#tried to make this somewhat aesthetic

[classical-vanity]

Tagged by my lovely @thecynical-idealist, thanks so much S🫶🏻

Describe yourself ONLY with pictures you have. You cannot search or download new pictures.

I tag: @devaneiossuspensos @desideria @the-3rd-of-may @sophism @455u @margaritawithouthermaster @chapricot

[ruth-posts-pokemon]

You would not believe your eyes

If a hulking red Dhelmise

Went silly mode as you gave it beans

… Basically any Pokémon can be cute under the right circumstances or given the right motivation and there is absolutely nothing that can make me think otherwise. Little guy or perhaps even little fella vibes, just size XXL. I am not biased at all whatsoever in this assessment

[phagodyke]

whenever ppl ask me what my type is (or even like. what celebrities I find attractive) I have a rly hard time pinning it down for them bc things like familiarity actually factor in a LOT for me so I don't tend to immediately recognise whether someone I've never seen before irl is hot or not. actually if we wanna get properly into it the reality of how attraction works for me is that I fall in world-rearrangingly devastating love with someone and my "type" then redefines itself accordingly as a category of ppl who remind me of them in specific subtle/less-than-subtle ways and the imprint of that sticks with me forever so whenever I find someone instinctively beautiful I'm always just seeing the ghost of past loves in their face or the way they hold themselves. but I can't explain that to ppl bc I feel like it comes across weird and a little creepy so I just laugh and tell them "well its arbitrary, I'm just attracted to ppl on an individual basis! um and also ayo edebiri is sooo gorgeous" which is true

[kupidachillea]

Olympians x You (hcs or imagines)

Author note: Geez, it’s been awhile. Sorry, I’ve been in bit of a funk, got both writers block and art block but I just want to drop this. I still have a few things in my drafts, but for now I’ll feed you guys this.

TW (trigger warning):This may have a few Yandere themes in it. And while the Olympians themselves aren’t really yanderes- they do share similar tendencies considering their myths. Please note that this isn’t completely accurate to their mythology- but it’s just a bit of fun so please take no offence and be nice in the comments.

CW (content warning)⚠️: readers either 17-18+ (to read this I mean), light mentions of nudity, molesting and sexual harassment, toxic behaviour. General (hinted) Yandere behaviour. Reader’s discretion is advised.

🏺- You weren’t sure how you got here but somehow you ended up on mount Olympus of all places.

🪡- Your brain was fuzzy and you hadn’t yet registered the 12 + looming faces above you. When you did notice, they were bickering in a language you didn’t understand (or at the very least, understood a little). It was jarring and you were still trying to get your bearings.

-🏺 You noticed one of them, a woman, dressed in garments fit for royalty (in ancient times at least) and had somewhat of a peacock aesthetic to it, yelling and pointing accusingly at a man, presumably her husband. She didn’t seem happy. Hera. Queen of the Olympians..that means the other must’ve been Zeus..oh boy

🪡- Zeus looked as if he was trying to quell his wife’s anger before things got more out of hand. There were a few others in the back that looked bored of the situation- as if a similar thing has happened before, while others looked mildly amused.

🏺- Despite all that- the argument seemed to have turned completely to you. Hera turning her rage towards you. “You! Where did you come from, how did you arrive here!?” She’d ask in anger, it was evident she had very little patience if any at all, thankfully though she was now speaking a language you could understand. You scrambled to answer her, your body trembling slightly at how her voice shook the marble floor you were sat on.

🪡- You tried to explain to her that you didn’t know how you got here. Your brain still fuzzy with images that didn’t clear up or make sense. This obviously didn’t help the Queen’s anger and you could see her patience slipping. She would scoff and turn back towards the other gods, them discussing what they should do with you.

🏺 - Some suggestions were thrown around, some you weren’t so fond of. Multiple times did they suggest either killing you or throwing you off the mountain (which would kill you anyway). However those ideas were shut down immediately by more ‘kindhearted’ gods. This hasn’t happened in centuries- a human spawning on top of their mountain out of the blue..they aren’t really prepared for this.

🪡- They were almost all out of ideas, until one golden haired music deity bent down to your height and took a closer look at you. His eyes shining as he took in your appearance before a smile started to work its way on his lips. “How about we keep them..?” He suddenly asked, his gaze still set on the little (little to them anyway) human in front of him.

🏺- This made everyone pause and even you were shocked by the suggestion. You found it ridiculous and you argued that despite how flattering it was- you didn’t want to stay with them and you wanted to be returned back to your home. The gods only seemed to ignore you, as if you were a child having an unreasonable temper tantrum. They were all considering keeping you here!

🪡- “Well…” Hermes started. You could tell since he was a bit shorter than the others and he had his signature winged sandals. “It has been quite awhile since the gods have had a plaything..” he would mutter reluctantly. He wasn’t entirely sold on the idea, despite how his father and brothers (most anyway) were grinning like idiots. You, obviously , did not appreciate being referred to as a plaything.

🏺- “Then it is settled..this little one shall be our new plaything!” Zeus grinned, a little too happy for both yours and Hera’s taste. You were about to give them a piece of your mind but was swiftly silenced by a threatening gaze from Hera..to your surprise. And thus began your horrible life with the Olympians..

….

🪡- You were stripped of your modern clothing and given a chiton to wear instead. “It’s too modern for our liking..” Aphrodite would say as she felt up your body in ways that made you shiver in discomfort. “We’re use to our people…how should I say this? Showing a little more skin…” the goddess of love would chuckle sweetly, while you would stare at her in embarrassment and maybe even a hint of disgust. While you could understand where she was coming from- it still didn’t stop you personally from being uncomfortable with they way she was touching you.

🏺-You’d also be dressed up in fine jewellery, much to your surprise..anklets of gold, bangles made of bronze, necklaces etc. sweet smelling oil perfumes covering your body- anything to make seem more ‘appealing’ to the gods and goddess. You were their plaything after all, so it made sense for them to dress you how they liked..no matter how much you disliked it.

🪡- They’d occasionally have you pour them wine at banquets or sit on their laps to just sit there and look pretty. The main gods that did this were of course Zeus, Apollo, Poseidon, definitely Dionysus and at some point Hermes. You didn’t really appreciate this, but rejecting their request would result in a ‘punishment’ for you.

🏺- To your surprise..Ares rarely touched you without your permission, but he was a little mean here and there. He along with Athena and Demeter weren’t as…’touchy’ as the others. And Artemis …you appreciated that..though just because they didn’t touch you in inappropriate ways doesn’t mean they weren’t as ‘crazy’ as the rest.

🪡- For example, while Artemis wasn’t big on being a pest in terms of touching you, she did take you out on hunts..which..wasn’t so bad in your opinion. It was much better than being up on the mountain most days..she thought a little more rationally- but of course- her twin, Apollo, would see you hanging out with his sister and get a little possessive about it. Which you didn’t understand- you weren’t any of their lovers (even if they thought so), but even so..most hunting trips were cut short because of him.

🏺- When you finally got moments to breathe away from the gods..you’d spend it out in the garden..hidden away from everyone and thing..it was your quiet time up until one of the gods summoned you. You found out that you weren’t the first human to be in this position (and probably not the last)..according to one of the lesser known gods (maybe Hebe) you were told that centuries before, a young lad was taken into the heavens to serve Zeus but had been placed into the stars as the constellation known as Aquarius.

🪡- You shivered at the thought..you didn’t want that to happen to you. To be placed in the stars? Doomed to forever look down on earth and watch your family and friends grow? It may have been an honour back then but to you it was almost like a death sentence.

🏺- Either way, life with the Olympians got harder to cope with. Your privacy was always compromised and you were forced to many things you didn’t like. Sometimes the gods would be as bold to sneak up on you while you were bathing and either join you in the pool or touching up your nude body.

🪡-Often giving excuses for why they would do so, or simply ignoring your protest. It wasn’t hard to manhandle you after all..they were gods, and you were a puny human. Why should they care about your thoughts and feelings. It progressively got worse with them kissing your neck or cheek without your permission too- Apollo was the main culprit of that..

🏺- Sometimes you found yourself crying in a corner by yourself at the situation you were in. The only person willing to comfort you being Hestia. She obviously didn’t approve of this but she couldn’t do much besides being a safe space for you to turn to, which you appreciated.

🪡- But no matter how you protest, run, hide, or try to defy them; you are still theirs. That how they see it anyway, and they won’t change their mind..

[paintedonmyteeth]

Hello!! I've been absolutely obsessed with homicipher lately, and I really love the fanfics and hcs you wrote for the characters so far!! You're a really great writer, your style and aesthetic is honestly so good!

I was curious if you had any headcanons for how Mr. Crawling, Mr. Hood, and Mr. Silvair would be with a cane-user reader that has severe leg pain? Like they typically use a cane to help them walk easier, but sometimes they can feel so much pain in their leg that it becomes too much to walk and they sometimes need to sit down or take a break?

Homicipher characters taking care of reader is one of my favorite types of things to read <3 I hope you have an amazing day!

Homicipher Boys w/ Cane!reader

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOHh YES I love the concept gbejbfj and I could def see this as a huge cute thing w/ Mr. Hood especially. 10/10, Homicipher boys taking care of the reader are the best HCs hands down gbejfjwj and tysm it makes me happy to hear that others rlly enjoy my work!!!! :D

Mr. Crawling 𖦹₊⊹

⭑.ᐟ — Mr. Crawling as the absolute fucking sweetheart he is would want to be the biggest help for you when getting around certain areas of the Ghost Apartments.

⭑.ᐟ — At the same time, Mr. Crawling is also disappointed in himself he can’t be much of a help, it’s difficult for him to stand on his own feet for any longer than a few minutes considering he’s used to crawling around.

⭑.ᐟ — Which also means he can’t carry you :((

⭑.ᐟ — The best he can do however is help avoid any places like the boardwalk room with all the water or anything with a ladder so you’re putting less stress on your muscles and your bad leg.

⭑.ᐟ — Mr. Crawling does his best to try in protect you from any hostile residents (eg. the time you got kidnapped by Mr. Stitch), he’s not trusting anybody that’s not Mr. Silvair, or any other residents you’re not familiar with.

⭑.ᐟ — Ofc break times are also a must have so whenever there’s a room that’s safe to take a breather, he’ll basically lead you by the hand to take a seat and give your bad leg a rest. Cuddles are also given for a bonus <3

Mr. Silvair 𖦹₊⊹

⭑.ᐟ — Mr. Silvair being kind of like the scientist/doctor, he’s pretty much the best source in getting any help you need for your leg.

⭑.ᐟ — Considering meds or painkillers aren’t things that exist in this ghostly dimension, Mr. Silvair tries finding other alternatives in order to alleviate your severe pain in your leg. Maybe try to work and figure out some sort of 'cure' with what resources and tools he has.

⭑.ᐟ — So with getting a few checkups/experiments done on your body (aka the weird thing going on with your body slowly changing due to staying in the Ghost Apartments), Mr. Silvair also checks in once in a while to see how your leg pain is going and suggests in resting whenever needed. You’re basically more than welcome to use his spare beds when you need them most.

⭑.ᐟ — Mr. Silvair might’ve found something better from the room with all the trashed items like a crutch for example so you can lean your weight on it a little and it’s somewhat easier to walk around.

⭑.ᐟ — Eventually Mr. Silvair found someway to help out with your leg pains, ofc having injections doesn’t look like to be the safest in normal people standards but yk, you’ll take anything you can get to be free from the pain even if it’s for a small while.

⭑.ᐟ — You might not get around much at this point, but whenever you’re in Mr. Silvair’s place you stay around for a little while during your breaks and Mr. Chopped’s just there keeping you company. :)

Mr. Hood 𖦹₊⊹

⭑.ᐟ — Mr. Hood sees this as no problem at all tbh (It’s practically a W in Mr. Hood’s books).

⭑.ᐟ — Also fuck your cane honestly, he’s not thinking that ofc, but there’s no reason in needing one if Mr. Hood’s going to carry you all the time??? You can always rely on him to bring you to places you want to go.

⭑.ᐟ — You feel bad and selfish for taking advantage of Mr. Hood this way, but he’s honestly not complaining at all if he gets to hold you close like this whenever he wants. He’s not sure what the fuzzy feeling is but he just likes having you in his arms.

