#these are only the ones I’m more or less satisfied enough to post them even if unfinished

[pinkiemme]

A bunch of unfinished pieces from weeks and months ago

If you had to choose only one for me to finish which one would it be

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

skully j. graves halfway checkpoint

Consider this part 2 of my evolving opinion on Skully! My initial impressions of him can be found here. Now that we’re at part 3 (presumably out of 5) of the event, I wanted to check in with updates on my feelings!

A lot of the points in my first impressions post still stand. However, what I’ll say is that Skully’s… villainous side… has definitely come out very strongly, especially in 3-20. A lot of my friends were squealing and getting super excited over this part. I feel like a lot of his popularity comes from 2 factors: 1) his overt flintiness (since much of the Twst fandom seems to long for this kind of (yume) content) and 2) Skully is one of the few characters who consistently acknowledges Yuu and asks for their opinions on stuff. The latter is very in demand, especially for the western fandom, which is very individualistic and often views Yuu or their Yuusonas as an integral character. And that’s valid! It’s just that this alone isn’t enough to satisfy me.

I’m… admittedly less thrilled about the direction Skully’s taking, and it’s completely for reasons related to my personal tastes 😂 I had mentioned in my original post that Skully reads to me as a Halloween-flavored Idia due to his otaku-like obsession with Halloween and how negatively he reacts when people express dissent toward his opinion. It feels very elitist and gate-keepy, which are aspects of fandom culture I find distasteful. (This is also a large part of why I didn’t like Idia at first.)

Edit (noticed this later and decided to tack it on): Another thing that really bothered me was that Skully keeps asking Yuu for their opinion. It SEEMS polite to consider them, but his intentions are way less selfless than they appear. Skully is often asking Yuu for their thoughts AFTER some other character has disagreed with him. So he is literally only consulting Yuu because he wants someone on HIS side. If you ever pick the dialogue option where you disagree with him, Skully insists there must be a misunderstanding and he will explain it to you no matter how long it takes. Don’t you see??? He doesn’t want to know what Yuu truly thinks; he wants validation in his own way of thinking. That’s NOT actually being considerate. The same shit happens when Skully tries to kiss Grim again. Grim dodges but Skully sneaks behind him and kisses him anyway because I guess that’s what gentlemen do according to him. Bro has demonstrated time and time again he does not value consent nor what others’ thoughts are on anything that differs from his own thoughts.

Those aspects of Skully get even more prominent in part 3. Throughout this section, Skully keeps reassuring himself that while he’s going along with the group’s plans for a boisterous and exciting Halloween, he’s certain that Jack-sama will surprise everyone with a Halloween that is more in line with a solitary, depressing one Skully envisions. Once Skully learns that Jack has no such intentions, he is disappointed and proceeds with a series of crimes 💀 Skully:

Tricks the Pumpkin King into drinking a sleeping poison

Does the good ol’ crazed villain laugh

Pulls a serious of expressions not even a loving mother would excuse

Curses and shouts

Assumes control of the Halloween plans

PUMPKINS GRIM when Grim and Yuu walk in on the scene of his crime (even when Grim gives zero indication that he thinks Skully is responsible for the poisoning)

Stuffs pumpkin!Grim into a sack

Colludes with Lock, Shock, and Barrel (for what yet, I don’t know)

Casually decides to show Yuu the best Halloween ever AFTER ALL THAT (it’s still not clear at this point if Yuu also got Pumpkin’d or not); the phrasing is still quite romantic but this is still a hostage situation, no??????

Like, wow, that’s… 😭 I’m not necessarily upset that Skully does bad things in the first place (lots of the Twst characters do questionable things), I’m just not sure if I’m following his reasoning for doing all of this. It seems like a LOT to me. Like, very niche and highly targeted anger.

He seems fixated on his own idea of Halloween—the Halloween he grew up with and was taught about in his village. For whatever reason, he is very sensitive to people challenging this version of the holiday or doing anything new. In fact, he becomes IRATE about it and drops the gentlemanly facade (which also seems to be something he is concerned about maintaining??). Skully is very frustrated that people don’t understand him, and that now his Halloween idol is also letting him down. Notably, his politeness deteriorates when he speaks about those who disregard his opinions on Halloween. He either becomes very gloomy or very mad (usually the latter), venting about worthless idiots who don’t understand his vision. Very strangely, he also mentions vaguely spiritual terms like atonement and his purpose in this world. Skully’s obsession with Halloween is so intense that it is evident even in his UM.

I get that his hometown was into this stuff, but even then, it seems pretty excessive??? Why is he so… insecure about this? Why does he react so violently? It really makes me wonder what the backstory will be for this massive Halloween fixation. Surely it’s not just being bullied by peers for his special interests (though that might play a role in it)? It sems to go far deeper than that. I would like to know, but I won’t be setting my expectations too high in case i end up being disappointed 💦 Historically, backstory reveals haven’t always made me like characters more.

I also feel like he’s not as crafty as previous Halloween villains were. Rollo ran on spite and constructed an elaborate plan to entrap the NRC students, Fellow relied on his UM and smooth talk… Skully is somewhat tricky in that he poisons Jack, but then he automatically gives himself away by pumpkin-ing Grim??? Why didn’t he just pretend he visited Jack and found him already poisoned? It would be so easy for him to play innocent and Grim and Yuu would believe him because he’s been mostly nice and even agreed to follow along with the Halloween plans even if he disagreed with them. He literally could have blamed Boogie’s Boys or Oogie Boogie himself, ANYONE. And how exactly does Skully plan on taking over Halloween after all of this??? He doesn’t exactly command power. Skully just seems a little short sighted and disorganized, and I don’t know if I enjoy this kind of a character.

Skully’s controlling, angry otaku energy is unfortunately NOT appealing to me whatsoever… Again, it feels like the worst aspects of Idia OTL But!! i’m really happy for all the people who really like this about him and I’m of course staying open minded for where this event will take us. Who knows, maybe parts 4 and 5 will completely turn him around for me, maybe once we get the backstory. (This sort of happened with me and Idia?? He’s still not my favorite guy but I definitely empathized with him a lot more after seeing the post-OB flashback.) We’ll see!

P.S. I wonder if the R cards this event will be the first to be pumpkin’d similar to how R cards in Playful Land were the first to be puppet’d?? That would certainly get the biggest threat to Skully’s plans, Malleus, out of the picture quickly. First it was Tamago-sama… Now it’s Kabocha-sama…

P. P. S. Slightly morbid to think about how those skewered pumpkins Jamil was stroking could have been pumpkin’d people 💀

[notjustjavierpena]

Cravings

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: A while back, I saw a text post made by the lovely @kteague and immediately, it sparked a need for more husband!javi. This is the text post in question. It’s sososo great. You should go follow ❤️ It also made me realize that I haven’t written Javier going down on his wife, and honestly wtf??? This takes place before Lucas is born.

Summary: Javi isn’t perfect. He needs a nicotine high badly, but your pregnancy isn’t allowing you to tolerate the smell of cigarettes. He indulges in his next favorite thing to satisfy his craving; going down on his pregnant wife.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut (mdni), nicotine withdrawal, javier is a menace to the pussy eating society, pregnant sex, dirty talk, eat up javi

Word count: 1.8k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49812556

Cravings

Javier feels extra twitchy today. He paces around the house like a caged animal, tapping his fingers on the side of his thighs, and considers throwing caution to the wind and just having that damn smoke. He has a packet of cigarettes stashed in one of the potted plants outside, but it’s for emergencies only. Like that one time that his Pop had called him to say that a tree had fallen down on the barn overnight, and the very thought of the cost and time it would take to fix it had made him fly out the door to smoke in the far back of the garden.

He does it for you though. He’d do anything for you. Especially now that Lucas Peña is making his arrival in less than three months. He remembers you going into your second trimester, and you’d been around his cigarette smoke only to run to the toilet to reject your dinner. He never wants you to feel like that again, so he quit cold turkey. 

“Perhaps it won’t be a problem when we’re having the next one,” you had said to him, and he had stubbed out the cigarette immediately. He didn’t need the rush of nicotine, because he had the rush of you already thinking of more kids. He knew that he wanted a family with you since he saw you, but only then he had known just how big of a family.

But Javier needs the rush now. He has been through all of the coping mechanisms; sweets, rubber bands on his wrists, even has run out of nicotine gum but he doesn’t dare go to the store in case he comes home with more cigarettes. Has run out of patches too, which he would like to plaster his arms in right now.

You are not home and he needs you. He has a rare day off and you are not home. When are you coming home? He watches the clock, hears the ticking, and wants to rip it off the wall. You’re usually home by now. Where the fuck are you? 

Fuck it. Javier speedwalks to the door to the garden.  He is just about to rip it open, harsh enough to be tearing it off its hinges when he hears the front door. 

“Javi?” You call out his name so heavenly, “Can you help me with the groceries?” 

Oh, so that’s what you have been doing instead of coming straight home to him. He finds you by the front door, barely successful in holding two brown bags and your keys at the same time. Without hesitation, he takes both bags from you and heads to the kitchen to place them on the counter.

“You could’ve asked me to pick something up, y’know,” he says as he busies his hands by unloading everything into their respective places. His hands shake; he needs something to hold onto but you won’t let it be you if the milk hasn’t gone in the fridge yet.

“I was passing by anyway,” you enter the kitchen and start helping him, and he can feel your eyes watching him with curiosity at his urgency, “What’s up with you?”

“There’s something up because I’m helping you in the kitchen?” He quips.

You laugh quietly, “Well… yeah.”

Javier doesn’t know if it’s funny, but he knows that he needs an excuse to get you worked up so that he can satisfy his cravings in the way that works the very best.

He finishes unloading the groceries, turns to you, and doesn’t even hesitate despite you holding onto a box of cereal; he kisses you right then and there. It’s a long, deep, and satisfying kiss with his hands rubbing up and down your sides. You gasp into his mouth, melt against him, and awkwardly put the cereal box onto the kitchen counter so that you can embrace him right back. 

“Thank fucking God you’re home,” he mumbles into you, relishing in the taste and warmth of your tongue. He is insisting in the way he holds you close, and starts to guide you out of the kitchen and towards the bedroom at the end of the hall. 

“Javi,” you protest as you realize his motives. He doesn’t relent, and you reluctantly drag your lips away from his. He groans in frustration, but you find his eyes with flushed cheeks and he might just burst right then at the shy look you are giving him, “I can’t. I haven’t even… I need a shower.”

“No, you fucking don’t,” he opens the door, realizing that the window has been open all day to air out your shared bedroom. You shiver at the cold air and Javier feels like he might be seeing stars soon when he notices your nipples hardening underneath your top. He steers you to the bed by your hips, “Need it. Please don’t deny me, mi amor.”

“What’s gotten into you?” You groan after another kiss, one where Javier’s hand comes up to cup your breast as he devours your mouth. Then you let yourself be guided down onto the bed, legs hanging out over the edge and Javier kneeling down on the floor. 

“Ran outta nicotine gum,” he mutters, too busy undoing your last pair of jeans in a while; they’re straining against your growing belly but he knows how much you love this pair. He yanks them down over your hips after he has undone the zipper.

“Makes sense,” you lift your hips to help him. 

“So lemme have this?” He pleads. He notices the wet patch that has formed on your white cotton panties, refraining from chuckling to himself. You aren’t going to say no. 

“Yes,” your breath hitches in your throat as he finds your clit on the outside of your underwear. He rubs in lazy circles and watches the wet and shiny patch grow larger underneath his touch. He even dares to press his finger against your slit, digging the fabric just slightly into you. 

“Chica sucia,” he says softly as you let out a sigh of pleasure, “So filthy walking around with your pretty little panties so wet.”

“Hasn’t been like this long,” you argue, “Just since you kissed me. Still think I need a shower.”

Javier shakes his head, “Like you like this. Can’t stop thinking about this pussy.”

He slides your underwear down over your thighs, calves, and then ankles. He drops them onto the floor by your jeans, admiring your legs and the cute bows on the socks you are still wearing. You are so beautiful that he might lose his mind, growing belly right in front of him as he kisses his way up your right leg and hears your smile through your moan. 

“Javi,” you say when he loses himself in staring at your swollen cunt a little too long. He can see your clit jump in anticipation and it makes his mouth water, cigarettes long forgotten. 

He pulls you a little closer to the edge of the bed, large hands slipping under the backside of your thighs to bend and spread your legs simultaneously. He handles them roughly and places them flat on the surface of the bed, causing you to whine. Then his palms slide upward to rest on the swell of your belly, his broad shoulders holding your legs in position so you don’t clamp down on his head just yet. He isn’t in doubt that he’d be able to count your heartbeats with the way your cunt throbs. 

“Please,” you clench once, and slick drips from your slit. 

“Shh,” he coos. 

And then he goes down on you like he hasn’t in a long while. He credits himself with being enthusiastic about eating you out every time, but he rarely has the frustration of withdrawal from nicotine to accompany him in his hunger for your sweet taste. He runs his mouth over your whole cunt, kisses your jumping clit, and sucks the slick off where it has smeared across your folds. You taste better than ever, salty and slightly sweet in a way that a shower would have ruined. 

“Mhm,” he hums whilst satiating his cravings. Your breathy moans reward him more than he thinks a smoke could right now. His fingers start to dent your protruding belly, holding on tight as he flicks your clit with his tensed-up tongue over and over again. 

“Just like th— ah, fuck,” you reach for his wrists to desperately hold onto something. He goes harder, moaning into your pussy. It makes you shake on top of the sheets, gushing just a bit into his mouth and he swallows it down greedily. He wants more, dips down to slip his tongue into your cunt, and eats right from you. He fucks you open whilst nosing at your hard clit, the nub peeking out from underneath the hood to demand more attention. He will just have to suck it once and you’ll be screaming, but he needs a little more and reluctantly refrains from doing so. 

Your breathing has become more irregular by now, more high-pitched too. He knows you’re getting close but he keeps you dancing around the edge, tongue sliding through your folds as he bobs his head. 

“Fuck! Baby!” You cry loudly, bucking your hips to seek more friction. 

“Not yet, mi vida, just a moment more,” he mumbles against you, but his mouth still starts climbing up towards your clit again. 

You entwine your fingers with his, holding his hands tightly over your belly as your legs start to move involuntarily. Your feet flex, muscles rippling all the way to your thighs as you near climax.

