#this was longer than I intended it to be.

[teaboot]

I feel like if you're using a lot of disposable plastic bags in your day to day life, you've gotta do something sustainable to make up for it. Like using bamboo toilet paper or eco friendly cat litter or something, yknow

Honestly I exaggerate for comedic effect, while I DO routinely use ziplock bags to hold spaghetti I cook maybe once a month and the bag itself is usually for freezer storage. I actually throw out maybe one bag a week? I DO hate washing plates and tupperware and junk but that usually just means I eat sandwiches without a plate.

I agree though that needless waste should be avoided, and I do avoid it- biodegradable bags and recyclables, empty butter tubs used to store leftovers, etc.

This said, though, not applicable necessarily for myself but for a lot of others- I feel that it's importat to remember that there are many people who legitimately NEED things like plastic straws, or catheters, or pre-packaged foods

And the idea that that's a moral failing that individuals need to personally make up for when a single billionaire blows out more CO2 in a long weekend than I will in my whole life on a superjet meet-cute in the Bolivian rainforest between humvee drag races funded by the river-polluting textiles plants they planted in a third world country to avoid EPA laws and give an entire village stillbirths and stomach cancer is an idea that those very same bigwigs have spent a LOT of time and money investing in planting in the public psyche.

Like- Glass bottles are infinitely recyclable, so why are so many drinks in plastic now? Loads of drinks manufacturers used to buy them back and clean them for re-use, so why did they stop? If they chose to make something out of a limited and environmentally irresponsible material, why is it my failing to track down a correct process of disposal for them? What if there are none in my area? Do I lobby for more recycling plants in my area? Do I set aside some of my limited time outside the pain factory of my job- which I have more than one of, thanks to rising costs of things just like that drink I just emptied- to properly dispose of this company's waste FOR them?

Say coca-cola just rolled up to your town and started dumping millions of empty plastic bottles in the street, going, "wow, you should really think about building and staffing a recycling depot, it would be really shameful of you to just put these in the trash." When companies purposefully use materials with limited lifespans- because yes, even plastic can only be reused so many times- and tell you it's your own fault if it harms the environment- that's essentially what they're doing, just with more steps.

Yes, its important to be as environmentally concious as we can in our day to day life, but responsible sustainability is not catholicism. We don't get good boy points from our lord and savior Captain Planet every time the average low-income household gathers together to hold hands and repent for a single-use plastic that allows them to access something they need.

Entire families could eat trees and shit dead lithium batteries for years and still not do as much damage to the planet as an average dye plant or braindead celebrity does in a week just for fun, and I'm mad about it

...this went on longer than intended.

TL/DR: DO recycle and minimize waste, but don't beat yourself up over the little waste you can't avoid, and follow the money.

EDIT: Part 2

[kiwriteswords]

Something To Be Thankful For

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: With Thanksgiving in the US next week, I could not help myself! Started writing this one last week and debated on posting, but here we are. Enjoy! Grateful for this community! (Also needed to post this before I move onto writing some Christmas content, lol!)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Tags/Warnings: Thanksgiving, fluff, domestic moments, holiday traditions, family dynamics, slow burn, new relationship, found family, mentions of grief, mentions of wine/alcohol, and food TW.

Sypnosis: When you accept an unexpected Thanksgiving invitation from Aaron Hotchner and his son Jack, a simple holiday dinner becomes something more. Through shared laughter, heartfelt moments, and the warmth of a home-cooked meal, you discover the beauty of connection and the quiet joy of being exactly where you belong.

You were shuffling papers into your go-bag when you heard a knock on the edge of your desk. Glancing up, you were greeted by Hotch’s warm smile, softer than the one he wore in the field but still undeniably him. It was a smile you’d only recently gotten used to—the kind of smile that reminded you things between the two of you were no longer strictly professional.

The bullpen was quieter than usual. Most of the team had already left for the extended Thanksgiving break. Morgan had been the first to bolt, teasing everyone about having a “real” meal with family, while Garcia had dragged Reid out the door, insisting he couldn’t spend the holiday with nothing but his books for company. Rossi had a feast he was looking forward to slaving over, and you could still hear Emily groan at having to see her mother. JJ, however, was looking forward to the domestic Thanksgiving she was hosting. Now, it was just you and Hotch left, lingering in the familiar silence of the BAU.

“You’re not headed out yet?” Aaron’s voice broke the silence, low and thoughtful, drawing your attention away from your bag. He stood near your desk, hands in his pockets, his tie slightly loosened from the day.

“Just tying up some loose ends,” you replied, zipping your bag shut and brushing a stray hair from your face. “You?”

He hesitated, his gaze shifting from your bag to you and then back again. His expression was softer than usual, but his shoulders still carried that ever-present weight. “Actually, I wanted to ask what your plans are for Thanksgiving.”

“Oh, nothing special.” You shrugged, keeping your tone light and breezy. “My family’s out of state, so I’ll probably just stay in. Maybe I’ll cook something small and watch some cheesy holiday movies. You know, the usual.”

Aaron frowned slightly, the crease between his brows deepening, and you immediately regretted how casually you’d phrased it. His concern was unmistakable, and it made your stomach flip.

“You’re spending it alone?” he asked, his voice a touch lower, softer.

“Well, yeah,” you said lightly, trying to shrug it off. “I didn’t think traveling back for just a few days made sense. Plus, it’s not like I’ve never done it before.”

He didn’t respond right away, and his silence made you look up at him. There was something unreadable in his expression, a quiet thoughtfulness that always made you feel like he saw more than you ever intended to show. His lips pressed together briefly, and then his shoulders relaxed just a fraction. When he finally spoke, there was a quiet determination in his tone.

“Then join me and Jack.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Join us,” he repeated, stepping closer, his voice gentler this time. “It’ll just be the two of us. Jessica is with Haley’s family, and Sean… well, who knows where he is. There’s plenty of room at the table.”

“Oh, Aaron, I don’t want to intrude—”

“You wouldn’t be,” he interrupted, his tone firm but not unkind. He stepped closer still, and now his eyes held yours with an intensity that left no room for doubt. “Jack would love to have you there. And so would I.”

Your throat tightened at his sincerity, and for a moment, you could only stare at him. This was Aaron Hotchner—stoic, composed, sometimes impossibly guarded. But now, he was standing in front of you, asking you to spend Thanksgiving with him and his son. It was more than an invitation—it felt like a gesture, an opening to something you hadn’t dared to hope for.

The two of you hadn’t discussed Thanksgiving before this. Your relationship was still new, so new that you’d intentionally avoided bringing up the holiday, not wanting to impose or create any kind of awkward expectation. But here he was, offering exactly what you hadn’t dared to ask for.

“You’re sure?” you asked, your voice quieter now, hesitant.

“I’m very sure,” he said, his voice soft but resolute. “You shouldn’t spend the holiday alone. And honestly…” He paused, his lips twitching into the faintest smile. “It wouldn’t feel right without you.”

Aaron could see the uncertainty flickering in your expression, but he also saw the moment it gave way to something warmer, something that made his chest tighten. He hadn’t planned to ask—not until he saw you standing there, zipping up your bag with a casual mention of spending the day alone. The thought of you sitting by yourself, piecing together a small meal, felt wrong in a way he couldn’t ignore.

You nodded, the weight of his sincerity breaking through your hesitation. “Okay. I’ll come.”

The relief that washed over his face was subtle but unmistakable, and his small smile made your chest feel impossibly light. “Good. I’ll pick you up tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” you said, unable to stop the smile spreading across your lips. “Sounds perfect.”

As the two of you walked to the elevator, silence filled the space, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. You felt his presence next to you, steady and sure, and your mind raced with the implications of spending Thanksgiving with him and Jack. It was new territory, uncharted and a little daunting, but the thought of sitting at his table—laughing, sharing stories, carving turkey—filled you with a warmth that hadn’t been there before.

Aaron glanced at you as you both stepped into the elevator, catching the faint trace of a smile on your lips. For him, the idea of having you there wasn’t just about avoiding loneliness; it was about inviting you into something that mattered to him. Jack needed to see that warmth, that joy again. And, quietly, so did he.

The morning of Thanksgiving arrived, and your kitchen looked like a crime scene—a deliciously fragrant, pumpkin-filled crime scene. Flour dusted the counter, a rolling pin was haphazardly balanced against a bowl, and the golden-brown crust of your homemade pumpkin pie was cooling on a rack, mocking you with its imperfect edges.

“This has to be perfect,” you muttered, frowning as you adjusted the spices in the filling for the third time. Despite your best efforts, doubt lingered like a stubborn stain. You didn’t want to bring just any dessert to Aaron and Jack’s Thanksgiving table; it had to be flawless.

But the pie wasn’t your only problem.

Your bedroom was a disaster zone. A few blouses were draped over the chair, rejected dresses lay in a heap on the bed, and a pair of black heels you’d pulled from the back of your closet sat mockingly on the floor. Every outfit you tried on felt wrong—too formal, too casual, or just not you.

After tossing yet another top onto the growing pile, you grabbed your phone and hit Aaron’s contact. The second you heard his warm, familiar voice on the other end, you started rambling.

“Hey, okay, so, uh, what’s the dress code for today? Like, should I wear a dress? Or maybe a nice top and jeans? Or should I do something fancier? I don’t want to overdo it, but I also don’t want to look like I didn’t try—oh God, what if I look like I’m trying too hard? Are we doing photos? Do I need to plan for that? Aaron—”

“Hey,” he interrupted, a soft laugh threading through his voice. “Take a breath.”

You paused, clutching the phone tightly as you exhaled. “Sorry. I’m just… overthinking.”

“I can tell,” he said, still chuckling. “But you don’t have to. Trust me.”

“How can I not overthink? It’s our first holiday together, and I don’t want to mess it up,” you admitted in a rush.

“You won’t,” he assured you, his tone gentle. “Honestly, you’re adorable when you get frazzled like this.”

Your cheeks heated at his words, and before you could protest, he added, “Jack’s still in his pajamas. And as for me… well, I’m not exactly pulling out a suit for dinner at home. Something comfortable is perfectly fine.”

“Wait—Jack’s still in his pajamas?” you asked, blinking in disbelief, looking at the clock on your nightstand.

“Yes,” Aaron said, clearly amused. “And he’ll probably stay in them until I convince him to change for dinner. So, whatever you’re comfortable in will be perfect. You don’t need to try for us.”

His words sank in, melting some of the tension in your chest. “Okay,” you said quietly, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. “Thank you. I think I needed to hear that.”

“Of course,” he said softly. “Now, how’s the pie coming along?”

You glanced toward the kitchen, where the scent of nutmeg and cinnamon lingered in the air. “It’s… well, it’s not going to win any awards for presentation, but I think it’ll taste good.”

“That’s all that matters,” Aaron said. “We’re looking forward to it—and to seeing you.”

Your stomach fluttered at the warmth in his voice. “Me too,” you murmured, suddenly feeling a lot calmer.

“Good. I’ll be there soon to pick you up. Take your time finishing up.”

“Okay. Thanks, Aaron.”

After you hung up, you felt the lingering anxiety dissolve. You ditched the fancy outfit idea and settled on your favorite pair of jeans and a cozy sweater. Then, you went back to the pie, focusing on getting the filling just right while you waited for him to arrive.

When the familiar black SUV pulled into your driveway, you took a deep breath, balancing the still-warm pumpkin pie in one hand and a bag filled with carefully packed containers in the other. You barely had time to lock the door behind you before Jack jumped out of the car and bounded up to meet you, a wide grin on his face.

“Hi!” he chirped, his excitement palpable. He glanced at the pie in your hands. “Is that dessert?”

“It sure is,” you said, crouching slightly to meet his gaze. “And there’s more where that came from. I hope you’re hungry.”

“Oh, I’m always hungry,” Jack said with a dramatic sigh, making you laugh.

Aaron approached a moment later, his brows lifting in surprise as he took in the scene. You were balancing a picture-perfect pumpkin pie in one hand and a bag in the other, your face flushed with a mix of excitement and nerves.

“Pumpkin pie and—what’s in the bag?” he asked, his tone light with curiosity.

You straightened, holding the bag up with a sheepish smile. “Homemade stuffing. And a couple of bottles of wine.”

Aaron blinked, his lips curving into an amused smile. He had expected you to bring the pumpkin pie you raved about, knowing how thoughtful you were, but this was above and beyond. “You didn’t have to go all out.”

“It’s Thanksgiving,” you replied, shrugging. “It felt weird to show up empty-handed.”

“And the wine?” he asked, his tone teasing as his gaze flicked to the bottles tucked in the side pocket of the bag.

“One red, one white,” you said, grinning. “You like red, I like white, and I’m not driving, so… why not?”

Aaron chuckled softly, shaking his head. You’d thought of everything. “Fair enough. Why not?”

Jack reached for the bag, eager to help, but Aaron gently intercepted it. “Let me carry that,” he said, taking the bag and pie from you. “You take it easy. We’ve got this.”

As he walked back to the car, his thoughts lingered on you. He’d always admired your attention to detail, but this? This was another level. It wasn’t just the food or the wine—it was the thoughtfulness behind it. You’d taken the time to think about what would make the day special, not just for him but for Jack, too. It tugged at something deep in him, quiet gratitude that he wasn’t facing this day alone anymore.

The drive back to Aaron and Jack’s apartment was quiet and peaceful, the kind of stillness that only came with holidays. The roads were nearly empty; the world seemingly paused for the day.

Jack filled the silence, animatedly telling you about how his dad had let him help with the turkey that morning.

“Well, I didn’t really touch the turkey,” Jack admitted, grinning. “But I got to pick the seasoning!”

From the driver’s seat, Aaron couldn’t help but smile. Jack was practically beaming, his excitement contagious. Aaron found himself glancing at you in the rearview mirror, the way your eyes lit up as you listened to Jack’s story.

“You’ve got a good sous chef there, Aaron,” you teased, glancing at him. He gave you one of those small, subtle smiles that you were quickly learning to adore.

The warmth of your voice settled something in him. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been dreading this day, how empty it had felt knowing Jessica was away and Sean was off doing who-knew-what. But now, with you in the car and Jack’s laughter filling the space, it felt… full. It felt right.

“Well,” Aaron said, his lips twitching into a faint smile, “he might be better at seasoning than I am.”

Jack let out a laugh, and you joined in, the sound weaving through the quiet hum of the car. Aaron’s chest tightened for a moment—not in discomfort, but in recognition. This was something he hadn’t allowed himself to hope for in a long time: the beginnings of a new kind of family, one that made the holidays feel like home again.

When you arrived at the apartment, Aaron carried your things while you shrugged off your coat. He set the bag down carefully and returned to you, his hands outstretched to take your coat. His gaze lingered a little longer, studying your face before trailing down to your outfit. A soft smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“You look beautiful,” he said, his voice low and warm. The sincerity behind it made your heart skip.

You glanced down at your outfit—a simple pair of jeans and a soft sweater—and flushed. “This? It’s nothing fancy.”

“I know,” he replied, his smile growing slightly. “That’s why I like it. You could be wearing sweats, and you’d still look great.”

Your chest fluttered at his words, and you smiled shyly. “Thanks, Aaron.”

He hung your coat with an easy familiarity, glancing back at you as if he wanted to say more but chose to keep it to himself. For a moment, the quiet in the room felt heavy with something unspoken, but then Jack broke the silence, bounding toward you with the same enthusiasm he’d shown when he first greeted you.

“Come on! We’re setting the table,” Jack said, grabbing your hand and tugging you toward the dining area.