⭑.ᐟ — Sometimes you’d insist you’re able to walk on your own with the cane and you don’t need to be carried, Mr. Hood doesn’t think so, and he’ll still carry you anyways even if you don’t want him to.

⭑.ᐟ — It’s just looks so difficult seeing you struggle to get around certain places in the Ghost Apartments, there’s like a handful of dangerous things and you can’t run at all with that bad leg of yours.

⭑.ᐟ — There’s no need to feel guilty, even if Mr. Hood’s not put together or understand what he’s feeling most of the time, he’ll do anything to help out, keep you safe and protected. :))

[fbfh]

rodrick x hyperfeminine reader hcs

wc: 2.3k

genre: mutual pining, contrasting aesthetics

pairing: rodrick x hyperfeminine reader (fem/she her/referred to as a girl)

summary: you're new at school and it takes a painfully long time for you to find the only hot guy there. he's had a massive painful crush on you since you first set foot through the door.

warnings: reader is a little insecure/anxious and copes through hyperfemininity, rodrick has low self esteem and dyslexia, they both think they have no chance with the other one, jocks keep asking you out, you're friends with Heather and Madison

a/n: obsessed with this dynamic. when you finally date everyone is so fucking confused lmao

@dustyinkpages @the-snake-pit @yesv01

First of fucking all

Match made in heaven

On your first day of school at Crossland you turned a whole lot of heads 

You figure you should make a statement and decide to channel your idol, Elle Woods

You show up to school in a pink mini skirt blazer set, a little halter top with a heart cut out, and matching pink heels

You’re obviously rocking your signature scent, strawberry pound cake body spray and matching strawberry fizz flavored lip gloss

You did a mani pedi and a facial over the weekend to destress 

You walk in quickly to avoid the people that are staring at you for some reason, unintentionally strutting through the halls in a way that appears totally confident 

You reach the office to get your schedule and tuck it into your heart shaped bag along with your sunglasses 

You make sure to smile and be extra friendly with all the teachers and administrative staff, and in every class where you have to introduce yourself over and over, you try to project what you hope is an approachable friendliness 

People were already starting to whisper about the living barbie doll that just showed up out of nowhere, and these whispers reached none other than Heather Hills

She grabs Madison and tries to hunt you down

To confront you for trying to steal her place as the prettiest most popular girl there

Before she can threaten you, you’re asking her where the good boutiques in town are

You have such a unique, sunshiney charm that she totally forgets what she came to talk to you about

Before she knows it, you and her and Madison have plans to go shopping this weekend

You praise yourself for making a couple friends on the first day, not realizing you accidentally waltzed your way into the elusive popular girl clique 

By the end of the day, you have entirely by accident established yourself as queen bee of the school

As time goes on, you’re relieved that at least some of the people at Crossland are so friendly

Sometimes people say hi to you, and you always reply with a smile or wave or hi back

But a lot of the time people just stare at you

You’re somewhat used to it since not a lot of people wear nearly as much pink as you do

Or glitter

Or use a fuzzy pink strawberry scented glitter gel pen for all their homework

So you try to chalk it up to that 

As the days go on, everyone thinks they know exactly what to expect from you

You’re like Heather 2.0, just a little nicer 

Which is almost worse

When Heather is mean to everyone she doesn’t like (which is almost everyone) at least they have a reason to hate her

But you??

You’re so elusive 

You don’t have a ton of friends, you don’t go out of your way to go party unless Heather and Madison drag you there

But what’s weird is that you’ve turned down every guy who’s actually worked up the courage to ask you out

Every single guy at crossland wants to ask you out

But when the captain of the football team 

And the quarterback 

And the hottest guy in your grade all asked you out

And the whole school watched you politely turn them down one after the other

No one else thought they stood a chance

Heather and Madison think you’re crazy for turning them down

“I just… I’m not really into guys like that.” you say dismissively

“Hot jocks?” Heather demands

You would have said the type of guys who’d have bullied you in middle school, but now doesn’t seem like the right time to bring that up

“Yeah.” you agree, and eventually they stop pressing you

Your status of queen bee is even more solidified by the rumors rampantly spreading that not only are you unimaginably hot

But you’re also impossible to date

This becomes common knowledge after a while

Until one day when you’re running late to school

Heather’s still complaining about having to turn around and pick up her sister

“I mean, you were the one who forgot her at your house…” Madison starts, piping down fast when Heather glares at her

As you all get out of her convertible, tires screech behind you

A beat up white van with spray paint writing on the side parks haphazardly next to the curb

Muffled guitar and drums blast out of the car speakers, and as the driver opens the door, you recognize it as green day

Your eyes widen, and you lag behind to try and get a look at the driver

Heather’s ranting about something, and Madison grabs your arm, pulling you along as you watch the driver stumble out and trip on the curb

He has messy black hair, eyeliner, and he’s wearing a well loved ramones shirt

As if that wasn’t enough, he shoves the drumsticks he’s holding into his back pocket, poking out awkwardly 

“Who is that?” you ask

Heather and Madison whip around, ecstatic that you finally found someone at school you think is hot

They scan the scattered crowd of other late students trying to make it inside before first bell

“Who?” Heather demands, looking straight past the guy at the captain of the football team who you’d turned down for the fourth time earlier this week. “Brent? You know Brent.” 

A twinge of jealousy flashing through her voice as she finishes, desperate for more information

“No,” you say, pointing. “The guy who looks like Billie Joe Armstrong.”

“Who?” they both demand, still looking right past him

“Black hair, black shirt…”

Finally they see him

“Heffley??” Heather demands, holding back a gag at his name. “No, no, no. Not him, anyone but him.” 

She shudders, pushing past both of you to go inside

You’re stuck in place, watching him greet his friends and laugh loudly as they shove each other hello

Madison leans in close

“That’s Rodrick. His god awful band ruined Heather’s sweet 16 and she’s still pissed about it. Going near him is social suicide.” 

It suddenly makes sense that you haven’t bumped into the only hot guy at school yet

If you’re always with Heather and Heather avoids him like the plague… 

Madison drags you inside, and you’re already trying to figure out a way to talk to him

Just because you didn’t know Rodrick exited before now, doesn’t mean he hasn’t been drooling over you since you showed up at Crossland

“Uh, dude… was she just staring at you?” Ward says once Madison finally drags you inside, forcing you to break your unwavering stare you had locked on Rodrick 

He turns around quickly, looking for a more logical explanation for you looking in his direction as some football players walk past 

“She must have been looking at Brent.” he decides

“No dude,” Ben punches his arm, “she was totally making eyes at you.” 

They all laugh at the ridiculousness of the statement as he drags himself to his first class of the day

He can’t focus even more than usual

Were you staring at him? Making eyes at him like Ben had said?

He stares at the back of your head in all your shared classes, which is a lot of them, just like he always does 

And just like always, his mind starts to wander

Of course he’s down stupid bad for you, he doesn’t know anyone that’s not

He wonders what you smell like, what you look like up close

He wonders what your hands would feel like on his body, if you’d drag your pretty manicured nails across his skin

He imagines kissing you in such vivid detail it feels real for a few moments

Then he starts to wonder what you’d taste like 

Probably bubblegum, you usually chew it between periods when you won’t get in trouble for it

He wonders if your lip gloss is flavored

God, since the first day you showed up in this shithole he’s been thinking about you

He’s had countless dreams about you to

He always goes right back to sleep hoping he can see you again, feel your body against his, feel your lips on his skin one more time

He knows it’s hopeless, knows that even if you’ve seen him around and are vaguely aware of his existence, you don’t know his name

And why would you want to??

He’s such a teenage dirtbag he practically has rights to the song

Plus Brent is still determined to get you to go out with him

He considers himself your boyfriend already and has been threatening anyone who stares at you more than normal

Even if he could get past Brent and his own debilitating self doubt and low self esteem, you’re with Heather and Madison constantly, who still think he’s worse than mold after the incident and Heather’s sweet 16

You’re literally untouchable 

Even still, he doesn’t think he’s ever had a crush this bad

Not even back when he liked Heather

The only way he can get through classes is by spacing out the whole time (his teachers expect nothing less of course) and imagining you marching right up to him and sitting on his lap to make out with him

The only notes he takes anymore are scribbled song lyrics about you until his hand cramps up and he gets one of those nausea headache he gets from trying to write or read too much 

He thinks about you so much

It’s getting to the point where he’s thinking about you all the time

And he has absolutely no idea what to do about it

Because he doesn’t stand a chance

There’s no way in hell he could approach you, much less get you to go out with him

Plus you’ve literally turned down every guy that’s asked you out this year

Why would you want to go out with him???

Heather and Madison are wondering the same thing

You could easily pull anyone in this entire school

And now you’re making eyes at Heffley out of nowhere????

It doesn’t make sense 

They can’t pay attention for the rest of the day

Neither can you

You spend the entire day trying to figure out how to talk to him (you could just walk over to him)

How to get his attention (you already have it)

How to set up the perfect scenario to make him fall for you (he fell hard and fast long before now and has not recovered)

A party

You have to throw a party and get his band to play

Then you can corner him after the show to buy a cd and see if you can get it to go somewhere

It’s perfect

Plus Heather’s been telling you that you should throw at least one party before the school year is over

You tell Heather you want to throw a party this weekend

She’s ecstatic, thinking you’re finally moving on to something better to focus on

She and Madison are so busy helping you get everything ready they don’t notice you staring at Rodrick in the halls every chance you get and never managing to get him to look over at you

You’re so busy throwing an elaborate rager of a party to try and seduce him like Jay Gatsby that you don’t notice him staring at you when you’re not looking too

You can’t let anything ruin your chance with Rodrick 

Nothing can possibly go wrong

So when Brent asks you out again at lunch you turn him down more definitively than you have before

You tell him you’re just not into him like that, and to please stop asking you out

He’s never had someone tell him that they’re not attracted to him and want nothing to do with him 

It was definitely a much needed blow to his self esteem

Rumors that you broke up with Brent (even though you weren’t dating in the first place) spread like wildfire 

So after school when you manage to slip away from Heather and Madison for long enough to approach Rodrick and ask him and his band to play at your party this weekend 

It feels like a fucking dream

Not only do they have a gig

But it’s at your party???? 

It feels fake

It feels like something his touch starved hormonal brain would concoct to distract him from what he should be thinking about

They start trying to figure out sets and extra practice time before your party

And Ben insists the whole time that you were making eyes at him

Except this time Rodrick kind of believes him

There’s no way this means he has a chance with you, right??

He watches you walk away

And as you walk away, you let out an excited suppressed giggle that you actually talked to him

You’re still flustered and blushing under all your makeup, fanning your warm face as you hop into the passenger seat of Heathers convertible 

“What’s up with you?” she asks, noticing your distracted state

“I’m just… really excited for this party.” you smile, biting your lip

You don’t think about a thing other than him for the rest of the day

You decide this party really cannot come soon enough

If you play your cards right

You might even get him to like you back

You ruminate on this as you start picking out an outfit - in your signature pink, of course - completely unaware that Rodrick is already rehearsing for your party

And thinking about you just as much

[sturnslutz]

headcannons about chris and honey...

tw: food issues, family issues

hockeyplayer!chris who got into college with his hockey scholarship.

hockeyplayer!chris who has had a couple relationships, but hasn't really taken any of them seriously.

hockeyplayer!chris who only has a couple people he's close with, nick, matt, nate, baby, a couple guys on his team, and he recently started considering honey to be a friend.

hockeyplayer!chris who isn't good at comforting people who are crying because he grew up learning that crying was considered being a "pussy" from his coaches. his parents tried to tell him that it was okay to cry, but he always disregarded them and listened to his coaches more.

hockeyplayer!chris who is somewhat smart. he's a good A, B student with the occasional C. he doesn't want to do the work, but he would get kicked off the team if he was failing.

hockeyplayer!chris who wears his jersey around all the time. no matter where he's at.

hockeyplayer!chris who goes to the gym or to the rink to get his mind off things he considers "distracting" (which can be something as small as binging a tv show...)

hockeyplayer!chris who has had a troubling relationship with food and keeping up with things that are good for him and would rather fill his body with energy drinks.

hockeyplayer!chris who is a complete different person than he used to be, even from a year ago. matt and nick sometimes tell their parents they barely recognize him at times.

hockeyplayer!chris who will flaunt about hookups but hasn't yet with honey.

hockeyplayer!chris who claims he has never had romantic feelings and never will, mainly because he's scared to have them. (this will affect a lot without him realizing.)

shy!reader who loves pink and being girly, but has always been fascinated with darker colors and people who have different aesthetics.

shy!reader who is bisexual, and her first kiss was a girl.

shy!reader who's closest friends are baby, nate, nick, matt, chris, and a couple of her study buddies.

shy!reader who has a part time job at the college's library.

shy!reader who is really smart and got into the college with a full-ride scholarship!

shy!reader who has talked to chris a couple times before they did anything, mainly asking each other if they had a pen, and chris complimenting her outfit a couple times.

shy!reader who is effortlessly nice to everyone, but does recognize when someone is being mean to her or her friends and will distance herself the best she can without being mean.

shy!reader who is majoring in engineering, same as chris.

shy!reader who vapes, but doesn't make it known to anyone as she doesn't want to seem "dirty" as her parents called people who smoked.

shy!reader who grew up with a messed up home life, being tossed in and out of foster homes, but ended up with her aunt and little cousin named austin when she was 14 when her aunt adopted her.

shy!reader who has never had a boyfriend or girlfriend, but has hooked up with one girl who took her virginity from a girl, who she used to be friends with in highschool, and then finally chris, who took her virginity from a guy.

baby is from @stvrnioloslvt ‘s hockeyplayer!matt au!!! baby and honey are close friends!!!

i love honey with my whole heart <3 and then there's chris. u guys dont gotta worry ab that yet tho for a little bit.