“I’m… I-it’s gonna happen,” you whine at the ceiling, “Fuck, suck my clit. Javi— fuckfuckfuck.” 

He gives in, raises his head slightly to cover your clit with his mouth, and then he sucks hard. 

You come so hard that your legs find the strength to shoot up from where they are being held down on the bed. Your thighs clamp around Javier’s head, muffling the sound of your cries whilst he works you through every crashing wave of pleasure. 

“I’ll buy you that stupid gum,” you eventually say. 

“Huh?” Javier looks up at you.

“Your nicotine gum, I’ll go out and buy it later,” you clarify, letting go of Javier’s hands to throw your arms above your head on the bed. You stretch, letting out a soft moan, “It’s the least I can do.”

“You spoil me,” he crawls up onto the bed, lying down beside your exhausted body. You’re so perfect, he thinks to himself. 

“But first,” your breathing is finally getting under control again. You turn onto your side, and Javier finds himself supporting your pregnant belly as you move. You smile gently at him, reaching for his belt to unbuckle it with both hands, “I’m going to take care of you too. See… I too have cravings.”

Javier didn’t think that every passing second with someone could feel like his life had peaked. Yet here you were.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[beauty-and-passion]

CCCC Vol.1 - Concord: end and beginning (2/2)

Hello and welcome to the final part of this analysis.

Oh boy, what a long ride it has been! But now, it’s time for the last recap, so we can finally wrap the loop - and connect it to the beginning, as Chonny intended.

So, what happened until now?

We know the story is a loop. The starting point of this loop is an event, a calamity, that leads to a split in Chonny’s mind between Heart, Mind and Soul: a failed romance (probably)

At first, the three sides tried to cooperate as one, but then Mind started to point out the flaws in Chonny’s plan to confess to his crush

Scared by Mind’s influence, Heart intervenes, tries to subdue him (the Juno Incident) and pushes Chonny to confess. Chonny doesn’t: he misses his shot and so does Heart

Overwhelmed by apathy, Heart leaves full control to Mind

Mind tries everything to get a reaction out of Heart

When he fails, Soul intervenes and they get reunited again

The joy of being whole again gives Chonny a rush of optimism and enough confidence to revisit his memories of the failed romance.

And now, here we are. Chonny remembered what happened. What will he do now? What did he already do in all of the previous loops?

<- Previous post - First post

_______________________________

Greener: declaration of intent

Right after the end of this failed romance, Chonny does the most human thing ever: he wants to talk about it. And since he’s an artist, what better way to do it, if not by using the artform he knows?

This song is a declaration of intent: Chonny wants to talk about his experience - but not just that. His mind is dark, twisted and chaotic, so why just talk about one experience, when he can let out some of this internal turmoil too? As he said in the Q&A, he wanted to talk about duality and logic vs emotions, so why not add them to the story he wanted to tell? Why just talk about a failed romance, when he can expand it by showing the contrasts in his own mind through Heart, Mind and Soul’s characters?

Chonny starts to think about this. He wants to do it and he states it with these words:

Wherever this goes, whatever ensues These songs are my own, these songs aren't for you But still, I'm so glad you're listening

Chonny reconfirms what he said since Mucka Blucka: he’s not writing these songs for the public but for himself. To better understand himself, his own mind and that duality of logic/emotions he’s (rightfully) fascinated about.

That also confirms he’s a real artist, because artists don’t make art for others: they make it primarily for themselves. Not because they’re heartless, but because making art is a need. When I write, it’s because I’m pushed to do it. It’s because I have a weight on my chest or words in my head or images that keep repeating - and the only way to calm them down (and calm myself) is by putting them on paper. It’s like breathing: you just have to do it, to feel better, more satisfied and more complete.

Even though the public isn’t the primary reason behind art, every artist wants a public and every artist is immensely grateful a public exists. Even if the art is personal, knowing that someone else got something from your work, experienced, lived it… it makes everything even more important. You’re sharing a part of yourself and someone else, no matter if it’s next door or on the other side of the ocean, accept it and react to it.

And I want to focus a bit on the last point, because art is all about human connection. You’re reaching people you will never reach nor meet and with something you created, you touched them. You made them happy, sad, angry, it doesn’t matter: you still influenced them and they reacted to it. You made a connection and I can assure you, 90% of the artists need it to feel less alone.

This is what makes art so precious: it’s not just a way for us to express ourselves, but also to get a connection with another being. To not just be in our place, alone, but find others, talk to them, talk with them.

If Chonny hadn’t made this album, cj-anon would’ve never told me about that. I wouldn’t make these posts. You wouldn’t interact with them. We wouldn’t talk, connect, have fun together. We would be alone. If we’re not, it’s only thanks to art.

_______________________________

Special: inner fears

Chonny has a plan, a story he wants to tell, things he want to talk about. So, what’s the first feeling he get right after this planning?

Asking himself if he’s special or not.

Mood.

Seriously, when has anyone started doing anything, by thinking “Man, I’m so great and this will go as smoothly as I planned it”? Of course Chonny questions himself, of course he’s full of doubts. And it’s even worse in his case, considering he’s full of dark thoughts and recently came out of a failed romance - failed because he didn’t give it a try, because why should his crush stay with him? He’s not special at all.

So, again, very understandable.

But while in the past (and in the future of the loop), Chonny would’ve surrendered to these thoughts, now he thinks he can find a way to cheer, by switching perspective (aka “the key change”).

And it works:

So maybe I'm unique and maybe not But I might as well deliver all I've got

He’s still full of doubts, he still don’t know if he’s special or not. But he’s an artist and making songs is “what I can do” (The Whole World & You). So he will do it.

_______________________________

Taken for a Ride: a perfect conclusion

I have two possible interpretations for this song.

1) This song is meta from the real Chonny

The real Chonny (not the character) takes center stage to talk about his whole album: he explains the thinking process behind the writing of every song, his goals, the problems he faced. He emphasizes how personal this whole album is, because he poured a lot of himself inside it (“my blood, my sweat, my open doors”).

And now, the story is over. He’s aware of the missing parts/explanations, but there wasn’t a beginning either. And why shouldn’t there be a beginning or an ending? He’s still young, he still has a lot of years ahead. Maybe his story hasn’t begun yet. Maybe the real obstacles will come in the future.

For now, all he knows is that he’s whole again. He told the story he wanted to tell, he reached Concord and now his artistic need is satisfied. He doesn’t need to write more, at least for now.

And yet, his public asks for more.

However, Chonny doesn’t give a straight answer. By mentioning his public, he acknowledges people want more. He’s aware of that - and who knows? Maybe this will push him to write more in the future.

For now, he knows people want more from him. Maybe, when the artistic need wakes up again, he will make more songs and tell another story.

2) This song is still part of the storyline

In Special, Chonny said he would “deliver all I’ve got” and so he did. He made an entire album, to talk about his failed romance and all the themes he wanted to explore.

So, he talks/remembers the process behind the writing, his goals, his difficulties. He makes it clear he poured all of himself in it, as he promised (“my blood, my sweat, my open doors”).

Now the album is done, the story is told.

And the public’s reactions is strong. Stronger than he expected. They want more songs, more covers, more of him.

So... what happened? Well, we can guess from the previous hints scattered throughout the album:

Chonny is a man with dark thoughts, anxiety and low self-esteem

In The Heart Acoustic, Heart said “as complacency settles, anxieties will rise/And part this Soul as Jekyll parted Hyde”

Over and over Chonny will point out all he does are covers

And this part of Time Machine:

So, look Oh God, look at what you've done now to me Locked into eternity I'll be back here one day, so they say Rumors have that I will write a different song Trying to get it right all afternoon

I believe Chonny’s mind started to spiral. What if people liked his songs, only because they were covers? What if all they wanted wasn’t him, but to listen to songs made by others? Was he even able to write anything by himself?

His anxiety rose, while his self-esteem sank: he was stuck in a loop, always making the same covers. He wasn’t able to get out, not while his mind kept spiraling down. The “me left on the shelf” (aka Mind) was put aside, while Heart and his chaotic feelings were taking control.

Therefore, this song becomes the starting point of Time Machine: a man with a confused, fractured mind. A man who wasn’t believing in himself. A man who was stuck always doing the same thing. A man closed in a loop, in which he doesn’t feel like he will go out and is forced to relive the failure that started the loop in the first place.

That makes CCCC a loop that keeps repeating over memories of what happened. The first time, Chonny failed his romance, wrote the album, anxiety took over, made him feel he wasn’t able to achieve anything by himself, and started the loop. The loop is a constant reminder of how much of a failure he is, only to cheer himself up, to fall again into a new depressive cycle.

I don’t know if this second interpretation is correct and Chonny said it’s up to us to interpret his album as we want. But from someone this skilled and clever, I like to think he played a lot with metaphors and tragedy, so I prefer this second interpretation too. Also because it connects extremely well to Time Machine and what kind of loop would it be, if the beginning and end don’t coincide?

_______________________________

In conclusion

It took me an eternity to make this analysis of the whole CCCC album - and I was trying to restrain myself. Just imagine the endless pages if I let myself ramble about every little stupid thing XD

But I really, really wanted to talk about this album. It has been a wonderful surprise and I enjoyed it a lot. It was clever, it was interesting, it was funny. And Chonny really has a way with words. Good for you, mate, I wish you a great career.

Also, there were you all. You, with your kind replies, reblogs and your incredible affection. I've been in several fandoms and, despite being small, this is one of the nicest I've ever seen.

So, for you all who stayed with me until the end: thank you. Thank you for all the time you spent here, with me, listening and appreciating my ramblings. I hope those posts have been a good reading and you enjoyed yourself as much as I did by writing them <3

If Chonny makes something else, maybe we will meet again in the future to talk about him and CCCC again. Or maybe, we will meet in some other posts soon. Who knows? If the future can still hold a lot for him, why not for us too? ;)

Thank you for your time and always take care of yourself <3

(How about a coffee? ☕)

_______________________________

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[br4inr0tx]

HI I’ve been looking for someone that writes for the thanksgiving movie ever since I watched it. Masked slasher/voice changer do things to me.

Anyways can I request HCs with John Carver and someone he’s had this eye on for a while nearing thanksgiving? Feel free to get creative! Hope you have a good day :]

Sure thing! I feel the exact way about slashers..Urrhrghrh I love this man so much y’all I’m going to be SEARCHING for John Carver roleplayers AAAAA (character ai just doesn’t satisfy me enough ig 😓)

Happy Thanksgiving <3

tw - MASSIVE THANKSGIVING 2023 SPOILERS, stalking, death, manipulation, deception of gore, kidnapping.

Eric Newlon…

• Eric has had his eyes on you for a month now. He’s been very careful, as he knows all too well about how the smallest of details can ruin absolutely everything. You simply just don’t know it yet.

• The John Carver killer stalks and records his victims as you know. I’m retrospect he’s had his eyes on you longer then you think. Watching and carefully planning every detail.

• And you wouldn’t even have a clue.

• It’s around Thanksgiving time. You get around enough to know a few kids in town, and talk to people. Maybe, you even reminisce about the lives lost a year ago.

• It pains you to know that nightmare is all coming back. Faces you recognize are found missing or dead, and it’s been freaking you the fuck out.

• Not to mention those posts you keep getting tagged in are so very unsettling. Your name at a table with other chairs and names of people you may or may not recognize. The anxieties just kept coming and coming..

• Luckily, Sheriff Newlon has been there to help you during these rather compromising times. He seems to always know the best thing to say when you’re stressed out, and it’s kind of nice. You hind yourself recently stopping by his office just to spend time with him while he does research, and let me tell you, he eats the attention it right up.

• He assures you, nothing will hurt you when you’re with him. He won’t let this deranged killer harm you. You’re too sweet to lose. He jokes about how he could care less about those other foolish teenagers, but is he though?

• At work recently you’ve had these people you can’t stand. They never get their work done and seem to get away with it, along with being unserious and silly all the time. It hurts to focus most of the time..so frustrating. Their newest topic is bringing up last year’s incident too, which heightens your anxiety.

• Recently..they haven’t been showing up to work. Sure, you could use a few days without them, but now with this all going on? You can’t help but have a bittersweet feeling about it all.

• You decide to stay with Sheriff Newlon, or as he ushers you to say, Just Eric. It calms your nerves for the most part as he talks about things to get your mind off this whole mess. He promises you it fucks with his head too.

• After a minute Eric groans, shaking his head at the computer. “I gotta go copy some papers, I’ll be right back.” You nod, sitting back in your chair as you waited for his return. A long awaited return, too.

• You start to daydream, staring off at the walls aligned with case after case tied to the recent events of murders. It sent a shiver down your spine.

• You stood up, walking over to the pinboard and reading all of them. One paper caught your interest in particular, and as you picked it off the wall you knew exactly what it was. Your co-workers..they were tied to this. They went missing just like the others, and one of their purses was found on the side of the street with everything in it, from identification to money, like their only purpose was for the person themselves to be taken..

• You cringed hard reading it all, and as you tilted the paper upwards to bring it into more of the light in Eric’s dim room, the reflection on the plastic sleeve gave you quite a fright.

• After a quick turn around, you saw him. The John Carver Killer. As soon as you made a move he strikes, grabbing you and shoving you right against the desk and over it with your hands above your head, and with his free hand a Chloroform filled rag shoved roughly against your mouth and nose.

• In the hysteria there wasn’t much you could do. Anytime you struggled he’d grip your hands a little tighter as a warning. So much so he managed to crack your knuckles and almost even bend them in an awkward direction. That was until you finally fell asleep.

• When you woke up, you were at the front of the table, your hands tied behind your back. You weren’t gagged, but by the looks of your surroundings and the way the light shines through the boarded up windows nobody would hear you if you screamed anyway..

• What’s more, those pesky co-workers are around the table with you, all dead in different creative ways.

• John Carver appears behind you, placing his hands gently on your shoulders. “Isn’t this nice, Y/N? Everyone together, just having a nice dinner?” His head lowers right next to your ear. His voice sounded somehow robotic, perhaps because he was a voice changer. “Just like a Thanksgiving should be, right?”

• He sighs, like he had an amazing little daydream. The way his hands ran down your shoulders too..it’s the same way the sheriff used to. “I know you’ve been feeling lately..and I know you appreciate the true meaning of Thanksgiving. I made you something special, no strings attached..”

