#why am i so nervous about this

[captainobviois]

Someone telling you they’re going to call you with news around mid morning and then it being the afternoon and you still haven’t received the call should be considered psychological warfare

[silvercaptain24]

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

[fayzart136]

"'Evan feels, finally, like some real goddamn magic is happening."

[ughgoaway]

Ok so maybe the walls of neighbor matty and girlie’s building are kinda thin so when she fucks he can hear everythinggg and he’s laying there like Oh my god i’m a pervert but she’s so hot and he’s imagining what she must look like all sweaty and naked and moaning like that… and he just slooowly starts getting off, shirt CLENCHED between his teeth to keep himself quiet because if He can hear Her the reverse has to be true as well and then he cums all over himself wishing he was the one making her scream like that

and then maybe takes advantage of the fact she can definitely hear him getting off at a later date teehee 😇😇

Oh ABSOLUTELY, heather your mind>>>>>

(18+ below the cut, please!! also this might be shite i haven't written properly in 76 years. 1.4k ish!!)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫

You've just been on yet another date, and you know there's no future there at all. His going on for 45 minutes about his latest stock investments in crypto made that clear. But you also know there doesn't need to be a future for him to get you off. So you flash your doe eyes and invite him up to your place, letting the strap of your dress slip and a glimpse of black lace peek through. It doesn't take much before his hands are groping at your ass as the lift doors click closed.

And he's a fine kisser, and his skin on yours feels just the same as any other man. But when your hands slide into his hair, you can't help but subconsciously wish you were gripping unkempt curls, tugging at them and hearing that same moan you’ve heard through the thin walls of your bedroom late at night. You wish you could smell the woody aftershave that makes you roll your eyes every time it wafts your way, you want to hear just one voice whispering the things he's saying into your ear, and his gruff tone isn't scratching the itch you’re in denial about.

The sheets hit your bare back, and you watch with hooded eyes as your date scrambles to get his trousers down his legs, clearly eager to get inside you. And knowing how good you look right now, you're not surprised. His overheated lips touch the skin of your neck, and you decide then and there to put on the performance of your life. You don't want Matty, and your brain convincing you that you do is just because it's swimming in expensive wine and 2 shots of tequila. You want him, you want… John? No, James? Wait… did it begin with J? Oh well, you don't need to be coherent when you focus on his skin on yours. Breathy moans and whines will more than suffice.

Matty's eyes snap open the second he hears a low voice accompanying yours, the breathy faux giggle falling from your lips making him roll his eyes. As far as he's concerned, he's just annoyed about any noise, not that there's a man with you. Or that he's now in your bedroom, judging by the gradually louder speech. He fucking hates that his headboard and yours technically share a wall, bored of hearing all your shitty singing when you're getting ready in the morning. 

If he has to hear your rendition of Ain't it fun one more time, he's going to make an official noise complaint. Mainly because he loves it when you get pissed off and your eyebrows scrunch up as you yell at him. His heart tries to tell him it's because he finds you endearing, but his head refuses that fact.

He definitely doesn't feel like he loves anything when he hears the first wanton moan fall from your lips, and the louder they get, the more frustration builds inside him. What type of frustration is up for debate, but judging by the slowly growing tent in his trousers, it's not just pure annoyance. He really tries to stop focusing on your every noise, but it's hard when you sound like that. He swears he can hear every hitch in your breath, every shaky inhale and needy moan that comes from your ruby red lips.

He feels like a fucking creep and he's just about to reach for his headphones when you start getting louder, groaning and screaming like the girls he watches on Friday nights, one hand down his trousers and the other turning up the volume on his Macbook. If he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine what you’re doing. He can see you hovering above him, skin glowing red, flushed from your tits all the way up to the apples of your cheeks. His eyes flicker closed as he sees visions of your tits bouncing bove him, you pulling your hair to the side exposing your marked-up neck with a sly smirk covering your face. 

Goosebumps rise on his skin, and without realising it, his hand starts to slide down, groping himself over his thin boxers. A far too loud shaky gasp is ripped from his chest. He can't help but freeze immediately, nervous that somehow over the sounds of slapping skin and wanton grunts, you'd heard his weak gasp. But judging by the loud moan followed by “fuck- yes!” That he hears, you're obviously distracted by something else. Or somebody else.

