#the worm yearns to be free

[fleurmaleur]

anyone else get the writing worm?

you open your writing doc and the worm starts wiggling, but you can't get him out no matter how hard you manifest creativity.

help me. he's so wiggly.

[milkbobatyun]

foolish little dove

pairing: yandere!sunday x reader

genre: angstober, events, yandere

summary: the consequences of not listening to the head of the oak family

word count: 936

C O N T E N T W A R N I N G : yandere behaviour, manipulation, fear

a/n: this can be read as a continuation of my first yandere sunday piece 'my love, mine all mine'

the plush mattress of the bed dipped underneath you, the room furnished with an abundance of luxury—silk sheets, velvet drapes, golden accents, all shining in the glow of the candlelight. it was more than any common person could afford. yet, this was just a gilded cage, a dream disguised as a nightmare,

you were the dove, wings weighed down by invisible chains, helpless as you await for the fate your captor planned for you. the balcony teased you, thick, tempered glass doors teasing you, though it remained locked, the taste of freedom just out of reach.

oh how you prayed you could fly into the sky from the balcony, to feel the fresh air blow gently against your skin.

the vast room seemed to grow larger every day, the loneliness gnawed at your insides, making you yearn for company.

the sun rose and fell, night’s moonlight flooded the room. the repetitive ticking of the grandfather clock downstairs struck through throughout the room, the gramophone’s needle scratched out the same haunting tune, echoing around the bed chamber. 

you lost count of how many days you were locked up. the staff brought you your meals, took you to the bathroom to bath, their routine revolving around you like clockwork. your days began to blend into each other, making your mind a blurry haze.

today, a key jangled in the lock, the soft creak of the heavy oak door echoing in the still room.

sunday’s heavy boots thudded across the floor, muffled by the plush velvet carpet.

your blank gaze slid away from where your hands tangled each other, your hair hanging around your face like lifeless vines, towards the new figure in the room. when you catch sight of a white coat and not the mundane black uniform of the servants, your head snaps up, eyes lighting up with hope.

your eyes meet sunday’s steady gaze, lunging forwards, hands grasping at him, at his clothes, to prove to yourself he wasn’t a figment of imagination. those hallucinations happened more often now. 

sometimes, it was your family, screaming in agony, their bloody hands clawing at your exquisite clothing, cursing you to eternal suffering, their screams worming its way into your ears. other times, it was the trailblazer, haunting the dark corner of your room, a silent visitor who would stare blankly in your direction.

the smooth velvety fabric rippled cooling against your soft and warm skin. sunday’s mouth twitched into an amused smirk, as he closed the distance in a few long strides. for a fleeting second, you allowed yourself to believe that he was here, to free you from the cold shackles around your ankles. his cold hands, concealed by his pure white gloves, traced your face.

“my, my,” he purred, voice soothing. “how is my little dove?”

“please,” you pleaded, tears streaming down your face. “please, let me go… i beg of you” your voice trailed off, dying like the hope you held in your heart.

a hollow chuckle flooded the room, sunday’s face twisted in cruel humor.

“you still don’t get it, do you?” he hisses, voice taunting. “you’re mine now, little dove. even if i let you go, where would you go? home?” 

a twisted smirk adorned his face. 

“oh right,” he continued, tapping his finger on his chin in mock consideration. “you don't have one anymore! maybe because…they’re all dead!”

his eyes were alight with evil delirium, looking down upon you like a hawk would upon its prey. 

with one finger twirling a lock of your hair, sunday leaned close to your ear, lips brushing your ear like a lover’s promise, and whispered, “remember, my little dove, you’re mine now, always and forever.”

with a gentle, almost lover-like caress of your cheek, sunday placed a kiss on your forehead, before he turned on his heel, heading towards the door.

something within you snapped and you moved before you could think, hope shining in your eyes. you tried to run towards the opening. though your legs, weak with days of sitting around, failed you. sunday watched you with sadonic delight, gaze cold and emotionless as he observed you while you flailed about, like a newborn deer. 

throwing dignity to the wind, you dragged yourself towards the door, the comfort of the carpet burning against your skin. you watched as the shining sliver of freedom shut behind sunday. 

the door clicked shut with an echoing finality. hearing the snap of the lock, turning back into its place, you remained, clawing at the door. you were but a dove in a gilded cage, weighed down by invisible chains, freedom nothing but a cruel illusion, always out of reach.

taglist (open): @yeonjunsfox

∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳)  © curated with love by milkbobayun 2024 / づ ♡

[ninibeingdelulu]

Crawling back to you

synopsis-> His new concubine start to slowly become an obsession for him

The dimly lit chamber is thick with the heady aroma of sandalwood and smoldering embers casting their flickering amber glows across ornately gilded walls.

You kneel demurely before the towering entity that is the indominable King of Curses with a tray of succulent fruits balanced precariously in your lap.

Despite the dozens of lithe, scantily-clad courtesans draped across plush cushions surrounding Sukuna's imposing throne, not a single one possesses the capability to enrapture his full, unadulterated interest like you.

He attempts schooling his expression into one of practiced aloofness yet finds his scrutiny involuntarily drinking you in from the corner of his periphery.

The modest way loose tendrils of obsidian tresses fall around your delicately sculpted features...How those full lips part just enough to reveal a glimpse of glistening teeth worrying your lower pout while plucking a ripe persimmon free...

Even the flutter of those thick, sooty lashes framing those eyes as you peek up through them with an achingly sweet naivete.

Something viscerally primal stirs low in Sukuna's abdomen each instance your gazes accidentally lock - simultaneously thrilling yet inexplicably vexing him to the core.

He shouldn't find any fascination or particular novelty in your obvious purity and fragility, should he? After all, you pose no formidable threat to one who has mercilessly throttled nations with nary a conscious thought.

Yet he cannot prevent those four obsidian-tipped limbs from imperceptibly tightening with the overwhelming compulsion to simply...take you right there.

To lash out and possess every scant inch until the searing brand of his essence remains molten and permanently etched into your very marrow.

Maybe then you'd no longer exude such blinding radiance capable of rooting him in place like some pathetic, feeble-willed human wretch.

Every sinew instinctively coils rigid when your delicate fingertips drift upwards to present that glistening persimmon temptingly close.

Except your feather-light caress doesn't retreat once his lips part to accept your offering.

Instead, the pad of your thumb ghosts across his bottom lip with a tenderness and reverence he finds utterly transfixing.

And just like that, the last thread of rigid control over his carnal urges combusts instantaneously.

Sukuna's vision fractures into a million shards of ruby as your hopelessly innocent proximity suddenly consumes his restraint whole.

"Get out..." The abdominal maw snarls in a guttural rasp now utterly stripped of his usual controlled veneer.

Every talon-like fingernail hollows razor-deep grooves into the armrests flanking his throne when you instinctively flinch back with those dewy irises rounded in terror.

"Now."

The massive chamber remains utterly frozen until you scramble backwards on hands and knees finally fleeing his presence.

Only then does Sukuna finally permit himself to surrender - lifting a single beckoning digit to numbly brush across the very spot your captive touch seared straight through his exterior not a moment prior.

What sacrilegious witchcraft have you entangled him within?

This unfathomable compulsion to simultaneously profane and protect?

He's the almighty King of Curses - feared and reviled across every realm. Yet a solitary brush of your chaste fingertips against his mouth threatens to dismantle every staunch defense he's meticulously crafted over centuries of brutality and indiscriminate annihilation...

Head bowing forward until his pallid death mask cracks in a bitter sneer, Sukuna releases a blustering huff of mirthless derision directed solely at his own lamentable weakness.

Loathing how you've wormed your way beneath his armor so effortlessly with scarcely any intent whatsoever.

He vows to purge this infuriatingly inexplicable yearning to possess your radiance before it blossoms into something...darker. Something treacherous...

For both your sakes...

[justporo]

Ok listen, listen to me! Are you listening? I'm sure this was talked about, well I talked about this before, but there's a specific worm in my brain atm:

What if - despite you fancying Astarion and Astarion fancying you (read: manipulating - at least at first...). You DON'T sleep with Astarion - because no, there's just too much other shit going on. You become friends, desperately pining over each other. And you even more so the more you learn and reveal about Astarion: you care for him, you want to help him - desperately.

And the vampire has fallen hard for you but. firstly, you declined and secondly, maybe he's convincing himself you're just not into him that way and thirdly, your friendship is so precious to him, he wouldn't dare risk it.

So you go on: swooning over each other but your priority is sorting out all the messes you're in. And you probably don't even bring up the topic again until...

Well, until all the messes have been dealt with and you both realise that now might be a good time to bring this up again.

Of courrse neither of you want to ruin the friendship you have but now that it's back on the table: you want each other desperately.

And imagine, imagine this is the first time Astarion experiences sex again: he's free now! And this might very well also be the first time in his long life where he had the time to fall in love with someone before sleeping with them. And he can experience his first time with you and how different it is - how wonderful it can be with someone he cares for and has been yearning for.

There's lots of pent up tension, excitement, so many emotions. It's probably a hot mess and at least a little awkward. You're probably both tripping over each other, you can't keep your hands off each other for even the shortest of moments. Limbs get stuck in clothing, you're falling over furniture and laughing all the while. You're both in awe of each other, taking the time to just take each other in, blushing a lot. Astarion compliments you because he can barely believe how incredible you are and you repay him in like - until both your heads are swimming with admiration and adoration for each other.

And it's probably over very quick because let's be honest: it's been more than a while and emotions are somersaulting. Of course it will also be a long night, you both waited a long time for this. It's also only one of many nights that probably follow. Might be you just spend quite an amount of time in your happy bubble - just the two of you. You can just spend some time to get to know each other in this new kind of way - with time and space, and most of all: in peace.

And Astarion and you can start a loving, passionate relationship with a bit less weight on your shoulders - make wonderful memories right from the start.

(This was also fueled by @tripleyeeets recent post about wanting more awkward sex in fanfics and I wholeheartedly agree)

[n0tamused]

dottore having to dispose of a faulty clone (maybe bc they were threatening reader) and then handfeeding reader parts of it like cannibalism as a metaphor for love…. do we see the vision or is this a little too 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 💔💔

A/n: pookie you're all good, thank you for feeding my brain worms with this idea I'm sending you smooches. I do hope I executed this well. I had a lot in my head that I wanted to write for this but I didn't want this to turn into a word scramble so here's this. Enjoy <3

Content: Dottore x GN reader, dark content(?), a bit yandere, implied unhealthy relationship, implied cannibalism, cannibalism as a metaphor for love, idk what else to tag as I never posted something like this so if anything else needs tagging feel free to lemme know

Words: 735

Several candles lined the polished oak table, its surface smooth and almost sticky, the light rippling over the dark lines of the carvings on top like little light bugs chasing one another. The golden hues danced over the plates as well, but the dim light scarcely allowed for a good look at the dishes.

The fork extending forward to your lips was the only thing that held your attention long enough to be observed, taken in fully, lips closing around the bit of meat and vegetables. The juice and oil fills your mouth, sinking past your teeth and around your gums, the taste is rich yet stale all at once. You couldn’t comment on it, you didn't know what to say about it. Not with the Doctor sitting at your side and being the one to feed you so, so gently.