• You’re favorite meal, whatever that may be, was right in front of you. It looks delicious too..not any sort of gore or cannibalism you’d expect from the bodies all around. How would he know something that specific like your favorite food though? “Open up..” He feeds you the food himself, not trusting you just yet to let you go.

• If you don’t want to eat, be that way. He can warm you your food back up if you change your mind, but don’t ever say he didn’t have good hospitality.

• “You remind me of someone I used to know, Y/N..” He gently pushes your hair out of your face, feeding you another piece if you decided to play along. “So kind..not like those others who only care about themselves.”

• He keeps explaining everything he likes about you..even down to the smallest detail, which shakes you to your core. “

• “In fact, this year, I’m thankful for you. <3”

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Please write something with this when u have time?

“What are you doing in my house?”

The villain, draped across the windowsill, regarded the hero with a coy look, as if the answer was obvious. “You left your window open.”

“That’s usually not an invitation,” the hero replied. They had moved one too many times because of uninvited visitors and the hero had just gotten used to this apartment. Often, they felt like they couldn’t win, no matter what. They felt like a failure, someone who couldn’t even secure their own home.

“I’m not searching for a fight.” The villain stepped into the living room, studying everything before their eyes found the hero. All together, they seemed quite peaceful. Observant. “I’m here on, well, you would call it a mission, I suppose.”

“Not interested, sorry.” The hero was getting sick of missions. Bridges falling down, subways derailing, buildings collapsing. Heroes die alone, they always do, and even though the hero wasn’t loving their job, death was a tad too far.

Still, every single mistake they made would be printed and posted. Every failure would come right back at them with an intensity that chewed on their spirit. They didn’t have time for therapy, so they felt themselves turn into a bitter human being.

In all honesty, did the hero deserve this? Probably…it’s easy to point and laugh at someone, even just for a second, so thinking about one’s own personal failures can become bearable. The hero had power, the hero had responsibility. Who deserved more to be blamed for failure than the most powerful being in the city?

“I’m just here because our sidekicks are friends, okay?” the villain said. They weren’t in costume and the hero didn’t see any weapons. As a civilian they looked quite nice. “They told me where you live. They’re worried about you. ”

The hero looked up from the pan they were cleaning. A failing villain was a win for the city and a failing hero was a catastrophe.

Hadn’t they done enough? Hadn’t they worked hard enough? Hadn’t they saved enough people? When was it their turn to be satisfied?

“My sidekick doesn’t know where I live. Safety protocol,” the hero said. The villain’s ears turned red and they cleared their throat.

Their eyes were glued to the floor. A rather futile attempt to hide their lie.

“Okay, well…it’s still true. They’re worried about you. You’re overworking yourself. They said you’re in danger.”

“And you wanted to come and save me?” the hero asked. Their chuckle was as insincere as it could get. “How cool is that? I’m getting saved by the villain.”

Silence. Only the siren of an ambulance far away cut through it.

“I’m not a saviour,” the villain said finally. They walked towards the hero who was more or less done with cleaning the dishes. “The morality of it is…confusing to me.”

“It’s quite simple, actually. All of it is a trolley problem and no matter what you do or how many people you save, people will prattle and hate and blame you,” the hero sneered, letting their sponge fall into the dirty dishwater. At the end of the day, not doing anything might be better.

“Maybe you need a vacation.”

“Vacation? You’re funny.” The hero laughed humourlessly yet again. They hadn’t been on vacation for what? Five years now? Having the luxury of a vacation was an insane thought.

Sometimes they thought this decadence of their character made them unendurable enough to turn themselves into a villain.

“It’s okay to find out that your dream sucks,” the villain said softly. They were hesitant as they put a hand on the hero’s shoulder. “It’s okay to find out that what you’ve always wanted isn’t what you expected and that it’s not the right thing for you.”

The hero didn’t find that so funny. They looked up at their enemy, the person they had sworn to fight and hate.

“It’s okay to be dissatisfied and tired. It’s okay to hate what you’re doing. It’s not okay to hold onto that, though.”

“I have a responsibility.”

“Yes,” the villain said. “The responsibility to take care of yourself. You’re falling apart and I am not a saviour. I can’t save you from yourself. I can only challenge you to do better. So, do better. Be better and start taking care of yourself instead of everyone else.”

The hero had the tiny suspicion that the villain wasn’t doing this for their sidekick’s sake.

@avvail thank you for the prompt hihi

[ruinofchimera]

Hello! I really like your posts and analyses, I was the one who sent the anonymous ask asking you to talk more about Snape's relationship with Voldemort and what differentiates it from Voldemort's other relationships

I always felt something different in the dynamics between them, although some passages went unnoticed and I couldn't connect some points very well. That's when I saw a brief comment from you about the complexity of their relationship and how it gives goosebumps to anyone who dares to research further. I was intrigued and needed to read more from you about this, so I sent you the question

I came running to read your response as soon as I saw you posted it and... Oh, that was amazing. Although my approach to Snape is more romantic and sentimental (I'm in love with him and I love him, so I'm completely biased towards him), it's very rewarding to read a rational, intelligent, objective, direct and less biased analysis. You have given me incredible intellectual pleasure and it has been a real treat to read about. I love delving into everything surrounding this complex man and the complexities of his interactions with the most powerful and manipulative wizards of his time.

I can only think about how Snape was so exceptional that he became irreplaceably precious to the two most powerful wizards on both sides of the war. How he was the fundamental player in this war, as he gained the power to influence his two masters, who completely trusted him. Even so, as you discussed, it seems that he gained power of influence over Voldemort almost immediately, whereas with Albus it was built over the years. Of course, Snape always had more affinity for darkness than light, but he ended up being recognized by both.

(By the way, wasn't Lucius Malfoy another one who protected Snape almost immediately as soon as Snape was sorted into Slytherin? What do you think was behind that? Lucius saw Snape as just a brilliant but vulnerable boy? An easy target and promising for the Dark Lord? Or did he also see something more in Snape? After all, Snape was invited to Malfoy's mansion as a family friend and became godfather and private tutor to Lucius' son. What's more: could Lucius' opinion of Snape have influenced Voldemort? Or did Voldemort's predilection for Snape raise Lucius's opinion?)

Anyway, reading your response gave me a lot of new feelings and insights and I was hoping that the text would never end (unfortunately the text ended, but what I read will certainly be enough to leave me sleepless for a few nights). I really, really want to read more of your thoughts on this topic and everything you have to say, I can even pay for your working hours (ok, unfortunately I can't). But please feel encouraged to post your thoughts on them whenever you want, because from what you've said, you still have a lot more to say.

I'll probably only be able to think about it for the next few days. And by the way, why aren't there fanfics about this? People are missing out on something extremely valuable to explore. In the absence of fanfics, I ask you: what are your personal theses for the reasons that lead Snape to gain privileges with Voldemort? I just want assumptions, just what you think or what would make you satisfied as an explanation

Anyway, thank you so much again ❤️ you made my day and now my obsession is well fed (and much hungrier)

It’s a paradox—being in such a sprawling fandom, yet feeling like I’m wandering alone with my little reflections more often than not. So, isn’t that the sweetest bloody thing—hearing my take on Snape and Voldemort hit home for you? Got me grinning wide enough to split my face clean in half, and trust me, that doesn’t happen often.

When it comes to Lucius Malfoy and his role in shaping Snape into a Death Eater, unfortunately, I can’t say much. The trouble is, my memory of their interactions in canon is a bit hazy, so my perspective isn’t exactly reliable. It would probably be best to keep quiet about this amusing peacock lover until I reread the books, which is in my immediate plans. But then, when has better judgment ever stopped me from tossing a little fuel on the fire? I can’t resist the urge to stir the pot.

The way I see it now, Malfoy—who was a few years older and comfortably entrenched in the upper echelons of the wizarding world—would have no trouble sizing up Snape for what he was: a scrawny kid with a dangerous gift, a mind for dark magic, and, most importantly, not a single friend worth counting on. An outsider. Vulnerable. All ripe for exploitation. Lucius was sharp enough to realize that while Snape might lack the natural charisma to climb the ladder on his own, his brilliance in potions and the dark arts could make him invaluable. So, Lucius played his hand expertly.

But you’ve raised a compelling question: did Lucius’ influence on Voldemort shape Snape’s rise, or was it Voldemort’s favor that swayed Lucius’ attitude toward Snape? Likely a bit of both. I assume Lucius had a knack for spotting rising talents and knew when to cozy up to someone with potential. He could’ve easily whispered a few words to Voldemort in Snape’s favor, spinning the boy’s talents in the most flattering light. Yet once Voldemort started grooming Snape, you can bet Lucius would have fallen right in line, ensuring his regard for the young wizard was well-known. By the time the Dark Lord took a more personal interest in Snape, Lucius would have been perfectly positioned to ride that wave.

Still, I can’t help but think Malfoy would never have seen it coming: someone he deemed lesser rising so high. That kind of reversal must sting, don’t you think? Watching a kid who once lingered in the shadows suddenly become a key player in the very game you thought you controlled. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, and I imagine it would gnaw at him, lurking in the back of his mind like a persistent itch he couldn’t quite scratch.

It’s a shame I never paid the proper attention to the dynamic between Snape and Malfoy in canon. I’m a sucker for Snucius content, though, and I practically pounce on any decent fanfiction featuring them. I’d happily indulge in anyone’s reflections and headcanons about their twisted relationship—it’s my not-so-guilty pleasure, and I’ll own that without a second thought.

Now we’re circling back to my favorite pastime—unpacking the inexplicable yet utterly breathtaking relationship between the snake and the bat. I have to say, your whole “romantic and sentimental” angle on Snape? Adorable. Though my own metas often resemble a cold vivisection—slicing things open to expose the guts and see how they work—don’t let that fool you: my personal view of Snapemort is as romantic and sentimental as it gets.

I’ve crossed paths with more than my fair share of people in this fandom who wouldn’t know canon if it came up and knocked them flat on their backs. They get gaslighted so fast it’s almost like they’re begging for it—like canon’s some blurry afterthought they just can’t be bothered to keep straight. So in my metas, I’m constantly fighting not to let the canon get tangled up in the wild mess that is my headcanon. I try to delve into the cracks and shadows, and find something that feels like truth. But up in my head? Forget about decent—this concept doesn’t even exist in here. My imagination is as twisted as the characters I’m dissecting.

Now you’ve signed up for this—my own romantic and sentimental take on Snapemort. So, Moon Prism, give you strength. Here we go.

The tension between Severus and Tom wasn’t just about power, it was about identity. Here was a boy who, like Voldemort in his youth, was shunned by the world, brilliant but unloved, wearing his heritage like a festering wound. Tom Riddle saw himself in Snape, and that, for someone as narcissistic as the Dark Lord, was the ultimate form of attraction.

Voldemort didn’t love Snape—he couldn’t love anyone in the traditional sense—but he could covet him. He could hunger to possess that fractured reflection of his own soul. In the end, Voldemort bends for Snape again and again, not because of Severus’s skill or loyalty, but because he sees in him something far more irresistible—himself. A shadow, a twisted echo of everything Voldemort despises in his own nature, or maybe everything he adores—who’s to say? The truth could be both or none at all.

Voldemort wasn’t merely grooming Snape for power; he was grooming him as a personal obsession. He wanted to control Snape, to mold him, to shape him into the perfect instrument of his will. But deep down, perhaps he knew he never fully could. And that only made the obsession stronger.

Maybe it’s a matter of souls, twisted and broken as they are. Maybe there’s something cosmic, some fucked-up string of fate that ties them together, a soulmate bond gone rancid. Or maybe it’s simpler. Maybe it’s just the raw, magnetic pull of power and cruelty, a dynamic that thrives on dominance, fear, and that unspoken tension. There’s something primal in the way Voldemort circles Snape, the way Snape stands just that little bit straighter in the presence of the only man in the world who can destroy him with a word. It’s all there in the pauses, in the quiet moments where one wrong move could mean death—or something far worse. That razor-thin line between obsession and control, submission and defiance. Could be that. Could be something else entirely.

That’s the beauty of it, isn’t it? They’re never just one dull thing, never some tired trope you’ve seen beaten to death a thousand times before. It’s that constant churn of possibilities that keeps me restless, on edge, always hungry for more. They breathe life into the idea that stories can be unpredictable, that characters don’t have to fit neatly into boxes, that two men with such deep, twisted histories can be everything at once: allies, enemies, crooked reflections of one another. Maybe even something darker, something that defies the lines we’re so used to.

As for fanfics — you’re absolutely right. The world is sleeping on some seriously juicy material. At this point, I could devour just about anything that puts those two in the same room. Give me soulmate AUs where they’re bound by destiny, torn apart by the weight of prophecy. Give me porn without plot, where all their schemes, all their calculated moves, fall away until nothing’s left but raw need and lust, tangled up in shadows. Hell, give me crack fics where nothing makes sense, yet somehow—it still works.

I’m desperate for more of it—more fics, more theories, more art—because it’s never enough to stew in these thoughts alone. I want to see what everyone else has simmering in their heads, to be blindsided by a take I never imagined, to be pushed by a version of their dynamic that’s raw, savage, and utterly thrilling. It’s not just speculation—it’s about feeding the fire, stoking it higher, until we’re all swept up in the chaotic, breath-stealing storm that is Snape and Voldemort. Two men so alike they could rip each other apart or drag one another closer, and either way, you know it’s going to hurt like hell.

I know it’s a bit presumptuous to keep my hopes high for the sudden spawning of Snapemort content. Best to roll with the punches. Truth is, I made my peace with the constant oversight of these two in the HP fandom ages ago. If folks didn’t spare their enigmatic relationship a thought back in the early days, it’s hard to expect much now, especially with parts of the fandom becoming a bloody nuisance, twisting everything into some fanon nightmare. Ah, there’s my grumpy old man alter ego rearing its head again—apologies for that.

Still, your cravings—so much like mine— are like a rare ray of sunshine for me. I can’t help but hope you’ll stay just as obsessed as me, gnawing at the same bone, driven by the same hunger. After all, who ever said I’m noble?

[pweepsiee]

Thank you but goodbye

This won’t get any traction because only pictures of tits get pushed or interacted with but that’s okay. I’ll add tags so you guys see this anyway.