Dilemma fills his mind. Or it does for a few seconds, but he can't stop himself from lying back down, pulling his boxers down his knees, dragging his shirt up over his skin and gripping it between his teeth, tugging at it to get a better view of his hand wrapping around his half hard dick. The first tug is heavenly, there’s just enough pull to make him hiss, but the shirt muffles any noises he makes, and the slight pain just feels so fucking good.

It doesn't take long before he's furiously pumping his fist to the sounds of you, ignoring the gruff grunts of the mystery man to instead focus on your high pitched moans followed by breathy praise that he knows is you. Matty's brain convinces himself each noise is for him, every gasp, whine, and whimper ripped from your chest is because you are thinking of him, wishing he was on top of you, dreaming of him inside you whispering filthy secrets into your ear as he bites at your neck.

His thumb brushes over his weeping tip, spreading beads of precum down his shaft, using it as lube to move faster, grip himself harder, to feel more. Each time his fist reaches the top of his erection, he can't help his hips jump into the contact, the same needy moan falling from his muffled lips. He swears he can taste blood, biting the shirt so hard he's sure he's catching his lip, the liquid iron taste overwhelming his senses in a way he can't bring himself to care about.

The air was thick and heavy around him, the smell of your perfume somehow filling his senses, his eyes flicking open to watch the red flush that covers his inked skin creep up his body, obscuring the small marks that litter him. Shaky eyes roll into the back of his head, fighting to stop his jaw-dropping and letting every grunt and groan escape. Part of him wants you to hear. He wants you to know he is getting off to you, to know that he wants you. Instead, he bites down harder, letting beads of sweat drip down his neck. Twitching hips and his racing heart make his head hazy, visions of you clouding his mind.

Cosmic timing makes you and Matty teeter at the edge of bliss at the same time, the same electricity pooling at both of your spines. Matty can tell you’re close even with a wall between the two of you. Your once coherent pleads quickly become rambling words and needy cries. He swears he can see you keening into his touch when he closes his eyes, speeding up his first to match the sounds of slapping skin he can hear next door, convincing himself that he’s the one fucking you.

Coiling tension pulsates inside you both, your breath hitching moments before the tension snaps, wave crashing over you and Matty. Your legs shake uncontrollably, your hips jumping as your date keeps fucking you, pushing deeper as he watches you in awe, studying the way your jaw drops and your whole body shivers.

Matty listens in shock, staring down as streams of white cum cover his thighs, painting the tattoo that sits so proudly on his hip. He keeps listening to every noise from you, wishing he could hear them without plaster between you, he wants to be the one making you cry from pleasure, watching your body shake as you come down, seeing the blissed-out smile on your face when you finally start to feel your legs again.

But eventually, the cum on his skin starts to feel cold and sticky, and the visions of you become clouded with all the times you've told him you hate him, all the times you called the building manager because he won't stop smoking weed, or even the time you called the police because he wouldn't stop blasting music. The illusion was shattered as he wipes his cum half-heartedly off his thighs and hand, rolling over to sleep, fighting to forget he ever hears a single noise from the apartment next door.

As for you hearing him… I will expand it another time teehee

(p.s any and all neighbour matty ideas are welcomed xoxo)

[demonslayedher]

I finished posting the unabashedly educational Sword Fic.

It includes a detailed (but hopefully beginner-friendly) explanation of all the steps of making a Nichirin blade from a sunny mountain like Mt. Youkou, a touch of swordsmith and metalworker folk lore (including demons), meta about what must make Kimetsu no Yaiba's swordsmithing methods different from real life methods, some character exploration for Haganezuka and his polishing method, vocabulary and additional resources in the chapter notes, and hopefully, an endearing, silly POV character to learn this all through.

[hattiestgal]

Will you all allow me to make one (1) video game character fat.........

[variablememory]

my toxic trait is that i absolutely will open writing software with the intent to actually do something with it only to click around making "hmm" noises and, ultimately, minimize it and go to bed instead

[adzy-drawz]

i forgot that people on tumblr wont kill you in the streets for shipping something so eermmm- zooble x jax doodles!! AAHH-

plus a kinda sorta short comic/scenario thing i might turn into a fanfiction because we stay mentally ill 😎

I LOVE THEM IDC. AAHHGGG

[rowanisawriter]

going through all the stages of grief today lmao!! whatever im gonna play video game now!!

[spotaus]

Hi guys, this is usually what a doodle page ends up looking like <3 (oh, and @ancha-aus thought you might like this! Not writing but certainly fuel to my fire lol-)

This one is New Age filled!!! (Close-ups abd Lore beneath the cut!)

1) Night and Cross!