It's hard to remember when was the last time he looked so gentle, kind even, perhaps when he was lighting up the candles with such care, as if his own breath would blow the flames into a blaze, allowing you to see your plate in full.

The meat was well done, seasoned to your liking, and something told you it was Dottore’s own hand who prepared it, gave it his all to make it so perfect for consumption. Parts of him were laced through every sensation, every smell and every bite. Your own plate is set before him and he's cutting all your bites, spearing pieces of meat and salad onto the fork before feeding it to you, making sure you ate well.

The dull ache in your arms is brought back into memory as you languidly chew on a bite, and your fingers absentmindedly touch over your sleeves over where the bruises lay, feeling the ache grow.

“Do they still hurt you?” His voice called out amidst smoky smells and brown fog, calling you to the present. “Have you gotten any rest at all, my dear?” He added, his head tilting in your direction, his bird-like mask not allowing you for a glimpse of his ruby eyes, but from underneath you can see glimpses of the scars peeking through, teasing your eyes. For some reason he chose to wear it here, now, only puzzling you further. 

“No.. no.. they're fine… I’ll get some rest later tonight, sir..” you reply as you swallow and watch how he grimaced at the title, and you nearly cough from how big this bite was, but you would have taken a bigger bite had Dottore allowed you to feast yourself. Perhaps not, but you told yourself you would. Be it the rich taste or some other factor, you yearned to take up each bone from the meat and lick it clean, sucking out the marrow from within and letting it melt into your guts.

Would he be satisfied then?

Would you be?

The candles flicker. He's still looking at you

“Are you still afraid? I've already told you so, and explained it many times. You have nothing to fear here. This was just an error in the system which will not ever happen again.. and you shouldn't have been around to witness it, anyhow..”. You have to wonder how he can say all this with so little fear. Then again, the clone was his creation. He knew it inside and out, every crevice and every wire.

“I understand.. it's just that.. I'd rather not face the others now..not after that..” 

Truth be told, having him around was also slightly unnerving, as he wore nearly an identical face as the one that harmed you. They were the same, but also not. He was gentle, but he was not.

The one that hurt you was long disposed of and would never harm you again, but Dottore was once the one that hurt you, and now he has poured himself out before you, all for your pleasure and the sweet poison of safety and love.

He hopes to convey it to you through each meticulously put bite, every sip he graces your lips with. He had cut himself open for you and would do so again, just as he hurt you through that error. It came as easy as drinking and breathing. 

“That’s understandable. I assure you are safe, and however dark the night may get - I'll be there with you… But for now, you must eat, not fear. Open wide..”

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[conchcronch]

Hey! I see u have your ask open for comissions and requests só I was wondering if we could get another WCI with Zoro but this time he is just as heartbroken as the reader (he was content on seeing the reader and sanji from afar as he loved them both) and when sanji returns he gets confused on when the 2 got together and zoro like "YOU LEFT HER, YOU LEFT ME!" ANGST VIBE

I DIDN’T FORGET ABOUT YOU I SWEAR!! I was working on this and coming back to it every so often until I was happy with it! I wasn’t sure if you wanted smut or not so I kept it fairly tame! I hope you like it!!

I Heard You the First Time

You had found comfort in Zoro’s arms after hearing the news of Sanji’s engagement. You had waited until returning back to the Sunny to allow your emotions to show, using every ounce of self control you had to keep them pushed as far down as they would go while you and your crew wandered through the candy covered streets. But Zoro knew, he saw the way your body staggered when the brunette told the crew the news, he noticed how your fists balled up, your nails biting into your palms. And he was the only one who followed you to your room when you marched away from your confused crewmates.

He knew exactly how you were feeling because he was feeling it too. Despite you and Sanji trying your damnedest to keep your relationship a secret from the crew, he wasn’t stupid. He saw you both sharing quiet moments on the deck when you thought everyone else had gone to bed. He noticed the change in Sanji’s flirting habits, how not every mention of women sent his nose gushing. And most notebly, his bed was pressed against the shared wall of your bedroom and the guys’ room, and despite your impressive ability to muffle your sounds you weren’t silent and neither was the cook. But all that aside, Zoro loved the two of you. Every stolen glance he wished was shared with him, every quiet moment spent with the blonde’s arm around your waist he wished he could be part of it. And gods, he wished he could see how you looked splayed out beneath the cook, how your legs wrapped around his slender waist, how your nails dug into his back as you clung to him. But his yearning didn’t stop with you, because he wanted the blonde just as much as he wanted you. After years of bickering and picking fights, Zoro’s feelings towards the left wing of the future pirate king had wormed his way into his heart alongside you.

And this hurt you were feeling, the way your heart broke into pieces was echoed by his own heart. But the feeling of you in his arms, your face pressed into his bare chest, your nails unintentionally digging into his back the same way he’s sure they would when he thrust into you, it felt as though your were helping put those broken pieces back together.

You felt so small in his arms, not how you felt when Sanji embraced you. Zoro encompassed you completely, his smell enveloped you as did his furnace like heat. Your tears eventually stopped, and you knew if you made any move to pull away his arms would loosen immediately, freeing you from his tight embrace. But yet, you couldn’t will yourself to move. Even less so when you felt his face press into the top of your head, the feeling of him breathing into your hair making you melt into his arms. “I’m sorry.” The words seemed so foreign in his voice, the sentiment making your eyes well with tears again.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” You tried your best to speak clearly, but you knew your words were muffled by his chest.

As the days went by, as your crew fought to bring Sanji back you tried to go along with things. You didn’t want to see him again, but when the opportunity arose that you were going to have to see him, Zoro made sure to be by your side, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword the other resting on the small of your back, even tugging you closer to his hip when he noticed Sanji make direct eye contact with you. Something about the cook’s expression at this small gesture churned an unfair feeling of satisfaction in your gut, enhanced by the way Zoro held you close until they were able to return to the Sunny.

“The smell of all this sugar makes me want to yak.” You handed him a crudely made onigiri you had thrown together following a recipe in Sanji’s cookbook to the best of your ability (which wasn’t great).

“You have such a way with words.” You sat down next to him, the sides of your body touching as you took a bite of your subpar rice ball.

“When we leave here I could probably go the rest of my life without ever seeing another cake, and it would still be too much.” You couldn’t deny the sugary smell on the breeze was becoming nauseating, but the breeze felt nice on your skin paired with the heat radiating off the man next to you.

“Do you think he’ll come back?” You hadn’t really meant to ask the question aloud, but as you leaned against him, your head resting against his shoulder you felt so at ease that it had slipped out.

“Course he will, he’s still gotta’ kill me, remember.” You couldn’t help the smile that played across your lips as you looked up at him, his one good eye already looking down at you, the corners of his lips upturned in a rare smile. “Plus, there’s no way he’d risk leaving you to me.” He tightened his grip around you, his hand idly rubbing against your stomach.

That was the first night you spent together. One kiss had led to another, quickly snowballing into an invitation back to your room. Zoro finally got to know what Sanji got to feel. The way your clung onto him tightly, your arms around his neck and your ankles locked together around his waist. Sanji was perfectly capable of manhandling you, but he never would. Zoro on the other hand, needed no permission or special request. He picked you up almost immediately, moving you however he deemed fit. In the after glow both of you laid there, fighting against the pull of sleep, thinking about Sanji. Not wishing he would replace the other, but that he was there as well, coming down from the sexual high you were both feeling.

When he did finally return, just as Zoro knew he would, he was trying everything he could to talk to you. Every time you found yourself in a room alone with him, whether you got to the dining room before the rest of your crew, or were the last one finished at the table, he would try to explain himself. And it wasn’t that you didn’t want to hear his side, you did. It was more so the fact that you didn’t want to tell him about you and Zoro. Out of everyone on the crew, maybe across the entire Grande Line, you knew Zoro would be the last person Sanji would want to see you with.

“Why don’t you just tell him, it’s not that hard.” Zoro said as he carefully cleaned Wado, his back was to you so he could still keep watch over the endless waves.

“I don’t want to hurt him.” You pulled at the sleeves of your oversized cardigan, your fingers poking through the loose knit. The days had gotten warmer as the Sunny pushed through the rougher seas, the sun bringing a warmth that made basking on the deck your current favorite pastime. But when the sun dipped below the horizon the air got a bite to it, forcing you to dig what few sweaters you still had out from the very back of your closet.

“I can tell him.” You watched his shoulders move as he inspected the freshly cleaned balde closely, bringing the sword close to his face and turning it over and over so he could ensure it was still in pristine condition.

“You shouldn’t have to.” You tried to fight, but watched as he sheathed Wado before tying the three swords back onto his hip as he walked towards the hatch to go down to the rest of the ship.

“It’s fine, I’ll tell him.” He paused, turning to you to press a kiss to your forehead, the rare tender moment between you two filled your chest with a heat that your cold body desperately needed.

As Zoro left you behind in the crow’s nest to go find Sanji he felt the rare signs of anxiety begin to stir in his gut. He never felt this way before a fight, knowing that regardless of what was thrown at him, he could handle it. But when he stepped foot in the kitchen, the sound of the cook humming quietly to himself as he washed the dishes from dinner, the feeling only grew, his palms began to sweat and there was a lump in his throat.

Forcing himself to ignore these feelings he walked through the kitchen, the blonde making a slight groan when he became aware of the swordsman but didn’t protest when Zoro stood next to him, nudging him a bit so he could begin to dry the dishes.

This had become a quiet routine they had fallen into before Sanji left. On the nights where you weren’t around to help Sanji, Zoro had started filling it. It was one of the few times they didn’t argue, if they did speak it was usually about nothing of importance or idol bickering to fill the silence. But today Sanji could feel the difference, as though he could smell the rain and was waiting for that first clap of thunder. “Me and Y/N” Zoro saw the way Sanji’s hands froze in the sudsy water as he searched for another piece of cutlery to scrub. The sentence, if you could even call it that, hung in the air between them. Sanji remained elbow deep in the once warm water as Zoro stood beside him, gaze glued to the suds floating on the surface of the water.

“What about her” The sentence was barely able to slip past his clenched jaw, the cigarette that had been dangling from his lips was now crunched at an unnatural angle.

“We’re together.” Sanji pulled his hands from the water, and if it were anyone else in the world, Zoro would have braced for a punch but he knew the cook would never. A kick maybe, but not a punch.

“What?” The word came out softer than Zoro expected, he watched as the cook gripped the edge of the sink hard, the thin stainless of the basin giving a bit underneath the pads of his fingers.

“We’re toget-“

”I heard you the first time.” Sanji cut him off, a large puff of smoke pushing from his nostrils. “When did you-“ He finally releases the sink and steps back, bringing a hand to his cigarette as he inhales deeply, filling his lungs to max capacity with the nicotine laced smoke. “Did you do it just to fuck with me?” He said around a puff of smoke. “Just to get back at me?”

Zoro’s stomach tensed at the cook’s words. Something about them hurt the same way a swift kick would have, but yet any words he wanted to get out seemed unreachable.