It’s hard to know where to start. I spent a long time on here, putting pieces of myself out into the void, hoping for connection, validation, maybe even some kind of understanding. But it’s been a journey that taught me more than I ever anticipated—about others, about myself, and about the darker sides of online spaces and human nature.

I’ve been through more than I ever thought I’d face here. I’ve had people send me things no one should have to see—gore, graphic threats of rape and murder. Strangers who decided they had the right to punish me with violence for simply existing and sharing my body on my own terms. I’ve been slut-shamed, insulted, torn apart, told I’m not “enough” in a thousand different ways. Too fat, too ugly, too bitchy, too much of a people pleaser. For some, my body was never enough to satisfy whatever expectation they’d dreamed up for me. And when I expressed my pain, I was told to just “try harder” to please. Every insult, every attack—it was relentless.

At first, there was a thrill in it. The idea that people were paying attention. But over time, it became less about freedom and self-expression, and more like a trap. I started needing the notifications, addicted to the fleeting rush of being “seen,” even if it came with all the ugliness. I posted things that made me feel raw, exposed, and ashamed—but still, I kept them up. It wasn’t even about me anymore; it was about performing for a faceless audience, one that only wanted to consume and never connect. I kept hoping that if I posted more, someone might notice that I was struggling, that I was hurting. But the moments I tried to be vulnerable were met with derision, mockery, or worse, cruelty.

On October 6th, I tried to end my life. It wasn’t a whim or a flippant decision—it was the culmination of feeling completely worthless, invisible beyond what I could offer visually, and unheard. I had tried to signal that I was in pain, and the responses I got were gut-wrenching. People told me to “try again,” mocking my failure to die. Others brushed it aside entirely, demanding I get back to posting my body as if I had no value beyond that. It was like looking into a mirror that only showed one version of myself—a version people felt entitled to consume and degrade.

There’s a sickness in spaces like these, a perverse lack of empathy and human decency. There’s a void where kindness, respect, and understanding should be. I’ve encountered men who would spit their hate, their misogyny, their violent fantasies at me without a second thought, men who have shown me how easily they can strip away my humanity to satisfy their own needs. Some are rapists, some are worse, and they all seem to revel in their cruelty, hiding behind screens. They have taught me that, to them, I am just an object—a body, a pair of tits, something to use and discard. They’ve shown me how quickly love, admiration, or even simple respect can turn into venom the moment they don’t get exactly what they want.

Being on here has been like swimming in polluted water, beautiful on the surface but poisonous underneath. What started as a space to share myself turned into a source of harm that corroded my mental and physical well-being. It was more than just being objectified—it was the sense that I didn’t even matter as a person, only as a vessel for gratification. And that feeling sank deeper and deeper, leaving wounds I’m still working to heal.

I’ve met a few kind people here, people who saw me for more than just a body, who offered me small glimpses of kindness, understanding, and friendship. To those few: thank you. Your kindness did not go unnoticed, and I wish you nothing but peace, joy, and all the love you deserve. To those who saw my humanity and respected it—I’m grateful.

But to the rest: those who degraded me, insulted me, sent me threats or slurs, and preyed on my vulnerabilities—you’ll reap what you sow, one way or another. I don’t hold anger toward you, but I do pity you. And I have no intention of letting your words and actions follow me into the future.

There’s been a silver lining in all of this, and it’s one of the few positive things I’m taking with me. Through all of the toxicity, I discovered something important about myself. I realized I am a lesbian, and that I no longer want to be viewed as something for men to consume. I am worth so much more than being reduced to a body on a screen, worth more than any like, reblog, or message notification. I deserve to be seen, truly seen, as a whole person, and to be loved for who I am, not what I look like or what I can give to others.

This is goodbye. For those who truly cared, I’ll remember you. For those who didn’t, I’ll leave you behind, along with this platform that no longer serves me. I’m taking my life back, my self-worth back, and finding peace in spaces that don’t drain me.

Thank you, and goodbye. ♡´･ᴗ･`♡

[the-greatest-magic-of-all]

Oopsie more~ <3

“You seem rather pleased with yourself.” Fabian spoke as soon as he heard the door shut and lock behind them, tossing his cloak across the back of one of the couches in the office adjoining his bedchambers before flopping heavily into one of the smaller (but no less opulent) armchairs across from it. Various rings and decorations getting tugged free from his person and dropped into a messy pile on the low table in front of him as the urge overtook him to shed some of his ridiculous finery, just for a while, in the privacy of his own living quarters with the one person who wouldn’t judge him for the display.

“Well, yeah?” Riz had left his post near the door, ears perked high and tail slowly swishing from side to side as he did a thorough check of the room before also closing and locking the door that led into Fabians bedchambers. Isolating the pair of them so they wouldn’t be disturbed by anyone without a proper heads up first.

“Did you see the look on Everpetals face? I’m glad I went to all that trouble to spread the rumour I died in that attack and couldn’t be revived. Any time I need to cheer myself up from now on I’m just going to think of that and feel instantly better.”

After dismissing Durden from his duties of guarding the King at that nights court function Riz had been his dutiful and ever present shadow the entire evening, causing more than a few of the guests in attendance to jump and double take when they noticed he was there. Everpetal had even made a snide comment that he must prefer the company of goblins if he was replacing his last goblin guard with another one, and the look on her face when Riz greeted her and she realised who it was had been incredibly amusing. Apparently, she had trouble telling goblins apart because she certainly hadn’t recognised his face or, it seemed, even expected him to still be alive at all.

“Gods, is that why so many of them were asking when I was going to replace you. Everpetal even had the gall to offer me one of her own knights.”  Fabian chuckled, resting his arms on his knees and letting his head hang as he slumped forwards. “I must have looked insane asking them why I would ever do such a thing.”

“Yes well, they should know better than to believe rumours without verifying the information first.” Riz finished his loop of the room, the rogue apparently satisfied that they were safe and taking up his post near the door.

Fabian heaved a long sigh, sitting up after a moment to glance over at his knight and actually look at him properly after a long afternoon of socialising and niceties with nobles that really didn’t deserve it. Most people wouldn’t notice the difference but it was clear the rogue was still not 100%. He wasn’t standing quite as straight, ears held just a fraction lower than was normal and his tail was hanging limp behind him with the tuft actually touching the ground.

Anyone else witnessing the scene would simply see a knight standing relaxed but alert, Fabian knew better though, pursing his lips and waving Riz over closer. Riz cocked his head to the side, the motion making his ears flop a bit, before padding over closer and moving to kneel. Fabian grabbing him by the shoulders to stop him and pressing a hand against his cheek.

“Stop. No. Not tonight I’ve had enough of it.” Fabian frowned, running his thumb over Riz’s cheek and earning a quiet purr from his knight. From this close Fabian could see the dark circles under his eyes and notice how pale his skin in comparison to its normal vibrant green. Even his eyes had become slightly duller, which was as clear an indication of any that the goblin was exhausted.

“You really shouldn’t be back yet.”

“I’m fine. You know I don’t like not working.” Riz leaned into the hand against his cheek and closed his eyes, Fabian taking the opportunity to trap the goblin in a hug and lean his chin against the top of his head. The half elf only releasing him when, as he tightened his grip slightly and bumped against the rogues chest, Riz made a muffled hissing noise at a pitch that usually indicated pain and flinched slightly.

“Hiss? What the hells do you mean hiss?” Fabian frowned, sitting back and holding Riz at arms length as the goblin averted his gaze. The half elf pressing his hand over his seal on the goblins chest and, though he didn’t hiss this time, the rogues tail thrashed slightly and he wasn’t able to hide a wince. “Are you…. Are you still injured? It’s been a week! Did they not heal you properly?”

Riz grimaced and ducked his head slightly, still not meeting Fabians gaze as he brought a hand up to place it gently over the one resting over his heart. “There were… complications. The blade was enchanted so that wounds inflicted would resist magical healing.”

Riz’s ears drooped slightly, the goblin glancing at Fabian and clearly catching the look of deep concern on his face with how he winced. “I was lucky. The two guards the assassin killed we couldn’t even bring back… The first one they revivified simply bled out again because they couldn’t close the wound. If you’re going to assassinate a King you need to make sure they can’t be so simply saved.”

“Let me see.”

Riz opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, probably a warning that that wasn’t an appropriate thing to ask as his King but apparently thinking better of it. Fabian wasn’t acting as his King right now, he was his friend and he was worried about him.

The goblin sighed and glanced over towards the door, obviously checking it was still locked before reaching up to start undoing the buckles of his armour. The sturdy leather getting dropped in a pile on the floor before he also undid the shirt underneath far enough that he could pull it off and dump it on the ground as well. Riz left standing in front of Fabian in nothing but his armoured slacks and the strip of bandages wrapped around his torso, which he also started fiddling with trying to unwind.

“You’re going to have to help me re-wrap this I’m not good at doing it on myself… I was probably due to change the dressings anyway but I was going to wait until Max took over tonight.” Riz flicked his tail, clicking his tongue when he had issues unwinding the bandage before simply ripping through it with his claws. He had a replacement in his bag, plus it wasn’t like he was going to be able to reuse it without risking an infection.

Once the bandages were gone he finally, carefully, pulled the gauze pad away from the injury on his chest. Fabian sucking air in through his teeth as he pulled the rogue closer to himself with a gentle grip on his sides and leaned forwards to inspect the injury more closely. They’d carefully stitched it closed but it still looked painful, five days of natural healing without magic not having done much to diminish the raw and painful looking wound on the goblins chest.

“Umberlee below, you should not be walking around yet. What the fuck are you doing?”

“I’m fine. They missed anything important.” Riz sighed, bringing a hand up to pat the back of Fabians head when he dropped it to rest against the goblins shoulder.

“You’re not fine you look like shit.” Fabian mumbled, tightening his grip on Riz’s sides. He’d nearly died trying to protect him and if the blade had gone even an inch further they wouldn’t have even been able to bring him back. “I hate this. You shouldn’t be having to throw yourself in front of cursed blades for my sake. I’m not weak I can fight for myself.”

“I know you’re not but that’s literally my job description now.”

Fabian let out a humourless laugh, reaching up to hold the hand Riz was using to play with his hair in place as he leaned back far enough to look him in the eye. “Maybe I should fire you. Give you a nice plot of land somewhere sunny and a title as a reward for stopping an attempt on my life so you can enjoy your retirement in peace.”

Riz narrowed his eyes at that, frowning at Fabian and stifling a growl in the back of his throat. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh I would dare. I could keep you somewhere nice and safe and not have to worry about this.” He gestured to Riz’s chest with his free hand, the goblin frowning more and flicked his tail hard enough that he knocked some of the rings off the low table behind him.

“And who would you replace me with?”

“Sir Durden, he did a fine job while you were indisposed.”

“DURDEN?” Riz looked almost insulted, ears held high in affronted indignation before he caught the teasing glint in Fabians eye. The half elf reaching forwards to run his fingers through the goblins hair after a second which made him relax and drop forwards to press his forehead against Fabians shoulder. “Oh thank Gods I thought you were serious.”

“You’re right I wouldn’t dare. I’d last less than a week before abdicating without you around.” Fabian chuckled, playing with the rogues hair for a little while longer before pushing him to stand up straight. “That being said though you really should still be resting. You look exhausted and you clearly haven’t recovered properly.”

“I’m-“

“Yes I know you’re fine.” Fabin cut Riz off before he could continue, dropping his hands away from the rogue and resting them on his own knees. “But you’re in no condition to be on your feet all day. We’ll reapply your bandages and once you’re dressed you’re going to lie down for a while.”

“That-“

“Frankly I could not give less of a shit about what’s appropriate right now. The door is locked, we’re alone, and I can take care of myself for a few hours. No one has to know you’re resting on the job.”

Riz gave a resigned sigh at that, though he was smiling slightly and his tail was making slow content arcs behind him as he dug in the bag on his hip for replacement bandages. This fight was a road they’d walked down many times in the past, even before Fabians ascent to the throne. “I’m not going to win this argument, am I?”

“Have you ever?”

“I think I did once, in the Red Wastes that one time.”

Fabian scoffed at that, watching Riz clean the wound on his chest before reaching forwards to help him re-wrap the bandages and hold the dressings in place. “You most certainly did not. In fact I clearly remember pinning you down until you got a decent nights rest.”

“Oh I count that as a moral victory on my part.” Riz grinned, tail flicking from side to side happily as he bent down to retrieve his tunic and pull it back over his head. The goblin shooting Fabian a teasing look as he started to re-buckle his armour on over the top. “If I keep refusing to take a rest would you try pinning me down again? That wouldn’t be very Kingly of you.”

“Watch it, The Ball. Keep fighting me on this and I very well might.”

I can't even call this one an oopsie. This took a minute. But I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed your part. 💖

-- part 1 | part 2 -> part 4 --

Before bedding down for the night, Fabian had his secretary clear his morning of any audiences and meetings. Knowing that, on Saturday nights, he could use the excuse of staying up late in prayer to Galicaea and not wanting this holy time to be disturbed by mundane politics and such. Giving Riz, who promised to spend his four hours of rest in the infirmary, a chance to slip under Fabian’s plush covers after releasing Sir Durden from his watch. Careful to get into a position that did not worsen his injury further.

It was quite lovely, having a lazy morning for the first time since ascending to the throne of Fallinel. Streams of early morning light drifted through the bay window’s diaphanous curtains. Highlighting all of the wandering specks of dust in the air. Airy birdsong broke up the peaceful silence every so often. As did the faint murmurs and rumbles of activity in the Alcethmeret’s lower floors. The ambery scent of burning sandalwood incense (for his “prayers”) filled the air. Smelling of warmth, in stark opposition to the wintery chill that came with his chamber’s fire going out half an hour ago.

An upstart religious revolutionary (who happened to be his good friend’s ex) had brought Winter to his kingdom for the first time in millennia. Giving him a political headache but also that sweet chilliness that made bundling up underneath warm covers even better. Something made all that better with a happily purring Goblin in his arms.

Both were utterly unaware of the storm that was about to blow over them.

One of Riz’s ears pricked, angled above the sheet and toward Fabian’s chamber doors. Soon, his entire head was poking out of the many layers of sheets. Brows furrowed, he tried to deduce what exactly he was picking up.

“Something the matter?” Fabian asked from beneath the sheets, his voice still thick with sleep and arms loosely wrapped around Riz.