Night is actually very clingy once he's a teen. He doesn't usually realize it, but around the castle he'll snake to be closer to his Knights so long as there's no one he needs to keep his composure infront of is nearby. Cross is the one who's not used to physical touch (when it's not Ink ofc) so Night in his personal bubble makes his heart melt but also scares tf out of him <3

2) Error and Night's Meeting!

Error was carrying his whole life on his back and trying not to get arrested for unintentional property damage at this point, so when he saw the chance to get back at his brother and prove he was strong enough? Yeah, he got that on chance instantly. And was VERY smug when Nightmare chose him. (Also, Error is wearing gloves, so less Haphephobia)

3) Dream and Blue designs!

I think these are good tentative designs! Dream probably has a more regal fit, but he likes to play up that rugged exile look- He's inspired by Archers, while Blue takes on that classic Knightly-vibe. Their equipment is mostly stolen from Night's troops or brought with them from Blue's home kingdom.

Also, Dream is approx Killer's height at this point, shorter than Cross and *much* shorter than Apple!Nightmare. (Hc that Skeletons tend to be tinier in stature thanks to weird monster beauty standards. Horror and Geno's fam are outliers.)

4) Horror and Dust designs!

Horror is naturally a very *large* monster. He's very malnourished when Nightmare meets him, but by the time he's a Knight Nightmare has made sure that's no longer the case. He actually loves comfy, simple clothes, but to play up the whole 'strong mysterious' bit he wears a more barbaric Knight's garb. He doesn't mind acting scary, it's more fun that way :]. Dust is very very small, and envies horror sometimes for his size, but his tiny stature let's him control his body and move a lot quicker. He's very much based on a rogue, and usually covers the lower part of his face w/ a black cloth, and the upper part w/ his hood or mask. Dust only removes both to bathe, eat, or relax in a safe location. (Ignore that I can't draw the stupid gaster blaster lmao-)

These last two were space-fillers, but Cross and his Borzoi (Windmill, otherwise known as Milly (Killer named her-)) and really bad first wips of Ccino! I think Ccino was a chubby, happy toddler, but lost a lot of 'weight' (bone mass? Magic?) due to stress and pressure and bad eating habits. So it isn't until a while after the Coronation that he starts to relax abd feel safe enough to eat normal meals (Nightmare used to guilt him into eating snacks together, but as his boss (and younger brother) he can encourage it more often). By the time Killer shows he's still not quite healthy, but he's better. As more weight is lifted off his shoulders, the better he is. (That 'beauty' most people saw was a more stereotypical slimness, but Killer never stopped seeing Ccino as beautiful-) I think he never looked traditionally underweight, so no one noticed, and it was only much later that Night processed it. (And maybe it's why Dream hardly recognized him later on-)

[bi-writes]

there’s always a period of anxiousness whenever i post something new

[penaconys-hound]

Obligatory RP Blog intro post

(Warning: Contains Spoilers for the end of 2.1 and 2.2 and was initially created before 2.2)

———

Making a drink is a sensory skill. In dreams, creating fizzy concoctions requires adding a bit of your mood. Heavier if you're troubled, a touch sweeter if you're in high spirits... It's not just about mixing beverages. It's about mixing the experiences of life.

Gallagher's the name, I'm one of the local "Hounds" around here. Step into Penacony, the Land of Dreams, Nameless one.

Tired? Just find a place to sit and rest for a while. Let’s have a talk and I’ll mix something up for you.

But a few words of advice…

Don’t get lost in dreams, and not everything’s as it seems.

Guidelines, Key, Tags and Notes from the mod:

Guidelines:

-Fellow RP Blogs are allowed, uh hiii Star Rail RP community

-This is my first RP Blog after like a year or so (previous ones just died) so I may be rusty so apologies for that -Using tonetags would be appreciated, not required but appreciated, especially if you say something that could come off as rude but you don’t mean it in that tone, the mod can’t read tone through text.

-SFW only please, Suggestive themes are allowed with a warning however

-Gore’s on the table though, but only if the meme gets involved, or you somehow get a good reason for it, I don’t think Gallagher would just maul you out of nowhere- However since this takes place in the dreamscape blood will be described as water and that’s all that’s gonna spill out-

-Shipping is allowed, I’ll allow any ship unless it’s pr*ship or with Sunday, with the former it’s obvious on why I wouldn’t, gross. You’ll get hit on the offense side of Gallagher’s Ultimate if you try that.