“I bet you didn’t even wait a day before cornering her! Did you convince her I wasn’t coming back, was that it?” Sanji’s words were dripping in venom, the hand that wasn’t holding onto his cigarette for dear life was balled at his side, clenching and unclenching. “You know, I thought we were better, I thought maybe we were friends, but then you go and fuck with my life like I’m nothing!”

“Like you’re nothing, are you fuckin’ kidding!” The words burst past Zoro’s lips before he could stop them. “You are fucking everything to us, and you left! You left her, you left me!” The force at which Zoro jabbed his finger against his own chest hurt more than intended but he couldn’t stop himself. “Years Sanji, fucking years I had to watch you try to fuck every person with a set of tits. And then you finally settle down and pick someone, someone who is easily one of the most amazing people on the sea next to you, and you just throw her away like she’s nothing! I can handle throwing me away, I can handle that, but she can’t!” Sanji is stunned to say the least, his mouth keeps opening and closing as he searches for words, any words. “It’s not even like I could handle the hurt of you leaving, I had to pick up her pieces, I had to tell her you would come back, that you would never leave her.”

“And then you fucked her”

“Yeah Sanji, I did. But you know who I wished it was instead?!”

The sentence didn’t require an answer which is why when Zoro was able to pull his emotions back he was quick to stomp out of the galley, leaving behind a stunned cook who was still desperately searching for words long after the swordsman had left.

[lovers-tucked-into-a-quiet-cafe]

141 & Rabbit Headcanons [IKYLHT]

Series Masterlist | Prev: Personnel Files | Next: Chapter One

Please Note: This is my attempt at a spoiler-free introduction to the characters and their dynamics. This is meant to be read before the first chapter, and thus must be vague at points. THIS DOES CONTAIN SOME MW3 SPOILERS

-

141 + Rabbit Dynamics:

Soap:

Rabbit's ride or die right here, twin flame type of energy

First person she actually enjoyed the company of at the UK base while on assignment alongside the rest of the Demon Dogs

Subsequently the first to worm his way into her heart- sinks his hooks into her side and refuses to leave (not to worry, you'd have to pry her off of him, anyways)

Runs into her coming out of the mess hall, sees 'Highwater' stitched into her uniform and realizes this was the soldier Sparks had told him about

Oh yeah, that month long prank war with Shane 'Shitbag' Sparks (yes, she'd come up with that one herself) that the rest of the Demon Dogs decided to join in on? He made sure to tell Soap, because why not recruit the demolitions expert in his task of torturing his sister-in-arms?

Soap immediately decides on implementing her rename. 'Oh, you already have a callsign that half the base refers to you by? One that acknowledges your military expertise and the nine grueling years you've dedicated to the service? That's weird, cuz your name is Rabbit now and that's that' type mentality

She knew the reference immediately, hands twitching with the urge to unsheathe her spare knife because there was only one person that'd broadcast the story

Goddammit, Sparks, I will shiv you

"Excuse me? Where'd you hear that from, Sergeant?"

"A good friend never tells. I could always think of calling you somethin' worse?"

"Call me something worse and I'll have you written up for disrespecting a superior officer"

"Understood, Rabbit" said with a fucking grin

Despite being the one to rename her, literally never uses her callsign once he declares them best friends

Calls her Bunny or Bun, which surprisingly did help his efforts in gaining her [platonic] love and affection

Spent damn near every waking moment with her, which unsurprisingly did help his efforts in gaining her [romantic] love and affection

Sparring? Let me wrap your hands

Going out? Here, I'll zip your coat

Smoking? C'mon Bun, tell me what's bothering you, I can help

It was the little, everyday acts of love kindness from Soap that had her hooked on the feeling of being in his presence

So you can imagine how devastating it'd felt for the both of them when the special unit had been called back to the states

Even with promises to call and text and facetime, the feeling of his heart sinking to his stomach made him realize there were feelings he harbored towards Rabbit that went beyond the typical bond between soldiers

But orders are orders, and he'd been sure to give her a chaste kiss on the cheek before ushering her up the ramp and onto the heli waiting to rip her away from him

Not that either admitted it to the other at the time, but they'd both been teased to no end about their 'special friendship' by the rest of their units, cheeks warming yet refusing to deny the accusations

Like true friends, though, they did kept their promise

If it wasn't hours of texting it was calls, only skipping days when on mission but always sure to inform the other of their departure beforehand

It was hard most days. Seeing the other come back from days or even weeks of no-contact with new cuts and bruises

It was especially hard, though, after Verdansk

Soap had beaten himself up pretty hard after the whole ordeal with Makarov- the guilt of not being able to save those people in the airport, the shame of losing his cool in front of his superiors, the regret of not just avenging those people by shooting the man and facing the consequences later- he'd talked through his entire range of emotions with her despite the distance

Then, because the universe always yearned for cruelty, she got the assignment

Covert operation

Ciudad Victoria

Two days, wheels up at 0400

Now her home base had been Pendleton since basic, and if there's one thing the San Diego base requires, it's soldiers willing to cross the border and sweat their asses off for hours on end scouting some target for shit pay and no reward

She'd done it before, six months turned into twelve turned into eighteen until eventually she'd been volunteering to go, years under her belt and quickly moving up the ranks, Mexico now a second home in her mind. Anything to get away from that place

But Victoria? That was a city she'd only seen on mission reports, only heard of by way of interrogation

But orders are orders, and he'd been sure to tell her he'd miss her before ushering her to dump her phone in her locker and get onto the heli waiting to rip her away from him again

Soap didn't get a call for quite a while after that

His first contact, actually, hadn't even been Rabbit

It was Sparks

Locker pried open with permission from Griggs (not that he waited even a second to be granted it), he'd charged her phone and called the one person he thought deserved to know

"MacTavish? It's Sparks. Highwater, she's... she's MIA. Entire task force was found slaughtered. An ambush, I think. We don't- we're not entirely sure yet. Griggs can't get a straight answer. The whole things fucked, we can't- the area's got it's own governing body. They haven't... they've searched but they haven't found a body. We're not calling it until they do. I'm sorry, kid."

Two months

Two months Soap cried until his lungs spasmed

Two months Soap cried until his head ached and eyes burned

Two months Soap cried to his mother about the woman he loved

Two months until he got the call that damn near restarted his heart

"Soap? Soap, we found her. We have her, she's being taken to medical. We found her, kid."

Johnny's not sure he remembers a time he'd cried harder. He'd like to say it was when Sparks had first called him, but even then, he held onto some hope she'd made it out 'like you always do'

That'd been their promise to each other, and he vividly recalls telling Price that as he sobbed over the man's shoulder in relief

She'd been put on medical leave, forced to wave goodbye to her family as they flew off to Urzikstan without her

It was at that point- hearing her cry over the phone about how useless she'd felt being left behind, how she'd failed the only family that had ever truly cared about her- that he realized a trip to the states was in dire need

Entered the U.S. friends, exited the U.S. partners

Johnny's a man that focuses on the positives

He doesn't talk about those two months. Not to his therapist, not to his ma, not to Price

He focuses on the fact that his torment is over, he focuses on the woman laying her head on his shoulder and tapping her boot against his on the shaky helicarrier

Because that's all that matters to him. The little moments between missions where they can focus on something other than saving the world for a moment

It's a type of love, a type of dynamic the man had never experienced before

'Intimate' is the best word to describe it

Will 'accidentally' detonate an old grenade taken into the training grounds to 'see if it still worked', just to see the other's eyes light up in a sort of pyromaniac excitement

Will also take up an entire couch quietly lounging, arms wrapped around each other under a shared blanket because 'it's a low energy type of day'

It's all or nothing- completely feral, unhinged 'I'll request the jailcell across from you' behavior or soft, domestic bliss

No words need be exchanged for that energy to shift- just a subtle glance and soft smile, a type of telepathy easily mastered after four years of being together

And Johnny wouldn't have it any other way

Ghost:

Initially doesn't even want to address her by Rabbit

He couldn't take the callsign seriously, especially after realizing this was the woman Soap had been babbling about in Verdansk

He knew more about her personal life than he did her military career, and he'd read her file back to front twice. Well, what hadn't been redacted, anyways

Decides he'll stick to Gun, as requested, but only when necessary. Better than Rabbit, at least

But after Soap's little confession while her comms are down in Las Almas? Now Gun just won't do. Decides to stick with Darling until he's figured out a better one. Knows she won't mind, anyways

Calls her Lovie a small handful of times, blink and you'll miss it, and it's only in a NSFW context ;) soft!dom Ghost supremacy

Settles on Tapeti once the dust settles and he knows he's wormed his way into her heart the same way Soap had

They're close in a way he can't say about anyone else

Does he love his team? Of course

Would he lay his life down for any one of them the second the opportunity presented itself? Also yes

But there's something about shared trauma that bonds the soul

Neither talk about it much

It's honestly easier to use Soap as the go-between on a lot of things

She's already told him, already bared her soul for him to see in that deserted apartment, and Simon's grateful Johnny omits certain heart wrenching details when he runs his hands over her scarred back, runs his hands over the raised tattoos that cover the remnants of Victoria

He doesn't yearn to know the specifics, most days he's not sure he wants to know at all

He'd made peace with his demons a long time ago, had to in order to survive, but he knew it wouldn't be so easy forgiving what'd been done to her

It wasn't hard to infer, anyway

They have a calendar, a pocket sized one with a little magnet attached that hangs on their fridge

It was Ghost's idea, after one of those days when the shakes were debilitating and she couldn't keep her food down

He'd set the container of soup from the deli across their flat on the counter, pulling Soap away from her curled up side and showing him the dollar store purchase

He didn't explain, just scribbled out a few dates and passed the calendar over

So Johnny took the pen and started scratching out days

He didn't explain all of them, only murmured the easy ones like 'her mother's birthday' or 'her comrades death date' or 'Victoria'

There's a deeper understanding there, between the three of them, and if there's one thing Simon can attest to while stomping out the butt of his cigarette onto Grave's false tombstone, it's his appreciation for the man's betrayal in Las Almas that lead him into the couple's outstretched arms

Gaz:

Best boy, here

The baby of the group, a few years younger than Rabbit who shares a birthyear with Soap

Uses that to his advantage

Calls her Officer Hopps on more than one occasion, not afraid to more commonly shorten it down to just 'Hopps'

Always in a playful loving manner, not that it matters when Rabbit's glare quickly follows

Also thinks it's funny to call her 'Gunnery Hopps' when in the presence of other soldiers, tries to play it off as a genuine tongue slip despite his wide grin proving otherwise

Again, uses his baby privilege to his advantage, whipping out the puppy eyes and small kisses that has Rabbit's glare melting into a soft smile

Typically sticks with Love- partially because he's a true Birmingham boy and the term of endearment comes naturally to him- mainly because it keeps her wound around his finger

Starts a fight by betting Price 20 quid he could cut a chunk out of Soap's mohawk? He's running to hide behind her, basking in her warmth and sticking a tongue out at Johnny over her shoulder

Smug as all hell, knows he's been deemed the favorite and is sure to remind the other men of it constantly

He'll tell them it's 'just because she loves me more, mate' but they all know the real reason

It's his calm, level-headed personality and natural ability to lead that endears him to her so easily

She never questions his judgement because what he lacks in years he makes up for in everything else by tenfold

And he looks up to Rabbit immensely- he may not initially know the finer details of her military experience, just general war stories Sparks and the rest of the Demon Dogs had told him in Urzikstan when she'd been out on medical leave, but he does know what being a 0251 MOS entails, knows he'll never come across a better Gunnery Sergeant even if he retires at 80

Aims to become a GySgt after seeing her serve as their unit's operations chief, working with superior officers on training, operations, and tactical advising

Asks a million questions and- though he'd never admit it- keeps a log of their answers in his notes app. He's just organized like that

She noticed anyways, what with his trusting nature and big heart (he gladly passed over his phone passcode within the first week of them being official), and it was actually that notes app list of all the little throw away tidbits about her role on the team that led her to write his letter of recommendation

That’s just the dynamic they have, they bring out the best in each other in every way, even when they don’t think it’s possible given the circumstances

He's only two years younger, and yet he feels so lacking in experience when they're thrown into red-stained chairs with threadbare bags over their heads

"You been tortured before, Gaz?"