“Someone’s coming up the stairs a bit too quickly,” Riz answered. The fur on the back of his neck raised as he swiped his tail at Fabian’s face, attempting to get his King to release him. You know, so that he could do his job. “No, two someones.”

Unphased by a faceful of tail fur, Fabian cracked open his only eye and murmured, “I’m guessing you think it’s not servants.”

“Maybe one… Hold on,” Riz said before his eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. Caught between wanting to dash to the doors and shielding his best friend, he whipped around to face Fabian. Horror in his eyes as he tried to get out, “Oh no, it’s—”

“Your Majesty, Lady Aelwen has requested your presence!”

Fabian nearly jumped out of his skin as he locked eyes with Riz before they darted down at their shared state of dress.

Shit, shit, shit!

The voice of one of his maids—Miss Silvergrove, he thinks—filtered through not only his bedroom door but the door to his drawing room/office. “I informed her of your schedule, yet she insisted. She’s asked me to tell you—wait, My Lady!”

“King Fabian Aramais Seacaster, I demand an audience promptly,” came Aelwen’s familiarly devilish voice. Louder than Miss Silvergrove, she must’ve burst through that first set of doors. “Come decline me to my face, my liege, because this office and receiving room of yours look quite comfy. Might stay for a while with or without you.”

Of course, he couldn’t have a single morning of peace! Why her, of all people?!

“Just a moment!” Fabian called out, rocketing out of his bed and toward his massive closet to grab a golden silk dressing gown. Hastily throwing it on, he sped over to the low table where he discarded his jewellery last night. He shoved on as many rings, bracelets, and pendants as was required to be presentable.

Riz might’ve said something, but Fabian hushed him with a “stay put” gesture as he slid across the sleek tiled floors to reach his bedroom doors. Just in time to catch the doorknob before it turned, he opened it himself. Revealing the fair yet evilly playful face of one Lady Aelwen Abernant.

“Oh, there you are, your Majesty,” She said, her deep blue eyes full of the mirth of a cat toying with a mouse. The last time he saw her, her flaxen hair had flowed down her back; now, it had been shorn in a Solisian-style pixie cut. Practical and functional for the matricidal expedition she and Adaine had embarked on but, much like her dark green traveller’s robes, still exuded poise and refinement.

Fabian would be lying if he said that she didn't make his heart skip a beat as he laid eyes on her. However, he’d never live it down if it showed so plainly on his face. So, he did his best to school his face into one befitting his station. Raising his chin and straightening his back to fill as much of the doorway as possible, he said, “You’re back.”

“I’m back!” Aelwen echoed in a sing-songy lilt, her grin only widening.

Fabian cocked an eyebrow, “For what do I owe this early morning pleasure?”

“Can’t I visit an old friend and current ruler?” Aelwen asked, her grin turning to a pout as she rocked back and forth in her well-worn boots. Stalling on one of the lean-ins to bat her eyelashes at him.

Umberlee below, this won’t be a brief conversation, then?

Letting out a defeated sigh (to Aelwen’s delighted giggle), Fabian leaned around to catch the eyes of the mousey maid, who’d looked ashen at having let Aelwen in. Poor thing, she probably thought he’d fire her. Softening his voice, he called out, “Miss Silvergrove?”

The young woman jumped at his voice, but still, she gave him a strained smile and a bow. “Yes, your Majesty?”

“Please inform your superior that I’ll take my breakfast up here this morning. Thank you.”

He'd never been more jealous as he watched Miss Silvergrove scurry away from this whole situation.

At the sound of the drawing-room door shutting, Fabian allowed himself to at least slouch a bit now that he was alone with his ex-girlfriend. “Aelwen—”

“Uh uh,” She said, waggling a finger at him and looking all too pleased to correct him.

Fabian rolled his eyes. “Alright, Lady Aelwen—”

“Nope,” Aelwen interrupted once more. And when Fabian had had enough of her antics, crossing his arms and giving her a look, she huffed a bit. Slightly upset at her fun being ruined, she took a step back, gathered the ends of her outfit's long coat, and curtsied daintily. Her chin high and a smirk on her plush lips, she said, “That’s The Lady Abernant to you, my Good King. No more courtesy titles for me!”

Now, that was some good news.

“Your quest to Slyvaire was a success?” Fabian asked as relief rushed through him. Thanks to their duties as King and Knight, he and Riz couldn't accompany Adaine and her on their quest to kill their mother to take control of their family name and what was left of their wealth and title. The best he could do was pay for the best hirelings money could buy to aid them, and it looks like it paid off. A tiny weight off of his mind, Fabian risked gently taking her by the shoulders and said, “Congratulations!”

Aelwen, fortunately, didn’t mind the physical contact, taking hold of his shoulders as a genuine smile slipped through her mask of snark and caustic wit. “Thank you very much!”

“Did she go down easy?”

For a second, something dark and haunted flitted over her eyes and her fingers dug into the fabric of his dressing gown. Fabian went to pull her closer, but she pushed away from him first. Her mask was fully back on as she groaned and pouted. “No, she was a horrid bitch to fight.” Then, in a flash, it was all gone. Replaced by charm and devilishness, she said, “But now she’s dead, and her title is mine. Ha ha ha!”

That small moment of hauntedness didn’t sit well with Fabian, but he knew better than to push Aelwen on matters of feelings and trauma. He was the same way. He settled on asking Adaine to give him a full debrief later.

“So, you’ve come all the way to the Capital to gloat?” Fabian teased a bit as he guided her to sit in one of the room's dinette's antique cushioned chairs.

“Well, yes, a bit, but also to see if you’d been overthrown yet,” Aelwen said as she sank into the comfy antique seat. Taking to it like she owned the whole damn palace around it.

Fabian rolled his eye as he took his seat opposite her. “Wow, such confidence in my abilities.”

“Ha! I have only ever put my confidence in one person, and she can see the future, so,” She shot back with a laugh and a shrug. Running her hands down the intricately carved armrests, she went on, “Though I must confess, I’ve also come back because I’ve dearly missed court gossip. Of which I got plenty of it upon my glorious return to the Starry Court as its prodigal daughter.” Pausing, she lifted her eyes to meet his and arched a brow in a silent question.

The King of Fallinel, his Serene Majesty, sputtered and gaped at her, offended that she even had to silently ask if he wanted to bitch the pot with her. Who did she think he was? “Yes, I’d like to hear it. Of course!”

As the sun rose higher in the Fallinese sky, a King and a Lady traded scandalous secrets and piping hot gossip over a delightfully filling breakfast spread. Teacups in hand, they snatched muffins and scones between thoughts or when they wanted the other to hang on their every word. It was a surprisingly pleasant time. One filled with barks of stifled laughter and so much spilled tea (literally and metaphorically). It was nice to talk so candidly with someone other than Riz, especially about the more lurid kinds of rumours that usually put him off.

And as if she’d read Fabian’s mind (who knows, maybe she had?), Aelwen emptied the last of the tea in her cup before clinking it down and asking, “Before I get to the really good stuff, where is your little Goblin guard? Not everything I’m about to say is flattering to all parties involved.”

“Sir Riz knows the importance of secrets, don’t worry,” Fabian answered, his mind drifting back to his room, though he was sure that Riz had slipped into the drawing room at some point. There’s simply no way he’d resist the allure of his duties in favour of resting, especially since he’d always regard Aelwen with a level of suspicion. “You won’t find him.”

Aelwen flipped him off as she made a point to lean all the way over to scan underneath the room’s various seats and tables. Fabian could only chuckle as she was this close to crawling under his sturdy, oaken writing desk. He got another middle finger for his troubles, as well as a heated glare. “Where is—Is he dead already?”

“Bold of you to assume that he cannot see you just because you cannot see him,” Fabian said with complete confidence in his knight’s stealth capabilities. Taking a long sip of his tea and not even hiding his smirk, he primly remarked, “He is exactly where he needs to be.”

Without missing a beat, Aelwen whipped her head up to stare into his eye with a wide, nigh feral grin on her face as she asked, “Where? In your bed?”

Aelwen made his heart miss a beat again.

What?

How?!

Rearing back, clutching onto his teacup for dear life, Fabian’s childhood stutter returned with a vengeance, “W-why would—why, why would you even—I-I can explain—”

“There was a pile of tiny armour on your footboard bench, and there were pillow lines on your cheek,” Aelwen said, nodding her head toward his bed chamber before attempting to lean over the table and poke his cheek with a finger. Of which didn’t get within an inch of him before Riz darted out of a shadowy corner to scale Fabian’s chair and snatch Aelwen’s wrist. Holding it firm, he locked eyes with her and let out a snarly hiss. Amazingly, Aelwen looked shocked to be suddenly grabbed for a moment, but soon enough, her cheeky smile was back. “Well, hello, Sir knight! Nice of you to join us.”

Ears pinned back, hackles raised, pupils narrowed, tail rapidly slapping back and forth. Fabian knew everything in Riz’s body was waiting for Aelwen to make one more wrong move. Waiting for her to give him a reason to pounce. It was a wonder how he kept his voice low and steady as he said, “If you even think about telling anyone about what you saw, I swear to Cassandra above and Ankarna below —”

“Oh, please. Calm yourself, Sir Ball. I’m not going to go around telling anyone about finding a nohecharei in the King’s bed,” She said with a roll of her eye and a dismissive chuckle. “As long as you stop eavesdropping and join us. I prefer to see who’s hearing my gossip.”

The two of them stared the other down, both refusing to be the one to blink first. Riz bared his fangs. Aelwen sneered. Fabian’s ex-girlfriend and his best friend. Locked in a trial of… what? Who was the better person? Who was the most cutthroat? The most ruthless? Who Fabian loved more? He didn’t know. He just wanted it to end because he could see from tiny twitches that his position perched on Fabian’s armrest was hurting Riz to hold. The whole point of the morning was to give him rest, not make his injury worse.

Gently, as not to startle him, Fabian covered where Riz was gripping Aelwen’s wrist with his left hand and held his hip with his right. A flicked ear was all the acknowledgment Fabian needed to proceed with his plan. Leaning close, Fabian lowered his voice to a whispery plea and said, “Riz.” His knight stayed locked in, but Fabian felt Riz’s grip on Aelwen loosened a tad. Progress. Fabian leaned in even closer, catching his eye for a moment to ask, “Join us. Please?”

Again, it took a handful of moments for Riz to come down from his battle footing, but slowly, he did. His ears shifted to a submissive position, his hackles lowered, his tail slowed, and his pupils widened as he turned to look at Fabian. With one last glare at Aelwen, Riz said, “As you wish, your Majesty.”, and released her wrist.

Aelwen snatched her wrist back and watched as Fabian eased Riz onto a chair—one where he could see both of the room’s doors and its windows. Almost gagging at how Fabian tucked Riz’s chair in like a gentleman and began pouring his knight a cup of coffee and gathering the food items he liked the best. It was all so adorably disgusting in Aelwen’s book that she simply had to push past it. “Yes, yes, good, good. Now! Shove a scone in your mouth and get ready to chat shit.”

Satisfied with his vantage point and the warm coffee in his hands, Riz gave her a nod and a sharp, “Copy that.”

“Now, where was I?” Aelwen asked herself as Fabian settled back in his chair. “Oh, right! If you’d believe it, Lady Everpetal invited me to join her family in attending Miss Nightingale’s opera performance tonight. In the most condescending way possible, mind you. Asking if I’m even allowed on the opera’s property after my imprisonment. God, she’s a horrid bitch.” Both he and Riz nodded, inclined to agree. But Aelwen swiftly followed it up with, “I kind of loved it, though. But that’s all beside the point. Mean, nasty women are hot; what’s new—”

Face aghast, Riz brought his coffee to his lips and muttered in amazement, ”You both have mommy issues?”

“Watch it,” Fabian shot back at him despite semi-agreeing with his ex.

“Could you two pay attention? I think you’ll enjoy this,“ Aelwen said, rubbing her temples, knowing that their little back and forth would continue for the rest of their gossiping session. “A little birdie informed me of a possible connection between Lord Everpetal’s ever-increasing taxes and his alleged Leviathan gambling debts.”

Now, that was the kind of gossip Sir Riz Gukgak felt the most comfortable dealing in.

In one swift motion, Riz plucked the half-full teapot off of the table and went about filling Aelwen’s cup up to just under the brim. Mostly ignoring Aelwen’s satisfied look and Fabian’s fondly amused one, Riz settled back into his seat with his coffee before giving Aelwen a patient nod. “Do go on, my Lady.”

[ladyylavenderrr]

Garak and Psychosis

Very self indulgent little post about instances of Garak displaying behaviors that read to me (or at least can be read) as a symptom of psychosis. I will almost certainly miss some, but I want to compile this together for myself. I completely see Garak as having some kind of psychotic disorder. Most of these examples will come from A Stitch In Time, but we have some from the show as well. Also keep in mind that many of these could be interpreted in a myriad of ways, not just as a psychotic symptom. I’m not claiming any of this is definitive proof or anything of the sort, and Garak’s past as a spy (a profession that by nature demands a lot of paranoia) certainly complicates all of this. That’s not to say this an either-or situation. He can be both psychotic and a former spy and in fact the effect both would have on the other would be quite interesting, as laid out in this post

Again, all of what I say can be interpreted in many different ways, but I just want to have it all written down in one place. Psychosis can manifest in very different ways for different people. Some people might be debilitated by their symptoms, struggling to function without assistance. Others might function just fine most of the time and only experience relatively mild symptoms, though the associated distress isn’t any less important.

Season 6, episode 5 “Favors The Bold”. Garak insists Julian examine him for a some kind of mind reading device put in his head by Starfleet Intelligence. Despite Julian telling him there’s nothing out of the ordinary in his head, Garak doesn’t believe him and insists he keep looking. Came off as a delusion to me, especially since he remains convinced despite evidence proving his delusion false.

Season 4, episode 21 “For the Cause”. Upon meeting Ziyal, Garak becomes convinced that she wants to hurt and kill him. I wouldn’t say her being Dukat’s daughter is enough evidence for the average person to be this worried. In fact, Quark even calls him out on his paranoia and we get this exchange.

GARAK: I was going to cancel. I've had visions of Ziyal presenting my head to her father as a birthday gift. 
QUARK: That's a little paranoid, wouldn't you say? 
GARAK: Paranoid is what they call people who imagine threats against their life. I have threats against my life.