But on Galladay it’s simply cause I’m just not super comfortable with Gallagher x Sunday-

But yeah, as long as you’re follow the shipping rules the sky’s the limit, especially since I see Gallagher as bi

-Mod uses the CDT Timezone and is in education, but otherwise doesn’t have a life, and also has adhd with rapid changing hyperfixations so answer times can range from a minute to over a week

-Anything related to, but not limited to, racism, homophobia/transphobia, sexism, ableism, etc. Is not allowed here.

I’m serious if you come into the askbox with that you’ll get the “Dog” after you:

-Anons are welcome, you can even have a custom tag if you use a sign off and show up enough

-Magic Anons are allowed however only one can be active at a time and they have a 2-5 ask cooldown depending on what the effects where

-You can technically also ask the Meme on this blog, but don’t expect it to say anything other then *STABS YOU STABS YOU STABS YOU STABS YO

Key:

“ “ (Just plain text): Dialogue

“ “ (Same as above but in bold)/“ “ (Purple bold text): (what’s used is dependent on what’s exactly being said) Dialogue where Gallagher puts on his Reaper Robe

(The text for that was originally red however I changed it to purple for two reasons: Reason one being in the lore Acheron uses Red text sometimes and I think it’d be weird if I interacted with an Acheron and she also used red text,

and I changed it to purple specifically cause it matches Sleepie)

“* *” (Asterisks around text): Action/Movement

“// //“ (Two slashes around text): OOC/Mod talking

Tags:

#🥃bartenders rambles : In character posts/asks

#🐺barred fangs : In character posts/asks when Gallagher is playing the role of “The Reaper/Death”

#🌀don’t fear the reaper. : Fanart reblog tag

#👁️ The Dog. : Mentions/Discussion of the Memory Zone Meme “Something Unto Death”/“Sleepie”

#🐾mods yapping : Posts from the mod/OOC posts, not counting OOC moments in the tags of ask posts

#💫care for a drink under the stars? : Interaction reblogs/RPs, whatever with fellow Honkai: Star Rail RP blogs, can be in or out of character

#🪶hounds prey : Interactions with Sunday and/or Robin/Mentions of Sunday and/or Robin

#🧹the bellboy : (there was no mop emoji) Interactions with Misha/Mentions of Misha

(Tags may be added for specific characters and art RBs if I decide to do that, but for now that’s the tags)

Anon Tags:

#🍸 anon

#🥂 anon

#🍀 anon

Side Notes:

-If you’re wondering on the Mod’s pronouns if you didn’t read the bio, the Mod uses Any/All pronouns (like he/she/they/it etc. Idrc-)

-This will include headcanons, if it wasn’t obvious from the “I see Gally as Bi” comment

-It could possibly get OOC at times while I’m in character, I made the blog before 2.2, but I’m trying to stick to the character as well as I can, and if 2.2 changes his character again I’ll attempt to pull something to fit with that

-Mod will refer to himself ether as “The Mod” or “Mod Werewolf”

Other Blogs the Mod Runs if you’d like to check those out:

(disclaimer they’re not all gonna be for the same fandom in the future)

@the-coolest-character-in-hsr (Hanu from Honkai: Star Rail)

@trash-president-real (Trash President (OC) Honkai: Star Rail)

Anyways hope you enjoy the blog, and avoid getting stabbed by the meme

[non-un-topo]

could i please get some of nicky and joe dancing please <3?

You certainly can, my friend! <3

I may have accidentally made it a little angsty (and they look like they're not dancing rip but I promise they are)

[c28hunter]

Okay I made it

And I'm proud of it

[petit-etoile]

even  if  the  world  collapses, i  will  be  alright

pairing: shadowheart/karlach wordcount: 3,388 content warnings:  spoilers for shadowheart's act iii quest, don't worry they get together after this other tags:  canon compliant,  character study,  introspection,  pre-relationship,  shadowheart is bad at feelings,  c.unnilingus, v.aginal fingering note:  i don't normally write pairings outside of astarion/tav.  i'm sorry if things seem ooc or not quite accurate enough.  i usually only write for a.starion/t.av so i'm nervous as to how this reads !! archiveofourown: here.

summary:  Karlach knows the truth Shadowheart wants to show her.

‘Karlach?’

Shadowheart barely understands what has brought her here. Perhaps it was the loss of a mother’s love or the emptiness of divinity flooding her bones. She shivers. She will never confess to crying, to cutting her hair off in a fit of rage. That is not her image. She was a Sharran beauty, a devout worshiper, and now…

She looks at her silver braid and tries not to feel sick. I am nothing but a confused girl, she thinks spitefully. Bile rises in her belly, and she tears her hair down before she feels weak. It hardly helps.