"No."

"That's good. Let's keep it that way. Stay quiet and keep your eyes forward."

He remembers blanching at her nonchalant tone, the way she talked as if she'd done this a hundred times before.

She has, he realizes, and he feels a sort of naive embarrassment wash over him when he really thinks about it

Interrogation and Debrief Specialist, he thought, you don't earn that title by just sitting and reading about it

He didn't have much time to sit and process that thought before the men were reentering the dark room

He's unable to fathom how she'd kept her breathing so calm, refrained from letting out a single yell or grunt or sniffle until the men had slammed the metal door on their exit

It was hard for him, returning to base after what had transpired

It didn't sit right with him- the fact that he'd allowed himself to sit there and let the woman he'd been falling in love with be beaten within an inch of her life

But she'd comforted him, face swollen and leg wrapped, knocking her boot into his with a smile

He'd knocked his boot back into hers, and decided from there on out she'd know exactly how much she meant to him

Price:

The only member of the 141 to actually refer to her by her callsign. Captain's professionalism and all that.

Throws it out the window the second he deems necessary- which is quite often- resorts to Sweetheart

He knows more about her than anyone else, Johnny the only exception, and that isn't something he takes lightly

He'd read the reports. The redacted ones. He knew what happened after Victoria, he'd been the one to okay her transfer, to accept doing a favor for the Demon Dogs after their good work in Urzikstan and promising he'd 'keep an eye on her'

He understands the vulnerability in that fact, and is sure to do everything in his power to prove to her he's someone she can trust, even after she's told him time and time again he's done more than enough to prove his loyalty

Fortunately, years of hearing about each other via Soap and the Demon Dogs proved useful once they'd finally met at the top of that wall guarding Alejandro's base, easily falling into a sort of mutual understanding of each other

It helped that he was a natural patriarch, the glue holding the team together, ensuring they worked as a well oiled machine both on and off base

Soap vouched for Price and that was all the convincing Rabbit needed. So when Price vouched for Ghost and Gaz? It felt instinctual to trust the men wholeheartedly

Scary as it was initially, Price just knew. Simple as that, he knew what the team needed and exactly how to go about it, and she trusted that

He was arguably the most experienced in navigating trauma, and that definitely lent a hand to the comfortability of the team

He’s perfected the art of understanding each of the members of the task force and it’s something Rabbit didn’t realize she yearned for until she had it

He’s become the physical embodiment of her safe space in a way she never thought was possible. She breathes easier when he’s in eyesight, the tension drops from her shoulders when he’s near

Despite being one who only rarely accepted physical affection from anyone other than Soap, Rabbit named Price 'Seat of the Year', and that's meant quite literally

Cuddles are mandatory team bonding. He doesn't make the rules (yes he does)

Arguably the most giving partner on the face of the planet

Is happy to lean back in his chair and cut off the blood supply to his legs if it means Rabbit is soothed by the way his hands run over her arms and scratch at her scalp, perched on his lap and quickly drifting off to sleep as he presses light kisses onto the junction between her neck and shoulder

His brain is constantly alerting his body of his need to protect and provide. It'd still happen even if he'd never approved her transfer, that's just the kind of man he is, but he wouldn't have been nearly as emboldened without her there

Gaz yawns in the midst of completing a mission report? He's already tossing the man over his shoulder and forcing him to rest for once

Soap lets out the quietest sigh of pain when that one muscle in his shoulder starts twinging again? He's already pushing the man to sit and rounding the couch to dig his strong hands into the stubborn muscle

Ghost's stomach lets out singular growl? Guess that stack of paperwork can be finished tomorrow, it's now his personal mission to ensure the man has eaten a nutritious meal that checks off every micro and macro nutrient possibly needed to ensure health and prosperity in that beefy body

Perfectly content to love and love and love for absolutely nothing in return besides seeing his team happy and healthy

Unbeknownst to him, he very quickly charms his way into her heart with his thick thighs caring nature, dilf energy warm smiles, and ofc the boonie hat

-

General Character Headcanons:

Rabbit:

-As mentioned in the Personnel Files, Rabbit is a Gunnery Sergeant and a 0251 MOS [Interrogator/Debrief Specialist]

-Gunnery Sergeant is her rank- serving as her unit's operations chief, working with superior officers on training, operations, and tactical advising

-0251 is her job code [MOS]. 0251 specifically means being an Interrogator/Debriefer in the US Marine Corps. This job involves collecting information/intelligence from human sources by means of interrogation, debriefing, and screening. Typical duties are the screening and interrogation of enemy POWs, line crossers, refugees, and other displaced persons, exploiting foreign language documents, and participating in noncombatant evacuation operations

-A common requirement for this job is being at the very least bilingual, and it's canon here that Rabbit speaks Spanish alongside English. With that said, many apologies to those reading this that speak Spanish because I'm using translation websites (yes I disappoint my Mexican grandparents every day)

-Rabbit is a Demon Dog, but was not in Urzikstan due to medical leave. She has direct permission from the US Marine Corps, SAS, and Price to be stationed in the UK base 'on loan' as a Demon Dog since they are part of the Coalition, led by the CIA's best Station Chief Kate Laswell :D

-Again, as shown in the Personnel Files, Rabbit does not have many character descriptors listed. I'm trying my best to make her as inclusive as I possibly can while still flushing out her character. I don't like the self-insert '[h/c] [e/c]' format, so I just avoid it all together

-Rabbit is an only child

-Also it's not really about Rabbit per say but in my story Griggs is a Captain. He leads the Demon Dogs and therefore holds a higher rank that Rabbit. It makes sense to me in this story that he'd be of similar age and rank as Price

Soap:

-I’ve seen a few people say based on his accent Soap is likely from Glasgow but unfortunately I’ve only been to Edinburgh so we’re using our creative liberty here and saying that's where he's from plz and thank u <3

-Johnny is the baby of the family with 3 older sisters. His poor mother was pregnant for damn near four years straight

-He's close with his entire family, but especially his mother and youngest sister

-Also I'm not killing him in this story. I wrote a good portion of it pre-MW3 and that campaign sucked so I'm ignoring it :)

Ghost:

-Simon is from Manchester. Yeah yeah yeah ik there’s a whole thing ab his accent and yada ya but my first London pub-watch rugby game was Leeds vs Wigan, so we’re sticking with canon here

-Wigan is in Greater Manchester so I like the headcanon that Ghost’s father was a ManUnited football fan so teen!Simon said ‘oh fuck that’ and instead chose to take the 45 minute train to go watch rugby in another city

-I'm basing a lot of his character off of both the comics and game, however there is one thing to note. In the comics, 'Sparks' is one of the soldiers that assists in getting Simon's family killed. This is not the same Sparks I refer to in this story. Shane Sparks is a Demon Dog, and I'm writing in his character for specific plot devices. He'll likely be completely OC since I just grabbed his basic profile off the character wiki.

Gaz:

-Haven’t heard any confirmation on where Gaz is from but my love Elliot Knight is from Birmingham so ding ding ding, we have a winner

-Only child, the absolute pride and joy of his parent's life. He's a total mama's boy and it was largely her good morals and outlook on life that steered him in the direction of wanting to better the world

Price:

-Liverpool. Again, I’m not sure if there’s confirmation as to where Price is from but my love ( yes I can have two >:| ) Barry Sloane is from Livahpewl soooooo

-Semi-sad headcanon for Price here. Idk why but I feel a strong pull to the idea that his parents have passed, despite him only being 36 in my story, putting them somewhere in their 60's

-On a happier note, I also like the idea that John is an older brother, so we're going with that

-

<3

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

White Knight Ithaqua who has feelings for a low-nobility reader (who does also like him a bit) 👀 she's the last living heir of the dying family line, and about to be married off by her desperate father to a cruel husband for the money the sustain their status. She cares nothing for status, and knows of both Ithaqua's fearsome reputation and feelings for her...so she asks him to kill her father, so she'll be free of that fate, and in exchange she'll happily be with him.

heheheheheheh

Rated Mature | Warning: none

Ithaqua with the purple blue lipstick save me

“Ithaqua.” You stand in front of him as sits on the chair in the room, his legs open as he relaxes— Content like a cat after being fed a treat. The wedding, the union between himself and you, is complete. Finally, he has you! The lady of his dreams, the only person alive who knows him as a boy who was once shy and gentle. You promised to marry the boy who lived in the woods with his mother, she was the maid you liked the most. Red hair she would let you braid as she would teach you how to read, her smile bright and you try to match it. She was a sweet woman who was like a mother to you while your father was being a fool. Your mother died not long after you were born, the rumors say your father had her killed for having an affair. An affair that was not true.

“Would you do anything for me?

Ithaqua, the fearsome White Knight, stares at you with eyes you know are to be full of a love that would scare anyone else. Without his helmet, you see the face, the change from the gentle to the sharp man who would cut down the mightiest of the White King’s enemies. His dark purple edging on blue-painted lips formed a Cheshire grin. He stands up and snatches you close to him, his hands on your waist as his forehead touches yours.

“Anything.”

You use one hand to guide him to touch your ass, your other hand beginning to open his uniform, and you angle your face to brush against his lips as you speak. “Will you kill for me?” Softly asking with your eyes locked with his.

Your father used to be of high status before his greed got the best of him. He plotted with others to overthrow the White King with the assistance of the Black Monarchy. He was able to worm his way out of an execution and keep some of his status. All he had to do was easily betray those who were trying to betray the kingdom. You hate him for using you as a way to remain in the good graces of the White King. The White Knight was gifted you, an offering to a monster expected to devour you.

“Within reason.” He moves in to kiss you but you pull back. A warning growl but his grin never fades, “Does murder get you off these days, (Name).”

“No, this is not a murder but a way to free your wife.” You tilt your head back as he attacks your neck and squeezes your ass, “My father. I want him to be cold on the ground by tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Then he laughs, “No honeymoon?” Licking the column of your throat before biting into the side marking you as his.