“Lead the way,” you said with a laugh, letting him guide you.

Aaron stood by the doorway to the kitchen for a moment, watching the two of you go. Jack was chatting animatedly about napkin folding techniques he’d learned from his Aunt Jess, and you were smiling, nodding along with genuine interest. Aaron turned back to the kitchen, his chest tightening—not from stress, but from something softer, more hopeful.

The next half hour passed in a warm flurry of activity. While Aaron focused on the turkey, you and Jack worked together to set the table. Jack insisted on folding the napkins into what he called “turkey shapes,” even though they looked more like triangles, and you encouraged his efforts as if he were crafting masterpieces.

“You’re a natural,” you told him as he carefully adjusted a plate.

He grinned up at you, his pride clear. “Do you really think so?”

“Absolutely,” you said with a playful wink, and Jack’s grin widened even more.

From the kitchen, Aaron glanced over at the two of you. His hands stilled on the turkey baster as he watched Jack eagerly showing you his handiwork, your laughter mixing with Jack’s excited chatter. The sight made something settle in him, a warmth he hadn’t felt in a long time spreading through his chest.

He shifted his focus back to the turkey, his mind wandering to how easily you’d fit into their dynamic. It wasn’t forced, wasn’t awkward. Instead, it was natural, like you’d been part of their little family all along. He shook his head slightly, the faintest smile lingering on his lips as he resumed preparing dinner.

The apartment filled with the warm, savory aroma of roasting turkey, the clinking of plates as Jack adjusted the table settings, and the soft hum of conversation. Occasionally, you glanced toward the kitchen, where Aaron worked with quiet efficiency, a faint smile playing at the edges of his expression whenever he caught your eye.

Jack’s laughter echoed brightly, and Aaron chuckled softly in response, the sound grounding the space in warmth and comfort. It had been a long time since Thanksgiving had felt like more than just another day, but with you here, it felt different. It felt like something new, something he wanted to hold onto.

The table was set, the food was ready, and the apartment buzzed with a warmth that felt almost tangible. Jack had insisted on lighting the small candle centerpiece he’d picked out, proudly declaring it “fancy.” You couldn’t help but laugh as he adjusted the napkins for the third time, clearly taking his job very seriously.

Aaron carried the turkey to the table, the golden skin glistening perfectly, and Jack’s eyes widened in awe. “Whoa, Dad, it looks awesome!”

“Thanks, buddy,” Aaron said, his lips quirking into a small smile. His gaze flickered toward you for a moment, something softer lingering there before he gestured for everyone to take their seats.

As the three of you settled in, Jack’s excitement bubbled over. “Can we eat now? Please?”

Aaron shook his head, chuckling. “Not quite yet, Jack.” He leaned forward slightly, his gaze warm as he looked between you and his son. “Before we start, I think it’s only right that we share what we’re grateful for.”

Jack groaned, though his grin betrayed him. “Dad…”

“Come on,” Aaron said with a faint smirk. “It’s tradition.”

Jack sighed dramatically, but you could tell he didn’t mind as much as he pretended. Aaron turned to you, a slight tilt of his head. “Would you like to go first?”

You blinked, caught off guard, but quickly smiled. “Sure.” You looked at Jack, then at Aaron, and for a moment, your words caught in your throat. “I guess… I’m grateful for this,” you said softly. “For being here, for both of you. This is the kind of thing I’ve always dreamed of—a warm meal, good company, and moments that feel like home.”

Aaron’s expression softened, his gaze steady as he nodded. Jack beamed at you, clearly pleased by your answer.

“My turn!” Jack piped up. “I’m grateful for… um… pie!” He grinned mischievously before quickly adding, “And Dad. And you,” he said, looking at you shyly. “And for not having to eat Brussels sprouts this year.”

That earned a laugh from both you and Aaron, and Jack grinned, proud of himself. Aaron’s smile lingered as he turned his attention to Jack.

“Well, I’m grateful for you, Jack,” he said, his tone soft but steady. “And for this… for today. It’s been a while since Thanksgiving felt like Thanksgiving.”

His gaze shifted to you, and there was something unspoken in his eyes, a depth that made your breath catch. “I’m grateful for you,” he said simply. “For being here.”

The words were gentle but carried a weight that settled over the table like a warm blanket. Jack didn’t notice the brief pause that followed, busy trying to decide what part of the turkey to claim first, but you felt it—the quiet sincerity of what Aaron had said.

As the meal began, the conversation flowed easily, laughter punctuating the clinking of plates and utensils. The food was incredible, each dish perfectly cooked and seasoned. You found yourself marveling at Aaron’s skill in the kitchen.

“This is amazing,” you said between bites of turkey. “I can’t believe you pulled all of this together.”

“Dad’s a really good cook,” Jack said proudly. “He always lets me help.”

Aaron glanced at you, a faint blush creeping into his cheeks at the praise. “I’ve had a lot of practice,” he said quietly, his tone tinged with modesty.

The meal stretched on, each bite more delicious than the last, but it wasn’t just the food—it was the atmosphere. The apartment felt alive in a way it hadn’t in years. For Aaron, this was the first Thanksgiving he hadn’t spent alone with Jack since Haley passed. The ones before that—when he and Haley were divorced—had been different, fractured in a way he tried not to dwell on.

But tonight? Tonight was different. It wasn’t just the food or the laughter; it was the way you fit so effortlessly into this moment. It was the way Jack’s eyes lit up when you praised his napkin folding, the way your laugh softened the edges of his own grief, the way you leaned into this space like it was where you belonged.

Aaron leaned back slightly, watching you and Jack talk animatedly about the pie, his heart aching in a way that wasn’t painful but full. It had been years—years—since he’d felt this kind of warmth during a holiday. Not since Jack was a baby, not since he and Haley had been on the same page. This wasn’t just a good Thanksgiving. This was a piece of something he hadn’t even realized he’d been missing.

For you, this moment was everything you’d dreamed of when you thought about falling in love someday. Not the grand gestures or big declarations, but this—the little moments. The laughter shared over a meal, the warmth of a family gathering, the simple joy of being wanted somewhere.

As the evening wore on, Jack began to nod off at the table, and Aaron scooped him up, promising him a slice of pie tomorrow. You helped clear the dishes, and the quiet rhythm of the task ground you both in the moment. Aaron glanced at you as you set the last plate in the sink, his expression soft.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“For what?” you asked, turning to meet his gaze.

“For being here,” he said simply, the weight of his gratitude clear in his voice.

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest as you replied, “Thank you for having me.” And for the first time in a long time, you both felt like Thanksgiving was exactly what it was meant to be.

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

[alkaline-wtr]

Dirty Talk 141 Head-cannon

Description: How I imagine the boys would feel about dirty talk. Warnings/Genres: 141 x fem!reader, smut, blowjob, fingering, pwp, head-cannon WC:742

** A bit rough but I just wanted to get this up. Enjoy.

Soap: Johnny enjoys dirty talk so much, in fact, he does most of the talking. While you lie on your back pinned into the mattress by his body weight, he spews a string of praises through heavy pants and grunts. Needily bucking his hips into you.

"You like that, huh, feeling me inside you? You feel so good Darlin'. So wet for me, yeah?"

Each sentence comes out as breathy whines. The words nearly caught in his throat as he struggled to keep a steady rhythm. You feel Johnny's length deep with each sloppy thrust.

"Fuck,"

He whimpers,

"I'm getting close darlin’ you just drive me crazy every time."

You could hardly get a word in if you wanted, but you don't mind much.

Gaz: For Kyle, dirty talk is useless and unproductive. He doesn’t care to hear your filthy mewls when your mouth is better suited for other activities.

His 'Shut up and take it' attitude leads him to find any way he can think to keep your tongue occupied, whether it's giving you a couple of slender fingers to suck on or guiding you to your knees the moment you start to speak.

Your eyes ogle the spot of his muscular chest where your palm is splayed out.

“Don’t speak baby, just use that pretty little mouth of yours to show me how you feel huh?”

No more needed to be said, you're eagerly taking his cock into your mouth, coating it in your saliva so your hand glides along his shaft with ease.

You can’t help but gaze up at Kyle through your glassy eyes to watch as he bites back moans. A hand holding a fist full of your hair to make sure the tip of his cock reaches the back of your throat.

"See Darlin'?"

He grumbled. Words weren’t necessary when the gargled moans that vibrated around him were validating enough.

Simon: It's not that he doesn't like dirty talk, but rather, he uses it as a form of measurement for his performance.

After all, if you're able to form anything more than strangled moans and incoherent babbling, slipping curses out under your breath about how good it feels to have his cock buried deep inside your sopping cunt, or how hungrily he laps at your overstimulated clit, then he just isn't doing well enough.

His only goal is to have you shaking with beads of sweat glistening over your soft skin. Your mind is too clouded by ecstasy to remember your own name. Words were just that, a meter to indicate your level of pleasure in that given moment.

"Oh, Simon,"

you exhale.

"Feels good."

Your content hum was too stable for him. He picks up the pace, two of his knuckles pressing deeper into you, curling in time with his thumb that circles your clit.

The gasp you let out as you squirm against his palm is reassuring to him. It isn't much longer that you try and speak again, Driving Simon to add another finger, fucking into your bucking hips so hard that you can't help but close your eyes and grip the sheet. The only noise left in the room besides the wet squelching of your tight cunt, is the squeals of pleasure replacing your intended pleas.

Price: John is his own type of animal, his tip just barely nuzzled against your heat. You can squirm and whimper all you want,

"You'll have ta use your words, sweetheart."

He teases,

"Please, please. I just need to feel you already I can't take it anymore."

Your pussy aches and throbs with the need to release. It's been almost an hour of this. John edges you for as long as it takes, only continuing when he deems your begging and pleading to be satisfactory.

"Come on sweetheart you can do better than that."

The mischievous chuckle that follows frustrates you even more. For an older man, he seemed to have a little too much patience and stamina for this type of thing. And your guess was as good as anyone's on what he wanted to hear for you to finally cum.

Still, you continue to try, fighting through the overstimulation. You weren't sure if your jumbled words had met his standards or if maybe he just pitied you seeing the tears forming in your water line. But he leaves you writhing and screaming out his name as you ride out your most intense orgasm yet.

[woozisguitar]

happy fuckin' birthday

pairing: jihoon x reader (afab)

warnings: kissing, swearing, suggestive towards the end so MDNI, bad bad ideas

word count: 1.2k

a/n: happy birthday to my girlfriend, husband, princess, the real love of my life, lee jihoon. idk what id do without you, my loverboy. everyday im so grateful you and me exist in the same timeline. please always be happier than me <3 (lowercase intended and not beta)

the fast bustling and the faint smell of coffee, which once felt intimidating, now feels like home. it’s been 8 months since you were last here, and god, you missed this. the overseas project took longer than anticipated, but none of that matters now that you’re back with the one you love. you slowly make your way to the floor where his studio is, trying to be as lowkey as possible. see, the thing is, you were supposed to arrive a week later, but the project wrapped up early, and there was no reason for you to stay away from your lover on his birthday. cue a last-minute birthday surprise which only you and his manager knew about.

when the elevator opened on his studio floor, you came face to face with none other than kwon soonyoung. soonyoung is a close friend, but you knew his hyperactivity would give away your plans in a second.

“yn, what are you—”

“shhhhhhhhhhh!” you shushed soonyoung, pulling him into the elevator and pressing the button to the top floor.

“dude, what the hell are you doing back so early?”

“jihoon’s birthday. the project wrapped up, and there was no reason for me to miss it,” you explained and saw a smile creeping up on your friend’s face.

“so, i’m guessing he doesn’t know?”

“nope. i planned this so last minute i’m not even sure if he’s free today.”

“he’s free. working as usual,” soonyoung rolled his eyes, “but i think i have an idea.”

“uh-oh.”

“so your great idea was to tell everyone except jihoon that i’m here? way to keep things lowkey, soonie,” you rolled your eyes, trying to figure out which idea would involve all 12 of jihoon’s members and his manager.

“nooo,” he dragged out the 'o', “the great idea is that we will distract him and sneak you into the studio where you can hide. then, once we leave, you can surprise him!”

“or give him a heart attack and an early death, which would be one hell of a birthday gift,” seungkwan commented, side-eyeing soonyoung.

“well, do you have a better idea?” seungkwan slowly shook his head no. “that’s what i thought. anyways, yn, trust me—he will like this.”

you gave his idea a second thought. well, it’s not like you had something better in mind anyway.

“god, this better work, soonyoung, or i’ll have your head.”

so the idea was indeed stupid.

the plan was that jihoon’s manager would first enter the studio to discuss next week’s schedule, and once he gave you a thumbs-up, the members would all file in and ‘discuss the latest album.’ 12 men filing in to talk at the same time about the same thing? totally not suspicious.

but somehow, this was the best bet you had. so now you were outside the universe factory with the members, waiting for jihoon’s manager to give a thumbs-up. after what felt like an eternity (it was 5 minutes), his manager emerged and gave a subtle thumbs-up.

this was truly starting to feel more and more stupid as the plan progressed.

“everyone ready?” whispered mingyu, and the others nodded in confirmation. slowly, they all started to file in, and you heard them greet jihoon. once all of them were inside, you slowly peeped in to see them form a subtle wall between jihoon and the back of the couch where you were planning to hide.

slowly, you crept in, crouching low and making your way toward the back of the couch. you heard the boys discuss concepts and styles they wanted to try out for the new album. from this angle, it looked like jihoon was undergoing an intervention, and you stifled a small giggle at the mental image. after making sure you were hidden properly behind the couch, you slowly peeked out from the side to see jihoon between jun’s and dino’s legs.

god, he looks so pretty, were your first thoughts. it had been 8 months since you last saw him in person, felt his touch, and kissed his lips. you wanted nothing more than for this plan to be over so you could kiss your boyfriend. you slid back into your hiding spot and texted soonyoung that you were in place. you heard his phone buzz and received a thumbs-up in response.

the members slowly started to wrap up their ‘discussion’ and leave the studio after making some kind of excuse. if jihoon noticed their weird behavior, he sure as hell didn’t comment on it. once all the members left, you slowly peeked out again to see jihoon turned to his computer with his headphones in place. you could hear the loud bass from his headphones and made a mental note to reprimand him about it later.

you crawled from your hiding spot toward jihoon’s chair. from your position, you saw seokmin, soonyoung, and seungkwan hiding behind a partially obstructive door, phones already recording. you quietly rose to your feet, making sure not to touch anything that could alert him to your presence. you leaned down and pressed a small kiss to his cheek.

“happy birthday, baby.”

jihoon jumped from his chair, arms raised to fight whoever broke in. his sudden movement shook you off balance, and you grabbed his now discarded chair to stabilize yourself.

“calm down—it’s me!” you exclaimed, giggling at his confused face.

“y/n,” jihoon blinked, lowering his hands, “what..? i don’t...?”

you heard booseoksoon giggling outside and yelled at them to leave you two alone. once you heard the door click shut, you got closer to jihoon, pressing another kiss to his nose.

“yes, y/n, you dork.”

“you’re here.”

“mhm.”

“you’re actually here? i’m not, like, hallucinating or anything, right?” jihoon blinked, trying to figure out what was happening, making you giggle.

“yes, yes, i’m actually here.”

upon hearing this, jihoon grabbed you by the waist and pulled you closer, nuzzling his face into your neck. “what are you doing here? you’re supposed to be back next week.”

“well, you see,” you hugged him tighter, “i finished the project early and had a lovely guy waiting for me on the other side of the world. and i wanted to celebrate his birthday with him.”

