#xan writes

[hermesmoly]

Why is it always about Orpheus turning back foolishly and never about Eurydice following him out of the Underworld, likely knowing she was doomed. That Orpheus went all this way, singing the story of their love, hopeful that he will return her to the surface and finally build their life together— but they will not. She knows her Orpheus will turn back. And yet she still follows him, all the way to the top, because the simple pleasure of seeing his back again is enough for her. Isn’t that a foolish thing to do for love?

[acerikus]

Lil snippet of an utdr au I've been workshopping for a bit. Pretty sure the surface isn't supposed to look like that, oopsie. Maybe frisk should've done a few extra neutral runs for good measure first.

[xanthiccircuitry]

Maverick Play (NSFW)

Pairing: XZero

Summary: Zero promised X that he could Dom...so long as he could pin him down. X, as always, rises to Zero's challenge.

Link to the fic on AO3! Enjoy~!

[kunazz]

WEEK ONE: GOJO SATORU — [blindfold]

tags: boypussy gojo, squirting, shaking, blindfolding, gojo calling reader “daddy”, top male reader

summary: gojo always wears a blindfold, but you prefer it when you see his tears soak through it.

a/n: why is this so BADDDD I promise it’s bc uni is giving me assignments and doing that on top of this is BONE CRACKING. may take a small break and slow down..

“oh god!— daddy fuck!” gojo practically screams as his nails scratch at your chest, the feeling of your fat cock stretching out his tight pussy was enough to make his eyes roll back, tears soaking the cloth of his blindfold. you think gojo looks so pretty like this, all broken and weeping, his pretty pussy clenching so hard on your cock as if he was begging to keep you there.

his clit is throbbing painfully, and if he wasn’t such a good boy he’d definitely be rubbing hard circles on the sensitive nub, allowing his pending orgasm to crash into him faster, he’s already came around three times, two of them causing him to squirt — gojo almost thought he’d pass out after that, but when he felt your wet cock moving inside him again, pressing against the soft walls of his pussy just nicely, he knew he had to be awake.

“daddy? that’s a new one” you said softly, hissing when you felt your cock drive deeper into gojo’s cunt, body trembling just a little. you’re no better than him, your orgasm was so close, and you’ve been holding it back for a while now, edging yourself to make sure gojo is getting the best experience — he always came first.

you gently run your hands over gojo’s torso, your fingers light touches contrasted the way your cock thrusted into his pussy, and it drove gojo crazy, he wasn’t expecting you to be so rough and gentle at the same time, it was mind breaking and almost too much to handle — but gojo always handled it, he always took everything like a good boy and you made sure he knew that.

“taking it so well baby..g’na cum inside you soon” you groaned, your fingers finally playing with gojo’s clit, and you took pleasure in watching his back arch and his eyes go wide, he looked beautiful like this, trembling and on the verge of screaming, you could tell he was about to cum, just from the way his body stilled and tensed.

and soon enough you felt it, the gush of fluid spraying on your abdomen once again, your cock inevitably slipping out of gojo’s pussy, rubbing between his folds as he squirted, your tip bumping his clit. gojo’s squeals felt like music to your ears, and the way his thighs trembled violently you couldn’t hold back from gripping them, fingers squeezing into the soft muscle hard enough to bruise. you liked that, making gojo so cock dumb that he’d feel the remnants of everything that occurred the next day, until he was fidgeting every time he sat down because his clit was so sensitive.

“fuck- oh fuck..can’t take it anymore..” gojo slurred, his eyes rolling back as his body twitched, he was so overstimulated, and as your cock slipped back inside him he couldn’t even protest, his hands just weakly resting on your lower abdomen, a signal to get you to go slow. you complied, your hips thrusting back into gojo slowly, groaning when you were finally encompassed by that warm, wet heat once more.