“If you kill him fast enough you can return to me with his blood on your hand and claim me.”

He moves back to look at your very serious face, his grin gone as he is surprised to hear the hatred in your voice, “You’ve changed.”

“Not willingly, I wish I was still the girl who would chase you to play with me.” You yearn for her, for the woman she has turned into these days. Cold and calculating, your loyalty is to the kingdom and now your husband. “Will you free me?”

“Free you? This will only lock the last shackle to me.”

“So be it. You still love me, I know you will not toss me to another.”

He hums before going back to marking your neck, “In silver and blood you are bound to me.” Silver for the ring and blood for the man who will die tonight.

[afyrian]

ch. 5 - yearning for prosperity or love m.list

    the previous night's events replay through your mind like a historical timeline. each part laid out on a line, little times written beside it. events like him inviting you in from the rain, the lights resting behind him like an angelic glow. to him handing off his apron to you, the little consideration boggling your mind.

  things slowly started happening in quicker succession until you find yourself staring him down. it hits you like a truck the moment you see his eyes land on you. the way you would've loved to have tasted the food on his lips, to have felt his hand resting on your cheek. 

  you close your eyes for a moment, wondering how you're getting so caught up on it all. how he can look at you with such a smile that can make you melt. that you can forgo any thought of your customer base dwindling, his restaurant's flair only growing. even now, a few of your students don't want to come due to the parking during rush hours. and it crushes you.

  but he somehow makes you forget it. like some sort of sorcery, you just find yourself biting your lip, pondering what life could look like with him. even now, it's invaded your thoughts so much so that your thumb runs through the mug on your wheel. the shape that you were starting to perfect for the raven's eye diner (in exchange for a few free breakfasts) quickly crumbles under your touch. but you can't help but feel it's his touch.

  you want to blame him for the failed mug, the swirling design now destroyed. the way it lies on the wheel like an amalgamation of your descent into affection and his affect on you. however, your mind can't conjure up ill will for the man. especially as you remember him tying the apron around your waist, his fingers just barely touching your back. his touch sends a shock through you akin to a kiss of death, the death of all things rational.

  however, his touch isn't the only thing that has been sending you into orbit. everything he does has started to worm its way into your life. you've felt like your entire worldview has been flipped on its head, that this one particular man has changed everything for you. something about osamu in particular makes you queasy.

  he could do anything and it could cement itself in your core memories. like when he wiped clay off your face, or sometimes he could just be walking into your shop...

  "i'd love to buy one of your pieces, they're all so beautiful, they really exude you," he mentioned a few days ago, having entered your shop to give you an incorrectly shipped package. 

  there was something about seeing him in casual attire, the way his shirt rests comfortably on him. him holding the package like your packages are so natural in his hands, an edge of domesticity plaguing your mind like a drug. the thought of him bringing in some random thing you ordered online, breaking the seal for you, it’s all to much. 

  imagining it all made it so you couldn't help but offer your services to make him a few specialty pieces. a plate or bowl here, a utensil holder there. however, the thought of making them any less than perfect leaves you procrastinating. 

  ever since you met him, you never would’ve thought of making him pottery. taking the time to create something with your bare hands and hand it to him as a peace offering. especially when you can see how his restaurant is affecting the town. but now? all you want to do is create his own special blend of natural clays to make him a line of plates and bowls. 

  you even wonder if a trinket tray for his personal use would be a divine gift. a way to represent your feelings in a way that doesn’t come outright. but rather, it’s slow and steady, easing your way into it. giving you plenty of time to back out and reconsider everything the second you start to feel uneasy.

  it’s selfish, to yourself and him, but you know you can’t give up either one. not logistically, not when you’re yearning for love instead of prosperity. and not when you’re just now realizing just how sickeningly wonderful loving him feels. 

a/n: i do not want to finish this fic ever 😭 but we still have a few more and an epilogue <33 FORGOT TO ADD: please read raven’s eye diner from mo (guitarstringed-scars), legit so good so far taglist: @causenessus @osakis-gf @eggyrocks @brkfclub @marisabel14

@bbybibi @etoiile @miyamoratsumuu @girlokarina @gsyche

@cherrypieyourface @zephestia @acowboykisser @whosmarjj @gumiiiiezzzz

@guitarstringed-scars @19calicos

[imagineitdearies]

~ A Flawed Eternity ~

(AKA drabbles set in the Perfect Slaughter universe.)

In which Astarion and Halsin discuss intimacy.

~

Astarion was getting frustrated with himself. 

In the midst of one of the most heated embraces they’d had in a long while, his body pressed down over Tyrus’s lean frame on an actual bed, his hand entangled in those soft, snow-white locks, his erection rubbing against the seam of Tyrus’s thigh and groin—in the midst of heaven, Astarion’s thoughts dragged him back into hell. 

It was something so simple. Just Tyrus’s hands, already gripping his back and hip, squeezing a bit tighter. And then Astarion’s mind suddenly decided to translate the enthusiasm into obligation. 

All at once he felt used, dirty. Out of control. 

Objectively, he knew Tyrus expected nothing. Astarion was the one who had the inconvenient drive for sex, the one whose body quite physically yearned to touch and be touched like this by Tyrus with such a force he pushed himself into discomfort. But that knowledge didn’t stop the unsettling feeling chilling his spine now as he felt the grip pulling him closer. Like he’d once again become nothing more than a thing to be used.

Was he not allowed this anymore? Astarion silently lamented whilst kissing Tyrus harder in defiance. Did he not deserve both freedom and pleasure? Was this the gods’ petty punishment, some final penance for his supposed wrongs?

Fuck that, Astarion inwardly growled, and didn’t think further before he reached down, grabbed the grasping hand at his hip, and pinned it above Tyrus’s head.

Tyrus broke from their kiss, staring up at him with wide eyes as they both caught their breath. Clearly confused—though not frightened yet, at least.

Astarion let go of his wrist before that could change. Then pulled back entirely and faced slightly away from his partner, swallowing down a small portion of guilt. He hated being restrained, even for a moment, and Tyrus surely carried a similar sentiment. 

“A bad memory?” Tyrus said softly, as they had taken to asking each other.

If only it were that simple. 

“Let’s trance,” Astarion sighed. Throwing Tyrus a tired smirk, before nodding at their surroundings, “Who knows how long we’ll be invited back into this cozy little inn, after all.” Half-grateful, half-bitter when Tyrus didn’t press him further about the reaction, just held his hand with a bit more carefulness than usual as they tried to rest.

The following dusk he headed to the lapping river shore early, using the cloak in hopes to get a moment alone before Halsin showed up and they had another of their ‘talks’ prior to the night’s quests.

But Halsin was already there, to Astarion’s annoyance, trying and failing to skip stones whilst humming a tune under his breath.

“Waiting all day for me, darling?” Astarion teased as he approached, trying to shrug off his annoyance. “Good thing Cynda doesn’t seem the jealous type.”

Halsin turned and smiled at him. “Not at all. She has a voracious appetite herself,” he replied—and then let out a low chuckle at Astarion’s grimace.

The half-drow girl had somehow wormed her way into his affections with the same speed Tyrus once had, if in a sisterly way. While objectively he would support such a thing, Astarion felt how he imagined Tyrus would at the implication of her sexual exploits. And maybe a tad jealous, too, of how easy Halsin and Cynda’s affections seemed to be.

“Well, you two can make up for Tyrus and I, then,” he huffed, waving a dismissive hand before looking out at the vivid sunset.

“You seem bothered lately, every time you mention your relationship with him,” Halsin mused. “Why is that?”

Astarion felt his hackles raise, along with another flash of guilt. “Bothered? He is—we are—our relationship is the only good I hold claim to,” he sputtered. “It’s the reason we’re all free, alive—he’s wonderful, perfect, deserving of whatever he—” Astarion cut himself off when he realized Halsin wasn’t trying to argue. He let out a slow breath and finished, “If I’m bothered, it has nothing to do with him.”

Halsin slowly nodded. “Understood.” 

There was a minute of silence, the large elf managing a single skip from one of his four next stones before Astarion felt the urge to explain further. Half to defend Tyrus still—but also because, after the last few tendays, he’d found with some begrudgement it was helpful to get things off his chest. Allow them to be spoken, examined by an outsider, validated or questioned so he could articulate what he was feeling to himself.

“I told you we haven’t had sex since our freedom,” Astarion started eventually. “And I suppose that is beginning to bother me.”

Halsin paused mid-way through throwing a stone, raising a brow. “Have you talked more about it together?”

Astarion grimaced but nodded. “A little. He likes it but doesn’t need it—his sister must have stolen all his ‘voraciousness,’ I suppose, I didn’t think for years he’d even want to try it. But it’s me, who really wants to and keeps . . . stopping us. I did it again earlier today, before our trance.”

He paused, waiting for one of Halsin’s insightful questions or interjections, but the elf stayed silent. Just held out a smooth, flat stone for Astarion to take.

Astarion huffed but did, rolling the rock around again and again in his hands. The older elf at least knew how to pick the right ones for skipping, even if his execution was dastardly. 

Slowly, Astarion forced out the words, “I don’t want him to think about me in terms of sex. I don’t think I want anyone to . . . and I know of all people, Tyrus doesn’t want me for that, but every time we get more intimate the prospect of the act itself clouds my reasoning. I feel used, like my body is being exploited, even though I know rationally otherwise. I was the one who initiated it!” he finished with a bitter laugh. 

Halsin hummed. “Do you feel the same when you masturbate?”

Astarion felt his insides jolt in fear, for some reason. “I lived as a sex slave for nearly a century,” he growled, barely resisting the temptation to throw the rock in his hands at Halsin instead. “Why in the Hells would I be doing that?”

“Self-pleasure can be a very healing thing,” the elf replied in that sage, even tone of his, unbothered by Astarion’s blunt words or scathing tone. It made Astarion wonder a lot of things about the elf’s background.

“I don’t—” Astarion sputtered, then recovered, “There’s nothing about sex that feels like pleasure anymore. Not unless it’s with him.”

Silently, he questioned his own words. Nothing about the sexual acts he performed for and with his victims for Cazador had given him any sort of pleasure, after the first few years of doing it. Hells, even kissing felt like a burden until it was with Tyrus. But seeking pleasure alone?

Cazador had found him the last time he tried, Astarion remembered with a sudden nausea. Which explained his initial fear at Halsin’s question. It was a hazy, old memory his mind clearly didn’t want to hold onto—but in investigating the pieces of it that remained, the bastard’s words came through much too clear: “I always knew you were a slut, boy, but a deviant too? If you’re so desperate for it, then . . .”

“Astarion?”

He blinked, realizing he had been staring ahead at nothing, white-knuckling the stone. “I don’t think it would be any fun, for me,” he recovered in a hoarse voice, trying and failing to smile.

Halsin didn’t respond right away. The older elf spent a minute looking around for more stones to throw, leaving Astarion to recover from the harrowing memory in silence. 