@muwapsturniolo @lovergirl4gracieabrams @m4ttg1rl @lypsiiii @tyummyz @sturniqlo @emely9274 @shadowthesim @mattsobvimyfav @sturnl0ve @wastelandzella @fallininlust @chrisslut04 @angeliijay12-blog @sophand4n4 @vainilladollie @slutforchrissturniolo2 @ncm9696 @snoopychris @ilovedanielcaesar @sofieeeeex @chr0mehrts @cockettechris @iloveduckssm @stvrnioloslvt @sturn777 comment to be added or removed.

[hearts4golbach]

Can I request carrington x reader where his Lon term partner (reader) didn’t like flowers, so he makes her paper ones himself? Like those paper bouquets you see in like, booktok

Thank God for Tiktok.

pairing:

Carrington Bornstein x Fem!Reader.

a/n:

pre established relationship 👅

not proofread

warnings:

none.

word count:

1.0k

To say Carrington had been crafting for hours was an understatement. the sun had gone down a while back. He was sitting in his moonlit room surrounded by miscellaneous crafting tools and books. tomorrow was your birthday. no, he hadn't been procrastinating. he had ordered you a gift but stumbled upon the idea to make you paper flowers. you preferred not to get real flowers. You were always so upset when they inevitably died.

so, he was glued to his bed (pun intended), making you an immortal bouquet of paper flowers.

previously, he had rushed out of the house to go find some books he could cut up. clearly, he didn't own any, and he wasn't about to steal one of Johnnies' comics. he settled on going out, possibly to goodwill or target, to get a book or two for his project. he wandered to the arts and crafts section, getting a hot glue gun and sticks. he also found a pack of pipe cleaners and some ribbon. everything he had chosen was a perfect match for his vision. and with that, he was all set.

it had been about three and a half hours since then. he was about to finish the very last flower, then he'd have a set of exactly twenty. he mentally praised himself for how well they actually turned out. he even curled out the edges of the paper to imitate real flowers.

setting the last one in the pile, he admired his work. he couldn't help but smile to himself, dreaming of your reaction at dinner tomorrow night.

Carrington grabbed a handful of the dark green pipe cleaners and began attaching them to the paper flowers. thoughts of your bright smile plagued his mind.

he knew you'd be somewhat shocked at the present, considering he wasn't an arts and crafts type of person. when it came to you, he was up for anything.

he envisioned how the bouquet would look in your bedroom, grinning to himself whenever he realized it'd fit your aesthetic perfectly.

he sang to himself softly. the song that was playing reminded him of you. he was slightly relieved when gluing the stems on didn't take as long as the flowers themselves. he held the fairly large bouquet in one hand, a stupid smile plastered on his face. he tied a bow around the stems as perfectly as he could before setting it on his desk carefully.

as soon as he crashed into bed, he fell asleep almost immediately. ignoring the ache in his knuckles and the slight pounding in his head, he drifted off to sleep.

the next morning went by fast. he had a couple of 'business' things to figure out with Jake and Johnnie, which went by a lot quicker than he had figured. by lunchtime, he was anxiously waiting by his phone for you to respond. of course, he knew it'd take forever. you were at lunch with friends, and you were coming over straight after. it was a sort of nervous excitement. he couldn't wait to see your reaction to his gift.

Carrington decided against sitting there for another hour. he went to the bathroom and adjusted his hair. his curly dark brown locks hung in his face, complimenting his bright blue eyes. he tried to do something different with his hair, but there wasn't much. he knew you wouldn't care. You loved playing with his messy hair.

finally, his phone rang. your name and photo popped up on the screen. he scrambled to his phone and answered on the first ring. "Hi, baby." he greeted.

"Hey," he could hear the sudden smile in your voice, which made him grin. "im leaving now. Am I still good to come over?"

"Yeah. yeah, of course." he furrowed his eyebrows together, very expressive as he spoke even though you couldn't see his face.

you hummed and said goodbye before ending the call. you sped over there, so excited you drove over the speed limit without even realizing it.

meanwhile, Carrington prepped your present. he wrapped it in sparkly black, silver, and light blue wrapping paper. he taped the small card on top and grabbed the faux bouquet. he waited downstairs on the couch, holding the items in his lap.

whenever you arrived, you walked quickly up to the door. you knocked a couple of times before entering, which had become your usual routine.

Carrington jumped up and pulled you in for a hug. you felt contentment wash over you as his hands rested on the small of your back and his head in the crook of your neck.

he placed a kiss on your neck. "Happy birthday." he pulled away, beckoning you over to the couch. "c'mere."

you silently followed him over. he handed you the small box, which was neatly wrapped. "What's this?"

"What does it look like?" he laughed, "it's a present."

"I told you I don't need anything," you scolded, a sincere tone in your voice.

"I wanted to get you something. open it!" he urged.

you rolled your eyes, a contradicting smile on your face. in the box, there was a beautiful necklace. it had 3 charms on it, your initial, Carringtons' initials, and a small heart. you pouted your lower lip and looked up at him. "I love it."

"im really glad," he grinned, handing you two more things. "Read the card later." he was embarrassed to see your reaction to what he wrote in person.

you sighed, "Fine." he finally handed you the bouquet.

your jaw fell to the floor as you looked at the beautiful, handmade flowers. "You made this?!"

he nodded, a prideful smile on his face. "I thought you'd really like them since you're a bookworm."

you paid no mind to his joke. you were absolutely starstruck by the flowers. "they're so beautiful, Carrington." You couldn't contain the soft smile that threatened to appear. you placed a soft, slow kiss on his lips. "I love you."

he placed a kiss on your forehead. "i love you." All he could think was, 'thank god for tiktok.''

[theweirdoinurhouse]

I genuinely have a strong hatred for people who romance Shane then divorce him due to his room. Hi, welcome to my Ted Talk.

It's also not just his room, but also people who say "I thought he got help!" or "It's clashing with my style!" or "I thought I could fix him!" and what not. Like yes, I know this is a video game character, but honestly peoples' reactions to Shane speaks about them as a person.

We don't get him help, he gets it himself. Harvey suggests it, and Shane decides he is. We just help him along the way. We don't "fix him", he fixes himself and we are there to be by his side. And even though he does go see a counselor, that isn't going to fix everything. Honestly those type of people don't know how addictions work make mad. I can't say I know 100%, but I do understand you aren't going to get fixed right away.

I saw this tiktok of someone assuming they were being cheated on by Shane, without seeing the full cut scene. It just shows the absolute mistrust people have in him. And yes, I know he's fictional, but still it speaks about people's true colors.

Stepping away from the alcoholic part, let's talk about the depression part. IT. IS. NOT. EASY. TO. BECOME. UNDEPRESSED! Shane literally tried/wants to kill himself, he isn't going to get out of that mental state easily! I myself struggle with some mild depression. And it isn't easy to just "be happy." OF COURSE his room isn't going to be absolutely 100% perfect! Depression is a serious thing, especially for Shane.

Don't get me started on people with the "His room doesn't match my vibe" mentality. Everyone has an unique room that fits to them. Everyone is complicated (maybe, I don't know much about some of the candidates). Shane is a very complicated person, and his room speaks to that. Sorry that his depression and struggles don't match your cutesy cabin in the woods aesthetic. (That's somewhat sarcastic).

One of my biggest problems is this: You went through ALL his heart events. You know what he's struggled with, and still is struggling with. You stayed with him till marriage. And you divorce him for his ROOM?! I may be overreacting, but people with these mentalites make me mad. If this is how they react to a fictional character with alcoholism and depression,how are they gonna react to someone they might like irl that has these problems?

Anyways I'm a Shane defender for life, fight me.

[animasola86]

F o r g e t f u l 🎀 1 / 4

Your roommate has a dirty secret - you. The only problem is: you can't remember anything about that. And there might be even more problems when you realize just what kind of relationship you have with her.

a dominant woman X a submissive girl with a memory problem

WARNINGS: F!Reader-insert! NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Mistress/pet. Domme/sub. Memory loss. Manipulation. Gaslighting. Praise kink. Dubcon elements. Fingering. Sex toys. Object insertion. Bondage. (More tags on AO3.) WORDS: 5.5k

A/N: Remember: if these tags are not for you, you better turn back now! If you know my other stories, you may be used to my very explicit writing style, but this is still some of the darker stuff, somewhat. It's rough, but there is an actual wlw story buried beneath the depravity, I swear! And: THIS IS FICTION! Nobody got hurt in the making of this series. (By the way, the header is just for aesthetics, it's up to you to decide how Mistress looks like and obviously Reader looks however you want to insert her. I tried my best to keep her neutral.) Another note on the fandom tags: I write characters who could be anyone, so I thought about some kick-ass ladies who may fit the role here. I'm sorry this is not about your favorite character, but maybe it can still somewhat fit? Give it a try :)

1 🎀 2 🎀 3 🎀 4

You're staring at the pictures with your lips parted and trembling, your cheeks warm, a strange tingle in your nape. Your hands are shaking as you file through the prints. They look weirdly professional, good lighting, even better angles, the background is blurry while the focus lies directly on...

You.

It's you in those photographs, you in various positions, you in different outfits... or with nothing at all hiding your curves. Some pictures are just showing certain body parts, some angles you've never seen of yourself, some more flattering than others.

But whatever you see, you can't hide the fact that it arouses you. It's not the subject, you're usually quite self-conscious about taking nudes of yourself (even though you gotta admit that these look quite well made, so surreal that you feel almost proud of yourself), it's actually two things that make your core throb:

One: you are in clearly compromising positions, bent over with your legs spread wide, on your back, bound to the bed with cuffs around your wrists and ankles, or tied up with soft-looking rope in intricate patterns, your body composed in ways you haven't thought possible (or comfortable).

And two: you are always stuffed. There are various objects sticking out of both your cunt and your ass, sometimes there's even something in your mouth that's held open by a spider gag. It varies too, not all holes are occupied all the time, all at once, in some pictures it's just one and it's particularly stuffed and stretched (is that an eggplant?).

Your body reacts more and more as you flip through the thick printed paper. The worst thing about it all:

You can't remember a goddamn thing!

Shame and arousal course through you as you stare at yourself. But you can't put them down, can't stop. In this photo, you're wearing a black leather harness that accentuates your breasts. You're standing, with wide legs, a spreader bar attached to your ankles. You're blindfolded, your arms tied behind your back. It's a series of pictures, you realize.

First from the front, then from the back (your ass cheeks look great with how they're pushed up by the leather straps). You notice something shiny between them: a butt plug with a sparkly diamond base. It's glowing, or blinking as you see in the next picture where the light is gone.

Your insides convulse a little, your muscles clenching around nothing. It's like looking at porn, but you can't ignore the familiarity about the body portrayed. It is undoubtedly yours.

But then again: you've never had anything up your ass, not in your conscious state at least. But here (and in those other pics) you have, and the next print even shows a close-up of the plug in your ass. It's a strangely aesthetic photo considering the unflattering motif and angle, but it certainly does things to you. Though you can't be sure if the tension in your stomach comes from embarrassment, excitement or sheer terror at the revelation that somebody took these pictures of you – and you can't even remember it.