To be fair, Kira warning him to stay away from Ziyal gets him to calm down a bit, or maybe not because he still seems quite apprehensive when he actually meets Ziyal, still afraid she might want to hurt him.

Now to A Stitch In Time.

Part 1, Chapter 7. As Garak helps Parmak dig people out of the rubble of a bombed Cardassia (highly stressful and traumatic situation), he seems to hallucinate a figure. You could read this as metaphorical, but he reacts to and tries to interact with the figure in the real world, which doesn’t come off as a metaphorical way of describing his despair to me.

“I have never lived with despair, Doctor, the way I live with it now. It's almost like a phantom companion that shadows me and casts doubt on whatever I do.

"Why save him?" it asks, as we remove a young boy from the rubble of a school. "You're only keeping him alive for a future of privation and chaos. Wouldn't it be more satisfying to join the burial unit?"

I want to scream at this phantom, to shut it up. Once I turned around suddenly and raised my hand to strike it. When I realized it wasn't there, it was too late. Everyone in the unit was looking at me; I'm sure I must have looked like a madman.”

After this, Parmak gives Garak some pills. He only calls them “relaxants” so it might be a sedative of some kind, but I’m not sure. Either way, Garak hallucinates again after swallowing the pills, panicking as he sees those Cardassian orphans from the episode “Cardassians”. I doubt the pills are hallucinogens, both because Parmak specifically gave them to Garak after witnessing him hallucinating and is seemingly trying to stop that, and because they speak about the hallucinations like an unintended side effect ("I'm afraid they don't react well with me," I explained. “I understand," he said.)

Certain drugs making psychotic symptoms worse isn’t uncommon.

Part 1, Chapter 6. As Garak and the rest of his group in Bamarren are forced to stand still in the heat for what might be hours as part of a training exercise, he begins to hallucinate multiple figures, including his parents (it’s interesting that one of the figures seems to be Palandine, even though neither we nor Garak have been introduced to her yet). If this were the only instance of Garak hallucinating in the book, I wouldn’t assume he has a psychotic disorder since this example has obvious an explanation outside of a mental health issue. People are known to experience hallucinations when suffering from heat stroke. However I’m putting this example here simply because it’s part of a larger pattern of Garak hallucinating multiple times throughout the book. It’s also interesting to note that this scene happens right before the scene of an adult Garak hallucinating that figure with Parmak.

Part 2, Chapter 18. Garak seems to hallucinate as he looks at the frieze. He sees the frieze move and the people painted on it move as well. He thinks some of the figures are he and Palandine but isn’t sure.

“The frieze now began to move in the upward direction. I was too amazed to ask if this was truly happening. People would disappear at the top while more would enter from below.

Certain faces were recognizable, but I didn't know why. Something was also rising within me, an energy moving up my spine to my head, and I began to feel dizzy. Two of the figures could have been Palandine and me, but I couldn't be sure. I was almost nauseous with the energy surging within me. The figures completed the cycle and disappeared at the top. The frieze stopped moving.”

This one can be interpreted in a more metaphorical way than some of the others, but like I said, it could also be another symptom of this potential psychosis.

I’m sure I’ve missed some examples, but you get my point.

[fanboyzuko]

Helloooo!

In LTF, we never really saw Kavi telling stories about Lu Ten, especially about the nature of their relationship. Does Zuko ever suspect anything? Are there any cute moments about this? Thank youuuuu <333

Oh anon. This got away from me haha. I didn't end up sharing any new Lu Ten and Kavi stories, but I hope this satisfies you <3

(realized once i finished that this is set after the next three chapters that haven't been posted yet haha. It's fine ;P)

Filling LTF prompts for the New Year!

.

For a while now, Zuko had been working off the idea that Lu Ten was to Kavi as Akari was to Yangchen. They had been childhood friends and shared a deep bond that developed into romantic love. The way Kavi spoke about Lu Ten, well, it was exactly how Zuko heard Yangchen’s voice in his head when he read her words. But here’s the thing, Kavi had never said anything on the matter. 

So when the usual gang bombarded Zuko with questions about the nature of Kavi and Jae’s relationship when he sat down for dinner, he was completely blind sided and stupidly signed, “I thought Kavi was with my cousin.”

Awkward silence and stillness followed his dumb statement.

It was Amphon who broke the silence with a whine as she dragged her hands down her face, “Oh my god, I cannot believe I completely missed that.”

Yan slammed his hands on the table, then quickly raised them to sign with his spoken words, “No, no, it’s fine! There’s still a chance he and Jae sparked something recently!”

“The bet is still on!” Souta said in support.

“I think it’s cheating to ask Zuko,” Raju signed, much less reticent since becoming proficient in sign language. “He knows them on a more personal level, case in point.”

Chanda nodded. “Kavi rarely shares really personal stories here, most of them are in private with Zuko. So it makes sense you all wouldn’t have noticed. Not that it’s any of our damned business.”

“I’m sorry, am I the only one doubting that Zuko picked up on a romance no one else did?” Ye-jun interjected in disbelief.

That had everyone pausing in contemplation, a long enough pause for Zuko to decide he was offended by their reaction. 

“What is that supposed to mean? I knew Akari and Yangchen were a thing even before Yangchen wrote about their first kiss! I don’t like love stories, but that doesn’t mean I’m stupid!” With a huff, he finally sat down and glared down everyone at the table. “Regardless, we shouldn’t be gossiping about his private life, let alone making bets. This better be the last I hear of this.”

While Chanda nodded in agreement and the rest of them looked properly chastised, Ye-jun leaned forward with his chin in his hands, fluttering his eyelashes in an obnoxious way he claimed was cute. “But you’re going to ask for confirmation and let us know, right?”

“Absolutely not!” Zuko said like a liar.

Because after dinner, he and Kavi met on the deck for a light spar. They usually cooled off by chatting in the relative privacy of the bow of the deck as they maintained their swords. Rather than letting the conversation flow naturally, Zuko fixed Kavi with a focused stare, sword maintenance kit untouched. 

“Were you and Lu Ten together romantically?” He paused as a horrid realization hit him. “Wait, was it a secret?!”

Kavi was only momentarily surprised, then shook his head with a soft laugh. “Yes, we were. Sorry, I guess I never really explicitly said so, huh? It wasn’t a secret per se, at least not until we joined the siege. Even then, it was an open secret among our units. No, your uncle never knew, but it’s fine if you’ve said something. It doesn’t change anything now.”

Trust Kavi to not only answer Zuko’s questions, but predict and resolve his follow up questions in one fell swoop. There was just one more thing Zuko had thought he was secure in assuming, and now was better than ever to find out if he was being delusional or not…

“Uh, so, even if you guys never got married or anything. I don’t even know if you wanted to some day. But- um.” Zuko fidgeted with the binding of his sword handle, a bad habit that Kavi and Master Piandao tried and failed to get him to stop. “Since Lu Ten was more a big brother than a cousin, I’ve been- well, thinking of you as a brother-in-law of sorts. I can stop, of course, if that makes you uncomfortable or-”

A tight hug cut off Zuko’s nervous word vomit. For all their closeness the past year, Zuko didn’t think Kavi ever hugged him before. His arms were warm and solid, not a trace of lingering weakness from his recovery. Zuko couldn’t remember the last time he was hugged. Maybe when Bun Ma left…

It was nice, but he hesitated too long to return it, so Kavi pulled away sooner than Zuko would have liked. But his hands remained on Zuko’s shoulders as he smiled a blinding smile.

“Of course you’re my little brother, no matter how long it's been, no matter we never could formally merge families. You’re my butterbee as much as his.”

Zuko matched his smile, heart full. “I usually don’t care about love stories, but, I’d like to hear about yours, if you’d like to share.”

Kavi laughed as he leaned back, taking his warmth with him. “Honestly, that’s why I didn’t talk more about us. I’ve heard your tirades against Yangchen’s sappy anecdotes.”

“W-well that’s because there’s only so many words and there’s more exciting things to read than how cute or pretty or funny Akari was! It’s not that I hate hearing about love stories or anything!”

After allowing more teasing he usually would, in honor of their solidified brotherhood, Zuko huffed and demanded a story before they turned in for the night. Kavi easily agreed and almost started when Zuko remembered what started this whole thing to begin with.

“Hey! Did you know the crew is betting whether or not you and Jae are romantically involved? Are you?”

“No, we aren’t.” Kavi smirked and winked. “And don’t tell your friends. We’ve been messing with the crew since the betting pool started.”

Zuko snorted and shook his head. “Alright, good. I mean, uh, not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course, you don’t have to be married to Lu Ten’s memory or anything. But I was going to be upset if you two were a thing and were hiding it from me.”

Laughing, Kavi threw his arm over Zuko’s shoulder and pulled him into a half embrace. “I wouldn’t dare keep such a secret from my little brother!”

As he started his story about him and Lu Ten getting together, Kavi kept his arm around Zuko. Ever so slowly, Zuko relaxed against him. It was nice having a big brother again.

[bisexualnerd]

Writer tag game

I wasn’t tagged, but I saw the game randomly posted by another user so I want to play anyway! (red for fic links and blue for series links)

1. how many works do you have on AO3?

35 (and only one draft because I don't really like working on multiple projects at the same time)

2. what's your total AO3 word count?

395,306

3. what fandoms do you write for?

I write the most for Batfam, mostly Tim and Jason but usually, the whole fam (more or less) is also there.

I write a bit more for some other fandoms but there are only one or two fics for each (2021 Produce 101 - Chuang Zao Ying, Hollywood Undead (but these fics are not finished), Julie and The Phantoms (1 fic - finished), Arsenal Military Academy + The Legends (they are kinda connected in 1 fic) and I have like, one translation project too.

I'm hoping to write Star Wars fics one day too. Really like the whole time travel thing and Obi-Wan is my beloved.

4. what are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The Monster Under My Bed (The Monster Down The Hall)

"Back Away From Him."

if i lose everything in the fire, i'm sending all my love to you

Cold

A Pile of Sleeping Birds

5. do you respond to comments?

All of the comments, definitely. I really enjoy reading and replying to them and sometimes, I even come back to re-read the comments to feel validated 🤣

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I write angst a lot but I have a thing for happy endings. But if I look at the fics individually and not like, as a part of a bigger series, it might be i have so much to say but you're so far away. But if not just the ending but the whole plot in general, it can be any fic really (I would recommend Restless Heart Syndrome, And Now You're Home, The Monster Under My Bed (The Monster Down The Hall), and What The Heart Remembers).

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

They all have some sort of happy endings (though some fics that are a part of a series might not but the series will have happy endings). But since all I have talked about is Batfam, I would recommend this from Julie and the Phantoms. I don't write romance often, but this is just a short soft, cute love story of two ghosts (Reggie and an OC based on his real-life wife) plus some humour in the band - ‘Cause I’m Not Too Far And You’re My Favorite Place. I was very satisfied with how it turned out and I still come back to re-read for my own enjoyment a few times so I hope you guys will give it a chance.

8. do you get hate on fics?

My most controversial fic would be Hold Me Close, Don't Let Go (Watch Me Burn) but it's not like people showed hate to me. They just didn't like the story and how I wrote it so there were some unpleasant comments. The newest one, I think I did well with my response. It's a rather heavy fic because I went through a really rough time when I was writing it (along with many others) so if you want to read it, be careful.

9. do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I don't. My fics are all rated G or T (mostly because of swearing and violence, and also some with suicidal theme or idealisation because I did have a really bad time).

10. do you write crossovers?

Just for two fandoms, Arsenal Military Academy & The Legends, because they share the same lead actor and actress so I thought it would be fun to write something about reincarnation. It's Then and Now, Forever and Always.

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don't think I'm famous enough for that.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, into Chinese, actually. It's The Monster Under My Bed (The Monster Down The Hall). The link to the translated fic is in the fic.

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

Not really. I planned my current series How To Steal A Brother with my friend Den and she is also my beta-reader for this series but I still write all of the stuff, which she reads and corrects the mistakes for me later.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

That's hard to choose. I really like Robin (Dick Grayson) and Starfire. It was like my first ship ever because I watched Teen Titans as a child. I also like Marinette/Adrien, very cute but the secondhand embarrassment is not very healthy for me (at least she has gotten better at interacting with him). The Doctor (10th) and Rose was one heartbreak that got me crying like a baby in 8th grade.

So honestly, I don't think I can pick because those were the three that came to my mind first, but I still have like a few dozen left.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will?

The Hollywood Undead fic - When Gravity Pulls You In. It was a really fun idea but then I ran into a big writer's block and I haven't recovered for this fic. I have been writing for Batfam again but I doubt I can go back and finish this one (at least anytime soon).

16. What are your writing strengths?

I don't think I'm too good with dialogue but I do have a strength in describing and like some sort of metaphor (English is not my first language so this is a difficult question to answer). I don't know if this is also considered a strength but like I said, I don't really write many fics at the same time so I can manage them pretty well. Most of my fics are completed before I move on to another one.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Dialogue. And I forget a lot of stuff so I have to go back to the earlier part so the plot won't be inconsistent. And of course, I write in English, which is not my mother tongue, so sometimes, I lack vocabulary or my grammar can feel weird.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I mean, I would add translation or explanation very subtly in there. But I saw a Star Wars fic where the writer had like, floating texts or something for the conversations in Mando'a so like, I will research on that if I need to write in another language.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Batfam. Tim-centric.

20. Favourite fic you've written?

Damn, that's like asking a parent for their fav child on national television.

In terms of like, wording and metaphors and descriptions and all the technical stuff - And Now You're Home - because some of my fav paragraphs are in here. In terms of logic, time can never change for the flying bird under the summer sun because I went crazy with all the planning for the whole time-travel-but-nothing-changes-the-future thing. In terms of plot, i'm so out of touch with everyone, and everything's a blur to me. This was one of my earlier ones but when I came back to this earlier this year, I found it so enjoyable and fascinated. I couldn't even believe I wrote this one. But it is a part of a series so you might want to check out I've Got You Brother.

This has been fun and I have been shamelessly PR-ing my fics. I don't really know who to tag so anyone else who wants to play, go ahead and have fun!

[eris-snow]

𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐞

Tags: Revelation (Deku's birthday series 2024), angst, izuku x fem!reader

Masterlist

July 1st. The start of the end.