Finally, once he’d gathered a handful, Halsin nodded at Astarion and said, “You might be right—especially at first. But there’s a lot of things you two have and do, that you’ve said used to be triggering or considered impossible. Perhaps this is another thing you might . . . reclaim, in a sense.” When Astarion just frowned, the elf added, “And it might help you feel more comfortable with your body in the future, if you want to try engaging in sex with Tyrus again.”

Sex with Tyrus. Truly, Astarion had gone too long without it. Just the words brought up a dozen delicious memories—the dual sensation of Tyrus kissing at his neck and kneading hands into his ass, the little whimpers that left Tyrus’s parted lips when Astarion gave him pleasure, the warm tightness of him encompassing Astarion’s cock, that last time—and Astarion had to look away, glad he couldn’t blush and that Halsin would have no way of knowing his cock had just twitched in his trousers.

Back when Cazador caught him, Astarion had just been trying to self-soothe and give himself one small good thing in the midst of hell. When he and Tyrus were intimate, it felt like a way of giving each other comfort or providing distraction from their terrible reality. Even a method of cleansing himself of what he did on other nights without Tyrus.

But now? He was simply desperate, just like Cazador used to goad him about. 

The smallest look, word, or action could have been used against him—pointed to as signs of interest, framed as evidence to why he’d asked for whatever torture happened next. Nine years ago, just failing to hide his benign interest in the drow had earned them one of Astarion’s worst punishments to date.

His desire, perceived or real, had always been used and weaponized against him. 

Maybe that was what made it still feel like a dirty, dangerous thing now.

Astarion distracted himself from all the painful realizations with an insult: “You really have no idea what you’re doing, do you?” he huffed, watching another of Halsin’s stones plunk into the water.

Halsin chuckled. “Ganyl’s given me pointers, but I wouldn’t mind a few more.”

Technically, Astarion had only tried out this pastime once on a slower night in Rivington—but his accuracy had yet to fail him in most things. “Step aside, darling,” Astarion smirked, lifting the rock and getting into position.

He threw it with unerring form. Astarion’s smirk broke into a true smile as they watched it skip along the surface of the calm waters, something close to four dozen times before the stone sank just a few meters off from the opposite shore.

Halsin made a low whistle, shaking his head. “I’ll keep practicing,” he said around a hearty laugh.

Astarion gave one more smirk before dusting his hands off his trousers, turning to go.

But the older elf was never one to leave him without some call to action, in the six times they’d met thus far. “Will you consider the idea?” Halsin asked behind him. When Astarion paused, glancing over his shoulder, he continued, “It doesn’t have to be a specific act, or with an end goal in mind, you see. Self-pleasure can mean a lot of things.”

Like what? Astarion wanted to ask. But he had a bit too much pride still, to admit to just how lacking his knowledge was in this area. “If I ever get a moment alone with all this ‘infiltrating the Gauntlet of Shar’ talk, perhaps,” he conceded with a huff.

A thrill of both fear and anticipation shot down his spine, however, as Astarion walked away. He knew if he tried to touch himself and keep his mind blank, his thoughts would end up crowded with a thousand terrible memories. But if he could manage to fill his mind with only what he wanted to do—be with Tyrus, at least in his imagination . . .

Then Astarion might look forward to a bit of alone time, soon.

[ebonystarfall]

Ink!Peng x a reader who was also part of the brotherhood?

Like reader had a similar experience as Macaque and just ran

But Peng was surprisingly attached to reader

So the scroll taunts you about that through Ink!Peng????

Idk this is weird and I’m sorry 😔

A Cursed Taunt

Ink!Peng x Ex-Brotherhood!Reader

Created by: Starlight (Owner 2)

Type of content: Oneshot

Pov: Second

Word count: 652

TW: Mentions of almost getting impaled, Ink!Peng is a fucking sour lemon towards you, taunting, reader doesn’t speak (I apologize).

A/N: I absolutely adore this idea, thanks to anon for suggesting it! Definitely feel like Ink!Peng would blame you endlessly, asking why you left them. Also @starbeamssovereign I know you said no angst...but dearest please give me the option to do so :(

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED

A shaky breath escaped your lips as you clustered with the remainder of the crew. Yet, despite your apprehension, your gaze was drawn to the protective curse, its ink shifting and morphing into myriad fantastical creatures. You observed the pilgrims, their discontent and ire manifesting in heated words, glaring down at you all in disgust. Then, your eyes fell upon the Brotherhood. Yellowtusk, once a formidable demon with a gold heart, now bore a gaze that bespoke a fierce desire to strike you from where you stand. You had abandoned the Brotherhood during the assault on the Jade Emperor. Such a betrayal was unforgivable. You were branded a coward.

Yet, an all too familiar voice caught your attention, making you separated from the group. You stood paralyzed in astonishment as you confronted Peng. The birdlike demon emitted a bitter laugh, their glowing blue eyes fixing you with a malevolent glare. No, you could not succumb to this illusion. It was merely the scroll's curse, merely an ink demon, not...not your friend. You tried to seek out MK, or Mei, or anyone who might aid you. But in the newly revealed clearing, there was no one present save you from Peng...or rather, Ink Peng.

“Ah, if it isn’t the cowardly little y/n, even worse then Macaque. Unlike that pathetic rat, you didn’t even join the battle… were you already adamant on leaving the Brotherhood? On leaving me?”

They swung their ji at you, the blade narrowly missing as you leapt aside. They scoffed, using their talons to pin you down, mocking you with cruel laughter.

“Oh, I’m just quivering in fear by you, all mighty and powerful. You didn’t even feel the need to fight! Do you see yourself as better then us, darling?”

You felt the air constrict in your lungs as the ink demon pinned you down. Their talons, though appearing as liquid ink, felt unnervingly lifelike and sharp. You wished to retort but chose to hold your tongue as you looked up at Peng. The inky bird demon grumbled at your silence, releasing you and striking you with their wing.

“You must’ve really lost your power. So pathetic, I swear…” they had scoffed, poking you lightly with their ji.

You rolled your eyes in irritation, attempting to swat the weapon away, only for it to dissolve into ink and then rematerialize as Peng lunged to strike once more, halting a mere instant before impaling you. They laughed, seizing you by the chin and forcing you to look up at them. “You abandoned us to our fate, never once trying to save or free us. Free me. I believed you considered me your… 'best friend.' Clearly, you do not deserve that title at all, little bug.”

The ink demon version of your old comrade suddenly tightened their grip on your chin, then rested their inky yet feathered head against you, giggling mischievously. Their ji remained pointed directly at you. If they pressed just a little too hard…

“Oh, you don’t plan on fighting back? Hm. I should strike you where you stand, stupid worm, if only you hadn’t left me….”

You looked back with a mix of remorse and anger. You yearned to despise this distorted version of your comrade, to push them away and return to your new friends... but the strange warmth emanating from their inky feathers gave you pause. You allowed them to lean on you, even though you were perilously close to being impaled and killed.

This moment with Ink Peng was abruptly interrupted by a loud yell. You presumed it was Mei, slashing her way into the clearing with a new sword. You stared at her in astonishment, even more so when everyone else rushed toward you. But when you turned back to look at the bird demon... they had vanished, as if the protective curse from the scroll had never been near you at all…

[gepardling]

late bloomer II w/ gepard.

desc. : Ain't no way that I'm projecting, look me in the eyes and tell me he wouldn't be an emotional wreck before he managed to ask you out (wc : 2.1k)

tags / cw : sfw, afab!reader, use of she/her pronouns, just fluff, more of Gepard's emotional well-being, he actually asks you out in this one, edited post-release

index : part I

Gepard's newfound infatuation had taken hold of him like a whirlwind, sweeping him into a realm of emotions he had never experienced before. He found himself working less overtime, opting to spend his free time cooking or tending to flowers instead of training. Somehow, he even managed to keep his plants alive this time, but it was probably because of him actually watering them instead of disappearing for nights on end to work. Still, he liked to think the meaning was deeper than that. 

Despite his growing fondness for his hobbies, intrusive thoughts of the girl he had met wormed their way into his mind. Gepard wasn't as secretive about his crush as he had thought he was either, and nearly every one of his soldiers could tell that something was up with the Captain. His usually steady hands shook ever so slightly, betraying the storm of butterflies that fluttered about his heart. He seemed to have a permanent flush dusted across his ears, often heard humming to himself in his office when he thinks he's alone. His leg even continued to bounce in annoyance while he rushed to finish his paperwork. Everyone knew that something (or rather, someone) had captured the Captain’s heart, even if he didn't openly confess to it himself. 

He’d caught glimpses of her a few times since their accidental encounter, witnessing her traversing to and from Qlipoth Fort. With each passing sighting, the bandage on her head grew smaller, and the memory of their first meeting began to fade into the recesses of his mind. Yet, despite his longing to speak to her, Gepard found himself paralyzed by a suffocating shyness that consumed him from within. He couldn’t help but gaze wistfully while the butterflies and rose petals consumed his guts from the inside.

It was almost sickening, how lovestruck the poor boy had become, but he couldn't shake the grip it had on him. But Gepard's fear stemmed from the awkwardness of their initial encounter. He dreaded the possibility that his mere presence would reignite those uncomfortable feelings, further solidifying him as an intimidating figure in her eyes. Except, the way he stared her down from a distance didn’t help one bit, and she was fully aware of his piercing gaze on the back of her head. 

Lost in his confusion and yearning, Gepard found himself seeking solace once again at the Neverwinter workshop. The fear of losing his own sanity pushed him to visit his sister's sanctuary after work, oblivious to the curious glances he received as he marched through town with a purposeful stride that bordered on madness. But who could blame him? His once orderly life had been turned on its head by a chance encounter with a girl. As he entered the workshop, he hastily shut the door behind him, having piqued the interest of Serval stationed behind the counter.

"Oh? And what's got you in such a hurry, brother dearest?" She inquired, a hint of mischief laced in her tone. Serval sets down her tools, raising an eyebrow at Gepard's continued silence. While he looked confident on the outside, he was melting down inside. It took him a minute to swallow the lump in his throat before he could speak, his voice trembling slightly. 

"It's her," he admitted, awkwardly clearing his throat before continuing, "The girl I told you about, I can't stop thinking about her…" Gepard sighed heavily in defeat, and the warmth creeping up his neck at his embarrassing revelation urged him to tug at his collar. Suddenly, his shoes seemed very interesting to him. 

Serval’s eyes widened momentarily, before a knowing grin spread across her lips, "Ah, the mysterious girl who shook the unshakeable Captain. You've been thinking of her all this time?" 

Gepard nodded, blush creeping higher up his cheeks. "I've been considering, well… Talking to her again. But it's not easy for me, you know that." 

Serval’s expression brightened. "You should know better than to doubt yourself like that," she chirped, making her way around the counter to stand in front of him. "You can do it, Gepard. You talk to people all the time! Just don’t treat her like a fugitive and you’ll be fine," she assured, hand playfully mussing up his hair.

"Thanks…" he uttered, gently swiping her hand away. “You don’t always have to treat me like a kid, you know…”

“Yeah…” Serval sighed, a cheeky little smile playing upon her lips, “But other big sisters got to tease their little brothers about their crushes too, so it’s my turn now.” She chuckled, placing both hands on her hips, “Tell you what, next time you see her? Just go talk to her. Don’t even think about it.”