“you did this all for me?” he breathed out.

“of course. who else would i do this for?”

jihoon shook his head, falling back into his chair and dragging you to straddle him.

“god, i fucking missed you,” he said, pulling you in for a heated kiss.

all the months of missing, yearning, and longing manifested in desperate kisses shared between the two of you. you slid your fingers into his hair while his found home in the curve of your waist, pulling you into him. jihoon slid his tongue into your mouth while you started to slowly grind yourself against him. he let out a moan, prompting you to keep grinding, feeling yourself heat at the core. jihoon’s moans grew louder as you felt him harden below you.

“wait,” you pulled back breathless, “not yet.”

“mhmm..?” jihoon made a confused sound at the lack of contact. his eyes were blown with desire, and his fingers held you close, almost as if he were worried you’d disappear.

“i want to give you your first birthday present,” you smirked mischievously, getting off his lap and kneeling in front of him.

“what are you...oh.”

jihoon leaned back, a sigh escaping his lips. “well, happy fucking birthday to me.”

and after a series of birthday ‘gifts,’ it was indeed a happy birthday.

a/n: heh sorry for teasing but I really do wish 100000/10 that jihoon gets the best birthday head he deserves one so bad (I volunteer as tribute-)

[fandom-puzzle-peaces]

Just a Thought About Cale Part 2

It hath been requested, so here is a sort of continuation from my last post. Today I am gonna talk more about what I believe Cale embodies:

HOPE & LOVE

In my first post I already talked about hope a bit, and ya’ll can read that if you want my full take on this, but I will continue where I left off. Last time, I mentioned that something was missing when I listed out what it is exactly that Cale hopes to have in his “slacker life.” Said list is:

A nice house

A peaceful place to have said house in

A ton of money

After looking at this you may be wondering what is missing, since it looks like everything Cale has stated time again to want is already there. However, we all know how unreliable of a narrator he is and that he never actually fully says what he wants unless it’s money. What is missing is his hope of having a family living there with him in that nice peaceful house.

It’s so obvious that he misses having others around him, regardless of how many times he denies it. He’s just scared of losing them again, and for a time I do genuinely believe he had given up on that hope of having loved ones. But over the course of his new life as Cale Henituse you can slowly but surely see that hope being rekindled. It also helps when he learns that the “curse” that was accidentally placed on him due to white star shenanigans is now gone.

So now he actually has a chance to be able to keep his new family around, and you better believe he will do anything in his power to do so. We have already seen plenty of his self-sacrificial stunts to know this fact already. Cale’s list of hopes, of course, has continued to grow from just those beginning 3 that encompass his “slacker life,” and most likely will as time goes on to most likely include the simpler pleasures of life he can indulge in with his family.

A true family man I would say!

Now, regardless of how many hopes he has (or how small they may seem), Cale is someone who is full of hope and in turn fills others with it as well. So where does Love fit into our beloved idiot you may ask? Look at all of the people he has surrounded himself with and how he interacts with them. He may say he's "trashy" and a "bad person," but we all know he isn't with how he acts. Cale is highly perceptive of his family’s condition, their wants and needs. He goes out of his way, all the time, to make them happy:

He gives the children sweets and cuddles all the time

He gave Raon his name

He gives Rosalyn whatever she needs for her research and is helping her become the Magic Tower Master

He visits Alberu all the time and just hangs out, which must be such a relief to shed the royal persona (even if Cale does steal his cookies)

He lets Ron mess with him even though he hates it and helps him take back his ancestral home

Always eats everything Beacrox gives him and compliments it (probably also gives him new kitchen tools and ingredients to mess with as well)

He gave Eruhaben a reason to live longer and extended the dragon’s lifespan—and went through one hell of trial to do it—so he could do so (said reason being to live with them for as long as possible)

He gave Mary the world to experience and explore to her heart's content

Took in Lock and his siblings and just lets them be kids, albeit very violent ones

He got Choi Han a new sword (which he treasures), as well as a new home and family (which he treasures even more)

That's not even counting all he does for the others and his allies. But most of all, Cale protects them:

He never puts the kids in a situation where they can be hurt

Even when one of them was in harm’s way (Raon), he bodily shielded them not once but twice

He carried Rosalyn (with his weak noodle arms) when she couldn't stand out of harm’s way

He keeps Alberu's heritage a secret and helps him politically

He literally blew up an island for Ron

I don't think he's had a big moment for Beacrox yet, but he has saved him from the fate of living in a world without his father

Has shielded Eruhaben before from the White Star

Like the kids, Mary is almost always out of harm's way and he also protects her politically

Has shielded Lock during the Battle at the Gorge of Death

He protected Choi Han from completely losing it, as the biggest danger to Choi Han is Choi Han himself

Cale loves his newfound family so much he speedran the war with White Star in UNDER A YEAR!! And that's just for his family! You cannot tell me he hasn't also fallen in love with his new (well what was supposed to be his really) home world. He is literally tracking down and annihilating the Hunters who are in other worlds because they keep going after his in part 2. Don't tell me that isn't love! It also doesn't help that, no matter how much he denies it, Cale gets attached fairly easily. He wants people around him to love who love him in return.

GIVE THIS MAN SOME HUGS!

Anyways, I think I have rambled long enough. Hope ya’ll enjoyed this!

Brief interest check: how would ya’ll feel if I posted some creative prompts for writing, drawing, etc.? Lemme know however you want.

@elaemae hope you liked it!

[sarawritestories]

Oh Gods I Wish You Were Here

Cassian X Fem Reader

Summary: The holidays are fast approaching, and Cassian can feel the void now more than ever.

Content warning: mention of death, holidays, grief, and tears probably, not proofread.

A/N: Not how I intended to come back, but I got in my feelings, and this was the result.

Don't take it personally that I didn't tag this one...I just wanted to get it out as the words came.

Joy to the world. The war was over Feyre's birthday was upon them, along with Winter Solstice. Velaris snow covered, warm lights illuminating the longer evenings. Cassian could hear your daughter laughing alongside his cousin Nyx. All was right with the world.

Just not Cassian's.

As he looked at the daughter, the two of you shared, he reached out that familiar bond, and he did his best to cover his flinch as a reaction to the winter breeze rolling in. And not the ache of the end of the fading gold bond being hollow. The painful reminder that you were not here. Not watching your daughter growing up or laughing at his corny jokes.

The Mother was cruel.

"Daddy," he smiled, swallowing the tears threatening to form, "Nyx said we get to go decorate the tree at Auntie FeyFey and Uncle Rhysie's house" Aria, your 6 year old, raised her arms up and was in Cassian's embrace in an instant, his wings curving to block the wind. "Can we, pretty please?"

Cassian wanted to fall to his knees. She had your smile, the twinkle in your eye when you were excited about something. It wasn't fair.

You should have been the one to soak in these moments. To enjoy in the holiday luster. To see your child grow into a person. To see that she had your looks, personality, and your mate's whole heart.

But illness doesn't discriminate. It takes and it takes. He continues to take until its victim has nothing left, and the General of the Night Court's army only had a tombstone, and the memories you both shared as illness managed to claim another innocent soul.

Cassian had no time to grieve as Aria needed him, needed him to live, to move forward, to get out of the bed. He had to live so that Aria had her best chance at life.

The sounds of familiar voices hit his ears as Nyx led him and Aria to the townhouse, a continual meeting place for Solstice. Rhys greeted them, and Aria was greedy to get out of her father's arms and embrace her uncle. "Can we decorate the tree?"

Rhys laughed and kissed her cheek, "Of course, Starlight. Go find Auntie FeyFey and Uncle Az." Aria was quick to grab Nyx's hand, leaving the two Illyrian males behind. Rhys' gaze met his, and talons scratched at Cassian's walls.

"I'm fine," Cassian grumbled.

"Well, over 500 years, and you are still a horrific liar." Rhys flicks some lint off his shirt and sits on the stoop. Cassian joined him his wings tucked in tight. "I know the holidays are hard."

Cassian shook his head, "Aria, started school. She's made friends and takes art classes. It's not fair, Rhys. Aria shouldn't have to learn about her through stories at night time. She should be here Rhys." Cassian tucked his face in his hand a sob racking out of his body. "I want her here."

Rhys held his friend tightly. As Cassian roared, "Oh God's I wish you were here!" The door creaked open, and tiny hands gripped onto Cassian's wrist. He uncovered his face to see Aria smiling. "I'm sorry, Sweetheart," he sniffled as he pulled his child to his chest, trying to compose himself from his outburst.

Aria kissed his cheek, "Look, Daddy. A gift for you. Uncle Azzy said you could open it early." An envelope with his name in her tiny hands with...your handwriting. He gently took it from the small child and opened it.

Hey Handsome,

If you're reading this, then it must be Solstice, and our little girl is not so little anymore. I need you to know that if you're reading this that I fought hard. I fought so that you would never had to open these. I think we both know the outcome. I know you are hurting. I know you are fighting to keep our girl safe and protected and loved. I will never be able to thank you enough for the bravery you had before, during, and after this hardship.

Know I'm there with you, every big milestone, every storytime, every boo boo you kiss for Aria. And I'll be there through the bad stuff too, I'm sure. I get to look down at you from the stars and make sure you're safe and protected, for once. I love you, Cassian. I promise that we will find each other in the next life and we will have more time. There are letters for both you and Aria for big milestones, Az was given strict instructions on when to deliver them for you. When the world seems like too much and the void is too great, maybe my words will help the two of you grow and move on in my absence.

All My Love,

Your Sweetheart.

"Daddy?" Aria looked at him with eyes that matched his own, "what did it say?" Cassian smiled aware that the two were now alone

Cassian held her close and looked up at the stars, illuminating the town. "Look up at the night sky, little one." She did, and as the two looked on, a star flashed across the star, and Cassian heard her little gasp. "That was Mommy. She was letting us know she was here."

Aria snuggled against her father's chest, "I miss her." She whispered.

"Me too, Princess, me too." And the duo looked up at the night sky and wished that their favorite person was looking back at them.

~Fin

[thef1diary]

omg dirtbag!daniel is so good I can’t stop thinking about it! also your writing style is to die for. Was wondering if there was any more fuel in the tank for more dirtbag!daniel?

thank you, nonnie! I always have more dirtbag!daniel thoughts 🤭 this is what’s been on my mind lately: spit kink, marking + a bit of bratty reader. it turned out longer than I initially intended. drop some thoughts and I’d love to chat

© thef1diary 2024. all rights reserved. Do not copy, steal, translate, or repost any of my work

Dirtbag!Daniel doesn’t own you. He never asked to, he never pretended to. But that didn’t stop him from treating you like you belonged to him, like your body existed solely for his amusement. Maybe it does, because no matter how filthy, how degrading his words get, you let him. You always come back for more.

Perhaps that’s why you were weaving your way through a packed bar, the dim lights flickering overhead and the bass of the music reverberating through your chest. The air is thick with humidity, the cloying scent of sweat and spilled beer clinging to every surface. It’s the kind of place where anonymity thrives—a place where you could disappear into the crowd if you wanted to.

But you didn’t come to disappear, no, you came because he called, and you were too far gone to resist.

You spot him almost immediately, leaning against the bar like he owned the place. One elbow rested lazily on the counter, a drink in his hand, his fingers curled loosely around the class. His head is tilted slightly, his dark eyes scanning the room, but there’s no mistaking the moment he sees you.

A smirk spreads across his face, slow and smug, and you feel the pull of it like a hook in your chest. It’s infuriating, that smirk. It always is. It’s the way he tells you—without words—he’s two steps ahead, already planning how to leave his mark on you, both physically and mentally.

The bar is too crowded for you to think clearly, the press of bodies around you amplifying your nerves. But as you approach him, the rest of the room blurs into the background. All you see is him, the sharp lines of his jaw, the way his shirt clings to his frame, and the glint in his eyes that promises trouble.

“Didn’t think you’d show up,” Daniel drawled, leaning in to speak to you over the din. His gaze rakes over you, taking in every inch of your body. It’s not fair, the way he makes you feel exposed without even touching you. Like he’s already imagined all the ways he’s going to break you tonight.

You force yourself to shrug, to play it cool. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He chuckled, taking a slow sip of his drink before setting the glass down with a clink. “Figured you had more self-respect,” he said, his tone sharp enough to cut.

The grin that followed is demeaning, the kind that made your stomach twist in equal parts anger and want. “Guess not,” he added.

Your jaw tightened as his words sank in, the sharp edge of his insult cut deep—but not in the way they should. His insult only added to the simmering heat in your stomach, a twisted, shameful thrill curling low in your belly.

You hated how much you craved it—his mocking tone, the way he could peel you apart with a single look. But you won’t admit it. You opened your mouth to snap back, to tell him that you did have self-respect, thank you very much.

“I—”

But Daniel didn’t even give you the chance.

“Relax,” he said smoothly, interrupting without hesitation, his voice dripping with mockery. His fingers brushed against your arm as he leaned in closer, close enough that his breath ghosted over your ear. “I wasn’t looking for an argument, sweetheart. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

Your breath hitched, and you hated the way his presence overwhelmed you, how his tone left no room for you to gain the upper hand. His smirk widened as he pulled back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement, like this was all a game to him.

“You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t craving something,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “And we both know exactly what that is.”

Daniel didn’t even wait for you to respond, his smirk widening before he grabbed your wrist and yanked you closer. Before you could catch your breath, his mouth was on yours, the kiss filthy and unapologetic. His hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you in place as he devoured you, his tongue parting your lips with ease.

You melted into him, your resistance crumbling the moment he pulled you against his chest. The sheer force of his presence made your knees weak, and you hated how easily you gave in, how much you wanted this.

He almost chuckled into the kiss, the vibrations teasing against your lips, but he didn’t pull away. No, Daniel kissed you like he had something to prove, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, his tongue hot and insistent. It was consuming, like he wanted to claim every part of you here and now, and he didn’t give a damn who saw it.

You dimly registered the press of bodies around you, the muffled gasps and sidelong glances from strangers who couldn’t help but notice the spectacle he was making of you. But Daniel didn’t care, not even a little. If anything, the idea of an audience seemed to spur him on, his hand gripping your hip possessively, pulling you closer until there wasn’t an inch of space left between you.

When he finally pulled back, it was only by a fraction, his forehead brushing against yours as he smirked down at you, his breath fanning over your lips. His gaze was molten, full of arrogance and something darker, something that made your stomach flip.

“See? You’re too easy,” he muttered, his tone low and mocking, but there was a glint in his eyes that told you he loved every second of it. His thumb brushed over your kiss-swollen bottom lip, smearing the remnants of his own claim on you, and you felt your cheeks heat under his scrutiny.

Daniel looked back, the smirk on his face growing as he signaled the bartender with two fingers. “Whiskey for me,” he said, his tone relaxed, almost bored, before his gaze slid back to you. “And for her…” He looked you up and down like he was appraising you, his lip curling slightly. “Something sweet. She needs it.”

You bristled at the condescension in his tone, but the bartender was already nodding, turning to make the drinks. Daniel’s attention shifted back to you, and he leaned his hip against the bar, his stance casual but his gaze piercing.

The drinks arrived moments later, and he slid it toward you, his fingers brushing yours as he handed it over. “Go on,” he said, his voice low and coaxing, the words laced with challenge. “Show me just how good you are at taking what I give you.”

Your fingers closed around the glass, but your grip faltered as his words sank in, their double meaning curling around your chest and tightening like a vice.