“that’s it baby, g’na fill you up now ‘kay?” you mumbled, your hands gripping at gojo’s hips so you could thrust into him faster, you’ve been holding off this orgasm for ages, and now it was coming closer, there was no way you could hold it back now. you were quick to press you lips against gojo’s, your tongue slipping into his mouth as your cock pulsed inside him, finally spilling your seed and cumming inside him. it was a bone crushing orgasm, better than heaven himself as your thrusts came to a slow stop, riding out your high and relishing in the warmth that gojo brought you.

“holy fuck, that was..” gojo huffed, running a hand through his sweaty hair as he finally removed the tear stained blindfold, his eyes wet with tears that were starting to dry up.

“amazing..that was amazing..” you muttered, a lazy smile creeping onto your face as you layed against gojo, there was something so nice about post sex, maybe it was the tiredness, but it was nice, as if your body was levitating.

you’re definitely gonna both be feeling this tomorrow.

[crowleys-hips]

GOetry thing for this week. it's based on this artwork: Pièta by @theonevoice i hope it stabs you 🖤

taglist below

@crowleys-bentley-and-plants @phantomram-b00 @charlotte-zophie @crowleys-curl @quoththemaiden @thewibblylever @genderqueer-hippie @celestialcrowley @ineffable-rohese @alwaysbemybae @fearandhatred @weasleywrinkles @brokewokebespoke @eybefioro @captainblou @amagnificentobsession @marika-misc @phoen1xr0se @simonezitrone79 @thatqueercookie @tiptopticketyboo @veil-of-lament @celticseawych @nimbusalba @annewind @di-42 @seven-stars-in-his-palm @ineffabildaddy @fellshish @foolishlovers @ficreader500 @the-stars-are-ineffable @bowtiepastabitch @sabotage-on-mercury @minervas-hand @lickthecowhappy @hippychick67-fan-blog @sassysnakedemon @goodomensafterdark @isiaiowin

tell me if you wanna get added or removed :)

[mangoxanax]

* ੈ✩‧₊˚.mha characters reacting to: you saying something out of pocket!

A/n: this my first smau so lmk if i did good or nahh, and my ask box is open for req‼️

c/w: crack, fluff, you saying something cukoo, mentions of cannibalism, nd ofc language!

characters: Deku, Bakugo, Denki, Tenya, Shinsou.

deku:

bakugo:

denki:

tenya:

shinsou:

©micahonsaturn do not, steal, copy, or repost with permission, or claim as your own.

[hiemaldesirae]

there was an ask i got a while back that brought up the idea of vox pulling away from alastor (while they were still friends) because he figured alastor was only using him for entertainment and al in turn becomes the biggest wifeguy alive to keep vox by his side and. well. my fingers got itchy

Vox stares forlornly at the photograph held gingerly between his claws. It had been taken some time (comparatively) early on in his friendship with Alastor- the date of August 16th, 1967 was scrawled in Vox's own unsteady, drunken penmanship. He'd been plastered to the roof when they'd taken the photo, which, now that he thinks of it, was probably the only reason Alastor had ever agreed to it in the first place.

He mulled over that conversation once more, as if he hadn't been at this for a month. The stack of papers that Husk had passed him with a worried look and a huff laid neatly stacked next to the transcripts of the confirmation calls he'd had with Mimzy after Husk had told him.

He only sees you as entertainment, Husk had said. It's how he functions. I don't know if he's had a genuine relationship with anyone other than Mimzy and Rosie, and even then the chances are slim.

And Vox had wanted to believe that he was wrong. God, he'd hoped so badly that Husk was wrong. But- the Overlord had never once led him wrong before, had he? And he had no reason to lie to Vox about this.

His hands shook as he took the picture and tenderly placed it back into the drawer where he'd taken it from.

Even if the first friendship- the first ever taste of love he'd gotten, in life or death- he'd managed to strike up in Hell had been one built on lies and for Alastor's- entertainment, he still didn't want that proof of the simpler, happier times to disappear.

So it was with a heavy heart that Vox prepared to bid farewell to his first and dearest friend.

