act just made him angry now. But of course, Cazador wanted them to be intimate on his terms. But of course, he couldn’t just allow Tyrus to do this to Astarion instead without having the last word. And of course, he had to remind Astarion in yet another visceral way, that he’d poisoned this tree from its very roots.

Yet somehow, Astarion kept hoping the fruits of their relationship wouldn’t ruin them both? Cazador was somewhere laughing at Astarion for his own stupidity, right now.

Somehow, he did still hope, Astarion realized whilst quickly redressing and running to fetch something he could wrap around Tyrus’s trembling shoulders. Somewhere along the way, it had become second nature to fight for something he could only hope for, to always put someone else before himself—even to learn a bit of magic, after all these years.

As Astarion tried to cast Prestidigitation on the blanket in his hands, a small voice in his head whispered, What else could you call that, but love?

[rita-repulsa-ke]

Death and Time

“Why don’t you want me?”

Why don’t you want me.

Hey, Agatha, why don’t you want me?!

Before Agatha, there is nothing for Rio to lose. She is loss, the final end of all things. Nothing can be taken from her. All things die and so all things are hers. Until Agatha, and then, for the first time, she understands loss from an outsider’s perspective.

“And when I do die, a long, long, long, long, long time from now, I don’t want to see your face.”

Sure, she can do that. It’s not like she appears personally for everyone, though she could. Some people find their way past the veil without a guide. Some are ready for it. She picks the one who aren’t, those who feel their time has come too early, the ones who want someone to complain to or a long-suffering shoulder to cry on. She does her best to talk them around, but ultimately, one way or another, they’re coming with her.

Agatha will probably hurl herself past the veil and immediately start causing problems on the other side. She will never go gently into that good night. She’ll find the rules and then she’ll try to break them, arrogant creature that she is.

Rio misses her every day.

Or however long. She has trouble with Time. Not her domain. A day is a week is a month is a year; it all blends together.

Until she gives some to Agatha. Then she watches, unseen, and sees the hourglass tick down, grain by grain, until the inevitable end.

Which is, of course, her.

All she knows is that it has been too long. They did battle across continents until Agatha hid from her with dark magic and that hurt worst of all, the long stretch where she can’t even find the woman she loves. She doesn’t know how long it was. It felt like an eternity. It wasn’t.

When they were together, Agatha handled Time, mostly by being annoyed at it. Nothing has ever moved fast enough for Agatha. Rio doesn’t understand—there is only one thing to hurry towards.

And now that she’s arrived, Agatha doesn’t seem too happy to be here.

Too bad. This time she’s coming with Rio. It’s been too long (how long?). Death wants her favorite girl.

Only, Agatha is kissing her. Properly, even hungrily, and all she can do is let it happen.

How long has it been since Agatha kissed her?

Agatha’s mouth is so warm, exactly as she remembers, and Rio’s anger abates almost instantly, transmutes into something far more tender and adoring.

Agatha is so good at kissing her that it takes her some time to realize she has been cheated out of her prize.

She stands next to the grave. Agatha stands—floats—next to her.

“So,” she says. “I was thinking. Maybe we should let bygones be bygones. You know, dying really has a way of changing your perspective.”

If only. Rio knows her too well. “What do you want, Agatha?”

Agatha’s ghostly lips shape themselves into a cruel smile as she abandons the pretense that she isn’t doing what she always does, manipulating Rio’s fondness for her own gain. “Information. How does all this—“ here, a motion to her ghostly form, a bit of a twirl. “Work?”

Rio snorts. “How would I know? Ghosts aren’t mine. They deliberately defy the natural order.”

“Oh. Well, then. Ta, darling,” Agatha says, starting to fade.

”Actually, there is one thing I do know about ghosts,” Rio says, contemplating the grave.

“Oh?”

“In the end, they always come to me.”

Agatha considers that, then leans over and taps her on the nose, a whisper of something spectral against her skin that Rio has to work not to flinch back from, she’s really not the biggest fan of ghosts.