“I don’t take orders from you, Daniel,” you managed to bite out. Daniel raised his eyebrows in mock surprise, “don’t you?”

His eyes dropped to the drink in your hand, then back to your face, challenging you. “C’mon, I know you can be good for me.”

Your grip tightened around the glass as you raised it to your lips, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking away. Daniel’s gaze stayed fixed on you, intense and unwavering, his smirk deepening as if he could feel the fire burning under your skin.

The drink was just as he’d ordered—sweet and cloying, the kind of thing that lingered too long on your tongue. His eyes flickered to your throat as you tipped the glass back, watching the subtle motion of you finishing the drink. The heat in his gaze made your skin prickle, and your breath hitched as you placed the empty glass on the bar with deliberate finality.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice like silk, but there was a dangerous edge to it that sent a shiver down your spine.

Without another word, he picked up his whiskey and downed it in a single smooth motion, the glass hitting the bar with a quiet clink. His hand found yours before you could react, his fingers firm but not rough as he tugged you from the bar.

“Come on,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You followed as he guided you through the crowd, his hand never leaving yours. He maneuvered you effortlessly, weaving through the bodies pressed close together until you reached a dark corner of the bar. The music was quieter here, the dim lighting casting long shadows that seemed to swallow you both whole.

Daniel turned to face you, his smirk growing as he backed you up against a wall. His eyes raked over you, dark and predatory, and for a moment, you felt like a cornered animal under his unrelenting gaze.

“Drop the act,” he murmured, his voice pitched low enough that only you could hear it over the muffled thrum of the music. “We both know why you’re here.”

“You couldn’t stay away, could you?” His eyes dragged over you, taking in every detail—the way your dress clung to your frame, the way your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. His gaze lingered, unapologetic and ravenous, and you felt the heat of it searing into you. “Look at you,” he murmured, his tone low and cutting. “All dolled up, hoping I’d notice. Hoping I’d take one look at you and decide to ruin you.”

Your breath caught as his fingers brushed against your jaw, tilting your face up so you couldn’t look anywhere but at him. His smirk deepened, cruel and knowing, like he could see right through you

“You’re not even trying to deny it,” he went on, his thumb grazing your bottom lip. “The second I called, you came running, didn’t you? Like the desperate little slut you are.”

“Danny…” you murmured, the plea barely audible, your voice trembling under the weight of his words. Your cheeks burned, humiliation mingling with the thrill that coursed through you, leaving you lightheaded.

He simply chuckled, watching you squirm in place as he had you exactly where he wanted you. His grip was firm, his thumb pressing down just enough to part your lips. “Ah, ah,” he chided, his voice a mockery of sweetness. “Don’t get shy on me now. You wanted this. You wanted me. Isn’t that right?”

You nodded, desperately, the act slipping away as soon as he called you his slut—which was exactly what you were, what you’d always be for him.

“There it is,” he murmured, satisfaction dripping from his voice. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” His smirk widened, his thumb tracing the edge of your lip before dragging it down your chin, a slow, deliberate motion that made you shiver. “I can see it, you know. The way you’re squirming, the way your eyes keep flicking to my mouth like you’re imagining all the filthy things I could do to you.”

You swallowed hard, your breath hitching as his words wrapped around you, tightening the coil of tension low in your belly.

“Say it,” he commanded, his voice dipping even lower, the edge of his accent sharpening his words. “Say you came here for me. Say you came here to let me ruin you.”

Your lips parted, the heat of his gaze pulling the words from you before you could stop them. “I did,” you whispered, voice trembling as your cheeks burned under his scrutiny. “I came here for you. I want you to ruin me.”

His hand slid up to your jaw, tilting your face toward his. “That’s my obedient little slut,” he murmured, a grin breaking out on his face.

The pad of his thumb pressed against your bottom lip, smudging your lipstick further—his kiss earlier already having ruined it—leaving a streak of red across your skin. His grin widened as his eyes followed the smear. “Such a pretty mess already. Let’s make it worse.”

“Open your mouth,” he ordered, his voice low and commanding. “Stick out your tongue.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you obeyed, parting your lips and letting your tongue peek out, feeling utterly exposed under his watchful, predatory stare.

He tilted his head, letting a slow stream of spit fall from his mouth onto your waiting tongue. Heat bloomed in your cheeks as you held still, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that made your knees weak.

“Close,” he instructed, and you did, your lips sealing around the weight of his demand.

“Swallow,” he said next, his voice sharp and deliberate, the edge of his accent making it sound even filthier.

You swallowed, the act leaving a warmth in your belly that had nothing to do with the heat of the room. His smirk grew, impossibly smug, as his thumb returned to your jaw, tilting your face further toward him.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his tone dripping with approval. “You take orders so well, don’t you? Makes me wonder what else that filthy mouth of yours is good for.”

You whimpered under the weight of his words, your knees threatening to give out as his free hand slid down to your shoulder, then lower, fingers toying with the strap of your dress. He tugged it down slightly, just enough to bare your skin to him—revealing a few more marks he left behind a couple days ago.

“Mine,” he muttered under his breath, leaning in close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. He pressed his lips to your shoulder, biting down gently, then harder, until you gasped. He pulled back to admire the mark blooming on your skin—a deep red imprint of his teeth.

“You look so much better when you’re marked up,” he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction. “Everyone who sees these will know exactly who you belong to.”

His hand wandered back up, fingers brushing the column of your throat before tightening just enough to send a wave of heat coursing through you. “You like that, don’t you?” he asked, his thumb pressing against your pulse point, feeling it race under his touch. “Being claimed, being ruined. You’ve been craving this all night, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” you admitted breathlessly, your voice barely above a whisper as you leaned into his touch. “Please, Danny. I want more.”

His grin turned almost cruel as he leaned in, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “Oh, you’ll get more, sweetheart,” he promised, his voice a low, dangerous purr. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be ruined for anyone else.”

Perhaps you did belong to him, but the realization wasn’t as terrifying as you’d expected. In fact, it felt strangely natural, even comforting, as you found yourself agreeing with him without hesitation. Not that you ever had the strength to resist him in the first place. You were already a goner from the first time he degraded you like no other.

taglist: @llando4norris @monsieurbacteria6 @namgification @lilymurphy03 @sargeantdumbass @racingheartsposts @d3kstar @thedecalcomania-blog @casperlikej @khaylin27 @mlioravanfleet @mehrmonga @wobblymug @bokutos-babyowl @evasmlp @mycenterfold @uhhvictoria @kaorisakamotofan @alice-went-away @nikfigueiredo @wonnou @jointhehunt67 @gxuh @67-angelofthelordme-67 @kigieri @lilorose25

[whokilledsamara]

I love your Homicipher hc, they are so good! Would you be willing to do some N/ SFW for Mr. Chopped too? Like you did for some of the others? I understand if you don't want to or if it makes you uncomfortable, thank you anyway!

MR. CHOPPED N/SFW HCS

a hc list of Mr. Chopped x reader {an: SORRY GUYS IM POSTING MAINLY HCS RN,,, fics for me take a lot longer than usual so im just posting hcs to atleast get some reach.}

warnings! : smut, cunnilingus/blowjob, idk,,, cuckhold

{an: freaky shit,,,, like hes just a head so its kinda hard to fuck. did give him a section for IF he had a body.. MAINLY HIM GIVING HEAD,, i didnt rly know how to write this im sorry!! def will write more tho,,, im into him ngl}

SFW

what it would be like to be in a relationship with Mr. Chopped.

it would be relatively hard to be in a relationship with him for obvious reasons, though not impossible!

the thought of you makes him happy, and especially when you hold him.

he would have Mr. Silvair help most of the time. usually for the romantic aspects of things though.

while Mr. Silvair doesnt quite understand the relationship, he is glad to help.

being a talking head will obviously raise a few insecurities, so just reassure him that you indeed do love him! he gets his feelings hurt easily.

he absolutely loves when you play with his hair. if you put bows in it or decorate it, that will make it all the more special for him.

the first time he bit you when he was sleeping, had him crying for hours. he felt so bad that he harmed you in any way, and it took a while for him to "recover"

he loves kisses! he always shouts things like "Up, Up" or "Desire, Carry!" just so he can kiss you.

if you manage to get a hold of make up or something, he would absolutely love for you to do his makeup. {he likes to feel pretty}

he is a very sensitive boy, also a crybaby. how cuuuttteee...

if Mr. Silvair gives him a body, {ignore that one ending... we dont talk about it} then he wpuld be even more excited to see you.

the moment he gets a body would mean so many hugs and affection as a thank you for saving him.

he gets picked on a lot by the others so he usually tries his best to come to you.

NSFW

sex...?

sex is definitely a hard concept with him.

while yes, it is possible, just not in the way intended.

you could see him more as a pure object for your pleasure honestly, and he wants that.

whether you are amab or afab, he is perfect for the situation.

ive seen this referenced by another writer, but he would be like a "rose toy" or a "fleshlight" as people call it.

its a secret pleasure to watch you go at it with someone else. {ex: Mr. Silvair or someone.}

if he is gifted a body though, he definitely will pay you back for saving him in the first place.

personally he would be a soft and sensual lover with his new body, rarely going rough unless specifically asked to.

he is more of a giving top. definitely not dominant but is a top. he cares more about your pleasure than his. though, he does get all giddy when you wish to go down on his or something.

he is open to literally anything you want, he would have very few limitations on what he would do, but everything is open for discussion.

again, definitely either wants to watch you have sex with someone else, OR wants someone else to watch you and him go at it. {he would prefer Silvair.}

he definitely likes when you pull his hair or use him. will be submissive sometimes.

he is the type to cry during sex...

omfmg i love him sm

{ made by @whokilledsamara }

[coolbattlegirl]

The Aurora and The Dragon

Malleus stood at the foot of the statue, gazing up at the Witch of Thorns stoic visage. After a long moment of silence, he finally lowered his gaze. He wasn't quite sure what he had been expecting. 

Perhaps he had hoped that the statue of the great seven would hold the key to solving his dilemma. Unfortunately, it did not. The date of the party had finally arrived, and he still hadn’t gotten any closer to solving it. Malleus pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a bit frustrated now.   

Before he could ponder anymore on the issue, he was startled from his thoughts by a snowflake that fluttered near his face. Blinking, Malleus looked up at the now darkened sky. It was snowing. 

“Ah… It seems I’ve let my emotions stray away from me again.” Stretching out a gloved hand, Malleus caught the snowflake in his palm, watching as it lingered for a brief moment before melting into nothing. He stared at the empty spot where the snowflake had landed before dropping his hand to his side.

How long had he been standing out here? Judging from the dark sky it must have been hours. 

“The party must be well under way by now.” He murmured. Lilia would surely scold him for allowing time to slip away from him again. Especially after he had been so generous to hand deliver him the invitation for his farewell party too. 

“A farewell party, huh…” He whispered softly. He really hadn’t been expecting a day like this to arrive. Lilia had always been a constant in his life, and for him to suddenly declare that he would leave and settle down somewhere across the world. Well, it was quite sudden, but Lilia always did like doing spontaneous adventures. And who was Malleus to stop him? 

Except he’s not coming back this time, and Malleus wants nothing more than to beg Lilia to stay.  Because he’s more than just a mentor, he was Malleus father in every way that mattered-

Suddenly, he’s broken from his thoughts by the crunch of heavy footsteps. 

“Malleus-sama!”

Malleus blinks, turning around, he sees Silver making his way towards him. His footsteps are hurried and the usually serene expression on the younger boy’s face is clouded with something he can't quite name. 

“Silver,” Malleus greets calmly, watching as the Silver finally closes the distance. 

“I’ve been looking for you, Malleus-sama,” Silver says, his voice soft but firm. “The celebration is in full swing and… Lilia was looking for you…” 

Malleus hums, he’s not surprised that someone would be sent to look for him. What he is surprised about is why it’s Silver. He gazes off into the distance and nods, “Hm… I see. I did not intend to cause any concern.” 

Silver nods but doesn’t move, and for a while, the two stand there in the cold, talking. Eventually, Malleus admits the reason for his absence: how he had been planning to bestow a gift to Lilia, and in his uncertainty, he ends up confessing how he had considered not attending the celebration. 

At that, Silver straightens up, his clouded eyes suddenly sharp with conviction, “I… I think Lilia would be happy regardless of whether or not you gave him a gift…” He says quietly yet firmly, “I think all he wants is for you to attend…” 

At that, Malleus stares at Silver, regarding him for a long moment before nodding. “I see. I was mistaken then…,” He finally says, “I suppose it would be unkind to linger here any longer. Come, then. We should return.”

He turns to lead the way back to the castle, assuming for Silver to follow beside him as always. But it’s only after he takes a few strides forwards that he realizes that he doesn’t hear Silver move. 

He looks back, opening his mouth to ask what the matter is, but he freezes, the words dying before they can truly form.

Silver is crying. 

Tears are falling from the younger teens face and Malleus can only watch as Silver tries to wipe them away to no avail. He’s seen Silver cry before. He’s known Silver since the other was but a small fragile bundle of softness. 

It shouldn't surprise him, yet the moment he looks at Silver’s heart stricken expression and the tears that fall from clouded aurora eyes, it leaves him staggering. And suddenly, something inside him is screaming at him to fix this. To fix whatever is making Silver cry. Because Silver should never be wearing such a devastating expression on his face. 

Silver’s lips are moving, his voice no more than a quiet whisper as he wipes his face, but Malleus cannot hear his words. His ears ring and the world is muffled. All his focus is on Silver. 

Because Silver is crying.

He hates it… 

He hates it.  

He hates it. He hates it. He hates it. He hates it. He hates it. He hates it. He hates it. He hates it. He hates it. He hates it. He hates it. He hates it. He hates it. He hates it. He hates it. He hates it. He hates it. He hates it. He hates it. He hates it. He hates it. He hates it. He hates it. He hates it-

And something in Malleus breaks.

[infamous-light]

The Witch's Game Ch. 2 (End)

Agatha Harkness x Maximoff! Reader

Ch. 1

AO3: The Witch's Game

Summary: Life in Westview had always been dull and uneventful until Agnes, a charming and mysterious woman, arrived.

Her presence brought a spark to your otherwise monotonous world, and you quickly found yourself drawn to her, developing an undeniable crush. But as you grew closer to Agnes, you began to realize that there was much more to her than meets the eye.

Word Count: 4.9K

Warnings: Manipulation, smut, strap-on use, oral, fingering, loss of virginity, mind manipulation

You stood before Agnes’s door, your heart fluttering with nervous energy.

The tin of cookies in your hands suddenly felt heavier, your palms clammy against the metal as you raised a fist to knock. The sound of your knuckles rapping against the front door was sharper than you intended.

The door swung open a moment later, revealing Agnes, her smile as radiant as ever. She stood framed in the doorway, her figure draped in a lavender sundress with a white belt cinched around her waist. You couldn't help but think she looked beautiful.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite neighbor!” Agnes greeted, her voice warm and full of cheer, as though your arrival had made her day a little better. “What brings you here, hon?”

You held up the cookie tin, a sheepish smile tugging at your lips. “My mom baked these and she thought you might enjoy them.”

Agnes’s gaze flickered to the cookie tin, her eyes widening with delight.

“Why, aren’t you two just the sweetest!” She exclaimed. As she reached for the cookie tin, her fingers brushed against yours – a fleeting touch that sent a subtle tingle up your arm, the warmth lingering longer than it should. “Well, don’t just stand out there like a stranger – come on in!”

Agnes stepped back, her hand sweeping in a welcoming gesture that urged you inside.