One thing that Husk had made sure to make absolutely crystal clear to him was that Vox should not, under any circumstances, be the one to let Alastor down gently.

At least, not directly- Vox had disagreed with this line of thinking, believing that Alastor deserved to know the truth, but then Husk had shown him what Alastor had done to the couple past demons who had dared to do the same and Vox found his protests drying up on his tongue as quickly as they'd come to him.

"Well, what do I do then?" Vox had cried, practically faceplanting all 15 pounds of his CRT television head into Husk's bar counter. To his credit, the Overlord hardly even batted an eyelid before sending one of his thralls to clean up his despondent kid's mess. "I don't wanna just fake my death or something!"

"I wasn't gonna say for you to do that, but actually, that might be a good idea if the Radio Freak doesn't take the initial plan well," Husk mused, before he caught sight of Vox's- frankly heartbroken looking- face and sighed. "No, the idea is to get him to think it's his idea. Start by gradually distancing yourself so you're no longer attached by the hip- Lord knows you needed a healthy sense of distance from him, anyway- and then move to blowing off his plans and stuff. For valid reasons, like say Rosie scheduled you in first or something and you couldn't leave without invoking her wrath. Make yourself some new damn friends, for God's sakes. It'll make it harder for him to wage revenge on you if you've got allies backing you up."

Husk could see his kid's face gradually growing paler with every word, and he internally sighed. Fucking Alastor, and his need to ruin every good thing that passed him by. "And if it gets to that point, which it shouldn't, I'll protect you first. An alliance with Ol' Bambi is not worth more than your wellbeing, котенок."

"I know," Vox said quietly. He tapped his hands on the counter for a second before standing up, a sad look on his face. "I just... I might need a little to come to terms with things."

"Of course," Husk nodded understandingly. "You take all the time ya need, got it?"

"Yes, dad," Vox rolled his eyes, though the sad expression on his screen had brightened considerably and he now managed to give Husk a weak smile. "Really. I'll call or something if I need you."

That was weeks ago. Vox had started to put 'Plan Pull Vox Out of a Toxic Friendship' into full play a little while ago, occasionally turning down Alastor's invitations to soirees, operas, theatres and the like and instead focusing on his work. Before, he would have dropped everything just to accompany Alastor, which was something Vox was suspecting the other demon had already known and potentially specifically chosen him for because it made him more entertaining.

In any case, things had been going smoothly. Vox had even managed to start a few new projects, the most impressive of which was a part mechanical part organic demon shark. He'd found the poor thing missing half its limbs, and gone on a horribly roundabout mission to make it new ones. So far things had been going smoothly and the shark had taken to leisurely taking swims around Vox's small aquarium, one that spanned one entire wall of his even tinier apartment.

What he hadn't expected was for Alastor to show up one day completely uninvited and make him dinner.

He'd been in the midst of arranging meetings with other up and coming sinners of Pentagram City, looking through his contacts to see who else would have the most potential to become an Overlord. One had been Valentino, who was the man he was trying to speak with when a crash came from his kitchen. He'd asked Valentino if he could bear to be put on indefinite hold incase he was killed, deafened before he could hear a response, then proceeded to the kitchen, hammer in hand, only to find-

"Ah, there you are, my dear picture box! I was afraid I'd never see you again, what with that awful habit of yours with locking yourself into the workshop for hours." Alastor stood in his kitchen, humming quietly as he stirred a pot full of gumbo leisurely. "Go sit down and wait, would you?"

"I- you-" Vox looked in between Alastor, who was wearing an apron that said Kill the Cook atop his regular fitted suit, painting an elegant yet absolutely ridiculous portrait and back to the table, where several other creole dishes sat on the table in front of Vox. "You're in my house."

"You didn't answer me when I tapped on the radio waves," Alastor shrugged lesiurely. "You've gotten busy these past weeks, haven't you?"

"Well... sort of," Vox said, expertly skirting around the question. "Anyway, that doesn't explain much. You don't like coming to my apartment. And you only cook for Rosie and Mimzy because you only respect them."