“Not the worst fate in the world. But I’m not done yet,” Agatha says with a wink and disappears.

Rio stands frozen for some unknowable duration, then shakes her head with a small smile. Agatha never fails to surprise her.

Fine, then. She’ll wait as long as she needs to—Time means nothing to the end of all things. Eventually, everything is hers.

And now she’s got something new. Hope—also not her domain—that by the time Agatha comes to her, her beloved will finally be ready to admit how much she wants Death.

For something cute, try the wedding

for something angstier, try jealousy

[rizzoreads88]

I know you love theories so help me out!

If the cauldron is corrupt like we learned in HOFAS and Elriel are mates, wouldn't that call into question every other mated couple? Feyre and Rhys? Nesta and Cassian? Vivienne and Kallias? It's the one plot hole for the elriel ship I can't get behind!!! UGH I WANT THEM SO BAD! Have you made a tiktok on this yes?

Hi Anon! Thanks for the ask. This is going to be a LONG response….Yes if the cauldron was corrupted it would mean all cauldron mated pairs would need to be questioned. I have done a few Tiktoks on this but I think there is a few things to look at….

✨Did the cauldron decide all these mated couples?In Acowar Rhysand says multiple sources can make mate bonds.✨

“What decides it? Who decides it?” Rhys straightened his lapels before plucking an invisible piece of lint from them. “Fate, the Mother, the Cauldron’s swirling eddies …”

So theoretically different mate pairs could have different types of mate bonds. What if the mother is a true soul bond? We see pairs like Feysand, Nessian & Kallias and Vivianne are also love matches. They act like typical mates. Even before their bond snapped they all had mate behavior.We know Cassian had a feeling Nesta was his mate before she was turned. Rhysand had visions of Feyre before she was turned as well. Lucien doesn’t know Elain is his mate until after she comes out of the cauldron. Granted that was also the first day they met so it could just be coincidence as well but they are the only mated pair ever questioned about being wrong for each other. They are the only mated pair people question the cauldron over.

We know the asteri/daglan look at every species beneath them as food. So what if the cauldron bond is purely based off of pairing people who can have the strongest offspring? This would create stronger “food” for the asteri. We know when Elain went into the cauldron Azriel was also shot w a bloodbane arrow. Which nullifies/dampens mate bonds while a person is infected in it. In Acowar when Feyre is infected with faebane(faebane=bloodbane) Rhysand cannot feel the mate bond.

“I wondered if Rhys was looking for me. If he’d felt the silence. I should have gotten a message out. Told him I was going and how to find me. The faebane—that was why the bond had sounded so muffled.”

“No matter that the bond between Rhys and me … I couldn’t so much as feel it. A numbness had spread through me. I needed to get out—now.”

“As if he’d heard it down the bond, Rhys finally murmured, “When the bond went dark, I thought …” Fear—genuine terror shadowed his eyes,”

So what if the cauldron chose Lucien as Elains mate then because he was strongest at that moment?

✨Is it possible Elain has two mates?✨

What if Azriel is Elains Mother Mate and Lucien is her cauldron mate? Azriel has shown more mate behavior towards Elain then Lucien Has. (Him lending her truth teller but no one else, Him willing to die to save her from hyberns camp, Him bleeding out and injured and carrying her through the camp not willing to get looked at until he knows she’s ok, him figuring out she’s a seer when no one else could, his shadows wanting to physically attack Nesta for insulting Elain, Him getting angry when remember hyberns kidnapping in Acosf, His bonus chapter ect) Madja also points out in Acowar a mate would know what’s amiss and Lucien couldn’t figure out what was wrong with Elain but Azriel did and It helped her get better. In Acosf it’s pointed out how Lucien is fine living away from Elain and that’s not typical for mates. SJM has also said it is possible for someone to have two mates.