Her house seemed to embrace you the moment you entered, a warmth in the air that clung to your skin. The walls were adorned with a collection of antiques, each piece more unique than the last, while odd little trinkets sat scattered atop shelves and tables. There was a coziness to the space, the kind that made you feel welcome, yet there was an edge to it. It was as though every object had been carefully placed for reasons you couldn’t quite understand.

“Why don’t you take a seat, sugar plum?” Agnes’s voice brought you back to the moment, sweet and easy. She gestured toward the couch. “I’ll make us some chamomile tea.”

You nodded and sank onto the couch, the cushions giving slightly under your weight. Only a few minutes had passed before Agnes reappeared, gliding into the living room with a silver tray in hand, steam rising from the teacups resting atop it.

“Here we go.” She said with a small smile, placing the tray carefully onto the coffee table.

Agnes adjusted her skirt as she lowered herself onto the seat next to you, far closer than you had expected.

“So,” she began, her voice gentle but probing. “How are things? Is everyone doing alright?”

Agnes's gaze lingered on you, and it felt as though she were reading you more deeply than you would like. Before you could respond, Agnes reached for the teacups on the tray, picking up her cup and yours.

“Here,” she said with an easy grace. “You must be thirsty.”

You took the delicate teacup from her outstretched hand. “Thank you.”

Lifting the cup to your lips, you took a tentative sip, feeling the warmth unfurl through your chest and settle low in your stomach. Beside you, Agnes shifted in her seat and leaned back with an air of relaxed ease, crossing one leg over the other. The movement caused the hem of her dress to ride up, revealing more of her bare thighs. Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you quickly averted your gaze, focusing on the tea.

“Ah, where are my manners!” Agnes blurted out with a theatrical wave of her hand. “I apologize for cutting you off earlier, sweetheart,” she said, her mouth curling to an almost coy smile. “So, tell me – how have you been? Not stirring up any trouble for your dear old mother, are you?” Her tone carried a teasing edge.

She raised her cup and took a slow sip of her tea, her eyes still fixed on you. The intensity of her gaze made the air feel heavier, and you found yourself suppressing a nervous chuckle at her playful words.

“I’m doing fine,” you replied, setting your teacup down on the coffee table with a soft clink. “I've just been reading and watching TV mostly.”

Agnes’s smile stayed perfectly in place as she set her teacup down as well.

“Reading and watching TV, hm? Sounds rather... dull.” She leaned forward, her fingers grazing the top of your left thigh, the featherlight touch sending a jolt of warmth throughout your body. “Perhaps I can spice things up for you.”

Your breath hitched, catching in your throat.

“I – uh, A-Agnes – what are you –” You stammered.

Your mind went on a fritz, struggling to make sense of what was happening.

Agnes reached up, her fingers brushing your cheek with a tenderness that felt anything but innocent. Her blue eyes bore into yours, half-lidded, smoldering with an intensity that made the space between you shrink.

“You’re not fooling anyone, you know,” she murmured, her voice husky. “I see it in the way you look at me. You’re attracted to me, aren’t you, darling?”

Her words struck like a sudden storm, and heat flared in your cheeks, burning your skin with embarrassment. The way Agnes caught onto your crush so easily made your heart stutter and falter in its rhythm. It left you speechless.

As Agnes leaned in closer, the air between you seemed to thin, your throat going dry under the weight of her gaze. Her lips hovered mere inches from yours, soft and inviting, stealing the breath from your lungs.

“You’re so... innocent,” Agnes purred, her breath tickling against your cheek. “So easy to read.”

And then, before you could even process what was happening, her lips were on yours – warm, insistent, and utterly consuming. For a moment, you were frozen, shock flooding your body. But her lips were impossibly soft, coaxing you into something deeper, something that made your mind spin, and you found yourself melting into the kiss.

Agnes gently guided you back onto the couch as she moved to straddle you. Her lips broke away from yours and found the sensitive skin of your throat, peppering long, tender kisses that turned into firm sucks, each one leaving behind a burning mark. Meanwhile, her hands roamed with purpose, tracing the dip of your waist, and the curve of your hips until her fingers worked their way to your jeans. Slowly, she undid the button before tugging down the zipper.

Suddenly, you stiffened, your nerves rising to the surface in a way that was impossible to hide. Agnes noticed immediately and pulled back just enough to study you. Then, her lips quirked into a sly, predatory smirk.

“Do you need me to slow down?”

You shook your head. “No, it's just –” You paused, your chest tightening with a mix of anxiety and longing. The thought of losing your virginity to a much older woman, your neighbor – especially your mother's friend, felt surreal, almost forbidden, but at the same time thrilling. Deep down, you knew you wanted this. You wanted her. You were just... scared. “I’ve never done anything like this before.” You finally admitted.

Agnes chuckled softly as her fingers brushed against your jaw.

“I can tell,” she said, tilting your chin to meet her gaze. Her smile softened, her teasing tone giving way to something more reassuring. “But that's okay. I'll take care of you. I won’t do anything that you don’t want me to.”

Her words eased some of the tension in your chest, making it easier to draw your next breath.

“O-Okay, you can keep going.” You managed to say, your voice trembling but resolute.

Her lips curved, a flicker of pride in her expression. “Good girl.”

Your cheeks warmed at the praise, a flutter of unexpected shyness overcoming you. Agnes’s eyes twinkled in delight at your reaction before she refocused her attention back to your unzipped jeans.

Her hands inched their way toward the top of your pants and with a firm grip, she hooked her fingers into the waistband and pulled them down. A satisfied smile played on her lips as the fabric pooled around your ankles. Next, she turned her attention to your underwear and slid it off, leaving you exposed and vulnerable before her.

“There we go,” Agnes cooed as she tossed the garments aside. “Much better.”

With gentle pressure, Agnes spread your legs, her touch soft yet insistent. Ever so slowly, she lowered her head, allowing her warm breath to ghost over your clit, making you gasp a little. Then, the tip of her tongue flicked out, teasingly light at first, tracing the tiny nub before circling it slowly. Your hips bucked involuntarily, and Agnes chuckled, the vibration sending another sharp wave of pleasure through you.

“So responsive.” She crooned.

Her tongue continued its rhythmic dance, swirling around your clit with increasing intensity. Each pass brought you closer to the edge, the pressure building like a dam inside of you. Your body tensed, every muscle tightening as anticipation coiled within. However, nothing could have prepared you for when Agnes wrapped her lips around your clit and gave it a harsh suck. Stars burst behind your eyelids, hips jerking violently as a loud moan broke past your lips.

The feeling was made even better when one of her fingers slipped between your wet folds, sliding into you slow and steady. Your walls clenched around her, so tight from the onslaught of sensations that you felt almost full, even with just one finger inside. Your hips continued to move, bucking against her mouth, seeking more, needing more. Agnes matched your rhythm, her tongue and finger working tirelessly, relentlessly in their pursuit of your pleasure.

The dual stimulation was almost too much to bear – her finger plunging deep inside of you while her mouth worked magic on your clit. You squeezed your eyes shut, gripping onto the couch for support as you cried out, your voice breaking as you finally came over the edge.

Agnes’s mouth never left your clit, her tongue working furiously to prolong your release, drawing out each spasm until you thought you might shatter into a million pieces. When the intensity finally began to subside, Agnes eased off, her tongue moving with lighter, comforting strokes. Your body felt boneless, completely spent. She pulled away and licked her lips, savoring your essence.

“How was that?” Agnes asked, her voice laced with satisfaction.

You could barely form any words, your mind still reeling from the experience.

“Amazing.” You panted.

Agnes flashed you a devilish smirk as she pushed herself off the couch.

“I believe it’s your turn to make a girl feel good,” she said playfully. “What do you say?”

You nodded eagerly, feeling a surge of excitement and nervousness at the thought of being able to please Agnes in return.

“Yes.” You breathed out.

With a mischievous smile, Agnes reached behind her back and began to unzip her dress. It fell to the floor in a pool of fabric, leaving her adorned in nothing but black lace lingerie that clung to her figure. She reached up to unclasp her bra, revealing the soft curve of her breasts. She let the straps slide down her arms before allowing it to drop by her feet. Her fingers then slipped beneath the waistband of her panties, slowly pulling them down her smooth legs before she gracefully kicked them away. You couldn't help but stare as you took in the sight of Agnes, standing tall, naked, confidence oozing from every pore.

Closing the distance between you, Agnes reached out, grabbing the collar of your shirt with a firm grip. She pulled you toward her with a quiet but commanding force.

“Take the rest of your clothes off.” She demanded in a low tone.

You didn’t need to be told twice. Once done, Agnes hummed in appreciation as her gaze swept over your naked form, a slow, satisfied smile curling at the corners of her lips. Without warning, she shoved you back onto the couch and swung her right leg over your head as she settled herself on top of you. Agnes gazed down at you, her piercing eyes gleaming with wicked delight as she drank in the sight of your flushed cheeks and wide eyes, clearly relishing your reaction to this new position. It was quite adorable, really.

“Oh, this is precious,” Agnes purred. “I think I’m going to make you beg for it.” Her fingers threaded through your hair, the motion slow and deliberate, before her grip tightened sharply. “Go on,” she ordered. “Beg.”

Your scalp tingled under the strain.

“Please, Agnes,” you gasped. “Please, let me taste you!”

Agnes tilted her head and hummed, pretending to think. The sound lingered, low and taunting, before she finally chuckled.

“Alright, hon,” she said, her tone dripping with mock leniency. “You may. I'll go easy on you, just this once – since it's your first time and all.”

You licked your lips in anticipation as Agnes finally lowered herself onto your face. Your hands immediately wrapped around her thighs, the smooth skin feeling warm and alive under your fingertips. As the tip of your tongue made contact with her slick folds, she let out a low moan and shifted her hips, urging you on. You tried your best to explore every inch of her, your tongue tracing sloppily over sensitive spots but she still gasped and trembled above you.

Agnes’s fingers weaved through your hair again, tugging you closer as she adjusted her position. Her hips rolled forward, grinding down onto your mouth insistently, demanding more. You obliged, your hands sliding up to grip her ass, squeezing the flesh as you shoved your tongue deeper into her folds. Your mouth opened wider, taking in as much of her as you could. You alternated between long, languid licks and quick, darting flicks.

Agnes's breath faltered, a wanton moan escaping her lips as she arched her back, pressing herself even harder against your face.

“F-Fuck!”

You felt a surge of pride at her reaction, knowing you were doing something right.

Your tongue curled around Agnes’s clit, sucking gently as you continued to lap at her wetness. Her slickness flowed freely now, coating half of your face as she rode your mouth. Her hips moved faster; the rhythm erratic as she chased her high.

“I'm so close,” Agnes said breathlessly. “Keep going.”

Encouraged by her words, you redoubled your efforts, your tongue flat as you pressed it hard against her clit, circling it rapidly. Your hands moved back to her hips, guiding her movements as you worked to bring her over the edge. Agnes responded immediately, her body shuddering, her hips bucking wildly as her release crashed over her.

Agnes moaned uncontrollably, her nails digging painfully into your scalp as she held you in place, grinding her cunt against your face. Her juices flooded your mouth, the flavor overwhelming as she came hard. You drank her down, swallowing every bit of her as her body shook with the aftershocks. Agnes finally collapsed forward, her weight pressing you deeper into the couch as she hovered over you, her chest heaving with each ragged breath.

“Well done,” Agnes murmured. “You did pretty good for your first time.”

A small smile touched your lips as her fingers slid through your hair again, softer this time. She exhaled deeply, her breaths gradually evening out. With a smooth, almost feline grace, Agnes eased herself off you.

“But we’re not done yet,” she said, her voice laced with mischief. “I've got a surprise for you. Go ahead and close your eyes, and don’t even think about peeking until I say so.”

Your curiosity grew as you wondered what it could be.

Still, you complied, letting your lashes flutter shut. The faint rustle of fabric reached your ears, followed by an odd series of muffled sounds – a low, resonant hum that seemed to vibrate in the stillness, paired with a soft whoosh, like air displaced in an instant. The combination was strange, almost unnatural, and you furrowed your brows.

“Alright,” Agnes finally said, her voice carrying a sense of anticipation. “Open your eyes.”

You followed her instruction, and your gaze immediately locked onto her. The sight before you made the breath freeze in your throat. Agnes stood by the coffee table, a harness wrapped securely around her hips, its dark leather straps hugging her form while a purple dildo jutted out between her legs.

How did she get it on so fast?

Your mind grappled with the new visual stimulation. Yet, beneath the initial wave of surprise, an undercurrent of nervousness rippled through you. “Oh wow…”

Agnes tilted her head slightly, her expression calm but observant as she arched a single eyebrow. “Are you okay with this? If it's too much, we can stop.”

Her concern stirred something reassuring within you, and you shook your head, swallowing hard. “No, it's fine,” you said quickly. “I’m okay with this.”

Her smile widened, stretching just a touch too far.

“Good,” Agnes soothed. “Now, just relax.”

You inhaled deeply, her words grounding you, steadying the racing beat of your heart. The tension in your muscles gradually dissipated, replaced by a growing sense of curiosity and eagerness.

Agnes moved closer and shifted slightly, positioning the toy at the entrance of your arousal. You felt its cool surface press against you, sending goosebumps across your flesh. Her hand guided it gently, not pushing, just teasing. The friction built, your body responding positively, betraying your earlier nervousness.

“That’s it,” Agnes whispered. “Feel it.”

The sensations were overwhelming – the pressure, the coolness, the wetness. It made your back arch a little as she began to move forward, the toy sliding into you inch by inch. Her lips curled into a satisfied, almost predatory smile as her gaze lingered on your expression, savoring the way your features contorted with unrestrained pleasure.

“I hope you're ready, doll,�� she husked. “Because I intend to take my time with you.”

You bit your lower lip as Agnes finally bottomed out inside of you, sending a sharp thrill through your body. She started slow, testing the rhythm, but soon her movements quickened, each thrust purposeful and precise. Agnes seemed determined to bring you to the edge, to make every second of this moment feel intense.

“You’re taking me so well.” Agnes praised, sounding slightly breathless.

Her purple cock shone with your wetness, sliding in and out of you with a slick sound that drove your arousal higher.

The pressure inside of you grew, coiling tighter and tighter, searching for release. Agnes leaned forward, her body pressing against yours, the soft swell of her breasts brushing along your chest as she quickened her pace. In one fluid motion, Agnes reached for your wrists, her fingers wrapping around them with a firm, almost possessive grip. She pinned them beside your head, the weight of her touch leaving no room for resistance or escape.

“Agnes,” you moaned, your voice sounding shaky. “Please...”

She leaned in closer, her lips brushing along your earlobe. “Please what?” She taunted. “Tell me what you want, honey.”

Your heart raced, pulse quickening as you struggled to find the words. “I need... I need to come.”

Agnes grinned, her eyes glinting with a dangerous, playful light.

“Oh, do you?” She said mockingly.

Agnes’s grip on your wrists tightened, her fingernails digging into your skin as she continued to hold you down.

“Please.” You begged, your voice on the verge of cracking.

It was becoming too much to handle – each ridge, every subtle curve of the toy, felt impossibly good as it plunged deeper into you. Your body quivered, each breath a struggle against the rising pressure between your legs. Finally, Agnes relented, her pace quickening, force intensifying with each thrust, driving you closer to the edge.

“Come for me.” Agnes demanded.

Her words acted like a trigger, releasing the pent-up pressure. With a cry that echoed throughout the living room, you came undone, your body trembling underneath her. As the tremors began to subside, you lay spent and sated, your chest heaving with exertion.