Karlach’s tent is large and looming, enough space for herself and all their companions if they felt like getting together. It’s warm and inviting. It’s… A safe place. Shadowheart isn’t ready for the jeers of their peers when they see what she’s done to her hair. She climbs in to hide.

Karlach is inside because of course she is. The tiefling woman is too busy singing and using a whetstone to sharpen her blade to really notice her intruder. Shadowheart almost feels grateful she can pass by as a ghost unannounced. She crams herself into the corner and wraps her arms around her knees, pressing her mouth against her leather pants, fingers clenching to avoid feeling empty. The swelling ennui is a familiar emotion  —  She could not remember the last time she had not fought against despair, not since the illithid ship, not since the Moonrise Towers.

Seeing Dame Aylin everyday was almost a vicious mockery. That the child of Selûne could stand so tall without a fear in the world but Shadowheart could not. The wound on her hand refuses to throb. If she is lost, why is the Goddess of Loss not guiding her? It was not a true betrayal. Anyone would have refused… Shadowheart still loves her or so she supposes she does. She has not known a life that did not include Shar’s teachings and her cruelty. She feels as though she’s falling into an ocean made of pitch. There is a faint part of her that is assured she will die. Her goddess wills it so.

Karlach doesn’t turn around for a minute or two. She’s busy humming a song that Shadowheart doesn’t recognize, and Shadowheart stares miserably at her spine. It makes her feel somewhat frustrated. Here a woman who had lost almost everything and is still as happy as can be while Shadowheart… 

Shadowheart is indecisive of how she feels.

She clenches her fist.

‘Just a moment,’ Karlach calls over her shoulder.

‘Take your time,’ Shadowheart replies. She’s been seen after all. She begins touching the skin around her nails, delicately squeezing and prodding them. They’re sore after her evening at the river washing sins from her hair. ‘I hope you don’t mind. The others were…loud.’

Karlach does not take her time. She sets her weapon aside and turns around almost immediately. In her haste, she seems to forget. Shadowheart watches as a thousand gorgeous sparks shine throughout her body. Her amber gaze comes to life, fragmented like stars in the sky. Karlach focuses on Shadowheart first and then her hair, grinning from ear to ear.

Shadowheart doesn’t have the time to flinch before Karlach is reaching across the distance, grabbing a strand of her hair and pulling it closer to her for inspection. She navigates the closeness of the tent on her knees, and like she’s parched, she inhales Shadowheart’s scent. It’s a communion of sorts. Her flesh is the flesh of Shar, and her blood the holy ichor. The sincerity of Karlach’s interest floods every part of Shadowheart’s body. Like Dame Aylin to Isobel, Karlch can’t seem to get enough.

‘Shadowheart, your hair  —  ’ Karlach breathes. She holds Shadowheart’s freshly dyed tresses against her nose. ‘It’s like moonlight! It’s fucking amazing.’

A compliment? Shadowheart’s throat seizes up. She wants to look away or to disappear entirely. There is nothing left that she can do besides tolerate Karlach’s awe of her. But it warms her frosty skin, and she meets Karlach’s gaze bravely.

‘So you like it?’ she asks faintly.

‘Of course I do!’ Karlach replies. ‘You look incredible, really. Like you’re the moon  —  ’

Shadowheart knows what expression contorts her face. Karlach immediately looks apologetic, eyebrows pulling together. She begins to apologize, but something overcomes Shadowheart. She doesn’t want apologies. She doesn’t want anything akin to pity. She wants release. Shadowheart leans forward and kisses her, mashing their noses together uncomfortably. It’s unchaste. It’s hostile, almost. But whatever she might feel about it, Karlach kisses her back, both hands coming to cradle the side of Shadowheart’s face.

It’s exhilarating.

Karlach is everything Shadowheart is not. Not repressed, not devout, not weak. She is larger than life and above it all. Her skin smells like warm fire and her hair always smells of chestnut and honey no matter how many she’s killed. It must be some sort of talent.

Shadowheart wants more and more. She pushes Karlach harder than she means to and while it doesn’t do much, it does cause Karlach to grab her wrists roughly. She kicks her greatsword haphazardly out of the tent flap.

‘Let’s not get hasty, Shadowheart,’ Karlach warns her.

‘Shut up.’