Gepard let out an internal sigh as he bid farewell to his sister and stepped out of the workshop. He couldn't help but find Serval's advice both frustrating and thought-provoking. Deep down, he knew she was right. Perhaps he was overcomplicating matters with his hesitation. Walking through the bustling streets of the town, he allowed his thoughts to wander. The complicated swirl of emotions that gripped his heart couldn't be easily dismissed or resolved. It was true that he was inexperienced in matters of the heart, but he had to start somewhere. He couldn't continue to hide behind his shyness and reluctance. 

Gepard reached a turning point, realizing that wearing his heart on his sleeve was the only way forward. He needed to confront his feelings head-on, even if it meant risking rejection or embarrassment. The thought of continuing to dwell in uncertainty and missed opportunities was no longer tolerable. It was time to cast aside his reservations and let his feelings be known. The road ahead was uncertain, but Gepard was willing to embrace the journey, no matter the outcome.

Yet, his steps faltered as he turned the corner at Qlipoth Fort, his resolve crumbling like a fragile facade. There she was, standing at the bottom of the steps, engrossed in conversation with another soldier. His heart leaped into his throat, and he could feel the familiar fluttering return. Despite catching a glimpse of him from the corner of her eye, she seemed oblivious to his presence, focused on her task at hand. After handing the soldier a stack of papers, she turned to pick up some boxes and set off on her way again. 

Watching her retreating figure, Gepard felt the desperate pull of his heartstrings, urging him to pursue her before she disappeared from his sight again. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he closed the distance between them. With each step, Gepard's mind raced, searching for the right words, the right approach. He couldn't afford to be shy or hesitant anymore. This was his chance to bridge the gap between them. As he drew near, Gepard cleared his throat, his voice steady. “Excuse me,” he said, catching the attention of the girl. 

She turned her head suddenly, eyes blown wide at the sight of him. “Captain? A-Are you here to arrest me?” She inquired, a hint of shock and disbelief in her tone. 

Gepard’s heart immediately sank to his boots at the thought of her fearing his presence, and he quickly shook his head, voice filled with reassurance. “No, no, not at all! I’m not here to arrest you,” he replied, tone gentle yet earnest. “I actually…” He trailed off, eyes struggling to meet hers, “I wanted to talk to you. If that’s alright.”

Her guard lowered a little, a mix of curiosity and confusion flashed across her features. “Talk? About what?” she asked, her tone cautious.

Gepard shifted his weight anxiously, but he tried his best to maintain eye contact, conveying his sincerity. “I wanted to see how you’re doing. And… Well,” deep breaths, Gepard, “To apologize for our last encounter. It was a complete accident, and I didn’t mean to startle you. I hope you’ve recovered well from your injury.”

Her expression softened, and she seemed to relax a little, releasing a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “Thank you, but it’s me who should be apologizing. And I appreciate your concern, Captain, I’m doing much better now. It was just a small injury.” 

“I’m glad to hear that,”  Gepard mustered a small smile, relieved that he had broken through their awkward barrier. “If it’s not too forward of me to ask, I was wondering…” his gaze flickered down to the boxes she was holding, “Would you like some help with those boxes? It would be my pleasure to assist you.”

She hesitated for a moment, unsure of his intentions. He was the Captain of the Silvermane Guards, after all. Who would she be to steal his time? But he was the one offering his assistance. “I would appreciate that, actually…”

Gepard stepped forward, carefully taking one of the boxes from her hold. “You can call me Gepard, by the way. No need for formalities,” he said, his voice warm.

Gepard let her lead the way, and this time a comfortable silence filled the air. It wasn’t suffocating like their last meeting, and definitely not life-threatening in any way. If he was being honest, every moment spent in her company made Gepard feel like his heart was about to beat out of his chest, but he managed to keep himself cool. Just about. Gepard's shyness gradually gave way to genuine curiosity and a desire to know more about the girl before him. Conversation flowed naturally, sprinkled with light banter and the casual joke here and there.

Eventually, the conversation was steered towards work-related matters, and Gepard became curious about her profession. Although her responses were initially guarded, she quickly became heated with frustration the more she spoke about it. She revealed that she worked for the government, and that the recent stir with the new Supreme Guardian had caused her quite the headache, in terms of paperwork. The archives had to be updated, and every piece of official documentation needed to be copied and filed accordingly. She explained the long hours and demanding responsibilities that came with her position, mirroring Gepard's own dedication to his duties.

Outside of work, both of them didn’t have time for personal pursuits or social interactions, engrossed in their respective responsibilities. Gepard even shared his own apprehensions about his job, going as far as telling her some of the strange things his soldiers had gotten up to. His heart fluttered each time her laughter chimed through his ears, and he felt it sinking deeper and deeper into the fluffy, petal-ridden, butterfly-warzone of his chest. When he noticed her steps began to slow down, he too changed his pace.

The girl paused, and Gepard noticed they had arrived at her doorstep. As she moved to unlock the front door of her home, he couldn't help but feel a wave of nervousness crash down on him. She placed the boxes inside and turned back to face him, her eyes shining with gratitude. "Thank you for your assistance today, Captain," she beamed, but then corrected herself, "I mean, Gepard."

Gepard smiled, trying to swallow down the fluttering of butterfly wings that filled the expanse of his chest. One wrong move and it felt like they may have flown from his mouth as he spoke. The love that consumed him threatened to overflow, but he managed to keep his composure. He didn't want to overwhelm her (or himself, for the record) with his feelings just yet. "It was my pleasure," he replied, tone laced with sincerity.

After exchanging greetings, they found themselves standing on the threshold of her home. As she began to close the door, Gepard felt a sudden surge of courage that took him by surprise. Every fibre of his being yelled at him to go for it. “Wait,” he said, hastily putting his hand up to the door before she could close it completely. Curiosity flickered in her eyes as she reopened it, tilting her head inquisitively.

“Uhm, yes?” She asked, eyes widening with anticipation. “Is there something else you need, Captain?”

Gepard took a deep breath, attempting to still his racing heart and shaking hands. With each passing moment, his face grew warmer as he struggled to find the right words. Finally, he mustered enough courage to ask, “Would you like to… Get a coffee with me sometime?”

Her eyes widened in surprise, but a gentle smile soon graced her features. “I would love to,” she replied, warmth blooming in her chest. As she watched him shuffle so innocently on her doorstep, face flushed with a rosy hue, she couldn’t help but see him in a different light. Perhaps the tall Silvermane Captain wasn’t as scary as she first anticipated after all…

my brain is so mushy after writing all dis n my exam was all long questions... i mentioned butterflies so much can u tell my exam was abt insect diversity siigghhh... heart eyes for geppie rn ♥︎

[zozoparsnips]

Masterlist

To Dull a Sharpened Blade (AO3)

Summary

Artemis has mastered the art of wearing masks, effortlessly slipping into different personas to ensure her survival in a life of blood and cruelty. She’ll do whatever necessary to complete her missions, all to perform to the expectations forced upon her by a malevolent master.

Sleuthing the dark, shadowed streets of Baldur’s Gate one minute, adducted by mind flayers the next, Artemis finds herself in a rare situation; she is wholly, irrevocably, out of her depth. Thrust into unfamiliar territory and surrounded by a group of enigmatic strangers, the ruthless assassin must don the persona of the plucky, witty mercenary.

It should come as second nature to deceive and manipulate her new companions, to tangle them seamlessly in her web of lies. Yet, Artemis discovers she is not alone in the art of manipulating minds and hearts. Astarion not only harbours secrets as deep as hers, but he also seems unwittingly driven to outmanoeuvre her in her own game.

Unbeknownst to him, manipulation is a dance whose steps Artemis has long perfected.

Let the games begin, high elf.

Tags: Enemies to Lovers, Smut, Emotional Manipulation, Manipulation Games, Trauma, Nightmares, Dark Humour, Romance, Assassin Tav, Insufferable Yearning, Astarion falls first but Artemis falls harder.

Playlists:

little dagger (artemis vibes)

astarion brainrot (astarion vibes)

to dull a sharened blade (whole fic vibes)

~

Echoes of the Mind (AO3)

Summary

With the Netherbrain defeated, the Sword Coast saved, and the tadpoles gone, Artemis should finally be able to live life on her own terms—free and unbound, able to journey wherever her heart desires. Yet, despite this newfound freedom, an insatiable ache of loneliness has embedded itself deep within her soul. Her friends have all gone their separate ways in search of new adventures, and freedom isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, especially without someone to share it with.

Although the worms in their heads have been destroyed, Artemis finds herself inexplicably able to hear the thoughts of her former companions. She shouldn’t be able to peer into their minds or have them appear at the most unexpected moments. So, why can she?

With these newfound abilities, perhaps reforming connections will be easier than she anticipated, and maybe—just maybe—old flames can be rekindled anew.

Tags: Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Sense8 Inspired, Mutual Pining, Yearning, Soft Astarion, Idiots in Love, Sexual Tension, Set Post-Game

[fabaceous]

do you think jackieshauna could've gotten together eventually if the plane didn't crash/if jackie hadn't died or were they doomed from the start?

hi anon i know this took a while (sorry) but it's because this is one of my favorite cans of worms to open and i had a lot to say. so thank you for giving me an excuse to talk about it ;)

my answer, depending on the day and my mood, ranges from NO to YES, BUT to NO, BUT.

NO, because i think that even on a pure friendship level they are doomed. their flaws were like, designed in a lab (or a writer's room lol) to tear them apart. jackie is insecure and holds on too tightly to shauna. shauna quietly resents jackie for it and fucks around behind her back. as long as they have these traits, their relationship is a ticking time bomb. they will never make it within ten miles of a romantic relationship because even their friendship is doomed.

NO, because even if their friendship doesn't implode, they are both simply too damn repressed to ever make a move. im not even saying this as a cop-out, like, i truly believe in my heart and soul that they both have latent romantic feelings for each other but they tie themselves in all sorts of pretzels to avoid it and i'll go even further and say they are both REALLY FUCKING GOOD AT IT. like more so than most people. given my own experiences denying my (in hindsight incredibly obvious) feelings for girls (and i SUCK at repressing things) i have no doubt at all that they could go the rest of their lives convincing themselves that some girlfriendships are Just Like That. the human mind is a very powerful thing and the human mind on comphet and repression? nearly unstoppable. and even if they dont have some world-shattering blowout, and their friendship just sort of fizzles out for some nebulous and ambiguous (read: gay yearning related) reason, years later they'll still be looking back at their relationship saying Huh. Wasnt That Weird...Well...Nevertheless...I'm Sure It Was Nothing To Worry About...

like, okay, im gonna spend a little more time with this one because i think their repression is so key to their dynamic. jackie is obviously unable to face any aspect of herself that is even remotely imperfect. gay feelings for shauna would definitely fall into that category given what i assume she has internalized from her parents and her peers and it being the 1990s. shauna, while more willing to accept her dark side, cant bear the thought of wanting jackie like that. its the one bridge she cant cross. she'll literally fuck jeff. fucking JEFF!!! before she lets herself act on desire for jackie (at least not in a straightforward/normal way lol)

i think both of them on some level must feel that they have a desire for each other, or else they wouldn't be so desperate to avoid it. but they are SO desperate to avoid it, and i don't really have anything to back this up other than my gut feeling but i just can't imagine them ever overcoming their respective hurdles of repression, and definitely not under normal high-school circumstances. MAYBE in the wilderness they would've had a chance IF THINGS HAD GONE VERY DIFFERENTLY because they would be free from societal expectations or whatever, and maybe a life or death situation could've given them enough of a shock that they'd finally own up to their feelings. but EVEN THEN, personally, i think it's still questionable. i think this is just so deeply rooted that it would be anywhere from incredibly difficult to impossible for both of them to get past it. (it's no good if only one of them overcomes the repression, btw. then you just have unrequited pining (but secretly actually requited but the other person won't admit that they're requiting it so it's effectively unrequited which would be perhaps even worse and more painful. btw. if you even care))

now on to the other options...