---

If I tell you I’m not who you think I am,

.

.

.

will you believe me?

—

The atmosphere is warming up and the sun is scorching. Cicadas screech like the buzzing of doorbells, and Izuku’s life is finally on track.

Izuku’s still striving for more. The internships, the thanks he still gets from saving everyone in the war, for saving to win, winning to save. Still fighting his way with Shoto and Katsuki for Valedictorian, with sleepless nights, caffeine, training and school. He’s still healing, picking up the pieces with permanently scarred hands and getting cut by the shards on his crooked fingers, but he’s better, compared to last year.

He’ll be 17 in two weeks, graduate in 10 months, and go Pro because that’s been his dream since young.

The air is fresh, and he’s contented, happy, satisfied.

Summer has officially made its debut, and July has finally arrived.

Izuku can’t consider himself anything less than lucky, because without Kacchan, Ochaco, Iida, Todoroki, All Might, his classmates, mother, teachers, all of them, he wouldn’t be here.

“Class dismissed,” Aizawa says, throwing his sleeping bag over his shoulder, and walks out the door.

The class explodes with its usual chatter, and Katsuki turns around to form conversations about training.

Yeah, everything feels…just right.

—

Everything was not alright.

Then again, things haven’t been alright for a while now, and most of your feelings are numb, numb, numb because after a certain threshold, the rod breaks, the rope snaps, and suddenly, you just don’t care anymore.

It isn’t to say you weren’t close to Izuku, but the gap is a chasm that can never be bridged. (Maybe another war would help, but your smile isn’t worth the world burning.) Your relationship with Izuku now can’t hold a candle to what it once was, because on the 15th of July, 7 years ago, you’d been at the wrong place, at the wrong time.

On the 15th of July, 7 years ago, Izuku had pushed you out of the way, and taken your place.

On the 15th of July, 7 years ago, Izuku had been hit by a quirk.

In each memory, each picture he remembers, every thought he’s ever had of you in that one-year timeframe, you disappear. Because each year after that, at the stroke of midnight on the 16th of July, he’d forget you.

Even as nightmares of the war ease for some, yours is eternal, and you breathe every second of it. You want to kill yourself.

If I tell you I’m not who you think I am,

.

.

.

will you believe me?

You’re writing on a post-it, and it’s a bad habit of yours. Your game of Secrets that you’d incorporate through each year even though there’s no one to play the game with now. Your laughs shared, and your effort that you’d build the bridge so painstakingly with the hands that tore your relationship up in the first place.

His viridian eyes that shine with adoration for you, his smile that is carved just for you, his nickname for you. Starlight, Starlight, Starlight.

Over and over, back and forth, up and down.

Your game of Secrets is shelved in a tin box of Post-its, and your nickname is foreign on Izuku’s tongue. You’d tried to bridge the gap this round, but the chasm has widened, and if take a leap of faith, you’ll die. There are guards up, especially after the war, and as much as you try to tear them down, your relationship can never be the same.

It’ll always be L/n and Midoriya, because you, aren’t, enough.

“Starlight.”

You look up from the Post-it, and your eyes meet crimson red.

Kacchan.

You slam your head back down on the desk.

“Oi!” He’s shaking you, but part of you doesn’t feel a thing. You only hurt when you let it hurt, and it all goes away if you don’t think. Kacchan makes you think. You don’t like Kacchan.

“Go away.”

“It’s July.” Bakugou softens, and isn’t that a sight for sore eyes? “Izuku’s month.”

You only hurt when you let it hurt, and it goes away when you don’t think.

Don’t think.

“Kacchan, I don’t want to try anymore. I’m tired.” Your voice is a whisper, shit, you’re a mess. “I’m tired of chasing after Zuku.”

Numb, numb, numb. It’s scary, that this is the boy you’ve been in love with for the better part of your life, and you don’t want to stop loving him.

Your words taste like resolve. You’re clinging, one hand, on the edge of a cliff in the howling wind. Barely. Because even though you’ve chosen to hurt, chosen to feel, breaking points you don’t believe in start cracking your soul, and leave part of the world black and grey.

That’s funny, you swore your Post-it was green.

“Starlight—”

“Don’t start, Kacchan. I can’t ganbare my way through this.” You crumble your Post-it, stand up, haul your sorry ass to the door and throw the Post-it away. “Just leave me alone.”

You run into Izuku on your back to the dorms, and he smiles and waves at you as you leave. “See you around, L/n!” He says, you wave back, smile fake, but real enough. “See you around, Midoriya.”

Today is the start of July, and you dread this day every year, the countdown to Izuku’s inevitable memory wipe, and you’d made every effort to treasure it last year, with Secrets and stupid gifts.

But this year, you don’t even have any memories to protect.

—

“Kacchan!” Izuku gasps, slamming the door to the classroom open. “I think I accidentally left my workings for integration on my table, I—” He trails off.

Bakugou is standing so still in front of L/n’s table like he is staring at the corpse of a person he couldn’t save. “Kacchan?”

With little to no pause, he turns, walks to Izuku’s table, picks up the loose pieces of foolscap and walks over to where Izuku stands by the waste bin.

“Oh, thank you—Waachan!”

With one swift motion, Kacchan dumps his precious notes into the dustbin.

“Kacchan!” Izuku wails, bending down immediately to sort through the trash. Thankfully, it had been recently cleared, and it was just scraps of paper left in it. “You’re so mean! I thought that we were over this—”

He tries to flick off the green post-it that’s got stuck in the crossfire, preparing to throw it back, forgotten, when Bakugou grabs his hand and looks at him in the eyes. “Izuku. Read it.”

He has a serious expression on, and since Izuku trusts him with his life, (and because he’s cranky when Izuku ignores him) he does what he’s told with zero hesitation.

If I tell you I’m not who you think I am,

.

.

.

will you believe me?

Right beneath, in the tiniest of scrawls, are the words,

please believe me, Izuku

crossed out so many times that it was almost illegible.

His heart does three big somersaults and threatens to be puked out of his mouth.

Alarmed, his eyes flicker up to Bakugou, who looks at him so hard that it makes Izuku feel like he’d done something wrong. “Whose handwriting is that?” The red-eyed boy, his childhood friend spits, jabbing a finger at the note.

With a double take and a quick memory scan, his mouth dries up like sand in the desert.

“L/n.”

Kacchan frowns, but Izuku is right, and before he can get anything out his friend beats him to it.

“If you think Shortie’s doing shitty things behind our backs, she’s not, and that’s not what she meant by her note. She’s hurting, and she needs you, Izuku. I can patch up her wounds, but I can’t stop her from bleeding. Talk to her, please.”

Izuku’s horrified that he didn’t notice anything. You’re always full of smiles, warm like sunshine and gentle like clouds. You’ve always helped him when he needed it and you were a solid partner in practicals when paired up. You’d just arrived in class in the middle of last year, but you fit in so well. What happened?

“You’re the closest to her, Kacchan, surely you must know something?” He says, looking up at the blond with eyes full of green.

“I don’t.” Katsuki grits out. Lie. “The note was addressed to you, wasn’t it?

Why don’t you ask her to find out?”

[coffee-writesthings]

so like months ago me and @lonewolfinthetardis came up with a sort of collaborative thing (we both write a fic with the same prompt and then share them) and then I basically didn't touch it for however long, until now! This is gonna come in 4 parts, with this as the first one (dw they'll all be connected to the same post lol)

Spy entered the meeting room, where Sniper and Miss Pauling were already waiting for him.

“Fashionably late,” said Sniper, “like always.”

He retorted, “At least I’m fashionable. You look like you crawled out of a dumpster.”

“And you wear 10,000$ suits to the bloodiest job on the planet.”

“Boys.” Miss Pauling snapped, there wasn’t enough coffee in the damn world to deal with these two. Once satisfied that they had stopped squabbling like siblings, she spoke again, “I have a job for the two of you.”

“Why just us?” Sniper asked.

“Think about it for a few seconds. You’re both the most efficient mercs here by a long shot.”

“Well thank you, Pauling. Though I think you’re mistaken. I’m efficient in killing, but he,” he stared daggers at the other man, “is efficient at taking shots. He doesn’t kill.”

“Look at me in my eyes, Spy. Just how much do you think I care about your banal, stupid differences? Does it match up, at all, with how much I want to smack you in the face right now?”

“I can help with that part.” Sniper interjected smugly, “She doesn’t care about how it gets done, just that it does.”

“Fine. What’s our mission?”

She pulled up a map with locations of both RED and BLU bases, the various battlefields for their fights, among various other things like the town of Tuefort. However, she ignored that, in favor of taking a massive red pen to circle one location in particular, far off to the east from their base. “There’s a gala going on here, and they have something we want. I can’t be more specific, just know it’s important to the Administrator-- if you fumble this operation, it’s your head, and Respawn won’t save you.”

“Please, there’s no way you’d be able to turn off Respawn. Right?”

“Do you really want to test that theory when I have a gun pointed at your face?”

“Understood ma’am.

Spy asked the question he usually asked when it came to missions, “What are our covers?”

“I’m so glad you asked!” she actually did seem a little glad, if not like she had a plan up her sleeves. Passing out a small pile of identifications and a sheet of paper to each man, she explained, “Your name, Sniper, is going to be Michael. You’re married to Spy. His temporary name is Samuel.”

“Like hell I’m going to marry the spook!” he looked at him, “Ugh, can’t even imagine kissing you.”

“I can imagine it,” he gagged, “You probably taste like the coffee you drink all day.”

“And you probably taste like week-old cigarettes.”

Before they could descend into stupidity, she pulled out a whistle, blowing on it hard, “Get yourselves together! You’re trained killers, not toddlers who can’t share a toy.”

They shared a look of disgust.

“Listen. It’s three days. You can get over yourselves for three days. It’s only 72 hours, probably less if you get there and back faster. And, once you’re back, you can go to town on each other all you want.”

Sniper took a deep breath, gathering himself. She had a point-- he was supposed to be polite, efficient. And, well, he could just get it over with and then he’d never have to think about it again. “I’ll do it. Sorry for the… outburst.”

“Thank you, for cooperating like an adult. Spy?”

“If I leave him to die, can I collect his paychecks?”

“Spy.”

“Sorry, sorry-- I jest. I’ll do it.”

~ Scene Break ~

So as not to arouse suspicion when they’re at the gala, Sniper plans to take his van, but leave it some ways away from the venue. Getting into it brings some comfort to the fact that he has to work with Spy for this mission.

What was it he hated so much about him, though? Was it the snobbishness, the way he was just an asshole to everyone, or something else?

“This is what we’re staying in for the next several days? I think I’d prefer death by fire to this.”

Ah, it was definitely the way he was a snobbish asshole.

“Get over yourself, Spy. Like it or not, this is where we’re gonna live together, for a bit.”

“I’ll do it, but I’m going to complain the whole time.”

“Do that and I gag you with that mask of yours.” Sniper got into the driver’s seat as Spy got into the Passenger’s.

“You might as well drive a mile away and shoot out my tongue at that point. It’s so typical of you to run away from your problems.”

“Well look who’s talking! Scout’s your damn kid and he doesn’t know-- you really think you’ve got legs to stand on here? You- you get too close, Spy.”

“And you’re too far away. I get up close because that's the only way for me to kill.

“These three days better pass fast.” he growled.

“That’s one thing we can agree on.”

A few hours passed, where Spy found that he had fallen asleep. He awoke to the sounds of Sniper humming to some quiet song, a smile on his face— the sunlight shone into his beautiful brown eyes. How could someone he never really liked have such a fairytale face?

He dismissed the thought, going back to sleep after his momentary - severe - lapse in judgement.

[morgueqt]

—on top of the dresser, i wanna undress her.

Genshin Impact Rosaria x GN!Reader.

Tags ; Explicit Sexual Content. Face-Sitting. Hair-Pulling. Light Dom/Sub. Cunnilingus. Top!Rosaria. Power Bottom!Reader. Degradation. Dirty Talk.

AN ; first fic i’m getting around to posting here and it’s the 1k essay i wrote about eating this woman out… whoops. You can find more of my fics on my AO3 under the same username! Obviously this is smut, 18+, read at your own risk. ⚠️

“Are you ready to confess?”

Her voice is like wine as she speaks, smooth and intoxicating, lulling you out of the recesses of your mind. It’s eerily similar to a predator luring out its prey, feigning innocence before it sinks its teeth into supple flesh. You suppose that’s more accurate than not, especially when it comes to Rosaria, but you both already know that she doesn’t need to catch you. No, you, her prey, come willingly. Again and again.

She’s straddling your head, entirely nude save for white gloves and the metallic claws she loves to clink together when she’s bored. Despite her title of “Sister”, Rosaria looks like sin incarnate. You can see the arousal smeared between her thighs, the folds of her cunt glistening in the low lamplight. You can’t deny that it makes you a little smug, being able to have such an effect on her, someone so usually nonchalant and detached.

Nevertheless, you aren’t here to gloat or gawk. Rosaria had spoken to you, and you knew better than to keep her waiting. You may be special to her in a way no one else is, enough to warrant these special “confessions”, but even you aren’t spared her impatience.

“Yes.” It leaves your lungs in a rush of air, your hands seeking out her narrow hips and clinging to them like a lifeline. Despite the belatedness of your response, Rosaria seems satisfied.

“Then get to it,” she muses, hovering just above your face.

You don’t need any further invitation, you urge her down and she lowers herself on you. Rosaria has never been the shy type so she has no shame in fully sitting, threatening to smother you in her cunt. Not that you mind, Archons no. You squeeze her waist to let her know you’re comfortable, and then get to work.

Your tongue glides over her soaked folds like a man starved, alternating between kitten licks at her clit and full on lapping at her like the dog Rosaria would say you are. You can’t help yourself, the taste of her is addictive. She moans somewhere above you, never that loud, but always sure to express her enjoyment. She moves her hips in little thrusts against your tongue, essentially riding it.

“Dirty little sinner,” Rosaria rasps, tangling her hand in your hair. Her metal claws scrape harshly at your scalp and make it sting, but you’re too focused on devouring her to care. “If only you did this as much as you ran your mouth.”