Swallowing hard, you pry your eyes from the prints, your hands still shaking, as you look around the room. Somebody can only be one person. Your gaze scrapes over the shelves around you, full of camera equipment, old-fashioned film containers next to a plastic box full of SD-cards, various lenses and other extras, and then the cameras themselves, three at least, behind glass doors, kept away, like the pictures you found in a large brown envelope hiding in a drawer.

You've been looking for some hair ties, an innocent search, knowing your roommate wouldn't mind, but now you feel as if you've stepped into a different world, uncovering secrets you should have never known about. Even if they are about you.

Taking a shuddering breath, you look back at the pictures in your hands, your cheeks positively aflame now as you trace the blurry lines of your body before the focus shifts to a close-up of your cunt, shiny and reddened, your clit swollen, with black clamps attached to your pussy lips, thin metal chains disappearing off to the sides, holding your folds open while something black and girthy vanishes into your body.

The next pictures show a white-gloved hand gripping the base of the dildo, and you flip quicker through the sheets to create the motion, seeing the toy going in and out of your cunt, guided by the anonymous hand, spreading your core, diving in to retreat with an extra layer of shine before disappearing again, and as you stare at the prints, you can almost feel it moving inside you, a faint memory as your muscles clench and unclench, your arousal building up before it drips into your underwear.

You are torn between being very horny upon seeing these pictures and utterly disturbed. If you could only remember these scenes, then it wouldn't be as bad. But you can't. There's nothing, only fog that slips through your mind's imaginary fingers as you try to catch it, as you try to make sense of this. You feel your heart beating faster while your eyes tear up from staring unblinkingly at the prints in your hands.

This can't be real. Confusion merges with betrayal, your belly feels tense, your heart clenches in rhythm with your walls, your throat closes up as the first tear spills from your lashes.

You let go of the pictures, watching them scatter over the desk and down to the floor, every angle of your body on display, every inch captured in embarrassing detail, your holes filled or gaping, your mouth gagged or stuffed or open, there's drool, there are tears, there's wetness glistening on your skin in almost every shot. Your eyes may be the scariest part staring up at you. They're either glazed over, unfocused, or rolled back and hooded, some bloodshot, some watery, and some look almost defiant, a moment captured in time where you seemingly fought back?

The ones where you're blindfolded are the least terrifying, those are the ones where you can dissociate, where you can imagine somebody else being tied to whatever surfaces there are, tables, benches, beds, chairs, artfully presented, where it's just a body, clad in sexy lingerie and high heels, or adorned with ropes, or in the moments after where the skin is dented by the intricate patterns left behind by the ties.

The close-ups are also getting to you. You've never seen your own cunt or ass up close like this, so again, it could be anyone's holes filled and spread and used by various objects. The sheer amount and variety of them is quite concerning. But it's the unconventional ones that make you shiver, that create that tension in your stomach. The cucumber pushed deep into your ass so only its thinner stalk or whatever its called pokes out. The wide eggplant parting your labia in an obscene fashion, its entire body stuffed into your cunt, creating a slight bulge in your lower stomach.

There's another stack of photos atop a large envelope (the whole drawer seems to be dedicated to just you), and your curiosity gets the better of you after all. It's a series of pictures showing different round objects pushed into your holes. From marbles to ping pong balls to actual tennis balls, they're all shown vanishing into either your ass or your cunt, pushed by a delicate finger clad in a white glove, one after the other, and you can only assume how many would actually fit. It's not a video, you can't be sure, but you can imagine whoever did this to you didn't stop at just one.

Indeed they didn't, as the next photo shows. Another set of hands, also wearing white gloves, is grabbing your ass cheeks and pulling them apart, making your sphincter wink at the camera, before, in the next shot, your hole is gaping, allowing a strange view inside, rosy flesh stuffed with white little balls (you can see at least three, but more are hinted at behind them). You feel a little sick looking at the rest of the series of pictures, where they come back out as your hole puckers, pushing and pushing.

Your body reacts in earnest, your muscles clenching around nothing, deep shivers crashing down your spine. You flip past more of these kinds of photos, until you stop when you see white-gloved fingers poking at your cunt, spreading your lips, gathering your slick that glistens on the surface of the latex gloves, and you let out an audible gasp when the next picture doesn't show them push in, but shows only a wrist (attached to a slender arm) poking out of your stretched hole, gripped by tight skin, suggesting the entire hand is stuck inside you.

Your stomach gives a nervous growl at the sight, your breath hitching in your throat. You swallow thickly, your nostrils flaring as you force yourself to breathe through your nose to calm yourself. The stack of pictures shakes in your hands as you flip through more extreme insertions, more vegetables, some fruits, an entire apple made it up your cunt apparently, while they went from using one cucumber in your ass to at least three, stretching your rim impossibly wide. The sight alone makes your asshole clench violently, and you wonder why you never felt sore after being stuffed so full and spread so wide.

But your body seemingly adjusted, returned to its former state, unharmed, giving no hints at what actually happened to you. Strange. It's almost as if this happened to somebody else after all. But it didn't. It is your body. You may not know your cunt or ass up close, but you recognize the rest, your boobs, your arms, your belly, your legs, your feet, the birthmarks that make you you. It is you in these pictures, in every single one.

Only you.

A strangled sob escapes you as you look over the desk, seeing more and more envelopes, hiding in plain sight, more prints, some smaller, some bigger, all filled with motifs of your body being used in various fashions, one more degrading than the next. Shame settles low in your stomach, like a heavy weight that makes it hard to breathe. Your head is spinning, blood rushing in your ears so loudly you are startled back into reality as you suddenly hear the creaking of the door.

Footsteps follow, before someone clears their throat.

You whip around, dropping the last pictures you were holding, more shots of your stuffed cunt, wet and glistening as it's assaulted by more household items. Your eyes widen when you see your roommate in the door frame, a smug smile on her beautiful face as she crosses her arms over her chest.

“Oh hi,” she says in a nonchalant tone, tilting her head. “What are you doing here, pet?” she adds, and you frown at the nickname, a strange sensation crashing through your nerves.

“I... uh... I was looking for...” you stammer, taking a step away from the desk and the mess you made by dropping all those prints. “A hair tie,” you whisper breathlessly, curling your shaking hands into fists as you stare at her. “What... what are these? Did you take them?” you then ask, your voice trembling as much as your shoulders while you look from her back to the discriminating evidence you found by accident.

Your roommate sighs, unfolding her arms as she walks towards you. She's taller than you, slender and still curvy in the right places, her long hair falling over her slim shoulders. You force yourself to look into her eyes and not get distracted by the cleavage her tight dress creates or how close she is. She stops right in front of you, looking down, a softer looking smile curling her full lips.

“You know I did,” she says quietly, reaching up a hand to caress your cheek with the back of her finger. You shiver under the touch, but don't flinch away. “You agreed to this, remember?”

“No,” you breathe out, blinking quickly as you feel tears welling up in your eyes.

She clicks her tongue, shaking her head. “Shh, it's okay, pet, don't worry. You did. I would never do anything to harm you,” she whispers, leaning closer until you feel her hot breath on your lips. “You wanted to be my muse, you begged me for it,” she adds, biting her lip sensually before leaning in to press her warm mouth to the corner of yours.

You stiffen, eyes widening, your heart nearly exploding in your chest. You can't remember any of this. Why is she saying that? She is just your roommate!

You moved in only a few months ago, replying to an ad you saw on the bulletin board of your college dorm. A cheap room in a good neighborhood, your own room, away from the distractions of having to live with people you don't like or know that well, it sounded too good to be true. But it was true, and the woman looking for roommates was so nice, so enticing. You met her at a neutral place, to get to know her (fall for her charm), before she showed you the apartment, and you moved in later that week.

It was perfect. Until it wasn't. Not that you noticed it right away. You just never saw her. Now that you thought about it, you can only (barely) remember going to your classes (you are still going to your classes, right?), while the rest of the day is somewhat of a blur. You can't, however, remember going to your job at the coffee shop (do you still have a job? How are you paying for this place?), and the more you try to remember, the more holes come up, black and all-consuming.

You frown as you stare at her. She leans back slowly, watching you. Her hand is on your face, the pointy nail of her thump scraping over your bottom lip as her long fingers caress the shell of your ear.

“No need to worry, pet,” she says quietly, her voice a low soft thrum, rich like honey, that tickles something inside you that you've fought all your life. Why does she keep calling you 'pet'? And why does it affect you so much? “Everything is just fine. And I'm not even mad that you just went into my room like this. I told you you shouldn't, didn't I?”

You swallow as she lowers her hand and closes it around your throat, giving it a gentle squeeze. You feel your pulse throbbing against her palm. “I'm sorry,” you gasp out.

She smiles at you, moving her hand even lower, teasing her fingertips along the neckline of your shirt. “It's okay. You know the consequences. It'll be fine.” You furrow your eyebrows, breathing harder, not understanding anything. “Not the first time, hm?” she adds, giving you a wink. Her words make no sense, your head is hurting with how tight you pull your eyebrows together, and with all the thoughts and questions whirling about in a wild dance of confusion.

“I... I don't –”

“Shh,” she shushes you, her hand gripping your chin. You freeze. “Be a good pet and go back to your room. I'll clean this up. Put on the clothes I chose for you. Wait for me when you're done. Do you understand?”

You stare at her, your body tensing up, your cunt clenching hard around nothing. Her words, the cadence of her voice, the dominant tone, it all brings you to do one thing, your mind emptying as words spill from your trembling lips. “Yes, Mistress.”

You don't even know where these came from. Mistress? Pet? What is going on? But your body moves on auto-pilot, your mind swirling, still fighting the confusion, but also easing into a strange void, triggered by words you've heard before, or so it feels, commands you've answered many times in the past.

She lets go of your chin, giving you a warm smile, even though her eyes are dark and somewhat cold, and you nod, bow your head and shuffle out of the room, your legs trembling as you make your way back into your bedroom across the hall.

For a moment you're wondering how you got here, why you're here, but then your gaze falls onto a pile of clothes on your bed. You walk closer, picking up item after item. A short black skirt, pleated, barely long enough to not be considered a belt. A tight tank top, white and almost see-through. A set of fancy black underwear, a lace bra with an intricate flower pattern, a thong of similar design. There's also a pair of sheer black stockings, a garter belt and straps to attach each piece together.

Your stomach tenses at the sight. You've seen these pieces before, in the photos you shouldn't have seen. It's a blur how you put them on, your head spinning, your hands shaking, but you still somehow manage to dress in time before you hear footsteps on the floorboards outside your room. Your heart beats faster, your chest heaving, tight in the bra and top, straining, something cold crashing down your spine before it gathers hot and pulsing right between your legs.

Before the creaking of the door announces your roommate, you suddenly fall to your knees, your feet tucked under your rear, your hands automatically finding purchase in your lap, folded neatly as you stretch your back and square your shoulders, breathing deep as you train your eyes straight ahead, waiting for the door to open. You have no idea what made you assume this position, why it feels so familiar, so safe in a way.

Your roommate (your Mistress) enters your bedroom, her high heels thudding over the carpet as she walks up to you, tilting her head as she watches you closely. “Stand,” she says, and you do, your legs moving seemingly on their own. Once you stand, stiff with your arms pressed to your sides, chest pushed out, your neck straight, eyes wandering over the tall frame in front of you, she nods. “See? You haven't forgotten. Good girl,” she says, and the praise shoots through you like a pistol shot, straight into your clit, making it throb and ache, your heart beating in the same hurried rhythm.

She walks around you then, her long fingers brushing over your bare arms, around your shoulders, down your spine, until she gives your ass a soft slap, making you gasp quietly. She repeats the motion, but this time, she leaves her hand on your cheek for a moment, squeezing it, her fingernails digging into your soft skin. You stiffen, breathing a little harder.

“You're so beautiful,” she whispers as she leans into you, looming behind you, her breath ghosting your jaw. “My perfect little muse.”

You feel her lips brushing against the soft spot behind your ear, a hot kiss that makes you shiver, while her hand gropes your ass, fingertips teasing at the thin fabric of your thong tucked between your cheeks.

Suddenly she leans back, lets go of you, and you hear her walking a few steps before she stops, a deep sigh echoing through the room. You turn around slowly, unsure if you should, but when you do, you freeze as you watch her pick up the glass of water on your bedside table.