‘This isn’t a fight,’ she says. ‘Don’t make it one.’

‘What do you know?’ Shadowheart asks bitterly. ‘Perhaps I want it to be a fight. What good has being pious done for me? It’s all nonsense and you know it. So I say, let’s fight, Karlach. Let’s fight the way we know how.’

Karlach doesn’t say anything at first. It’s like she’s thinking of what to do next, but Shadowheart knows better. It is careful restraint to keep her infernal engine from overheating. Karlach likes the idea of a challenge, and what is a greater challenge than this? Shadowheart wants to be cruel. It might work better if it were Lae’zel she sought out, but it isn’t. Instead, she raises her chin and struggles against Karlach’s hands around her wrists playfully. Karlach knows the truth Shadowheart wants to show her.

No matter how hard she tries, Shadowheart will always be the lost girl in the woods who trembles at wolves. No goddess will cure her malady. The same could not be said about mortals whose hearts are prone to rupturing. Shadowheart wants to ignite the flame. She raises her arms above her head. She submits to Karlach’s will and watches her lights turn blue.

‘I can sit here and I can talk about my feelings,’ Shadowheart says, tone blasé, ‘or we could fuck the stress away, you and I.’

Karlach’s lips press into a firm line. ‘I  —  I want to make sure you’re feeling alright.’

‘I’m feeling about as well as anyone would,’ Shadowheart snorts. She shakes her head. ‘Do this with me or don’t, but don’t mistake me for someone who wants to lament her feelings. I’m not that kind of girl.’

‘Just for tonight then,’ Karlach says, and that’s good enough. She’s a romantic after all. A dreamer. A wish-upon-the-stars kind of woman. Shadowheart is almost jealous. ‘Tomorrow,’ she warns, ‘we talk about it.’

‘Fine,’ she says with a shrug.

Shadowheart tries not to frown. In its entirety, it is probably the best offer that she would get from anyone else. A night of careless and raunchy sex. With Karlach, too. Shadowheart struggles with the weight of it, the complexity of the offering. But it’s what she wants. It’s all she wants. She closes her eyes. Shar would have made her forsake this. Karlach’s hands are tight around her wrists, and the sound of her infernal heart beating is better than any opera. She leans forward and devours Karlach’s lips.

If Shadowheart is going to hell, she may as well enjoy it.

There’s something fascinating about being pinned down by someone who wants to be good. No whippings, no torturings, just a wholeheartedly good time. Karlach pulls her around like she hardly weighs a thing, and when Shadowheart’s back is pressed into a bedroll that smells of ash and honey, she can’t help but shiver. Karlach doesn’t command her to stay put, but she does. She’s a good listener and always has been. She waits patiently as Karlach makes quick work of her camp clothes and tries not to preen at the way Karlach swallows thickly as her nightshirt opens up and her breasts spill free. She smiles.

Karlach leans forward and mouths at her breast, sharp teeth over sensitive skin, and her hands move to focus on the task at hand at Shadowheart’s hips. She’s lifted by the curve of her ass so that Karlach can fuss with her leggings, pulling them down her legs as quickly as she can amd tossing them aside without breaking contact with her nipple. It’s too delicate. It’s too dainty. Shadowheart closes her eyes.

Karlach does not ask her ‘if she’s ready.’

For once, she isn’t treated as though she is willing to be broken or that she craves it. It’s almost a silent vow, a secret prayer. You will be ready for me. You will take it. It’s a much nicer situation than the reverse. Shadowheart has wept and wailed since they left the Shadowfell. She is done with tears. She is done being lost. Karlach sweeps her hands down her body like she’s never touched someone before  —  and, well, she hasn’t, at least not in a while. That’s a kind of hunger that can never be contained.

‘Stop being so gentle,’ Shadowheart says.

‘No,’ Karlach replies. ‘You’ll take what I give you tonight. Kindness and all.’

Shadowheart grinds her teeth. ‘I don’t deserve it. I don’t want it.’

‘We all deserve things we don’t want,’ Karlach says patiently. ‘Now shut it. You came to me, remember.’

Shadowheart tosses her head in despair. She’s almost certain she will cave into this emotion, this serenity that pours over her in waves. She is going to fade away tonight. Her hair is no longer as dark as the night. For all her talk of grandiose kindness, Karlach is rough. She pulls and digs her nails into Shadowheart’s supple flesh as if determined to take her apart and put her back together. Instead of a Sharran teaching guiding her every move, it’s instinct. The instinct to be a hero that pollutes Karlach and causes her to become something unrecognizable in the heat of battle. A howling beast. She presses her burning mouth to Shadowheart’s navel and sets fire to her skin.