“You’re such a good girl.” Agnes cooed, reaching out to smooth away the stray strands of hair that clung to your damp forehead. Her fingers lingered, tender and affectionate as they caressed your skin.

“I try to be.” You joked, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

Agnes smirked in response.

“So,” she began, drawing out the word, “how was your first time with me? Be honest – I’m dying to know if I lived up to all your wildest dreams.”

Agnes’s expression was mockingly sweet, but there was an unmistakable edge of humor in her voice that made it impossible to tell if she was genuinely curious or just enjoying making you squirm.

You felt your cheeks warm, but you managed a small, sincere smile. “I… enjoyed it. More than I expected, honestly.”

Her grin widened, and she let out a soft chuckle. “Oh, I knew you'd enjoy it,” Then, with a dramatic sigh, she withdrew from you. “But we both look like we've been through hell. Come on – we need to freshen up. I’ll be upstairs. The other bathroom is down the hall, first door on the right.”

“Okay.” You replied.

Agnes cast you one last lingering look, her eyes holding yours for a moment longer than necessary. Then, she rose from the couch and turned toward the staircase. The quiet sound of her footsteps gradually faded as she disappeared from view. Alone now, you took a deep breath, allowing yourself to process the moment before eventually rising to tend to yourself. You gathered your clothes and made your way toward the bathroom to clean up.

***

Once dressed, you step out of the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind you.

As you made your way back to the living room, something caught your eye – a flash of purple light, sudden and sharp, flickered in your peripheral vision. It was fleeting, gone in the blink of an eye, but it drew your attention. Turning toward the source, your eyes caught sight of a door you hadn’t noticed before. It stood slightly ajar, a faint purple glow slipping through the crack.

Your brow furrowed, curiosity and unease prickling at the back of your mind. What could that be?

After a moment’s hesitation, you pulled the door open, its hinges groaning in protest, and stepped cautiously into the narrow passageway. Along the walls, faint purple markings, intricate and almost alive, snaked along the surface, glowing dimly as though they held some kind of hidden power. At the far end of the basement, an ancient-looking book rested on a pedestal, its cover cracked and worn with age.

You couldn’t help but wonder: Who was Agnes, really?

Goosebumps rose across your skin as the question lingered in your mind, unease coiling tighter with each passing second. Something about all of this felt wrong – deeply, irrevocably wrong.

Turning to leave, you froze mid-step, your breath stuttering as you spotted Agnes standing at the base of the stairs. She now wore a form-fitting purple sweater paired with sleek black pants. Her piercing gaze locked onto you, sharp and unrelenting, while a sardonic smirk appeared on her lips.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to go snooping around in places where you don’t belong?” Agnes drawled, her voice oozing with a mixture of amusement and scorn.

The air around you grew heavy, humming with a charged energy that raised the fine hairs on the nape of your neck. Before you could react, an unseen force wrapped around you like a pair of vines, snaring your wrists behind your back and anchoring your ankles together. Your feet left the ground, the sensation both jarring and disorienting as you were lifted a full foot into the air. A strangled gasp escaped your lips, your throat tightening with panic.

Agnes' laughter rang through the air. “What's wrong? Afraid of a little height?”

It was then that the full weight of what was happening hit you. You weren't just dealing with some regular old nosy neighbor – Agnes was a witch. The thought sent a chill down your spine, every nerve alight with unease. She had hidden it so well.

But now, the questions gnawed at you: Who is she? And what does she want?

You blinked rapidly, trying to steady the wave of dread that threatened to choke off your breath.

“W-Who are you?” You managed to force the words out, your voice quivering with uncertainty. “What do you want?”

Agnes's eyes gleamed with a cold, unsettling amusement, as if she had been savoring this exact moment. She took a few deliberate steps closer, her heels clicking ominously against the concrete floor.

“The name’s Agatha Harkness,” she said, each word dripping with quiet menace. “As for what I want,” she tilted her head slightly, a shadow of a grin playing at the corners of her mouth. “I want your mother’s powers.”

Your breath hitched, and your eyes widened in disbelief. Why would she want your mother’s powers?

Agatha cast you a knowing glance, as if she could read your thoughts as clearly as an open book.

“Your mother has something I’ve been seeking for years. Her powers are unique, rare... and I intend to take them,” she paused, tapping a finger thoughtfully against her lips. “Though, I must admit, you’re making this far easier than I anticipated.”

A flicker of confusion crossed your face. “What do you mean?”

You tried to struggle against the magical restraints, but they held firm.

“Do you recall last week?” she asked, her voice dropping into something almost conspiratorial. “When I mentioned a certain little secret I knew about you?”

Your stomach twisted uneasily as the memory resurfaced. You gave her a hesitant nod. Agatha leaned in, her face hovering inches from yours. Slowly, a cruel smirk appeared on her face, as if savoring the discomfort she was about to provoke.

“You have no powers.”

A cold rush of dread slammed into you, raw and suffocating. She… she knew. Agatha knew that fact about you, a truth you hadn’t even dared to fully understand yourself. Why? Why did your mother, father, and even your two brothers possess powers, but not you?

Agatha pulled back, her eyes never leaving yours.

“I have to say, I was surprised when I sensed that about you. The daughter of the Scarlet Witch – powerless.” Her voice was mocking, but there was an odd, almost amused edge to it, as if she found some strange satisfaction in the irony.

What? The Scarlet Witch? Your mind raced, confusion gnawing at you. What was she talking about?

Agatha began to circle around you.

“I don’t know what Wanda was thinking, making you so… ordinary,” Agatha mused, more to herself than to you. But then, her eyes glinted with something far darker as she rounded on you. “Do you want to know something interesting? Your mother kept a secret from you all. A big one too.”

Horror flickered across your face as her words sank in, but Agatha was far from finished.

“Westview isn’t a normal town,” she began. “Your mother’s no innocent little housewife. She created you and your brothers in this so-called hex. A twisted, pathetic little world, shaped by her grief. She couldn’t bear to face the loss of your father, so she trapped the entire town in her delusion. She just couldn’t let him go, so she built this cage. A cage of her own making, and you… you are nothing more than a product of that sorrow.”

Her words hit like a slap to the face, leaving a sting that lingered long afterwards. This was not possible… and yet, it would explain the strange behaviors you had witnessed from all the people living here.

“My mom… created all of this? Trapped us?” You said, your voice frail, barely audible over the blood rushing in your ears. “And me? Are you saying I’m not even real? That I’m just… some manifestation of my mom’s grief?”

Agatha’s cruel smirk deepened.

“Yes,” she purred. “It’s ironic, really. Your mother wanted to keep you safe, to hold on to something, but instead, she trapped you inside a hex where you can’t exist beyond its borders. It won’t be stable forever.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry as you tried to make sense of it all. “But… but why tell me this? What do you want from me?”

Agatha tilted her head, feigning innocence as her eyes glittered with malice. “Oh, darling, I don’t want anything from you. You’re just a simple little target, something to wield against your mother,” her grin stretched wider. “And that’s precisely why you’ll make this so easy for me. To answer your earlier question.”

Agatha stepped closer, her presence overwhelming as she raised two fingers near your temple. A low chuckle rumbled from her chest, deep and unsettling. “But that’s enough for now. It’s time to put you down for a little nap.”

“No! Wait!”

Agatha’s eyes gleamed with an eerie purple glow, and the world around you began to warp, blurring at the edges. Your thoughts became a tangled mess, slipping further out of focus with each passing second.

“And by the way,” she added, her voice dripping with dark amusement. “I can’t wait to see the look on mommy dearest’s face when she finds out I popped her daughter’s cherry.”

Agatha’s cackle bounced off the basement walls as your memories twisted and faded into nothingness.

“Sweet dreams, pet.”

The words lingered in the air like poison, a final kiss before the darkness fully consumed you.

[crossdressingdeath]

One thing I will say for the ending of DAV is that it's made one thing from Trespasser that always confused me a bit finally make sense: the fact that Solas spares even low approval Quiz. Like, the fact that he does that means that affection clearly doesn't come into that decision! He may be nicer about it if he likes Quiz, but he's not sparing them because he likes them. But it makes a lot more sense in the context of him making an enemy of Rook and then leaving them alive when he meets them in Minrathous, just assuming that they'll do what he wants and not get in his way and being completely blindsided by them tricking him even though they have no reason to just go along with what he says. At the end of the day Solas just... doesn't respect either Rook or Quiz enough as equals to see them as a potential threat, and that both explains him sparing Quiz and ultimately leads to his downfall.

I mean, think about it. He killed Mythal. He killed Felassan. Clearly he is not above killing even the people he loves best, the very last remnants of the world he's supposedly in this to save at that, if their survival might get in the way of his plans! You can talk about how much he cares for high approval Quiz, or even how much he loves Lavellan in a Sol@vellan (censored to keep it out of the tags) worldstate, but love demonstrably would not stop him if he determined Quiz to be a threat! He does not love them more than Mythal (he really, really doesn't love them more than he loves Mythal, Christ on a bike the amount of shit he does for Mythal and then refuses to accept her culpability for the fallout of is insane), he does not love them more than Felassan, he does not have more reason to spare them when they say they're going to stop him (whether peacefully or by force) than he did those two, but he still does even if he hates them. Now Solas doesn't like killing (he just has no concept of what counts as actual necessity or willingness to stop when he's going to kill most of Thedas), so it makes sense he wouldn't want them dead if he could avoid it, but if he saw them as a threat he would not spare Quiz where he didn't spare Mythal or Felassan. He's not going to spare a Quiz he hates who's vowing to stop him at all costs where he killed the last remnants of the world he wants to save... unless of course he doesn't think they actually can stop him.

And him not thinking they can stop him makes sense when you his response to Rook, who breaks out of a prison Solas thought was inescapable and by Solas's own admission gets further in dealing with the Evanuris than Solas ever could have himself; he still just completely dismisses them as a real threat, takes no steps to prevent them from turning on him, has no plan for if they find out what killing Elgar'nan will do, and is caught completely off-guard if they trick him with a fake dagger. He sees Rook surpass his every expectation and do better than he himself ever could have, and he still completely fails to realize that they do in fact pose a threat! I do believe that he on at least some level can grow to respect and even care for Quiz and Rook as people who exist, but he always thinks he is ultimately above them. He totally fails to see them as potential threats, and that's what ultimately leads to his downfall: if he'd preemptively killed Quiz at the end of Trespasser, or killed Rook the second Elgar'nan fell and they were no longer needed, or even just made any sort of plan for what to do if either or both of them were in fact the threats they made it clear they intended to be he might very well have won! But his unbridled arrogance and refusal to accept that a mortal could ever outdo the Dread Wolf ultimately gets him locked in the Fade (including the ending where he goes willingly, which only happens because Rook faces down yet another god to make it work). It's a very fitting end for someone who muses about the parallels between him and Elgar'nan and him and Rook and fails to consider what it might mean for him when Rook fully steps into his place in the narrative.

[fuckyeselucien]

Creator Highlight #19 - @infinitefolklore

Welcome back to Elucien Creator Highlights!! We want to take a moment to recognize the amazing individuals in our fandom who kindly use up so much of their free time and creative energy to share their work with us! 

Today we'd like to highlight @infinitefolklore! This author has blessed us with so much incredible Elucien content, with a talent for exploring their relationship in a number of different canon settings. From daring rescues in the Continent to heated flirting in a Dawn Court ballroom, it's easy to say that infinitefolklore has added so much depth to the world of Prythian and the ways Elucien's story could fit into it!

Below are some of our favorite ofinfinitefolklore's Elucien works, but you’ll want to read all their fics on AO3, HERE!

Solstice Traditions

Lucien comes to the River House on Winter Solstice eve with another gift for Elain. He is pleasantly surprised by her reaction.

A Little Bit of Light Reading

Elain is all alone at the Town House and Lucien makes a surprise appearance. They decide to "explore the mating bond," but for how long can they keep it a secret? And what happens when the Inner Circle starts meddling in their business?

Okay so this fic has been going on for much longer than I intended, but I love the drama! It was MEANT to be very little plot, mostly fluff, smut, angst, drama, shenanigans, and banter. But now its getting a little heavier with plot and angst because the characters are in charge not me.

In The Darkness Before the Dawn, Leave a Light On

Elain is sent to the Mortal Lands to live with Lucien, Jurian, and Vassa to work on her Seer abilities, find a way to break Vassa's curse, and try to discover information about Koschei. Elain and Lucien are forced to live and work together, and get to know one another along the way.

Want to nominate someone? Fill out the form HERE.

[hyperions-light]

okay everyone today let’s talk about profound, overwhelming emotion as a theme in Veilguard

Sounds fun right

Gonna do like a sort of deconstructed essay thing (or I WAS, but this is an actual essay. Sigh)

Thesis: DATV is exploring how its characters confront and process emotions and events so overwhelming that they could define the characters entire lives if ignored or pushed aside; the player is encouraged to provide the characters with the appropriate emotional tools to dismantle the seemingly impossible obstacles that stand in their way, in order to complete their character arcs and contribute to the resolution of the central conflict.

WOagh this got way long, like REALLY long, so I am cutting here. I hope you didn't think the Grey Warden essay was verbose, bc this is much longer! You've been warned lol

PART I: ISATUNOLL

I feel like we have to talk about Harding first bc what’s more overwhelming than having the entire history of your race shoved on you at once? (I've decided to relocate to the computer, so you know I'm taking this seriously) So Harding gets magic rock powers, and then you have that sort of lull in her story where she's just trying to feel them out, but you can already see the game setting up the dilemma, because she's constantly checking against Rook to see what they think about it. She doesn't know how to feel-- should she be worried, excited? You can encourage her down different paths, but whatever you choose, you're providing a way for her to conceptualize this thing that (as far as she knows) has never really happened to anyone else.

And then when you go to meet the Oracle, the game introduces the idea of this overwhelming rage, this intense frustration that IS hers, but also isn't. She (probably) doesn't know what happened to the Titans by that point (you can do Regrets of the Dread Wolf pretty early but idk if it's able to be finished at that point?) but I think the stone giant you fight there is her inborn anger resonating with the much larger, dormant anger of the Titans. And you see her deny her own anger and her own feelings generally (the coffee scene with Lucanis, while tonally lighthearted, is intended to set this up). Again, Rook can intervene, and this time you also see your companions providing their own advice (Lucanis and Taash both tell her not to hide her anger/try to make people happy and Davrin repeatedly urges her to stand and face 'whatever it is' directly). So both Rook and their friends are supplying tools to deal with this upcoming confrontation.

So, the culmination of the arc comes in Isana Negat, where Harding faces the physically manifested anger of the Titans in the form of herself. She says it is her anger, and it IS, she is angry and they are angry, together; Isatunoll-- I am, we are. She did not know what to do with it, and that is why it is here; the game is positing that avoiding confrontation and acceptance of one's feelings can lead to harm for oneself AND for others. It IS Harding that is attacking you, because it was her raising the enemies in the cavern. But, at the same time, Harding is here out of a desire to protect others, and she is compassionate to this manifestation; she apologizes for not knowing how to confront it and letting it run wild in this way.