“Baby, I told you to drink more,” she says with a tilt of her head. “You always forget, hm? So busy, head always in the clouds...” She walks back to you, holding the glass in front of you, her eyes boring into yours as she waits for you to grab it. You do, your hands shaking. “Drink up, pretty girl. You know you need it.”

She's so caring, you think as you bring the water to your lips, holding her gaze, but as soon as you feel the cold liquid running down your tight throat, an image flickers before your eyes. Your roommate (Mistress) sitting on your bed, moving a clear glass straw in a stirring motion, swirling the water, making a faint sheen of powder disappear. You feel as if you've watched her do that many times. What is that? What did she put in here? Vitamins? Or something else?

But you can't even question it further, can't find the courage to ask, when you realize you've drank the whole thing, every drop of water (and whatever else was in there) now in your stomach. “Good girl,” she praises and smiles at you, before she takes the glass from your clammy fingers and puts it back on your bedside table. “Now let's get you ready for our big night out, yeah?”

You frown, another faint memory peeking through the fog in your head. It seems to be getting thicker now. Strange. But this image, you still see somewhat clearly before you. You had plans tonight, you remember now, you wanted to go out. Where? No idea. But you needed a hair tie. Yeah. That's why you went into your roommate's room in the first place. Some details are blurry (were you supposed to go out with her? Have you done that before? Why would you? You barely know the woman...), but somehow they don't matter anymore.

She steps back in front of you, her fingers vanishing in the cleavage of her dress before she pulls something from between her breasts. You blink in confusion as you recognize the shape. It's a metal butt plug. And she stored it between her boobs? Interesting.

“Open wide, pet,” she tells you, and without even questioning it, you part your lips and let your tongue roll out. She looks pleased as she puts the rounded object into your mouth. It's warm, and the taste triggers something else in you. Another familiar sensation. It's her, you know without knowing, her taste, sweet and a bit salty, exploding on your tongue, sinking deep, causing soft shivers to crash down your spine, something hot gathering low in your gut.

You've had your face on her chest before, huh? Must be. Your cheeks burn up badly, your breaths loud through your nose as you suckle on the butt plug between your lips, your eyes scanning the pretty face looking down at you. She keeps her fingers on the base, pushing the object in and out, and you find yourself licking around it, coating it in your saliva. Like you've done before. You think.

She watches you before she lets go of the plug and puts her palm over your mouth. “Keep it nice and warm for me, okay?” she says, leaning closer until her nose brushes against yours. You give a jerking nod, tightening your lips around the narrowest part of the plug while its body rests hard and heavy on your tongue. “Good.”

You feel saliva pooling in your mouth, and the urge to swallow becomes stronger. But you focus on the woman in front of you as she straightens up again, her hands on her hips. Her whole presence, her aura, has you in its grip, you feel, it's impossible to fight it, to protest, to do anything except the things she demands of you. All it takes is a look, a word, her voice driving through you like an electric current that controls your every limb.

And so you move when she tells you to turn around and bend over, and as you rest on your forearms on the edge of your bed, she nudges your legs apart and steps between them, her hands sliding under your skirt and pushing it up. You stiffen slightly, breathing harder, your heart thundering inside your chest, but you can't object, you don't want to. You just endure.

And a tiny part of you, through the fog in your head, lights up, a growing heat that creeps down your spine, tenses in your stomach, seeps lower until it gathers in your core, scorching, wet, and it's all you feel when she pushes your thong aside and moves her fingers along your slit, dipping gently between your puffy lips and into your slick, the loud squelching noise making your ears burn.

She prods at your entrance, teases your clit, but then she moves up again, and without warning or command or reassuring words pokes right against your puckered hole, and as you gasp around the plug in your mouth, flinching slightly, she stretches your rim and pushes into your ass, a slim finger, a pointy fingernail, digging against your tense muscles. In and out it goes until there are two fingers, then three, and it burns, the friction too much, like little daggers poking at your nerves.

“Come on, pet, relax,” she says from behind you, moving her fingers deeper, curling them, pushing and prodding against protesting muscles. “You've done this before. You're a pro at this, remember?”

Her words bring up the hazy memories of the pictures you saw, of the various items wedged into your tight ass, and some just don't make sense. Three cucumbers? Really? While it already feels like too much when she 'only' has three slim fingers inside you? How did you manage that? Your stomach gives a distant growl as drool slips past your tight lips and onto your bed.

“Fine, I'll lube you up this time,” she sighs and removes her fingers with a strangely wet pop. This time? She doesn't usually? It's almost as if you can remember the pain of the dry friction, but then why can you never remember any soreness afterwards? Confusion lingers on your mind as you hear her footsteps leaving the room.

You remain in your bent-over position, your hands clawing at the sheets as you suckle mindlessly on the metal plug in your mouth, trying to make sense of it all. You come to no conclusion whatsoever when she eventually returns, and you hear the squirt of some liquid before you can feel it. Large dollops of something cold pressing against your tight hole. You groan against the object between your lips as she pushes deeper, her fingers, slick and cold, sliding in and out again.

This time she stretches your hole by scissoring her fingers, knuckles digging into your tense muscles, and you hear another squirt and something cold lands on your hot skin, slipping right into you. You shiver, goosebumps breaking out on your exposed skin. She keeps doing that, filling you up with more and more lube, you assume, her fingers pushing it deep, coating your insides. It's a strange sensation, but again, this feels somewhat familiar, and triggers more memories you seem to have suppressed before, or forgotten.

You see yourself strapped to a reclining chair, your legs raised up in some sort of stirrups, ankles tied and wrists bound to the armrests. You're naked, and she is kneeling between your wide open legs in front of a large plastic bucket or something like it, and there's a tube inside your ass, something cold (water?) pressing through it and into you, and you see and feel it filling you up, your stomach bulging, and you feel sick, your insides cramping, but you can't say anything, there's a gag in your mouth, so all you can do is squirm in your restraints, until you feel a different sort of pain as she slaps your mound with a force that makes you cry out, makes you flinch remembering it, and she keeps at it, hitting your clit with precise blows until it's all puffy and throbbing badly, and you throw your head back and whine helplessly, your belly still bulging, filling up, while her voice coos into your ear:

“You want to be clean, pet, don't you? So we gotta clean you up properly. You don't want to be dirty for our guests, now do you?”

You frown deeply as those words echo in your cloudy head. Guests? But the question vanishes slowly, replaced by the sensation of her fingers digging deep into your ass, spreading more lube, and in the back of your mind you're just glad she isn't giving you another enema. A strange thought to have, but it makes sense in the dizziness that holds you hostage. Breathing harder, you press your forehead into the bed, swallowing hard around the plug in your mouth.

As she works on (in) your ass, you start to feel a tingle in your neglected pussy, a spasm deep within, a little clench, a needy little urge, and instead of holding still, you find yourself grinding your rear into her hand. She stops immediately, a deep sigh escaping her as she pulls her fingers out of your ass and grips your nape with her wet hand. You shiver and stiffen, holding your breath as she pulls you into a standing position.

Her free hand grabs the base of the plug and pulls it out of your mouth where it clangs against your teeth, causing you to flinch. You swallow the excess spit and take a shuddering breath as you feel the warm metal pressing between your ass cheeks. With how she worked you open, it slips in easily enough, and your muscles clench slightly around its narrow neck, but it's only after she smacks your soft cheek a few times in rapid succession, making you whine and shudder as your skin tightens, that you're tensing up enough to hold it in place.

She lets go of you and spins you around, then holds out her hand to you, her fingers glistening in lube and your own wetness. “Clean,” she says, and even though your stomach makes a loud grumble of protest, you find yourself leaning in and closing your lips around her slim fingers. A strange taste of artificial strawberry and something else, something tangy and your own, floods your senses, but you close your eyes and flick your tongue around her digits, focusing on the task and not on the taste and the origin of it.

Eventually she pulls her hand away and pats your cheek, leaving a trail of saliva on your warm skin. Your eyes flutter open as she leans around you and adjusts your thong, pulling it back in place, then pushes your skirt down again. Her eyes meet yours, the gaze intense, creating another soothing wave of heat that rolls over you gently, that makes you clench around the plug in your butt. A smile grazes her full lips, and you find yourself smiling back.

“Alright, now put your hair up, get your shoes and your coat, and wait by the front door,” she tells you as she steps away, holding your gaze until you nod obediently. Your mind is reeling at this point, confusion and arousal warring inside of you. What is happening?

You don't know, and you don't seem to care too much either as you start moving, following her orders. You end up on your knees again, right by the door, waiting like a dog, and the image couldn't have been more fitting when you see her approaching with a strange leather band in her hands. You blink when she crouches down before you and fixes what you can only assume is a collar around your neck. It sits tight enough to notice it, but you can still breathe freely and swallow against it without it restricting you in any way.

You're still confused why you need this (and why you accept it so easily). Your roommate (Mistress) cups your face and looks at you with a warm gaze that makes you bite your lip, her hands rubbing over your cheeks before she tugs her thumbs under your chin and lifts it so she can lean in and press her lips to yours. Your eyes flutter shut as you part your lips and meet her tongue, the kiss deep and soft, gentle gliding of tongues and lips, a warm gesture, sending sparks through your nerves that make you throb with a need that feels both familiar and eerily unknown, frightening.

A single thought ricochets through your empty head: You would do anything for this woman.

“My beautiful pet,” she whispers against your tingling lips, the tip of her tongue tracing the corner of your mouth. “Are you ready?”

Without thinking, without wondering what for, you nod eagerly, a breathless “Yes, Mistress.” leaving your swollen lips. She gives you another peck and stands up then, snapping her fingers in a way that leaves no room for interpretation. You stand immediately, swaying slightly on the high heels you were told to wear. You're still smaller than her, but having to look up only amplifies the sensation coursing through you. Your devotion for her.

She grabs a large bag and shoves it into your hands, and you know by the weight and feel of it, that it holds camera equipment. A distant memory shimmers behind your glassy eyes, of stumbling into her room, finding those envelopes in the drawer of her desk, of flipping through countless pictures of your naked body, of your holes being stuffed and stretched, of being tied down, of letting her do with you whatever she wants. What has disturbed you earlier is barely worth a flinch now.

It's what you do. It's what you are. Her muse. Her pet. She chose you and you obey. It's what you do, it's what she does. She's your Mistress, after all.

1 🎀 2 🎀 3 🎀 4

End notes: Yes, our dominant lady here is indeed inspired by a character from my other (m/f) Dom/sub story: Infatuated: Mistress.

By the way, a little disclaimer at the end here as we go to the next (heavier) chapters: I am not a BDSM professional or expert, I am a writer with a dirty mind and access to the Internet. This is fiction, gaslighting people is bad, consent is very important, but when a hot lady tells you to do something, you gotta do it, that's the law (jk). Please see this as what it is: a fantasy and nothing more.

Thank you for reading! Next chapter on Saturday!

MASTERLIST // AO3 // ORIGINAL WORKS

[paradoxbeta]

there is never going to be a normal way to put this but can we see your iterator designs naked

like. just. how'd you design them under their clothes

yeah of course! heres a moon i whipped up

and now for some talking, because ive thought a bit about clotheless iterator designs:

moon's design was inspired off of the atlas models from boston dynamics (and probably all subsequent iterators i draw will be at least somewhat inspired off the same). theyre pretty handy sources of inspiration considering they look awesome, and since their movement is astonishingly fluid, theyre great models for what sort of joint and limb designs create articulate results. i think its obvious which one had the heaviest hand in inspiring looks to the moon

moon is an older model so in terms of squishiness (for lack of a better term) there is none except for the face. actually, little related detail, the base of her thumb is not flexible, its essentially a small solid block. if youve ever owned a poseable mannequin hand with an inflexible thumb base you probably know that it can cause issues with fine motion in specific circumstances: its just a hiccup of being an older make. the more recent you go then usually the less bare-bones the designs are, they get filled-out midriffs and more "pinchable" areas. take this guy for example:

this is old art and there's things here i would do differently now, but note the squishier underarm: that sort of thing (generally) becomes more common the more recent your models are.

another thing that changes over old to new models is the amount of variation in how the body is constructed, at the beginning i imagine there were only a few select tried-and-true "right" ways to do things, but as time goes on and more avenues of construction become available, designing an iterator's puppet becomes more and more of an art form that is influenced more and more by the judgement and creative tastes of the puppet designer(s). paneling becomes more a matter of aesthetic instead of functionality, and you start to see vanity features appear more frequently (like nipple adjacent markings as seen above, lol).

id say that while older models are closer to the atlas models in appearance, the newest iterators would probably bear more resemblance to the cyborg bodies found in the alita: battle angel film

anyway all of that is to say naked iterators are cool

[beelinx]

Me screaming because I saw the piper one and flower crowns were mentioned and I love flower crowns and you know what else I love !