Karlach begins her relentless assault. She starts by hooking her arms around Shadowheart’s thighs and lifting her hips up so that she can slot her mouth against Shadowheart’s cunt to begin feasting. It’s unprompted, it’s unscripted, and it’s so much more than Shadowheart could have ever imagined that she can’t stop the startled moan that slips between her lips. She’s lifted as though she weighs nothing. Her heart stutters.

It’s messy and frenzied. Karlach lets out an equally shocked noise, and Shadowheart searching for her eyes does more damage than good. She doesn’t know what she was expecting to see, but the hunger is better than she imagined. Shadowheart was a ripe fruit begging to be plucked, and for an adventurer, it was the finest feast of them all. Karlach’s fingers dig into her back sharply as she tries to control herself. Shadowheart hisses. The pain is welcomed.

She didn’t want to think. She didn’t want to control anything. Shadowheart leans into the touch and quivers. This goodwill threatens to eat her whole. Karlach licks and sucks at her insistently. It’s almost as though she’s afraid the taste will be gone if she doesn’t indulge now. But it will be there. It will always be there. Even Shadowheart can’t tamper the flames of jealousy. And she is jealous. It buds in her chest every time Karlach smiles at someone who isn’t her.

‘You’re so wet,’ Karlach murmurs against her thigh. ‘You taste so good.’

Shadowheart squeezes her eyes shut and tries to ignore the shiver that races down her spine. She isn’t sure what it is about what Karlach said that drives her crazy. Or she does, and she just didn’t want to admit it. Despite being an astute pupil, she was never perceived as good. Karlach makes her want to be.

‘That’s what you want to be, isn’t it?’ Karlach murmurs. Her eyes flicker and Shadowbeart burns. ‘You want to be a good girl  —  ’

I don’t know who I am anymore, but the sound of Karlach’s voice rumbling to tell her how well behaved she’s being is enough to stop the torment for now. She isn’t sure how she’s going to survive the night. Her thoughts turn to dust the moment Karlach presses her tongue flat against her clit and tortures her so well that even the Mother Superior would be jealous.

Shadowheart lets out an unrefined whine and reaches for the first thing she can. She drags Karlach’s pillow and places it under her hips to relieve pressure, and then whatever little self-disciple Karlach has snaps. She devours like she never has before, and Shadowheart’s back arches so far off the bedroll she’ll feel it in the morning.

It isn’t enough for Karlach to indulge. It would be so easy to make Shadowheart come by using her tongue alone, but Karlach presses the broad of her palm against Shadowheart’s hip and slides a single finger inside as if to test the limits. Then she slides in another, and Shadowheart is already so full she doesn’t know if she can take anymore.

It’s the size difference, Shadowheart thinks. She’s always been svelte and lanky, but Karlach is muscular enough that her mind begins to wonder nastily. Karlach is able to support her weight while feasting on her flesh and doesn’t even seem to mind. It’s too much. Shadowheart thinks she might fall.

Shadowheart’s stoic disposition crumbles beautifully beneath Karlach’s hands and tongue. The frigidity dissipates as Karlach adds a final third finger, bundling so tight inside of Shadowheart that she can hardly stand it, and when Karlach sucks and twists her fingers, Shadowheart cries out so loudly she’s convinced she’s woken the entire camp. She digs her fingers into Karlach’s hair and tries to keep her hips still, but she can’t help the way her legs shake on either one of Karlach’s shoulders. So tight, she feels dizzier than she ever has.

‘Karlach  —  ’ Shadowheart says weakly. 

Karlach shakes her head and doesn’t say a thing, not even as Shadowheart comes so hard she loses her vision. She slips and falls lax against the pillow and Karlach chases her down, unwilling to let her escape too far. Shadowheart presses a hand against her chest to stop her racing heart but it isn’t enough.

Karlach over-stimulates her and giggles wickedly against her cunt, squeezing her thigh with her freehand. She doesn’t stop until Shadowheart has come again with a hoarse wail, curling on her side as if that will help her escape the never ending building pleasure in the pit of her stomach. Only once Shadowheart has come thrice is Karlach satisfied to release her in a boneless puddle on the bedroll.