YES, BUT, even if by some miracle they were able to get past their repression and date each other, i guarantee you all their toxic habits would be not only repeated but MAGNIFIED by being in a romantic relationship. like, ok, the good news is, they would finally be free to be openly obsessed with each other lol. but... imagine jackie gets EVEN MORE insecure about shauna leaving her because now she actually feels like she has a legit claim on shauna being "hers". before, her possessiveness (for lack of a more nuanced term) was tempered by the fact that they are just friends, and shauna should theoretically be allowed to have other friends, even if jackie doesn't like it. but shauna should NOT be having other girlfriends. so jackie would likely be reaching new levels of terrified of shauna leaving her. shauna would still be unable to address conflict directly. rinse and repeat this whooooole vicious cycle until it blows up in their faces like laura le--[gunshot]

finally, NO, BUT, and this one may be controversial & a bit more far fetched than the others, but i do think that under the right circumstances they could kiss or even fuck without it compromising their repression. i actually even think they could have a sort of sneaky situationship while still repressing their bigscaryfeelings for each other. HEAR ME OUT. they are both very careful about compartmentalizing their desire for each other and keeping it hidden FROM THEMSELVES. they often fail and it boils over despite their best efforts, but the more important thing is that they think they're succeeding at keeping their desire from breaching containment. and as long as they have that plausible deniability where they are hiding it from themselves, even if they don't manage to hide it from the rest of us (or even each other), i dont think its impossible for them to act on the desire, like, on pure instinct, but without actually intellectually or emotionally acknowledging the larger implications that that brings. and even if the desire breaches containment, they could still find a way to write it off as just desire in general and not desire for each other specifically. especially when they also still have the excuse of being horny teenagers with no impulse control, they could easily brush it off as, oh, we were just drunk, we were just experimenting. or even, oh, it was just shauna, it's not like i actually LIKE-like her, i just made out with her, but its shauna, so it obviously doesnt mean anything.

and i think they could even do this consistently for weeks months MAYBE up to a year or so, while deluding themselves into thinking this is somehow normal or not a big deal. because they have already proven they are masters of doublethink and repression, otherwise we wouldn't have gotten this far lol. but it would 100% also blow up in their faces. the question is, who would crack first? who would want something real? or who would walk away because it got too real? theres sooo much to ponder with this particular scenario and it's all very juicy and compelling (and GOD would i love to see it unfold with my own two eyeballs, can bart and ashley please write and film an AU of their own tv show?!) but i dont think it would ever lead them anywhere good or healthy.

so long story short (lol. conciseness has never been my strong suit as is probably abundantly clear by now) i personally do not think there is any possibility of a satisfying happy-ending scenario for these two. and i personally am perfectly okay with that because so much about them would have to change in order for them to get a happy ending that at that point, they would no longer be the jackie and shauna that i know and love.

[creeppostss]

Anon with the headcanons request from a minute ago. More specifically what are your dark nsfw headcanons? Any uncommon opinions on EJ? What that eldritch horror peen do.... 😇

..... i am clinically obsessed he has been my comfort character for a decade 🤭

EJ IS MY FAVORITE EEK

I hope these will be as good as you're hoping!! enjoy anon!

GN mentioned with some references to AFAB/AMAB but they're just hcs so it doesn't really change anything!

NSFW under the cut!!

This isn't necessarily dark, but I feel like EJ would have a HUUUUGE breeding kink. He yearns to see his cum drip from any of your holes, and he'd repeatedly fill you just to watch it all seep out. Pump you full and plug you up, take you out in public somewhere to watch you get embarrassed.

We all know he's got sharp as shit teeth. And he would ABSOLUTELY use them on you. Anywhere you have open skin is free real estate to him, making quick work to bloody up and mark the most tender skin on your body.

To follow up, during sex, he absolutely uses his teeth to latch onto you when he's cumming. He doesn't mind the position, but usually picks one where he can see your face and hear you. Although, he isn't opposed to shoving your face into the pillows while you scream.

BONDAGE. He loves seeing you tied up and helpless, squirming under him like some little worm!!! Bonus points if the restraints leave marks on you, he'd absolutely adore that afterwards.

If you're AFAB, he'd 100 fucking percent DEVOUR you on your period. He'd almost beg to do so, twirling his tongues up into you to taste all your delicious goodness just for him.

If you're AMAB, he'd bite all over your inner thighs, tearing up the skin until it bleeds and he gets to lap up the resulting blood while he's sucking you off.

Because he's half demon, his dick is above average. Me and my friend occasionally dabble with the idea he has a tentacle for a dick, cause like, c'mon. Look at him. Human or tentacle dick, he knows how to use it. Could absolutely split you apart.

He takes pride in watching you choke on his cock, staring at you with such hunger in his eyes and grinning as you're gagging, choking and struggling to breathe. He only pulls your head back when he feels you can't take it anymore.

Tying in with that choking thing, he will wrap his hands around your throat while he's ruthlessly fucking into you and will strangle you until you're on the verge of passing out, and then he'll let go.

I've seen a lot of people headcanon that he goes into heat and I really enjoy that trope. I can imagine him locking himself in his room trying to avoid you but of course you come in and look so good he just can't possibly help but fuck you into his mattress until you're crying out of pleasure.

EJ is the type to try anything once before he says no, wanting to make sure you always feel good. If you tell him about a weird kink or fetish you have I'm sure he'd happily indulge you in that! He's not picky when it comes to you.

He definitely jerks off with your underwear, sniffing them as well. He'd cum in them if you're away, and lay them on your bed as a gift to tell you he was thinking about you.

I like to think that he's a bit of a stalker. ESPECIALLY if you show interest in him. He'd follow you around, stalk social medias if he has access, ask around about you, and find his way into your personal life. Definitely has a journal in his nightstand of information about you, maybe even a few cute polaroids of you sleeping.

He can be somewhat shy or absolutely overbearing depending if he's in heat or not. If he's in heat, he'll practically drag you to his room to carry out his disgusting fantasies. If he isn't, he'll approach it differently, touching you and sending subtle signs until you get it.

This absolutely does NOT carry over to sex. Once he has you under him he's feral. He lets his desires take over, and he will not stop for anything, unless you make it clear you are uncomfortable.

This being said, he's pretty good with aftercare! At first he doesn't really understand the concept but he begins to understand once he's messed with you more. He'll clean you up, snuggle with you afterwards and occasionally bring you something to drink or eat. Typically he tries to stay awake with you until you fall asleep first.

As for uncommon opinions, I feel as if he is more of a recluse. He stays in his room majority of the time unless he has to go on a mission. He leaves his room to talk to you and a few housemates. This doesn't mean he doesn't get along with the housemates, he gets along fairly well with everyone.

That's all I have for now! Thank you anon for the request! This was the request that really caught my eye first and I have a few others I'm working on!! Tips about writing and formatting are appreciated! Love y'all!!

[miitgaanar]

Requested by @sycamorre!! Sorry to answer this prompt with something that will make no sense at all to you lmao

Send me a number and I’ll write a micro story using the word or phrase

This is actually @duperderedere's fault. Since she basically dared me to write something like this. This is based on this ask here, and is entirely just me trying to shake this brain worm out of my skull. I don't promise any grand literature here.

And also this is an excuse to fill another micro-story prompt that has been festering in my inbox lmao

21. collapse

The blackness was eternal. All consuming. Suffocating. His lungs burned for air, but the muscles lay paralyzed within his chest. Raw gasps that brought no relief. Drowning without end, death's grasping claws forever out of reach. Ssael, he thought. A single spark of lucidity in the sprawling dark. A desperate cry into the abyss. Where is He?

--------------------- "What have you done to me?" The voice was entirely unfamiliar, a growling rasp that grated like nails upon slate—though it was his words that were carried into the dense quiet, his thoughts given life on the tongue of a slavering beast. A deep anger bloomed within Lemuel Adelier; an anger fueled by despair. "I see you've yet to retain a single thought set before you, Captain," the Black Tongue sighed. "How tragic." "The khert," Lemuel moaned, a pathetic sound even to his own ears. The chains that bound him rattled with his every movement. "You said—you said I would fall into the khert. That I could find God." "He's a fickle little whore, isn't he?" The Black Tongue did not look up from his desk, his back to Lemuel. "Perhaps the price paid wasn't quite enough to garner his interest." “You—”  A drawn out rasp. The sound of whetstone upon blunted blade. “Prokul Ilganyag.  Diwf.  Difhut—!” “Yes, yes.” The Black Tongue did not so much as spare him a glance. Lemuel’s jaw ached with the desire to rip the man’s pale throat open with his teeth.  “A colorful repertoire of damnation spills forth from your lips with little hesitation.  How tiresome this dance becomes after the first few waltzes.  The hazards of involving a soldier in the loftier pursuits of a scholar.” “The khert calls to me,” Lemuel said, the words a hoarse whisper, leaping forth unbidden.  “I feel it pulling—tearing, ripping, clawing.  God calls me to his side and you keep me here.” “Feel free to heed his call.  I’d gladly relinquish you to his embrace if it would grant me an hour of peace.  Do ask if he has any First Materials he can spare.” “RELEASE ME!” Lemuel roared, springing to his feet.  The chains grew taut as he strained against them.  They groaned in protest, though held fast, the manacles digging into pallid flesh that could no longer feel pain.  How Lemuel yearned for pain.  For anything that could ground him, that could distract from the gnawing hunger in his gut.  “I need to find Him!  He needs to answer for—for…” A sob built up within his chest, though it was a pressure for which he could find no relief.  Tears sat curdled behind his eyes, and each gasping breath did little to palliate the grief and anguish that so filled his very soul. Damned, he thought.  I am damned.  The khert remained beyond his reach, and Ssael safely ensconced within.  Laughing.  Jeering.  All because the little Soud had dared to seek a mightier purpose than the one his caste had dictated. Lemuel collapsed, his knees hitting the floor with a loud thud that seemed to echo through the small space.  Were it not for the barest hint of a jolt through his death-ravaged body, he would not have even noticed. Damned, he thought again.  The Black Tongue finally deigned to turn toward him, a sneer pulling at his pale lips.  His black gaze cold and remorseless.  I am damned.