Fortunately, by this point Rook and company have already provided her with the tools to be successful in this encounter. She does not turn away from her anger, she does not attempt to run or dissemble as she might have done before. By the time Rook reaches the platform she has already absorbed the being; she is just having a hard time fully accepting it. Rook and the other companion physically grab hold of her, as Rook directs her down the path of acceptance through compassion, or acceptance through embracing anger. It is important that neither choice offers a denial. Through the strength of the unity of the team, here represented by physical closeness, and because Harding herself has changed as a character, she is able to integrate the Titans' anger and affirm that she and the other dwarves will continue to persist in spite of what was done to them. DAI players may recognize this as a well-placed echo of the conversation thread between Solas and Varric about the man who persisted in spite of losing everything; Varric said then that the fact that the man lived, that he continued, was a triumph in itself. The dwarves triumph as a race here, by not allowing the horrific violation committed against the Titans destroy them, and so does Harding.

The final piece of Harding's journey is her meeting with Stalgard and his sister outside of Isana Negat, in front of the mountain that was/is a Titan. She returns to them the knowledge that was lost for centuries, and the anger that comes with it, but affirms that they cannot return to what was; this brings change, GOOD change, to the dwarven people and will redefine them. By successfully accepting this outsized emotional trauma, Harding has helped her people, and becomes a more effective member of her team. Catharsis, acceptance, and emotional growth make her stronger.

PART II: I AM NOT THIS

When Rook meets Lucanis, he has been kept in a prison for a year, being tortured and violated by the Venatori, who have been attempting to turn him into a demon. It hasn't worked correctly, because Lucanis and Spite have an accord. However, you first see him just kind of running around killing whoever he comes across; Rook provide direction and a specific target, a chance for freedom. It is significant here that the prison is underwater; Lucanis is, metaphorically, drowning. The prison is also referred to as the Ossuary, which is a place you store the bones of the dead; the outside world believed he was dead, and, metaphorically, he did die here. You kill his torturer, but it is not enough; the woman who kidnapped him and the orchestrator of his violation still lives.

Rook returns to Treviso where Lucanis finds out that he has truly lost almost everything. His grandmother, Caterina, appears to be dead, and his city, Treviso, is occupied by the Antaam. The only thing he has left is Illario, and he immediately grabs onto the idea that Zara, who he believes killed Caterina, is going to kill Illario, too. He panics in response, but he is trained as a Crow to shut down his emotion, and practiced at doing so from his year spent constantly disassociating in the Ossuary. He says he needs to work; Illario and Teia protest, but he insists. He is returning to the thing he knows how to do, grabbing for a sense of normalcy when everything else is lost and he believes the little he has left is in danger. He will destroy the threat and this will also conveniently allow him to put off his real emotional trauma from the prior year.

Every cutscene Rook has with Lucanis between his major plot events in this section involves him trying to contain and ignore Spite. He tries to constantly stay awake to ensure that the demon cannot take over, and he tries to befriend and placate his new associates by buying them stuff (a VERY rich person thing to do) and taking care of them. He is trying to convince himself and them that he is NOT dangerous; he is not a demon, not an abomination. But he is not confronting his fear, he is only putting it off; often, in conversation with others he will be flippant about Spite, or he will deflect their concern about it. He chooses his 'bedroom' in part because it can contain Spite, and because it is the farthest possible location from the Eluvian, where Spite keeps trying to go (I just noticed that! Very fun!). In the meantime, he is also ignoring the fact that Illario is being extremely suspicious, because he doesn't want to know that his brother is the one who hurt him. Lucanis is an astute person by nature, and could certainly have observed this, had he not been deliberately trying to obscure it from himself.

Davrin is a huge problem for him because he is the most direct person in Veilguard. He shows up and tells Lucanis that if Spite overtakes him, he will kill him. This touches on Lucanis' fear of his own lack of control and drives too directly at what he wants to ignore. They are immediately at odds, which is made worse by Lucanis' 'failure' at Weisshaupt, which causes him to lash out at Davrin. He believes that the fact that he was unable to kill Ghilan'nain is indicative of him losing his abilities as an assassin, which is one of the only familiar things that he has left. Fortunately, Rook and company are there to reassure him; the situation is helped by the presence of Taash, Emmrich and Neve, who are unafraid of Spite, and whom he can rely on to control the demon if he cannot. However, the problem remains that he refuses to seriously deal with Spite in any way. As the inextricable representation of Lucanis' trauma (it would LITERALLY kill him to remove it), ignoring him means Lucanis is unable come to terms with what has happened.

This comes to a head when Illario kills Zara, and Lucanis is unable to stop Spite from almost murdering his brother with his own body in response. This is the final, most devastating loss of control. He apologizes to Rook for the lapse, and tries to refocus on Illario, who he now has definitive proof betrayed him. He says he is going to take everything away from him, but truly this is just another distraction; revenge is not going to be enough because it will just mean that he has nothing on which to focus his and Spite's combined ire, and then he will still have a demon inside him and no accord. What saves him is Rook, and finding out that Caterina is still alive. This is fantastic news because it means he hasn't lost everything, but it also presents a dilemma; is it more important to attack Illario, to seek revenge, even if it endangers Caterina's life? Does he risk what he values most-- his family-- to pursue his vengeance?

I was going to write an entirely separate post on the mind prison, my favorite part of Lucanis' arc, so I'll (try) to be brief here. The metaphorical Ossuary is a prison of Lucanis' fear; those he is scared he will hurt, or who will see him for what he believes he is: a demon. In order to get him out of it, Rook needs to cooperate with Spite, and confront each fear individually, breaking down their flawed presuppositions about Lucanis which are trapping him there. It is also significant that Lucanis himself is unable to articulate that he is trapped, and is even unable to ask for help; it is Spite who invites Rook in and concretizes Lucanis' emotional state. He can't get out alone. When Rook reaches Lucanis he admits that he has been avoiding his emotions but that, "It's just... so much. I don't know where to begin."

What happened to Lucanis was life-alteringly traumatic. It is unsurprising that he does not have the tools to effectively confront it. However, Rook encourages him here to begin the process by creating an agreement with Spite in the short-term. Process your trauma by breaking it down and taking it one step at a time. After this section in the game, the player can hear Lucanis converse with his friends about trying to work with Spite; about how the spirit is learning to understand the physical world, and they are no longer fighting. Again, we see that ignoring his emotions was hurting both Lucanis himself and other people, and that by moving forward, no matter how slowly, he can regain control of his life and build a new one alongside Spite, accepting the new circumstance.

When he confronts Illario for what he did and, incidentally, control over the Crows, he does not kill him. He never loses control and he and Spite work together to resist the blood magic that Illario attempts to use on them. Working through his problems with the support of his team allows Lucanis to preserve what he values-- his family, the Crows-- instead of pursuing an endless and ultimately pointless crusade of death in an attempt to avoid his problems. He makes the Crows stronger and heals himself through confronting and accepting his emotions.

PART III: I WILL GO AND SEEK ATONEMENT

Hey it's Solas! Remember how this game used to be called Dreadwolf? That was probably because he's the thematic anchor of the narrative. So, here we go. (This section is going to discuss the 'good ending' for Solas, because I don't think the others really feed into this theme much.)

Solas is the instigator of the conflict in Veilguard, and he may be an antagonistic force throughout the story, depending on how Rook chooses to deal with him. This game gives confirmation that Solas is a spirit, and so the generally established rules apply: he acts as you expect him to act, he is what you expect him to be, so the player is likely to have wildly variable experiences with him.

Throughout the game the player can encounter sections which depict his greatest regrets in his life so far; taking physical form, creating the weapon that severed the Titans' dreams, incidentally creating the Blight, accidentally sending Mythal to her death, and accidentally creating the Veil (dang, nothing goes right for this guy lol). This series of decisions led, in Solas' time, to monumental harm for countless people, and it is what has led him to his current course. He cannot stop because he is utterly trapped in his regret; these moments, though degraded, surrounded him within the Lighthouse while he planned for a decade. The Caretaker tells you that his regrets are so vicious that they are the teeth with which Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain are tearing into the Crossroads. Solas is destroying something beautiful he helped build because he is unable to let go of the past.

Although you, dear reader, may have your own opinion of him, Solas is undeniably compassionate. In DAI, he will give you massive amounts of approval for simply helping out villagers and performing menial tasks that serve no greater purpose than to alleviate suffering. The amount of suffering he (mostly) unintentionally caused could do nothing but horrify and pain him. His regret is oceanic. If you decide to persuade him to your side at the end of the game, one of the reasons he cites for continuing down his destructive path is because it would dishonor those he has wronged if he were to abandon his work. He is sunk cost fallacy-ing himself into mass murder, basically.

Part of the reason that he is doing this is because, like with Lucanis' issues, the emotion, the weight of the repeated failure is almost too big to effectively reckon with. But Rook can help him do it. Throughout the game Solas watches through his avatar in the Lighthouse; he sees Rook build their team, sees them solve the problems of the people around them and find strength in unity, and so when they appear in Minrathous he does actually believe that they can solve the problem that he cannot. He is deceiving Rook when he gives them the dagger, true, but this is his most valuable asset in the fight; if he did not believe in their success, it would be extremely foolish to give it to them and to commit himself to the comparatively lesser evil of Lusacan. So, Rook has effectively proven the Power of Friendship, as it were, through their actions in Veilguard.

To achieve the 'good end' for Solas, you need to have finished Regrets of the Dreadwolf and successfully confronted the fragment of Mythal that lives in the Crossroads. She will be impressed by your work in proportion to the amount of things in the game you've finished, so you must have bonded with your companions and you must have freed the Crossroads from the ravages of Solas' regrets. He helped make the mess, but other people can help him fix it, which is essentially the point that Mythal makes to him at the end; that he's not literally solely responsible for actually every bad thing that's ever happened.

You also have to tell the Inquisitor to attempt to reach him, which will lead to them saying something about forgiving his past actions if he stops trying to destroy the Veil presently (I assume the dialogue is similar in the friendship route; I have a Solas-romancing Inquisitor and that's basically what she said. I felt that part was general enough it probably carried over). All of these people and various pieces of Solas' past and present are here to break down the gigantic wall of regret that's preventing him from doing the right thing in this moment. All of his arguments for why he must keep going are refuted by these people he cared for, and to whom his regrets are attached.

Through Rook's actions they have demonstrated their ability to solve seemingly overwhelming problems. You can help Harding tame the anger of the Titans, you can help Lucanis confront his trauma, and you can help Solas finally see past his regret and be the hero he has always wanted to be. This is obviously not the only route the player can take through the game, but if they do, they help create a narrative that repeatedly deals with deconstructing and resolving overwhelming emotion. (Dear readers, remind me to make a post about Bioware games and participatory storytelling.) The story examines how intense emotion, ignored or denied, hurts oneself and others, and presents several solutions which all begin with asking for help. There is strength in unity, in compassion and togetherness, and if you cannot see the way forward alone, you will find it with other people.

WhEw okay if you actually finished reading that give yourself a high five and take a lollipop from the basket on your way out the door

on any other platform I think I would have hit a word limit of some kind, so thanks tumblr

edits incoming? very tired rn. Think I had some other point to make about Solas that I forgot maybe. I also think I could've added some of the other companions to this (Taash and Bellara were top candidates) but imo these two are the strongest for this particular theme. And it was already so long lol

okay I sleep soon. you can lmk what you think if you want? don't be a dick tho, I hope that goes without saying lmao

[gnomewithalaptop]

Batfam Time Travel Fic Recs

Because @clarenceislazy requested it on my last fic rec compilation, here's a list of my favorite DCU time travel fics! They're all pretty Batfam-centric, but eh niche is niche what can you do

Damian fics:

A Good Place by LemonadeGarden - Damian gets sent back in time to a Batman who's never had a Robin. Very sweet, very fun.

The Rule Stands by Engineerd - After Dick's death, Damian has to deal with a time-displaced ten-year-old Dick Grayson. Love a good Dick and Damian bonding moment, PLUS this gets a happy ending <3

to stay in one place by Jezebunny - Injustice!Universe Nightwing!Damian time-travels/dimension-jumps to a timeline where Dick Grayson is still alive and his counterpart is still Robin. Ugh this is so angsty -- I have an unreasonable amount of love for Injustice Damian

looking for the shapes in the silence by popsunner - In a world where Dick died on the job, Damian falls through a hole in reality where Dick is still alive and finds that some things don't fit the way they used to. SUCH an amazing representation of complex grief -- literally every time I read it, I cry

Steph fics:

time slip by almondrose - A mistake in time leads to six Robins meeting. Honestly, this one is kinda cracky, and only barely qualifies as Steph-centric, but I still like it a lot

and we'll never be the same by almondrose - Steph and Tim go on a road trip to figure out the post-universal-reboot anomalies. This is more of a post timey-wimey-bullshit fic than a real time travel fic, BUT I think it's real cute regardless

Tim fics:

Tractors by lieu42 - Ooh this one is honestly so so fun! In a reimagined universe where DC's heroes operate out of the UK, Red Robin Tim finds himself right back in the year before everything went to hell. He has a duty to get back to his correct timeline so he can find Bruce, but with Bart and Kon still alive, there's a part of him that doesn't want to leave. Literally SO well written and trippy as hell -- this fic deals a lot with addiction, drug use, and grief, so definitely go into it forewarned. TimKon

not for very much longer by CreamOfTomatoSoup - ugh what CAN'T I say about this fic, apart from the fact that it's one of my favorite time loop fics of all time. Post Cult of Dionysus Bernard Dowd finds himself reliving the worst day of his life -- the day Darla got shot. Featuring identity porn, Steph as Robin, Original-Personality!Bernard, the grief of a childhood you can never return to, and the weirdness of having to interact with your significant other when he's currently a sixteen year old who doesn't know he likes dudes. Don't look at the incomplete warning -- it's not abandoned, just a wip, and I legitimately cannot recommend this fic enough. This fic made me read War Games. This fic made me a Darla Aquista stan. This fic made me ship timbern. Please read this fic.

Jason fics:

The View From Jade by lowflyingfruit - Jason Todd accidentally travels back to before Bruce took Dick in. I feel like this is on every time travel rec list, but what can I say: I'm a basic bitch

Two Dead Birds by InsaneTrollLogic - Jason Todd wakes up in the middle of his Mob Boss Era and immediately decides to rewrite his own history. This is very funky fresh of him, just in my personal opinion.

Dick fics:

So It Goes by 60sec400 - Bruce from Dick's Robin era receives a troubling call from Nightwing. Be warned -- this fic is angsty as hell. Implied major character death. Don't look at the incomplete warning -- it's a lie (the author has specified they intended it to work as a oneshot)

In This Or Any Other Universe by wildsofmarch - Dick-as-Batman ends up in Battinson-era Gotham. Again, I think this counts more towards the Dimension Travel pile than the strict Time Travel variety, but I'm still putting it here because I enjoy the hell out of it

a million dreams by CaptainOzone - In the seconds between the trapeze line snapping and their bodies hitting the ground, John and Mary Grayson find themselves transported twenty years into the future. SO GOOD I honestly can't stand it.

If you think I missed a fic you love (or if you've written any yourself and want to self-plug), feel free to drop a link in the reblogs! Especially if you know of any that center around Steph, Cass, or Duke -- istg I've scrolled through fifteen pages of the AO3 Time Travel tag, and I've found like maybe two fics that center around any of them. It's honestly a little ridiculous

[1920sladydectective]

Two Steps Forward, One Forest Back 2.8K

This is for @kkatsukiswife who had an awesome idea and let me write it! I hope it fulfils your expectations, it's a little longer than I'd intended.

Head of Medarda Oil Corp, Ambessa is exhausted by the silly environmental scientist who keeps ruining her expansion. There's only one way to fix that.