Shadowheart’s body still twitches with the memory of Karlach’s fingers twisting deep. She squeezes her thighs together and tries to even her breathing by pressing her fingers against her belly. It doesn’t help. The only thing that lends any aid is Karlach’s chest pressing against back. She’s acutely aware of the differences of their stature  —  Karlach engulfs her entirely like a wildfire. She is a forest. She is the roots beneath the willows and the silence of the night. A wolf that howls at the moon.

The moon. Shadowheart pushes her sweaty bangs out of her face. She is content to rest and catch her breath as long as Karlach will allow it. It’s hard to feel kicked out of the tent when Karlach presses a tender kiss to the back of her head.

Shadowheart’s eyes open frantically. She is forced to admit what she’s always been afraid of. There is something not right with her past. She’s never chased the shadows before, but the Noblestalk had reminded her of things she never wanted to know.

‘I changed my hair,’ she says numbly. She stares at the flap of Karlach’s tent in muted horror.

‘It suits you,’ Karlach murmurs.

‘I don’t want to be in pain anymore,’ she says. She stares at her hand.

‘Is there anything I can do?’

Yes. ‘No,’ Shadowheart says. ‘Is it alright if I rest here?’

Karlach is silent for a moment. Finally she says, ‘You can stay the entire night if you want.’

Shadowheart turns to face her. It’s hard to confront the things that she’s afraid of. She looks Karlach right in the eyes and tries to relax, biting the inside of her bottom lip to keep from frowning. Every day since the illithid ship has been lived in fear. She doesn’t want to be afraid anymore. She doesn’t want Karlach to be afraid either.

‘Well, shall I?’ she asks. She reaches between Karlach’s thighs.

‘Ah, no need,’ Karlach says with a shameless laugh. She’s blushing, and the only proof is the flame that flickers against her skin. ‘I, uh, already did.’

‘Oh,’ Shadowheart hums. It hits her. ‘Oh.’

Karlach doesn’t even seem the least bit embarrassed about it, and why should she? It’s flattering, to say the least. Shadowheart folds her hands back between them both and watches as Karlach settles for the night, dragging over a fur cloak to be used as a pillow. Shadowheart doesn’t have the heart to ask what happened to the other one. She’s fine enough knowing that their rendezvous was the culprit. But as Karlach’s eyes flutter shut to rest, Shadowheart’s stay open. She realizes she doesn’t know how to sleep next to another person.

It isn’t the same as sleeping in a camp surrounded by companions. There’s no idle chit chat or laughter to distract from the fact that her only companion was Karlach. There was no flickering fire to drown out the sound of her misery. Only Karlach’s quiet breathing and the smell of the dye in her hair, the thought of starlight replacing the twilight, the memory of Dame Aylin knowing who she was. Shadowheart reaches her hand across the distance.

Her fingers bump against Karlach’s. She has the audacity to be surprised when Karlach takes her hand and smooths her fingers across Shadowheart’s skin. She braces for pain that never comes. Lady Shar really has left her. Shadowheart doesn’t know why, but it makes her throat close.

Would she ever stop feeling like a child who knew nothing? Anger burns hot in the bottom of her throat as she tries to relax, but then the fury and fear and abandonment are washing over her in waves and she sobs.

Shadowheart doesn’t sleep, and Karlach respects her wishes to leave it alone for the night. That doesn’t stop her from imagining what it would be like. Shadowheart has spent her entire life running away from the brightness of the moon, but Karlach is so beautiful beneath the pale light. It’s strange. Shadowheart has never allowed herself to want before.

It has always been about Lady Shar’s will. It has always been about following Mother Superior’s creed. This was another taste of rebellion that would have had her palms caned until they bled. It feels like this will be the only chance for freedom now that the goddess has closed her eyes to Shadowheart.

Karlach’s face is soft and slack as she sleeps. She snores too. It’s an undelightful sound. It fills the entire tent until there’s no ignoring it. Yet Shadowheart doesn’t mind. She doesn’t care even the slightest bit. She would listen to it willingly if it meant happiness.

This is one of the easiest decisions Shadowheart has ever made. In the morning when Karlach wakes up, Shadowheart goes with her. They break their fast together by a stream and take time scrubbing their bodies clean of filth. When Karlach touches the small of her back, Shadowheart smiles for the first time since the Shadowfell.

‘A smile suits you,’ Karlach tells her earnestly.

Shadowheart stares at the water. ‘Thank you,’ she says. ‘I think the moonlight does too.’

[thestarfishface]

Be warned gang I am about to Clean my Inbox (answer asks that have been sitting in there for a long time)