Can I request Leo with a reader who makes him a pretty orange flower crown? Honestly I feel like he'd feel like he has to give them something back and he'd go and learn how to make flower crowns, or he'd make like some mechanical one or something.

Tysmmm!!

hii ty, such a cutie request and yes yes yes i def agree with you ! 

it’s no secret leo’s love language is gift giving, so i feel that once you gave him that flower crown, he immediately felt the need to give you something in return.

obviously, this would lead to him trying his hardest to learn everything there is to know about the nature of these said crowns. he’d look back towards the beautiful, hand-crafted one you gave him. the delicate orange petals that’d wither in a week, or maybe less. it pained his heart to think about it, all your hard work gone just like that.

he didn’t want you to feel that way; he would never want your feelings to be hurt.

so, what could he do?

“hey, leo!” your usual cheery voice greeted as he stepped into the flower fields. “i missed you! you’ve been hiding from me in that hole of yours,” you whined, nuzzling your head into the space where his neck and shoulders met.

he laughed, but he did feel somewhat guilty for staying locked inside his workshop so long. leo realized that it had been a while since you two spent some alone quality time together. he wrapped one arm around you, while the other stayed behind his torso, gripping the project he’d spent so long working on.

when you pulled away from him, you immediately catched on to the suspicious way he was standing.

“what’s that?”

he hummed, “what’s what?”

“behind your back!” you insisted.

he grinned from ear to ear. “i made something for you.”

you tilted your head in curiosity. “what is it?”

leo hesitated for a moment, suddenly feeling slightly sheepish. still, he presented his creation to you.

the crown had been carefully crafted over the course of these past weeks. leo’s a talented craftsman, but he’s not an artist. it took him a while to make it look as pretty as he could. the flowers were detailed, almost exact replicas of the one from the crown you made for him in this very field. he even tried adding your favorite color to them, though some sides were slightly smudged.

your eyes widened as you looked at it, making him feel more insecure about his work. sure, it wasn’t the prettiest thing ever, but he found he was actually kinda proud of his work. well, before — now he fears you’ll laugh and start kicking him while you call him useless or something.

“i love it.”

your voice broke him out of his derailing thoughts. “y-you do?

you nodded eagerly. “it’s so cute. i love it,” you repeated.

leo sighed with relief. “i thought you were gonna hate it,” he admitted.

you raised a brow at him. “what do you mean? why would i hate it?”

he paused, slightly uncertain. “i dunno,” he finally said. “i guess i thought you’d prefer a cuter flower crown. like, an actual one.”

you rolled your eyes lightheartedly and lovingly kissed him on the cheek. “leo, i would love anything you make for me. whether it’s made with metal or flowers, i’ll love it just the same. especially since i know you made it thinking about me, with all your love. or, well, at least i’d hope it was with love.”

he chuckled at your comment, appreciating your comfort. “yeah, with all my love,” he assured you.

you pecked him on the lips and looked up at him. “then it’s perfect.”

honestly, it might lack a bit (at least aesthetic-wise) but it’s always nice to know he put in so much work and thought into a gift for you. <3

[brain-rot-central]

Hey Jealousy

Rating: M/borderline E? (for now) Pairing: Spawn!A/Fem!Tav Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: NON-CANON, 18+, degrading speech, somewhat dubcon for certain parts but not totally?, adult themes, mentions of past sexual relationship, alcohol mention, alcohol use, blood mention, possessiveness, jealously, stalking, dry humping, ANGST, some fluff, bitter petty nonsense overall tbh

Summary: Astarion and Tav split at the end of the game due to a huge miscommunication. She tries desperately to move on, Astarion not so much. He finally gets ahold of her, aaaaand some messy feelings come out.

A/N - 1/28/24: Reuploading this! Not much has changed; mostly pulled it for grammatical editing purposes. Hopefully the story flows a bit better now!

The tavern is bustling with the usual weekend crowd. Upbeat music fills the air of the small establishment as this evening’s band continues their set. Drinks cascade like waterfalls into the hands and mouths of the tavern's parched patrons, each desperate for a distraction to drive out the unsettling reality of their lives, albeit for a few hours.

Astarion is perched in a corner of the tavern, circling the tip of his finger around the edge of his wine goblet. The unpleasant flavor of piss and vinegar lingers on his tongue from the spirit, mouth salivating. He sucks his teeth instinctively, trying to rid himself of the taste. 

Reaching into the pocket of his favored violet and gold doublet, he retrieves a small vial of crimson liquid. He pops off the stopper and deposits the contents into his cup, bringing the cylindrical glass to his mouth to lap up the small droplet that rolls down its side.

He hums in satisfaction as the sweet flavor spreads across his tongue, floral and lively, before returning the stopper back atop the vial. Using a single finger, he swirls the additive into his wine, bringing the goblet back to his lips for another sip. 

Ah, much better.

Surveying the bar, Astarion catches the attention of a young elven woman. She's aesthetically pleasing on the eyes - blonde hair with tan skin. Were he here for another reason, he may have tried his luck with her.

Astarion nods politely. The woman then rises from her seat, walking toward him. “Shit,” he mutters to himself, adjusting his positioning. He hurriedly repockets the blood vial within his doublet and hangs his head low just as she takes the seat at his booth, opposite him.

“Well, you’re certainly different from the usual fare,” she says, confidently. “Not often we get you teu-tel-quessir folk in here.” 

Astarion absently swirls his wine. She believes I'm a moon elf?

Assuming that she's a regular of this tavern, this woman may be somewhat oblivious. Were she not, she’d have realized this is his third visit this month alone.

Astarion decides to play into her little game - he’s compelled to see how long he can keep the charade going. “I’m but a weary traveler, just passing through,” he lies. It rolls off his tongue like the caress of an old friend. Creating a fictitious life for himself is something he’s had quite a bit of practice doing.

“Is that so? I, too, happen to be passing through here.” The woman places her elbows on the table and leans forward, giving Astarion better access to the cleavage threatening to spill over the top of her bodice. His eyes fall briefly to the woman’s chest, but he doesn’t look at her face. Not yet. “Got the room rented out upstairs for a couple more days,” she adds, tone hushed.

Sliding her hand toward his, she gently rubs her fingers over the ones he has encased around the neck of the wine goblet. Astarion shudders, not expecting such an intimate touch, and finally lifts his gaze to meet her own. “Care to make a few mistakes with me?” she asks.

Astarion snickers. He can tell part of her story is a facade, though he doesn’t care enough to discern which. 

“My apologies, love, but I’ve made enough mistakes to last a lifetime,” he replies. Pulling his hand from her, he grabs his wine by the cup, bringing it again to his lips. “I’ll have to decline.”

The elven woman softly hums in disappointment, standing up from her seat at the booth. “Such a shame,” she says, “you really are something beautiful.” She raises a hand to her lips, kissing the pads of her fingertips before extending them out toward him. Gently blowing on her fingers, she says, “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Astarion raises his cup to her and she walks off, returning to her group of friends on the far side of the tavern. He groans a sigh of relief.

Wasting little time resuming his attention on the crowd surrounding him, another is quick to catch his eye. He's seen her before - long auburn hair flowing down her back with streaks of blonde scattered throughout. She wasn't dressed in her evening best, but even so, the blouse and slacks she wore left little to his imagination.

She's sitting at the bar in the middle of the tavern, a young tiefling gentleman holding her attention at present. He’s not her usual type, Astarion notes to himself, though he remains transfixed on their interaction.This is the second man he's seen this evening trying their hand at impressing the young human woman. 

A smile forms on her lips as she converses with her current suitor. Astarion once again swirls his goblet of wine before bringing it back to his mouth for another taste.

He knows this woman, rather intimately, at that. He’s held her hair within his hands, traced the outline of her jaw with his fingertips. The smell of her skin is ever present in his mind. The saltiness of her sweat on his tongue as he lavishes her throat, the intoxicating roll of her hips against his as he bites down into the tender flesh of her neck… the rush of blood cascading down his throat.

He swallows thickly around the memory.

They've been together a handful of times throughout their travels to save the Realm from the threat of the Absolute, but that was neither here nor there, at this point.

The tiefling begins skirting his fingers along her forearm, and she leans into his touch. Astarion seethes from his place in the booth, a rush of warmth flooding his core and quickly spreading outward to each of his limbs. It’s been months since they decided on this new agreement, though his reaction is just as strong whenever another encroaches on her.

Astarion looks on as the red-head gently pats her companion’s arm before standing from her seat. His eyes follow her toward the back of the tavern. After downing the rest of his drink in one quick swing, he’s following her, careful to keep just enough distance not to rouse suspicion.

The music from the band thumps loudly in his chest as he draws closer to the crowd of people gathered before the stage. Lucky for him, they’re so entranced by the show that they hardly notice his mindless weaving, trying not to lose sight of his target. Astarion stops for a moment to refocus, looking around. It doesn’t take him long at all to zero in a glimpse of those fiery locks disappearing down a hallway off to the side.

His feet bring him to the start of the long corridor and he peers cautiously around the corner. The woman is not to be found, likely in the powder room. Astarion sighs, some of the built up tension beginning to wane from his shoulders, and comes to stand with his back against the window across from the facilities.

The residual tension within him is beginning to bleed into anxiety and doubt the longer he waits. His mind is rapidly exchanging scenarios, all of which cause his stomach to become unsettled. Gooseflesh spreads over his arms and the fine hairs covering them stand on end. Why is he doing this? They'd agreed to be friends and nothing more. It’s his fault for not being able to honor his end of the deal, he knew, but by the Gods, he simply does not care.

Since the first drops of her blood spread across his tongue, Astarion knew something within him changed. He wasn't sure if it was due to her being his proverbial “first,” but he felt… compelled by her from that moment forward. Bonded almost, in a strange way. 

In a sea of crimson, her blood would always sing loudest to him. It horrified him in the beginning, recalling memories of Cazador's puppeteering ways. The fear ebbed into compassion, after a time. As their physical relationship grew more intimate, compassion melted into an overwhelming desire to guard her. A want to protect what was his, finally his, after so many godsdamned years of pure, absolute shit.

Their… whatever it was they shared, was his. And he would gladly throw his life on the line any chance he could to insure its sustainability.

He catches a glint of red in his peripheral vision again. The human, oblivious to his presence, begins her trek back to her seat at the bar. The thought barely has time to process in Astarion’s head before his body reacts, reaching out to grab the side of her arm, pulling her back toward the wall with him.

“What the-!” the woman exclaims in shock. Her other hand comes up to begin swatting at the offending appendage. She stops midway as her eyes meet his face, recognition washing over her. “Oh, Astarion,” she says, voice flat, “what… what are you doing here?”

A practiced smile graces his lips as he releases the grip on her arm. “Am I not free to seek my own pleasure, darling?” An uneasiness begins to take root again, mind scolding him once the words leave his lips. What in the hells kind of question is that? 

Astarion clears his throat. “I was simply out for a drink before returning home when I saw what appeared to be a fire in the middle of the bar.” Unsure of what response he's hoping for, he's praying she doesn't catch onto his desperate attempt at recovery.

A quick blush spreads across her cheeks and she bows her head, giving a genuine smile. Astarion huffs out a breath in relief. 

During their time together, Astarion would often tease that her hair reminded him of a raging fire. Eventually, he adorned her with the pet name of “spitfire;” she thoroughly enjoyed solving the majority of her problems through brute force. She favored it, evidenced by a deep blush that would spread across her features.

Not unlike the one rising to her face at this very moment.

Were he honest with her, he’d tell her that this isn’t the first time he’s followed her since they parted - watched helplessly from afar as she rotated through potential nightly suitors. He chooses not to, however. Chooses to not tell her that he’s noticed every man she’s taken home has platinum hair. How they’re always of elven lineage.

She seems to buy his excuse as she visibly relaxes before him. “Oh, no, of course, Astarion,” she sighs. “It's uh, it's been a few weeks, hasn't it?” Her eyes are soft as she shifts her weight onto one hip. “How have you been?”