✨Lucien and Elain don’t act like typical mates✨

When Elain was taken back to the Night court in Acomaf Lucien doesn try to go after her for months. Now keep in mind at this point Lucien thought the she was kidnapped to the Night Court & that they were their enemy and did awful things to woman. He doesn’t try to go after Elain himself for months but asks Tamlin to go get her. In Acowar when Jurian is making jokes about Illyrians r*ping Elain again Lucien says nothing. It’s Tamlin who says something to Jurian. In Acomaf when everything is going on at Hybern and the sisters are about to be thrown in Its Tamlin who first tries to attack the king to stop him from throwing the sisters in. Then when Tamlin is trying to stop this Lucien then acts. If Lucien knew Elain was his mate before the cauldron he should have had a reactions as soon as Elain was brought in tied up.Logically Even though he didn’t know she was his mate , mate instincts should have kicked In subconsciously. The way we see Kallias’s did trying to protect Viviane before there mate bond snapped. The way Cassian tried crawling towards Nesta before she got thrown in. The way Rhysand was was screaming when amarantha attacked feyre before he knew they were mates. Then in Acosf he is fine living away from his mate. Elain is fine with him living elsewhere. Another big difference is Lucien and Elain find out they are mates and started talking yet Elain later on starts to like Azriel. There is a lot of hints Lucien is starting to feel something for Vassa too. With every other mated pair once they meet even if they didn’t end up together right away they didn’t start having feelings for or start anything w anyone else. We see after Feyre spent time with Rhysand UTM things start to fall apart between her and Tamlin. After Nesta and Cassian meet they don’t date or have feelings for anyone else. (Yes in the beginning of Acosf nesta was sleeping with other men but she didn’t have feelings for them she was using them as a coping mechanism.)Once Aelin Met Rowan her and Chaol were over for good. Once Bryce met Hunt there was no one else. All other mated pairs also have chemistry. Even when they had enemies to lovers things going on and seemingly couldn’t stand each other there was always attraction and tension. There is none of that with Elain and Lucien. & lastly we know mates make each other better. Elain and Lucien make each other worse. In Acosf it is said Elain shrinks in on herself and loses her newfound boldness around Lucien. She actually reverts around him. Lucien is sad around Elain and can’t stand to be in the same room as her. They are both stilted and uncomfortable around each other.

✨It’s also interesting in Acowar that when Feyre is questioning E/ucien we are introduced to the fact that not all mate bonds are love matches and that the bond can be rejected.✨

✨If Azriel was Elains mate wouldn’t he know by now?✨

Would he though? So far in the books we haven’t met anyone who had multiple mates? Theoretically what if he is feeling something with a mate bond for elain but he doesn’t know it’s actually a mate bond he’s feeling because she already has a mate and doesn’t think it’s a possibility? You ever wonder why he has a physical reaction to E/uciens mating bond? We have never seen this before….

……

To me it’s very telling that in Azriels bonus chapter he directly questions the cauldron over Elain and Lucien and then The very next book we find out the cauldron was in fact corrupted so he was right to question it. We also find this out in a crossover he is heavily involved in 👀

Now am I saying I 100% think Azriel and Elain are mates too? No. Right now in the books Elain and Lucien are mates. But am I ruling out the possibility of all this? No im not doing that either. There are many ways this could play out. I also think there is a possibility E\uciens mate bond is a fake bond. The way Rowan and Lyrias was. I would personally love for Elain and Lucien to both reject their bond and choose love over the mating bond. Elain with Azriel & Lucien with Vassa. I think that would give us two seperate epic romances.

I can’t deny though that something is off with Lucien and Elains mate bond. I also can’t deny that Azriel does act like a mate more then Lucien. I think SJM left herself ALOT of options and possibilities. I think regardless of which way SJM takes Elains story her book will really deep dive mate bonds and destiny vs choice.