Cross posted to AO3

MINORS DNI

Warnings: Degradation, Tipsy Sex, Exhibitionism and Dumbification kinda, Choking, Bathroom Sex, mentions of bondage

This is NOT proofread cause fuck that:

It had only been three months and yet every moment spent working for the Medarda corporation seemed to shave years off of your life. 

You had gone in so rosy eyed, certain you would be changing the future for the better, making a huge environmental impact, finally able to regulate and report the bastards rotting the world. Your boss, manipulative asshole that she was, had basically promised as much. Instead you sat in opulent boardrooms, battling the wolves as they attempted to turn the world to ash and profit margins. 

CEO Ambessa Medarda was the worst to deal with, her children at least seemed to possess half a conscience. She, however, stared across the mahogany table and tried to devour your soul. It started as small things, not reading your reports before shareholder meetings, or perhaps misquoting some of your numbers. Easily corrected, if you could stand the dark gaze she’d send your way. 

“Of course,” She’d simper, “Thank you for that, my Dear,” 

Soon it became more outrageous, your body flooding with cortisol at every new email you received. Their drilling sight was in a forest, though if you were to point that out she would remind you it was well within the guidelines of oil drilling near wildlife and flora. Well within was a handful of metres, as close as they could have gotten, and every time your numbers remind you of that you have to do a meditative breathing exercise. This wasn’t enough for Ambessa though, there was more just within the treeline and her recent campaign had made it clear she wanted it regardless of the consequences. 

Meeting Four - 24th August 2024 - Recorded Minutes 

AM - Surely a matter of inches will make no impact, gentlemen, and look at the margin of profit. Nobody else has been able to secure a site like this, it would be sellable at an astounding premium. 

ES - Nobody has secured that sort of site for a reason, Mrs Medarda. The havoc it would cause to the local ecosystem is immense, and it is illegal for that reason. 

AM - Not illegal per new legislation, just heavily regulated. 

ES - Do you have any proposals to help you meet those regulations? I seem to be looking at stocks and traders and very little else. 

AM - All in due time

ES - Due time is now Mrs Medarda

You could still feel the air being sucked from the room. It was as bold as you had gotten so far, and her crimson smirk seemed to ward you off of doing it again. The day after the meeting, none of your alarms had gone off, your expensive eco-friendly coffee machine broke and your company key-card stopped working. It had to be a coincidence, but you had been looking over your shoulder ever since. 

Ambessa lingered like a shark who could smell blood. Her beautiful, towering form monitoring your every move. Sometimes, in the quiet early morning it would be only you and her in the building. Her scent seemed to linger, heady and sharp, her sparkling eyes and sarcastic smiles hyper focused on you. It was heavy, such attention, especially when a deep, villainous part of your soul would remind you that she was just your type. Imposing, commanding, insanely muscular. Had you seen her on the streets your mouth would have watered. She couldn’t know that though. Never, ever. She was flirtatious enough when she thought you had no interest, she’d rip your moral compass to shreds if she got a taste of your inner turmoil. She wanted to eat you and you would not let her. 

Her voice, melodic and low, was suddenly in your ear. For Fuck Sake.

“Another eighty nine page legal document in my inbox, darling,” She was so close, so close you twitched, “You really are ensuring the best for our company,” 

“Wouldn’t want you to rush into any development decisions without knowing all the facts,” You said, raising an eyebrow with a shrug, “Bad for business,”

“You’d know all about being bad for business,” She said alluringly, sharp teeth glinting behind her lips, making you gulp slightly. 

She walked away with no other words, her hips swaying impossibly slowly as she took long purposeful strides. You almost groaned, downing cold, bitter coffee beans. This job was going to kill you. 

Days passed in a blur, each one filled with heavy looks and cutting remarks. Each day she moved three steps forward and you pushed her four back. Sometimes, in the heat of the moment, you thought she’d throttle you against the wall for all to see. 

One day she did. 

You were gasping, body trembling, as she held you against the boardroom table by your throat, fingers trailing your inner thighs. Her gruff voice was taunting you, teasing your aching core as she squeezed your neck just enough for your vision to blur. She had had enough of your interference, showing you how weak you truly were. 

“You’d know all about being bad for business,” She mocked, licking your hard clit. 

There was nothing you could do but submit, babbling and grunting as she finally gave you the touch you craved. Her name fell from your lips in a perverse prayer, wanton and airy. 

You were so close, she could tell, eyes glossy as you thrust into her touch. Your orgasm ripped through you, making you scream. 

Neon numbers glimmered. 3:14AM. 

You’d just had a sex dream about your corrupt oil baron boss, real enough to dampen your sheets. Your body ached and against better judgement you reached into your nightstand, vibrator wiping your mind of all thoughts until you cummed yourself back to sleep. 

As the morning beckoned, so did your crippling, sticky guilt. You couldn’t keep going on like this, you had to get it out of your system and not by having graphic dreams about Ambessa Fucking Medarda. There was only one thing for it, you would have to get drunk at the artsy lesbian bar downtown and fuck a random stranger. Obviously. 

You felt good. Your hair had styled just right, your make up hadn’t made you screech irritatedly at your cat and for once heels didn’t feel awful. This was going well. You were going to get some. Or something. 

The bar was packed, full of swaying hips and swishing hair as you creeped your way to the bar. Cocktails were on offer, dangerous and delicious as you sat swinging your legs on a barstool. Music had you swaying in time, downing drink after drink as you fluttered your eyelashes at every pretty girl who glanced your way. You’d never been too good at the chase, but you were desperate enough to try. 

Dancing was freeing, body moving of its own accord as you twirled in circles and gripped strangers arms, moving fast and close together. Everything felt naturally fuzzy, light and right, exactly as you’d needed. She hadn’t even crossed your mi-

Ambessa stood tall, leaving lazily against the bar as a drunken brunette tried to chat her up. She was sweet enough, giggly and open, relishing in any attention she gave her. She wasn’t quite right though, Ambessa sighed, her parameters were incredibly specific tonight. Almost impossibly so and yet. There you were, tipsy yourself clearly, dancing in the arms of a short blonde woman. Ambessa’s lips curled into a devious grin, waiting patiently for you to catch her eye. 

No. Just no. 

Your gaze was stuck to hers, a magnet pulling you in as your mind swirled. She looked perfect, the confines of the business world had melted away to reveal raw sex appeal. Her muscles seemed larger, clearer as her shirt and trousers clung to her. Her thighs were too delicious, her gold make up adding a shimmer to her dark eyes. You faintly felt the blonde woman’s hands on your hips as you moved, mind full of cotton. Ambessa raised her glass, tilting it towards you mockingly, her grin eating at you. 

Want. Need. All consumin- No. Enough. Goodbye Ambessa. 

Your burning form turned away from her, extracting yourself from the dance and looping the long way back to the other side of the bar, hidden from Ambessa’s position. Downing a tequila shot, you grunted. Your plan was fucked and you needed to leave here as soon as possible, but she was right by the exit. Panicked, you slipped into the bathroom, fingers gripping the art deco sink for life as you huffed. You looked as good as you had when you left home and yet you felt a state, lips puffy and hair seemingly unkempt. 

Click

“Hello there, darling,” Ambessa’s honeyed voice echoed in the tiny bathroom as she locked the main door, “Fancy seeing you here,” 

Your mouth dried, her beauty almost stifling this close, “Mrs Medarda,”

“We’re in a gay bar Dear, you can call me Ambessa,” She snorted, stepping to rest just to your right. She was circling you in her head, your body the sweetest prey she could hope to hunt. 

“Ambessa,” You repeated, unsure, “What do you want?” 

She laughed almost pityingly, it was seductive, frustrating, just like the rest of her as she murmured your name. 

“Me?” Heat burns in your gut, making you cramp with need, the alcohol in your blood no match for the warmth of lust. 

“Of course,” Her hand cupped your chin, forcing you to hold her gaze, “I’ve always wanted you, you must know you drive me to distraction,”

It seemed unlikely, her distracted by anything, but it was such an arousing, tempting thought. Your mouth lulled open in a small gasp, her fingers tickling against your neck. You were done for, mind melting down between your legs the longer she looked at you. It felt like she could sense it, her other hand bending you slightly as your hands scrambled to lie against the ornate mirror so that you could steady yourself, stomach now against the sink. 

“What?” You stammered, as she sank to the floor, strong elbows nudging your legs apart. 

“You’re not naive, pretty girl,” She breathed, her words dancing across your bare thighs, “You’ve got too many brains in your soft head for that,” 

It was odd to be complimented by her, especially for your intelligence. It made you feel proud and happy. Her praise was immediately addictive, spilling forth from blood red lips as she kissed and nipped at your skin. Each word a nail in the coffin of your demise, each kiss a moment longer being drowned by her. You were stuck, and as you caught your own hazy, tipsy expression in the mirror you giggled. Oops. 

Ambessa rewarded your giggle with a lick against your clothed cunt, her tongue flat and slow. Everything went silent for a moment as you bucked against her grip, whining. 

“Good girl,” She hummed, “Soaked for me,” 

“God,” you slurred, she had you desperate and aching. 

“We can make that my name if you like,” She muttered mockingly, pushing aside your lacy underwear and lapping at your drenched hole. Her touch was considerate, fast and calculated as you huffed and sighed. Her strong hands gripped your hips, rocking you against the basin as she fucked you mercilessly with her tongue. She could feel the dwindling hesitance in you, the desire to submit held back by weak moral strings. It was okay, she thought, she’d snap those as you came into her mouth. 

Her goal was simple, make you an empty headed doll for her to ruin, mark and stuff you until you finally understood how to respect her. Then she might actually get somewhere. You were in your own world of pleasure, following her movements as you trembled and burned. It felt so good, better than any dream could have been. 

Your orgasm was close, taunting you and making your vision dance with pretty white stars. Some weak, nearly dead part of you wanted to resist it, to uphold some control. She didn’t own you. Not yet at least. The resistance was too late however, as thick, calloused fingers teased and stretched your cunt out of nowhere, just as she sucked your hard clit into her wet, perfect mouth. Your mind and morals shattered like pretty iridescent glass. 

“Fuck,” You cried against the mirror, eyes rolling into your head, “Shit fuck,” 

“That’s my slut,” Ambessa said, savouring the sloppy liquid dripping down your thighs. 

The nickname surprised and confused you, heavy head looking down at her. 

“What else could you be?” She said commandingly, sucking her fingers dry as your eyes glazed, “You’re so good for me, taking what I give you, like a whore would,” 

You nodded, legs trembling. You did want to take it. Take it all. Whatever she said. It almost made you feel drunker, though the tequila had long since floated through you now. 

“If I had known it would be this easy to make you pliant and soft,” She muttered huskily, words touching your ear as she stood, “I’d have bent you over my desk weeks ago, Little girl,” 

That enough made a small orgasm flutter out, your chest heaving as stared into her eyes in the reflection. Her hand slapped against your wet pussy, making you smile as you blew a little kiss her way. 

Ambessa snorted, smoothing over your slightly sweaty hairline. You were so pretty, even better now you were hers. 

“Watch yourself,” She muttered hypnotically, “In the mirror,” 

You hummed, glancing at yourself. She was pretty to stare at but you didn’t want to make her unhappy. Suddenly, it felt as though you were being lifted above the ground slightly, her strong arm holding you as she stuffed three fingers into you. 

The stretch burned, making you snarl slightly as she made you whole. That was how it felt. Complete and perfect, as the look of your clouded, slutty face made you hornier. You loved how she made you look, how she made you feel, obscene slapping sounds filling the bathroom. 

A light shove against the door, your moan choking in your throat as exhilaration at being quite suffocated you. 

“Oh,” A distant drunken sigh, “This bathroom’s closed for repairs, let’s try the other,” 

Ambessa bit your neck, sucking at your sweet spot, as she felt you clench and gush at the sound of voices, “You like that, Good girl? The thought of them knowing a horny mess is being fucked into oblivious in a random bar?”

You nodded, neck aching with the force as you continued to stare at yourself. Any time your gaze drifted to her she would stop dead, eyes dark. After the second time it nearly killed you and you forced yourself to meet your drooling expression. Ambessa seemed intent on sending you over the edge, thinking she had all of you but your longing voice proved her wrong. 

“My throat,” You moaned, “Need you to c-crush it, like my,” a desperate whine, “like my dreams,” 

Ambessa felt herself black out slightly at your request, your whimpering and begging making her own cunt twitch wantonly. She dropped your feet back onto the navy tile, hand wrapping around your neck with measured pressure. The change was immediate, your body no longer tense and twitching, but limp like the doll she’d dreamed off. You took her relentless thrusts, effortlessly, as she made your blood rush and pulse in her ears. Air wasn’t necessary unless she gave it to you, tongue lolling out of your mouth. You came as suddenly as last time, losing your vision as you squirted down her arm, lungs greedily inhaling air as she crushed your throat and released it. 

You don’t really remember how you’d moved from the bathroom, mind empty as strong arms tidied you up as much as possible and led you through the warm crowds. A long, sleek car sat waiting for her and you were gently placed in it. You’d never been in a limousine before, not that you had any brain capacity to appreciate it. 

“Precious girl,” She cooed, stroking your cheek as she pushed you onto the carpeted floor of the car, “I think it’s your turn, don’t you?” 

She’d slipped her trousers off and her cunt was bare for you to get lost in. You almost squealed in excitement, nuzzling and licking happily all to serve her. It took hours, moving from car, to against her front door and finally in her silky, warm bed. Toys, a violent pounding from behind and some soft ropes had you pleading to serve her, to be used and owned. 

You had been right, there was no coming back from the sweet bliss of her control, consequences be damned. 

Ambessa liked you against her, devoted and spent as she spun commands for you, all sinking into your malleable mind as she fed you sips of water and scratched your scalp. 

Pretty little girl. You were hers now, and so was that fucking forest.

[chaifootsteps]

if that leak is accurate about Stolas "sacrificing" himself for Blitzo, it's gonna be really weird

so what, they're going to frame it like Stolas is being good and kind by…admitting he had a part in breaking demon law?

that isn't goodness and kindness, that's just being an adult and owning up to what he actually did because it's what objectively happened. Stolas broke demon law, too. the only thing he's not responsible for was the initial theft - it was negligent on his part but he didn't intend for the book to be stolen

but he did intend to let Blitzo keep it so he could keep calling him. he did intend to let Blitzo keep it even longer than that - months at a time - when he thought he could force Blitzo to bed him. he did intend to not end the deal at all, risking his book and Via's inheritance indefinitely, until he realised he couldn't get Blitzo to be his boyfriend while exorting him for sex

for real, what's the alternative here? the show's logic if this happens is basically 'it'd be fine for Stolas to stick his head in the sand and deny the reality that he had a part to play even though he knows Blitzo will pay a higher penalty than him - literal death - so he deserves a cookies and praise for not letting that happen'?

with this change it makes a least a little more sense why Blitzo is willing to defend him a sword and hire him as a secretary, but Stolas flipping to outright hating him is just weird imo. if they do that it's yet more examples of Stolas making other people responsible for his own bad choices - no one forced him to make the FM deal or let Blitzo keep the book. he did that all on his own and is going to blame Blitzo for him getting punished because he chose to own up to his own part in everything?

I can just imagine them having Stolas say 'no, it was all me! everything was my responsibility' and the viewer is supposed to disagree with him and think he's so brave and noble for rescuing Blitzo when like, no, Stolas is really responsible

For real. Just what the hell's he going to say? "I only lent out a priceless artifact, my daughter's birthright, so I could use it as a bargaining chip to coerce a member of Hell's lowest class into having sex with me every month."