She's nervous, he can tell. She's doing that thing with her lip, chewing the inside of it. The rush of blood in her veins crashes and bellows in his ears as her blush settles deeper across the top of her chest.

“As well as one would imagine,” Astarion replies, “after having their heart broken.” There’s an air of nonchalance decorating his tone. A well-worn smirk tugs at his lips. He's fuming inside at the thought of another touching her, but he doesn't want to play his cards outright yet. 

No, he wants to see her squirm, wants to inflict just a touch of the torment he's experienced since their parting.

What a spiteful creature.

Her expression falls flat, jaw tensing. “I'm not sure what you mean by that,” she retorts in a meek tone. She pulls her shoulders back. "I-I thought we agreed to be friends, no?”

Astarion glances over his shoulder to see the young tiefling gentleman from before passing behind them. Their eyes meet, Astarion furrowing his brow. His jaw tightens, lips curling upward, and the peaks of his fangs are visible. He watches for the tiefling’s reaction, elated to find that the boy is clearly shaken by his display. The Tiefling turns to speak but decides against it, turning his back to the scene before him. 

Astarion sneers.

Yet another unworthy fool. 

Though… a fool who has touched her. Something he and only he should be privy to.

An inferno erupts within him.

Astarion grabs the young woman by the arm again and leads her toward the supply closet at the end of the hall, making quick work of the lock. Astarion scans their surroundings before opening the door and shoving her in, a small squeak pushed past her lips from the impact of his hand on her back. Quickly closing the door behind him, he yells, “Ignis!” a fireball lighting the lone torch in the room.

“Astarion, what-” she shouts in protest. Before the opportunity arises he’s back on her, pinning her in place to the wall with his hips. His hands fly up to cup either side of her jaw.

"Do you truly believe I meant that?" he growls low in his throat, their eyes meeting in a whirlwind. “That I only wanted to be friends?” he adds, mockingly. 

He's desperately searching her face for something, anything to show him he's not alone in this. Her tense expression stokes the fire raging within him.

Suddenly, he's spiraling.

The small voice in his head, his conscience, is yelling at him to stop - to pull back. She’s made it quite clear how she feels, you love-sick idiot. 

Logic fails him - he cannot form a single cohesive thought. Not when she's looking at him like that.

A doe caught unawares in the middle of a forest. Eyes blown wide, mouth slightly agape. Not unlike those he's hunted multiple times in the past. His chest heaves as he drinks in her expression, a wave of heat rising up within him. 

The compulsion is overwhelming, rapidly losing the battle with the rational part of his brain. Bitterness bites at the back of his throat like acid. 

He absolutely must continue.

“Is that why your home has become a revolving door?” Astarion says, watching her face shift. 

“Excuse me?” the human asks, offense evident in her tone. A rhetorical question, though he pushes forward.

“Of men who look just enough like me?” he continues, driving the thorn deeper into the woman's side.  

Suddenly, she’s stone, cold and unwelcoming. Her face twists into something sour, nose scrunching up in disgust.

“Astarion Anunín… Have you been stalking me?” she nearly yells.

Oh, he has her right where he wants her.

"The color of their hair does always match my own…” Astarion ponders aloud, head tilting to one side. “Have any of them fucked you as thoroughly as I have, darling?" he chides.

Pulling in a quick, ragged breath, the young woman shudders beneath him, her head falling forward. Her hips involuntarily twitch against the knee he’s suddenly wedged between her thighs and she whimpers, biting her lip to stifle the sound. 

“Astarion…” she groans, eyes falling closed. 

She’s upset, he knows. Yet, he’s privy to how she can barely resist the call of his body against her. Why not use that knowledge to his advantage?

A heavy flush settles across her face and she reopens her eyes, looking up at him through hooded lids. Astarion sees it then - the unabashed desire emanating from her. 

How ironic, he thinks to himself, that her eyes have a hunter green hue. At this moment she feels like prey, wrapped up in a delicate satin bow, all for him.

The remnants of his eternally damned soul sing in delight at her unraveling before him. Saliva pools thick on his tongue as he lavishes the thought of pushing forward, closing in on her.

Astarion leans toward her, cocking his head again to one side. “Hells, Tav… Did it really never occur to you that we made love the last time we were together?" he asks quietly, mouth hovering just above her lips.

Tav shivers beneath him, body writhing against the wall she's leaning against. Her hands come up to press against his chest, gripping fistfuls of his shirt as she grinds herself again on the knee between her legs. The flush on her face is so deep, practically matching the color of her hair.

“Y-you’re hardly playing fair,” she huffs out. She moans again, genuine and clear, making little attempt to subdue the noise. Astarion groans in response before closing the distance, finally capturing her lips in a kiss. 

He’s timid at first, wanting to gauge her reaction. Tav doesn't resist nor push him away, giving him the encouragement to continue. Her jaw grows pliant under him and invites him deeper into her mouth, tongues entangling for a quick moment. The kiss is brief - just enough until she settles beneath him. Both of their chests heave as they part.

Astarion’s eyes rest upon her lips before he draws his head back. His hands fall from her face and he lays his palms flat against the wall on either side of her head. 

"My biggest regret is that I lacked the courage to tell you with words..." he admits, voice trailing off. The ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he adds, "so, instead, I used the one tool I'm most versed with.”

Tav's pupils blow wide at the implication of his words.

Of course, Astarion used his body - used himself as an instrument. Again. To him, this is familiar territory. This is safe. 

This is all I’m good for.

"It appears I must have gotten my translation wrong," he quips.

Tav shakes her head in disagreement. “It wasn’t wrong…” 

She adjusts herself against the wall as Astarion’s leg falls back into a normal position, no longer wedged between her. 

“I was so sure… and then the morning after, I- '' She cuts herself off and swallows. “I didn’t know what to think, Astarion.”

Astarion pushes himself off the wall, taking a few steps back from Tav to give her space. 

“I don’t understand,” he begins, folding his arms over his chest. “I thought I made my position rather clear that morning. About…” He shrugs his shoulders. “Us. This.”

Huffing out a quick laugh, Tav shakes her head again, her discomfort in their current conversation mounting. “You started talking about being free, and-” 

She stops herself again, choking back a sigh. “It just seemed so selfish to ask you to be with me. You were just getting yourself back, after so long.”

Tears begin to gather at the corners of Tav’s eyes. Gently with the pads of his thumbs, Astarion wipes them clean.

“Oh, my silly little love,” he says, lowering his face to place a chaste kiss upon her forehead. “How I wish you would have spoken to me first.”

Tav’s hands come up to cover his, removing them from her face. “I think… I think I need to go,” she tells him, urgently. 

Nodding in silent agreement, Astarion lets her dip out from under him, seeing her inch closer toward the door. 

Before she grips the door’s handle, she turns to look at him. “...Can we talk more about this?” She quickly gestures to their surroundings before adding, “In a better situation, maybe?”

Astarion can only sigh, chest rising and falling heavily. “Of course, my dear. Do you have a particular place in mind?”

Her eyes fall to the floor. Tav knits her fingers together nervously, rubbing her thumbs over the other. “Well… where are you staying?”

A quick laugh escapes his throat and he averts his gaze. His voice is soft and tender as he focuses on a broom leaning against the corner of the wall behind her, “...I went home.”

Tav furrows her brow before asking, “What do you mean by home?”

“Home, to Cazador’s,” he states, devoid of emotion. Astarion’s eyes fall back onto her, watching as she adjusts her posture.

“It’s not as though I know much else,” he continues. “I lack the gold or the ability to work. I have only what I’m able to pilfer off the unassuming, and I’ve grown tired of playing such a role.” 

Astarion sighs heavily again before adding, “There are a number of… resources available to me, now that Cazador is gone. It would be foolish of me to squander them.”

Tav only nods in his direction, her expression falling flat. “Alright,” she says, “I’ll meet you… there, I guess.” She unlaces her hands and turns around, heading back toward the door.

“Tavaria,” Astarion calls to her as she wraps a hand around the door handle again, freezing in place at the use of her full name. “If you do decide to visit me, you’re going to need the passcode for the tower door.” 

Looking over her shoulder, Tav waits for him to continue. Moments pass between them, the air growing thick and stale within the small closet. When she doesn’t speak, he pushes forward. 

“It’s spitfire,” Astarion tells her.

He hears more than sees the small inhalation of breath she takes as his words register. Turning her head forward again, Astarion watches her finally twist the knob to the door, pushing it open. Tav steps out of the closet, looking at him briefly before disappearing down the corridor of the tavern.

Astarion slumps against the cool stone of the supply closet wall, light now pouring through the open doorway. His head is throbbing, an uneasy ache beginning to take root deep within his chest.

What a day.

[lala-blahblah]

Character flaws that would have been more compelling for Will to have to overcome in TSATS instead of "uh oh my boyfriend is a little bit edgy and that came as an unexpected shock to me even though he wears black and has emo bangs":

Struggling with setting boundaries and being honest when things bother him. As a healer he always has to put other people first, it would be interesting to see him approaching a relationship the same way where he feels the instinct to put Nico's feelings and wellbeing above his own, following him into Tartarus even though it is extra hard for him as a child of Apollo to be down there. It feels so much more authentic for Will to keep quiet about his negative thoughts rather than to blurt out all these criticisms about the underworld. And then Nico could feel hurt that he's hiding something from him for the drama, and Will could grow by allowing himself to communicate better even if he has negative things he wants to talk about

Fear of abandonment but ground it more with his real experiences instead of him just randomly panicking about Nico leaving him behind. Michael and Lee both died and left him alone after he got close with them. His dad was generally distant his whole life, he finally got to spend time with him but only under dangerous circumstances and all too soon hes gone again. Will's mom was the only constant in his life but after monsters started attacking he had to live at camp away from her for most of the year. This results in generalized superstition and anxiety that every time he has a good thing the universe takes it away from him, maybe it makes it harder for him to allow himself to get attached in a deeper way. It would be interesting to see him being the one that was more upfront with his emotions and about liking Nico at the beginning, but as their relationship goes on he struggles with more serious things like saying I love you or imagining a future together because he feels like once he does it will be taken away.

Flip the TSATS struggle on it's head and have Will secretly be very into all the dark underworld stuff but feel like he has to repress that because it's weird and people judge him. Being a healer is already a little dark and intense, I feel like Will wouldn't be scared of the undead but somewhat fascinated. Like you're telling me he wouldn't love to examine a walking skeleton and see how the bones move and connect? Growing up as a son of Apollo everyone expected him to be sunshiney and positive and so he tried to hide his weirder interests but oh my GOD he has so many questions for Nico about underworld magic and it's so hard to play it off. You could still emphasize the yin and yang of Nico having lightness and Will having darkness but make it feel less judgemental to Nico this time

Basically I just take it as a personal offense that Will would ever be critical of Nico's sarcasm and grunge aesthetics. HE'S INTO IT!!! HE HAS A THING FOR EDGY MEN OK!!! THIS IS THE GUY WHO SAID HE WOULD GO ON A DATE WITH DARTH VADER just you TRY and tell me that prequels Anakin was not his bi awakening and the blueprint for all his future crushes.

[persephoneaangel444]

𓍼ོ The Moon Signs as Aesthetic Outfits 𓍼ོ

𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ

AIR MOONS: Libra --- Aquarius --- Gemini

𐙚 LIBRA MOON 𐙚

Libra Moon Outfits: Libra Moons I've noticed usually wear clean or flowy dresses. They love that it's simple and elegant. Easy as well to put on. They wear heels that aren't to high in height. They wear light colored dresses that compliment the colors of their shoes, especially heels or sandals. Usually has their hair styled in a certain way but their hair is somewhat half up half down, or in a ponytail or a neat bun. their wardrobe colors always complimentary and in harmony. Gets their nails done usually French tips or light pastel colors.

Libra Moon Personality: Libra Moons are more neutral and diplomatic people. May come off as flirtatious but is actually just friendly and open. Generous and fun-loving. Has an eye for aesthetics. Doesn't like when their loved ones are arguing over something petty. Libra moons do secretly hold grudges and deep down has trust issues and it's hard for them actually be tied down to others unless they truly care about them.

𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ

𐙚 AQUARIUS MOON 𐙚

Aquarius Moon Outfits: Aquarius Moons love experimenting with their looks, every piece of their outfit is designed to show such contrast but harmonizes with the overall look. Loves wearing big statement earrings and necklaces as well as arm cuffs. Loves wearing either pastel bright colors in their outfits or completely grudge dark academia outfits (Mary jane shoes). I noticed though love tight fitting tops, especially corsets.

Aquarius Moon Personality: Aquarius Moons are unpredictable but very caring and generous towards their loved ones. Supportive and accepting of people's differences and beliefs. Has a strong need for independence and doesn't like being tied down. But secretly craves for intense romantic partners, those who can ground them but still be able to accept their need for independence.

𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ𓍼ོ

𐙚 GEMIN MOON 𐙚

Gemini Moon Outfits: Gemini Moons are neat but sometimes may switch up their style with a casual denim top or jeans. Hair is either short or long neither in between. Usually hair is straight. Wears watches as accessories. Carries small shoulder bags and usually has their phones out. Nails are clean and short. Gemini Moon Personality: Gemini Moons have a protective and honest nature towards their loved ones. Bad at keeping secrets but will stand up/defend for the ones they love. Tries to include their loved ones in conversations trying not to leave them out. Has a curious and witty personality. Sometimes can be secretive about how they truly feel about others. Enjoys experiences that make them think and feel like they can come out of their shelves.

[dood-itsradical]

Prediction.

Pairing: Jichang Kwak x F!Reader, ft. Jihan & Jibeom.

Summary: After hearing the whereabouts of the fallen, you reached out to Jichang in Chungcheong only to find the journey is harder than expected.

Genre/Trope: fluff, slow fucking burn.

Details: 2k words, reader smokes.

A/n: I hv to revisit the chaps I might get some stuff wrong here but oh well 😭 Also this turned out longer than planned. I don't do requests btw.

Masterlist

You were lucky. Very lucky perhaps.

Now you weren't one of the kings but you're still somewhat a big of a deal. And James Lee not whooping your ass yet is considered a good thing, for now.

Are you scared? Hardly. But are you cautious? Paranoid? That's another thing. Being selfless has its perks. You lived your life caring about yourself. Like the 'fuck it, we ball' kinda selfish. People grew, that's normal. You're used to everyone coming and going. But boy you'd be lying if you say you didn't feel any regret after not listening to your mother. After letting Jichang out of your grasp.

Although you keep telling yourself the man is out of your league. Or that he already has tons of admirers waiting in line. It's what you kept telling her but no, ‘true love comes within’ and yada yada all that crap. News flash, woman. Every mom says that and not every mother is right. ‘Oh, you just gotta trust the process. Chase him. Eventually it's worth it.’ You mocked her words in your head, rolling your eyes as a cherry on top. And every time you tried to make your points with her, she just gotta keep yapping and yapping and yapping.

You swear that you aren't a bad child. Typically you proved that right. But when it comes to cupid, what are the odds? Like everyone else you knew, love is foreign. A tool of weakness. Both good and bad in a way. Putting your priorities on maintaining control towards it is a chore, a complete dilemma. It's picking sides, a gamble and it's unfair. To know what to protect, what to sacrifice. However the answer is always the latter.

“We're here, ma'am.” The cab pulled over as you thanked him and paid him accordingly before stepping out.

Now you didn't completely live under the rock to be so cringeful of the countryside. It's peaceful despite the aesthetic. Part of you wishes you could live here and disconnect yourself from the burdens. Now that's selfish. But shaking the intrusive thoughts off of you, you recalled the purpose of your journey here. It shouldn't be so hard, right? It's a small village. Just homie friendly villa-

“Moo!” You yelped, taking a step back from the cow passing. “Careful. He's a bit moody today.” Chuckled an elderly man wearing a green vest.

You nodded sheepishly, “Sorry about that.” Your eyes roamed at the grey hair man.

“Visiting or a tourist?” You blinked, “Pardon?” Not that you didn't catch that, your mind just went elsewhere before being able to answer, “Oh, visiting. Is there any chance where I can find Jichang Kwak?”

The man paused and hummed, “Are you his friend?”

Sighing in relief, your hope increased. “Yes, an old friend to be precise! I need to see him. It's urgent.”

He squinted his eyes, uttering before turning his back on you and continued to walk with the cow. “Nope. Don't know him.”

You stammered and almost tripped on your foot. “Huh?? Wait, wait!” Your hand hangs in the air in disbelief as he leaves casually. For an old man he surely walked fast. Or your heads playing tricks on you again. “Great.” You sighed, taking in your surroundings. Thinking the world has already given you the next side quest. You don't feel so, you know so.

So picking up your feet, you did whatever you could to find Jichang. Again, how hard can it be? You asked yourself for the fifth time after seeing all green.

The thought nearly made you flabbergasted. You wouldn't think he would actually, literally hide himself after the recent fiasco with the King of Seoul. Jichang wasn't that type. Unless the matter was critical. Now you feel guilty. You wish you could've done something. But knowing him, he wouldn't let you or better yet lie to your face. Typical. You knew him enough to predict this.

Luckily you've planned ahead. You knew this quest is going to take you longer than it is and it's currently afternoon in the brought daylight. God, you loooove the sun. Being fried under it like the chickens are. Cool, now you're craving. Besides chicken, hope is not yet lost when you find yourself facing a police station. So you jogged towards it with the expectation of receiving leads.

And once you confirmed that God is still on your side, you praised Him when the officers gave you the information that Jichang's body still lingers in Chungcheong. Now, that you put it that way, it sounded wrong. But whatever, you are a bit peeved right now.

You tell the officers about your objective and they nodded with acknowledgement. “Yeah, he's on patrol. It shouldn't be hard to look for him. This village is small.”

Wouldn't be too hard, my ass. You've been looking for two hours now and your legs are killing you. But you kept your annoyance to yourself and thanked them on your way out. Atlas, your forced your patience to take over your body. Or whatever the fuck Gongseob the monk has taught you.

“You guys must've known something, right? Yes, I just bought these shoes. No, not food, sorry.” You jerked your toes to shoo away the chickens. It's been another hour, and still no sign of the White Viper. You're going insane.

Seriously, just how hard can this be? It's getting ridiculous.

“Hey, lady. Are you lost?”

You turned to see a young man. Probably around his late teens. Although based on his build could be mistaken as older. You stood up, brushing your dusty hands. “Uh, why you ask?”

The boy seems unamused, “I kept seeing you going back and forth. Thought you might need help.” Ah, another opportunity. Why not? So you agreed, “Actually, yeah.” Walking closer to him now you managed to calculate his height and facial features. Not to mention the unmistakable snake eyes. This is when you realised.

“Jihan?” You blinked.

He blinked back, just as confused. “Sorry, have we met?” You shifted slightly, “Well, never personally.” You begin to feel your luck rising. Again.

“Jihan, I'm (Name). Maybe you never heard of me but-”

“Oh.” He blurted out flatly. ‘Oh?’ “You're looking for Jichang then. Yeah, don't know where he is. Don't care also.”

What the fuck is wrong with this village?

You waved your hands, “Wait, wait, wait. No. Listen, I really need to see him. I've been at it for hours and the least you could give me is a freakin’ break. Please.” You begged. The hell with it. If you managed to even stumble upon the little brother, you definitely can with him. The youngster just rolled his eyes before gestured you to follow him. Fucking finally you can put a rest to your mission. Just a little more.

“(Name) noona! Long time no see.” Jibeom beamed as Jihan and you walked to a reserved place. The younger brother gave the middle a weird face. “You met her before?”

Raising your brow at this particular discovery you decided to humour them, “Does he really? I doubt he's all talk. We’re hardly that close.” Oh, so now you're down-playing your situation. You weren't sure if it's embarrassment. Are you and Jichang close? To him at least you think not. Maybe you're just another person to him like Taesoo and others.

“No.” The respond made Jihan scoffed. Jibeom added, “Hyung just talks about her a lot, remember?” Another scoff came from Jihan. The younger never felt more ridiculed but he spared no comment. Your eyes shifted between the two as you observed their small banter.

The slight somber on your look was soon noticed by the brothers as they changed looks. Jihan then spoke, sighing to himself. “Yeesh. You people always act like breakups are the end of the world.”

Jibeom nodded chimbly, “I'm sure whatever the reason was, hyung won't blame you for it, noona.”

Kids. Freaking kids.

You stood there, rubbing your temple like the elder you are. Despite their false assumptions regarding your relationship with their older brother, you're too tired to deny them. You just want to see Jichang to clear things up with him. That's it. Just to see him, ask about his wellbeing and leave. Simple and done. Yet again you couldn't even get to see the tip of his nose anywhere. And it's already getting dark.

Another hour passed as you made yourself at home while the brothers, Jibeom mostly, gladly served you a cup of hot water. You strike a conversation with him since he seems to be more outgoing than Jihan. No one's at fault here. You can already assume he and Jichang have complicated relationships. Jibeom later then confirmed this as you two chatted. The topic afterwards followed by Jichang's banishment after the mention of James Lee. You scoffed whenever that name came out. You are never fond of him. He was just one cocky kid last time you saw him, who then made a name out of himself. The story tells it all. Eventually you excused yourself to take some fresh air.

No stars were in sight when you looked up at the dark blue-ish sky. But hell, you'll wait as long as you get to see that smartass. Soon after, the feeling of paranoia succumbed once more. Your hands fidgeted before digging for the cigar in your pocket. You swore you have quit. At least, you're in that process. But you promised to yourself that just this once, you needed it.

Flickering the lighter couple times, you clicked your tongue with frustration at the lack of fire. “Ssibal…”

“Here.” A second lighter hovered to your cigar, lightening it up. You took a drag before exhaling with pure relief. You turned to thank the person and lo and behold, the man himself stood upon you.

You practically jumped and coughed violently, nearly stumbled on your own feet at his sudden present. Jichang grimaced, his hand extended to rub your back hoping to ease the fit. Your chest and throat continuously punched you in the gut. His self summoned did a number on you and completely took you by surprise. Once your cough has subsided, you gather your thoughts and fix your composure.

“Is that what I have to do all along to get you here? Smoke?” You exhaled in disbelief. His snake eyes meet yours with a mixture of confusion and amusement. The corner of his lips curled. “Jihan told me you came.”

“And it took you what? Five minutes drive?” You scoffed, gaze darting behind him to his police motorbike then back at him. “I’ve been looking for you for a whole goddamn day.” He sighed, shoulders slumped apologetically.

You both settle down somewhere later on to have a proper conversation. You told him what you heard and in exchange he told you his side of the story. Every part was put in place since he had nothing to keep from you for you have every right to know his whereabouts. He subtly thanked you for your concern and effort to confront him face to face.

As an addition you told him about the first person you stumbled for direction once you stepped in the countryside. After describing the old man to Jichang, he broke down it to you that the man was Bakgu Noh who's in fact a friend that helped him got the job as a cop in the first place and was only lie to you with the purpose of watching his back. You were baffled but let it slide.

You traced the scar on his left hand that was caused by the King of Seoul. “That easy?” The look of bewilderment written on your face. “I’m just glad you're fine.” Unknowingly to you, his snake eyes never leave your face. Examining your expression with your skin on his. It wasn't that deep, but the warmth speaks volume. Being this close to you hits nostalgia.

You felt the stare though, but you didn't react. Instead, turning your head to the opposite side sheepishly. Your hand still under his calloused ones.

Breaking the palpable tension, you changed the topic, “Should I be worried?” You meant that as a joke. You aren't afraid to face one guy. But the waiting sucked.

“I can train you. If you want.” He suggested out of the blue, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb as an assurance. One simple action alone was enough to make your heart throb. You shake your head. “I'm not here for that.”

“But you're here now. Might as well get to it. No pressure.” He replied, turning his head fully to you, you could practically feel his breath on you too. Too tough to admit you're whipped, you refuse to surrender to your mother's ultimate prediction. Taking a quick glance at him you turned back to the front, swallowing your lumps.

“It's fine, really.” You brushed him off, “I only came here as a one day trip.” He nodded back and didn't argue further. After relishing the comfortable silence, you two rose from your seats and headed back.

From afar the brothers make up both of your silhouettes.

“That ought to be some sort of sign.” Jihan narrowed his eyes. Jibeom joined, “Are they together again?”

The younger brother grimaced, “Ya think?” Pointing the obvious intimate action between the two of you linking arms like an old couple. The middle brother smiled approvingly.