[tigerincahoots]

WHILE OTHERS WOULD VIEW THIS AS WEIRD… Kevin saw this as something so normal and casual that was barely worthy of a footnote on a report. He could transform into a tiger. He had dealt with vampires, witches, werewolves and other creatures of the dark throughout the years. Someone who talked to spirits and helped them cross over was by far the most natural thing out of everything. Someone had to keep the balance. Someone had to assist the innocent fuckers that would be caught in something that was way over their heads. ”I MET SOMEONE LIKE YOU BEFORE.” Maybe not as GIFTED as Henry apparently was but close. “While most people don’t believe in shit that is beyond the normal routine, I like to keep an open mind.” It’s like someone believing that they were all alone in the universe. What sort of bullshit was that? His gaze remained on the scene of the crime for a while longer before turning to Henry – focusing on the now steady heartbeat that lingered inside his chest. How many people knew about his gift? How many had considered it odd and unnatural? How many fuckers had called him a freak? ”WHY SHOULD I FREAK OUT?” His head tilted to the side – a ghost of a smile lingering for more time than it should on his features. It was kind of cute to see how relieved Henry was that he wasn’t running to the hills or calling him names. That was not his style. “I’ve seen shit, Quinn. You talking to spirits is by far –the most normal thing out of a bad bunch.” Not that he would tell him about what he really did for a living. Not that he would share with the detective that he hunted other monsters in the night either to capture or kill under someone else’s orders. But he also couldn’t just sweep how casual he was about this whole thing under the rug under the guise of a very open mind. Kevin did not lie. Clever half-truths were the way to go and Henry being a detective would easily spot a lie a mile away. ”YOU’RE NOT THE ONLY ONE WITH EXTRAS, PRETTY BOY.” And let’s leave it at that. His head turned North toward the direction that Quinn mentioned and a quick sniff of the air around was enough to indicate that too much time had passed. The trail was probably gone cold. “You’re not even spooked with the concept of hunting a werewolf? Do you happen to have silver bullets in your gun that I don’t know about?” He could handle a werewolf but Henry? Kevin’s jaw clenched for a moment. He did not and would not put an innocent man in the line of fire. “I can DO you later.” Teasing Henry was now a pastime that Kevin would fully give into whenever the chance presented itself. “If I ask you to stay back, would you do it?” Probably not but he had to ask. Chances were that either the creature was still in animal form and roamed around or if it was someone with more experience – returned to human form and covered their tracks. And if they cross any river… tracking would be hard. “I want to check where it went but I am not a fan of the idea of having you caught in the crossfire.” OR SEEING HIM FOR WHAT HE REALLY WAS.

”IF I SAY PLEASE, WILL YOU STAY?

Mr. Mean Tough Guy over here had not only defended Henry to his peers, and wanted to fuck him, but now accepted this new information like it was a breeze.

For a moment, the usually chatty blonde was at loss for words. Kevin had made him feel wanted and cared for in such a little amount of time, it was like day and night compared to what he was used to. Being on his own, the loneliness, the weight of a secret he would rarely share. Replaced by relief, and not to mention the shiver this man gave him from whispering in his ear. He had to collect himself and keep on the trail instead of wanting to fall into Kevin's arms.

"Yes," He finally said after a hard swallow that made his Adam's Apple bob in his throat. "I talk to spirits, I help them cross over, they tell me things. You've got it all figured out." He took a long breath, "That's a relief, saves me from explaining." Henry was glad the usual speech he had learned over all his life didn't have to be recited tonight.

He was not expecting his heart to crack with gratitude over such a small thing.

"He was just a kid, about 16. Got the weed from a friend, was going to his party. No animal, no villain, just a kid looking to party and maybe do some underage drinking as his worse offence." It was all so terribly sad, it always was.

"Thank you for not freaking out on me. This gift of mine, it helps with this job sometimes. He said it was a werewolf, like you said, my scribble is just all I managed to get down in my fugue state. And he went north."

It seemed like it was gonna be a long night, so Henry didn't know when drinks and dinner would happen. Even with all this new information, he was still thinking about that.

"I guess being in the military also gives you good tracking knowledge, what would you like to do next? And don't say me." Henry smiled, his heartrate returning to normal.

[kale-of-the-forbidden-cities]

this phase isn't going away

[moeblob]

Amazing, take some of the side character demons from Evil Bound.