Your only reply is a pathetic whine that gets muffled by her pussy, your jaw aching as you open it wider and latch onto her, sucking. Rosaria’s hips jolt involuntarily and she lets out a drawn out groan, her thighs squeezing around your head as she presses herself down on your face, blindly chasing the sensation. Like this, you really can’t breathe, but why would you need to? All you need to do is pleasure her, make her feel good. It’s what you were made for, all you were good for.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Rosaria praises, now rutting against you. “Eat up like the whore you are. What would the other Sisters think? Knowing that one of their most devoted attendees is just a slut that loves to sin. No amount of hymns or prayers will ever cleanse you of that.”

You diligently lick up the slick that drips from her slit, delving your tongue inside in search of more. You could care less about her degrading words, it’s not as though she’s wrong. You aren’t devout or even particularly religious, though you’re certainly good at feigning interest. The only reason you even frequent the church is for her. To see her, to speak to her, anything.

It had started out innocently enough, just you dropping off some cecilias on behalf of a commission from Barbara, but she hadn’t been there. Instead you’d been greeted by a tall, brooding woman with pale, yellow eyes and an unwavering scowl. Rosaria had been intimidating to say the least, but something about her captivated you. There were no masks or lies with her, she was honest to the point of nearly being insensitive. She spoke her mind without shame or care, and she did what she pleased.

Ironically, it would seem that what Rosaria enjoyed doing the most was you.

She’s getting close now, you can tell. Her thighs clench and unclench around your head, her control over her muscles beginning to waver as she gives herself over to the pleasure. You can’t see her, but her head has fallen back and her eyes have closed, her lips parted as low sounds escape her. Your own arousal pulses with neglect as you hear Rosaria moan out your name.

As she begins to buck against you, you focus once more on shoving your tongue inside her sopping cunt, your nose occasionally bumping her swollen clit as she moves. Rosaria gasps out, breathless as she tightens her grip on your hair to the point of pain, but you don’t care. You eat out her pussy like it’ll be your last meal, delighted by the way you can feel it twitch against your lips, getting wetter as her orgasm approaches.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck… Don’t you waste a drop,” Rosaria pants from above. Her free hand is fisting the sheets and if you aren’t mistaken, you think you can hear them tear as a result of her claws.

You lap at her until your jaw grows sore and then, finally, she cums. Watching Rosaria reach her peak will forever be a sight you’ll never tire of, you’re sure it’s the closest you’ll ever get to Celestia while alive. Her juices coat your face as she chants your name like it’s the only prayer worth reciting, and you can’t help but muse over the fact that it’s the most energy you’ve ever seen her exude for something like that.

You do your best to help Rosaria ride out her high, licking up her fluids dutifully and doing your damndest to prolong her pleasure. After what seems like forever, she lifts herself from your face, finally too sensitive to stand the stimulation. Her thighs are trembling with the effort of holding herself up, and you can see a faint flush on her face. Aside from that and the sheen of sweat on her skin, Rosaria appears unfairly composed otherwise.

“Did I do good?” You ask her, a coy smile on your lips as you peer up at her. Rosaria responds with a scoff, but you glimpse the smile she wears as she shifts off of you and leans down for a kiss instead. She’s unbothered by the taste of herself, exploring your mouth and sucking at your tongue with a reverence you’d never known her to have.

“I suppose it was satisfactory,” she hums upon pulling back, chuckling quietly.

“Only satisfactory?” You pout, but she’s quick to quell your impending brattiness. She taps a clawed finger against your cheek, and the dim lighting almost makes it seem like her eyes are glowing.

“Don’t start. We aren’t done yet,” Rosaria murmurs. Her gaze is downcast, fixated now on your forgotten arousal. You can’t help but shiver, and you know your reaction makes her smug, moving her way down until she’s kneeling between your legs.

“Let’s see what else that mouth of yours can do, Sinner.”

[theladyofdeath]

Lady Death's Lover {VII}

Lady Death's Lover Masterlist & Summary

19th Century Period AU Nesta x Cassian Secret Affair / Enemies to Lovers / Forbidden Romance Fanfiction / Characters from Sarah J Maas / ACOTAR B ased on a prompt sent in by anonymous

A/N: I meant to post this, like, a week ago...but I have to admit that I've been pretty down lately. It's not been a good mental health week. I apologize for the delay! Now that the school year is in full swing, I may only be posting one chapter a week instead of two. Thank you all so much for reading and I hope you continue to enjoy! x

TW: marital abuse, sexual content, language, depression, alcohol abuse

This story is for readers 18+. Mature readers only. Content should not be read by anyone under 18.

Dear Gwyn,

Emerie and I missed you this last tea. She told me all about her recent travels and now we must wait to hear all about yours once you return. Selfishly, I am glad you will not be gone for long. I swear, I am living vicariously through you and Emerie. I absolutely adore hearing about all the two of you see and do beyond the borders of Velaris. I will not spoil all that Emerie told me for I am certain you wish for her to tell you herself.

I will, however, briefly mention something that I shared. In all honesty, I’m a bit embarrassed about it. No one will ever know about it with the exception of the two of you. There is…a man. This man keeps popping into my mind and just yesterday he popped into my carriage as well. Although, I believe I am to blame for that. It was storming and I offered him shelter. However, that is not the issue. The issue is that, on multiple occasions now, I have felt towards this man. I do not need to tell you how troubling that is. 

I have not acted on these feelings, of course, but when he is near I lose all sense of myself and my duties. It seems silly. I do not know him, not truly. Perhaps I am simply lonely and find him handsome, that is all. At least, I hope that is all. 

Please burn this letter once you have read it and write back soon.

With love,

Nesta

Nesta

The sun is shining and the air is warm but I am absolutely miserable. I have been dragged to yet another social dinner alongside my husband. I am on his arm pretending to be the most loyal, loving wife, but inside I am raging. I feel like a caged animal ready to attack, only my target is my husband and that will simply not do.

Apparently, such thoughts are frowned upon.

Unsure of what this dinner is actually for, my mind has already become vacant once we reach our chairs. We are seated across from a few of Tomas’ business partners and their wives, high ranking members of the ton like ourselves. I let the men talk and for once I am grateful for it. If we women were to talk, I would have nothing kind to say to these women. In fact, I would surely say something to them that would get me smacked by the man on my arm.

My husband has never liked my sharp tongue. I figured that out quite quickly. 

It had been less than twenty-four hours into our marriage, the morning after our wedding, our consummation, when he first struck me. He entered my bedchamber and was appalled that I was still nude from the night before. I asked him why he did not like my body, while he was ashamed of my nakedness when it was he that stripped me bare the night before. His response was to throw a nightgown at me and tell me to cover up. He said that no woman should be bare in daylight that is not a whore.

I refused to put the gown on.

And then he hit me.

From that moment, not even twenty-four hours after we had said our vows, I knew my marriage would never be one full of love. 

We eat and the food is decent. The roasted chicken is flavorful and the vegetables have just enough crunch to be satisfying. Tomas does not allow me to drink the wine, but I long for it, just to help me get through the evening until I am safely alone in my room once more with only the company of a good book. 

Unable to make eye contact with the women across from me, my gaze drifts further down the table and my breathing halts. 

I hadn’t even realized he was here. I was so deep within my own thoughts and misery that I hadn’t taken account of who else was present with the exception of those seated across from us. He must have arrived after we did.

As if he can feel my eyes on him, his eyes swivel to mine. 

Lord Cassian is dressed in all his finery and it suits him, strangely. He is always dressed finely, but I still imagine him as a man that is naturally a bit unkempt. I would like to see that version of him.

I give him a polite nod.

He returns the gesture. 

I turn to Tomas to see if he notices my distraction but he is in an enthusiastic conversation with the man beside him — a man whose name I’ve forgotten. He must be important for some reason. 

I try not to look back at Cassian, I truly do, but I can feel him staring. My thoughts drift back to our time in my carriage. Although the ride was short, there was more excitement in that ride than I’ve had with any man in years. Thankfully we arrived at his home before anything could have happened.

And I fear that if the ride had continued any longer, something would have happened. I know such a thing is blasphemy, but I cannot help but wonder what it would be like.

To be ravished by a man like Lord Cassian. 

I look at him once more. His jaw is hard, his eyes dark, as if he knows the thoughts that are running through my mind. I reach for my glass of wine before I remember I do not have one, that my husband does not trust me to drink. 

Realizing I’ve been locking eyes with a lord who is not my husband for far too long, I focus on my empty plate. Still, I can feel his gaze linger, can feel his eyes roaming my body, begging me to look his way. I do not, can not.

Suddenly, I feel like I cannot breathe. The room has grown too hot and I feel as if I am suffocating. Luckily, everyone around the table has begun to rise. I believe the owner of this home, whoever he is, has offered to show everyone something he deems extravagant. Tomas tells me to stay with the other ladies while he goes off to see this extravagant piece of uselessness and leaves me be.

I take the opportunity to get far, far away. 

After sneaking through multiple winding hallways, I find myself outside and in the gardens. The early evening air is cool and welcoming as the sun begins its descent. I immediately find peace in the silence.

The silence evaporates too quickly. 

“Lady Nesta, are you alright?”

I spin around to see, of course, Lord Cassian. He’s standing casually, with his hands clasped behind his back. He’s not smiling. In fact, he looks concerned. 

“Yes, of course,” I reply, trying my best to remain unaffected. “You should return to the party.”

“The men have gone to see Lord Kallias’ new hunting trophies.” He shrugs and I want to laugh at how informal he seems. “I do not care to see such things. I care more to see how you are faring after looking so miserable for the past hour.” 

I snort. “And here I thought I was good at hiding my emotions.”

“You are,” he says, with no hesitation. “I may have been paying more attention than the others.”

I’m blushing.

I hate myself for blushing. 

Suddenly, I can feel his hand on my knee, my hand on his. I was foolish for touching him, for asking what I was about to ask that day in the carriage, but I find it hard to find regret.

I clear my throat. “I see.” 

He takes a step toward me, then another, and I’m frozen in place. 

“You should really go back inside, my lord,” I say, my hands drawing into fists at my sides to keep me grounded. “This is…”

“Inappropriate?” he supplies, stopping a mere foot away. “I mean nothing untoward. Besides, you and I were alone in your carriage just the other day and I do not recall you thinking that inappropriate.”

That may be true, but it quickly grew inappropriate once I wanted to rip off his clothes and mount him on the velvet bench. 

Wonderful. Now that’s all I’m thinking about. 

“I have changed my mind,” I say, quickly. “That and this are both inappropriate. Good day, my lord.”

He doesn’t move. 

“I came out here to be alone,” I add. 

He still doesn’t move.

Just as I’m about to yell at him, he says, ever-so-calmly, “He does not cherish you as he should.”

My back goes rigid. “Pardon me?”

“Your husband,” he says, as if he has any right to what he’s saying, as if it’s not blasphemy to be speaking to a married woman this way. “He does not cherish you. The entire dinner, he looked at you once, and the look he gave you was the same as if he was scolding a child.” 

Anger fuels me. There must be a certain level of arrogance to make a man say such a thing. My shock-filled anger must show because he shrugs.

Shrugs.

“I apologize if you do not care for my opinion,” he says, “but I have never been one to hold my tongue.”

I cannot breathe. “You know not of what you speak.”  

"And what is that?" he asks, that smirk remaining. "The truth? I know very well that I speak the truth. It is you that does not want to accept it." 

My jaw aches from how hard it’s clenching. “I believe you are drunk, my lord.”

My hostile tone doesn’t sway him. In fact, it makes his eyes grow brighter. He thinks I’m joking. He must, or he wouldn’t be this ignorant. 

“I may not be sober,” he confesses. “Although, I am far from drunk. Do I look drunk?”

No, he does not, but some people have a certain skill set for hiding their inebriation. Yet, he remains the perfect picture of a gentleman. 

“Leave,” I order, and when he does not, I add, “Please. Do not make me beg.” 

He does not falter. “I would not mind making you beg, Lady Nesta.”

I ignore the way my cheeks heat. “Lady Mandray is what you should refer to me as.”

“Is that the name you truly prefer?” he asks, and that humor dims, if only a little. He’s standing so close to me now that his scent is strong, overpowering me. Mint, with a hint of tobacco. “If so, it is what I will call you, but I fear you prefer Lady Nesta. Perhaps even just, simply, Nesta.” 

Honestly, I’m surprised I’ve been able to control myself for this long. “You must stop speaking to me as if you know me,” I snap. “We do not know each other. You are no friend of mine. The way you are speaking to me is distasteful to say the least. I have never had to endure such an absurd conversation, much less from a member of high society. You should be ashamed of yourself, my lord, to embarrass yourself in front of a lady, to act a fool. If you will not leave me alone, then I shall leave you be.”

I go to take a step around him, but he steps in my path and our bodies nearly collide. 

It’s annoying how he has a habit of doing that.

“Should I scream?” I whisper. It’s meant to be a threat, but my body feels like it’s on fire. “Cry out for help?”

“I have no intention of harming you,” he says, taken aback, as if the idea is ludicrous. I nearly feel bad for insinuating such a thing.

“No,” I say, and I mean it. “I know you would not.” 

He swallows, and neither of us move.

“I will leave you alone,” he says, and his voice is low, reaching my very core. I can feel his breath on my face, the warmth, smelling like expensive red wine. “I apologize if I have overstepped. And you are right. I do not know you, not well, but I have seen glimpses of who you are and that woman is very different from the woman who I saw sitting at that dinner table, next to a man she seems to loathe. I know you well enough to know that you deserve better than a loveless marriage. That is all.” 

“My lord—”

“Fogive me,” he breathes, and he sways forward as my breath catches. 

I called him a fool but it is I who is the fool. I am foolish for wanting this man to kiss me, to touch me, to sweep me into his arms and make me feel something. 

“There is nothing to forgive,” I say, and look from his welcoming lips to his eyes that are watching me so intently that I feel completely nude. 

He leans in closer and the panic sets in.

“I am sorry,” I say, and my voice sounds pathetically broken. “I must go back before Tomas returns.”

As much as I wish to have this moment, long to have this moment, I cannot endure Tomas’ wrath nor can I bear to embarass both myself and my husband before all these guests. I may be foolish, but I am not that foolish. 

Not now, not yet.

One look at me and Lord Cassian nods. There is no judgment in his gaze, there is only understanding.

This time, he bows, and meets my eyes once more before walking away.

“Goodbye, Nesta.”

I do not breathe again until he is completely out of sight.