Vincie is a menace to Chuck and Chuck alone so in Hell, Chuck hexes his hand behind his back so that he isn't grabbed as much (and it's harder to pet him). Chuck is like the most irresponsible older sibling ever to demons though so Kelvin recruits him (as an older sibling vibe) to go help him get his ACTUAL older sibling from Earth. Chuck agrees. And then drags Vincie from Hell with them because no one else wants to babysit him and he refuses to unbind the hex just to re-hex when he returns to Hell.

In Hell, Kelvin actually doesn't appear much different than his human form! Like Kronos, the lines under his eyes are red in Hell but black on earth. Chuck however? In Hell he has wolf-ish ears and has a fur lining his neck (note the neck scars in human form). In addition to that he has four eyes in Hell (note the scars under his eyes in human form). Vincie just has horns in Hell. And! In Hell the hex doesn't have a silly looking "tied up" look, it's invisible unless Vincie strains it with movement and then its red text. But it shifts on earth to be visible.

Vincie's biggest agony for the entirety on earth is "dude it's colder here than in Hell I want a jacket to slip my arms into BUT I CANT BECAUSE IM BOUND".

[widowshill]

— But it's almost midnight. — Oh, that's the point! At the stroke of twelve, he turns into Dracula. C'mon, Vicki – he won't bite.

pose ref.

[moe-broey]

Would I be proving my therapist (who has been voicing some concerns about my depression maybe getting worse but like I feel like it's fine) right by cancelling my appointment tomorrow cause I just don't wanna. Like all I have to report is that I'm tired and I wanna rest and I just don't really feel like it y'know

[victorluvsalice]

Hi all -- let me introduce you to my potential Tiny Fandom Town lot! I made this a few weeks ago so I 'd have it ready if and when I do the challenge, and I figured I'd share it with all of you. :) Let me take you through all the Pertinent Points --

-->The lot was built on the 64x64 lot on the Crumbling Isle neighborhood in Windenburg, where the Villareal family normally lives (the "Von-Windenburg Estate" lot). I wanted to do the challenge in Windenburg as I rarely actually play in that neighborhood, and, as I have stated in previous posts on this subject, I enjoy the idea of building up the whole island via Community Space lots as the town grows and evolves. :)

-->Also as per previous posts, the lot has the Lot Challenges Off The Grid, Reduce & Recycle, Simple Living, Creepy Crawlies, Wild Foxes, and Wild Prairie Grass to help represent that this is an entirely new and undeveloped bit of land, not hooked up to any municipal power or water and still under the control of nature. However, it does also have the Lot Traits of Natural Well, Geothermal, and Sunny Aspect -- the first two to help offset the pains that being "off the grid" brings (they help boost water gathering and power production, respectively), the last because -- well, the lot IS situated on a very scenic bit of the island, so it's no wonder the sunset would make Sims happy, inspired, or energized. :)

-->As you can see, the lot is divided into seven mini-lots, arranged in a rough horseshoe shape and marked with terrain paint and a bit of Werewolf raggedy fencing at each corner. Each lot comes with a little natural stick lamp for nighttime lighting; a pee/woohoo bush; a tent; and a cooler. Basically the absolute basics a roughing-it Sim needs to survive. Beside the very first lot in the horseshoe on the left, I have also set up a wash basin and clothesline, because I would like to force the Sims living here to deal with laundry on top of everything else. Because why not, you know? :p

-->The whole thing costs roughly $18,166! Because I really wanted it to actually be under the $20K starter home price so that a Sim fresh from CAS could purchase it and still have a little money left over to get the stuff they'd need for their first skill. No "free real estate" cheat needed here!

-->And if you like what you see and want to use it for your own Tiny Town challenges, it's up on the Gallery! The lot is called "Tiny Crumbling Isle Town" and it's under my username of AliceNVictor. I figured that it would only be nice to share. :) More Tiny Town thoughts sure to be upcoming!

[candlesoul]

rambling

[death-rebirth-senshi]

Forget the coliseums Elden Ring needs to patch in a room at the roundtable specifically for taking screenshots of your character with decent lighting that doesn't weirdly obscure face details