"I don't like coming here, correct."

"So.... why are you here, exactly?" Vox crosses his arms, leaning on the counter. "You don't usually come for visits."

"I care about you," Alastor said softly. It almost sounded sincere. No wonder he was a radio host- truly, hearing those words had nearly stopped Vox's resolve to leave entirely. "Isn't that enough?"

"I wish," Vox said in reply, a hand pressed to his chest to stop his rapid breathing. "God, I wish."

But God didn't exist for Sinners.

So when Alastor finishes cooking the food and sits down to eat with him, asking him about the work and projects he's been doing, Vox just grits his teeth in a smile and forces himself to act as if his world isn't breaking apart piece by piece.

[vikdec4i]

Heyo it’s me, I’m here to ruin ya day

Thoughts on Mitzi and Mordecai’s parallels and how desperate they are to find answers about Altas’s death?

mordecai heller and mitzi may: a piece on grieving.

FIRST of all, i apologise that this response took a very long time to cook up. i wanted it to be as fleshed out as possible because i do have a lot to say in this regard. the train of thought initially departed because of the widespread misunderstanding around mitzi’s character. to which i thought to myself: well it’s strange that people can easily extend their empathy towards mordecai, who (to me) has undoubtedly done worse. but what’s even worse is that, if you really look closely— if we made a venn diagram for these two, there’s a large chunk of overlap between them.

(p.s. now that i am proofreading all of this i realise its a bit different from what you asked but nonetheless i hope it captures the complex nature of grief as a theme in lackadaisy, especially when discussing the parallels between mitzi and mordecai)

so let’s break it down.

if someone wanted to read lackadaisy and asked me if there were any main themes that circled around the story— i would say: grief. more specifically, the consequences of untapped grief. mean the story itself starts off with the mysterious and brutal death of atlas may, who was THE big cat behind the lackadaisy. atlas himself was an enigma, and i have mentioned this before in another post. his position within the story bears a lot of similarities to rose quartz as they play the ghastly spouse that haunts the narrative.

however, this is not about atlas, but instead the two people that served as his vessel after his passing:

his wife, mitzi, and his right-hand man, mordecai.

instead of dissecting this theme individually, finding the differences between the two, i thought it would do the analysis more justice to extract it directly from the source material itself. initially i wanted to talk about how this grieving bleeds out onto others around them (e.g. mitzi forging a check from wick, mordecai kneecapping viktor).

let’s take “hamstring” and “monomania” for example, as they both converse over asa’s claims at their lunch. but if you really think about it, it was never about that.

this scene embodies a power struggle between the two. for one, mitzi’s mentions of mordecai’s “obsession” as a deflection. she sees his rigid loyalty as both a flaw and a threat. by framing mordecai as overly fixated, she’s able to position herself as the more pragmatic party who is trying to keep afloat. which is true and mitzi, rightfully, views mordecai as a “relentless former associate.” his meticulous nature, his refusal to let go of the past, and his allegiance to ideals that no longer align with business’ survival paints him as the wildcard to her. then again, it’s hard to take empty words from someone that had abandoned the very concept he claims to protect.

that’s not to say mordecai doesn’t return the sentiment, because he very much does. to him, mitzi’s pragmatism looks more like opportunism, evident in her willingness to bend rules, and in his perspective, betray atlas’ vision to keep the business alive. while she plays the capable leader, that imagery clashes with his perception of her as someone who lacks discipline— possibly bred by the history that mordecai knows her to be atlas’ wife and nobody more. he sees mitzi as culpable in the lackadaisy’s downfall and he makes sure she knows this.

but at the end of the day, they are having this conversation inside the same car. while one might interpret this being the main divergence between the two, we can see a striking commonality in which they are failed actors starring in roles they never wanted.

what do i mean by this? while the dont outwardly acknowledge it, grief survives in this scenario as a subtext. you can tell by the use of dialogue. mitzi’s sarcastic tone and pointed remarks, almost shoving the spotlight towards mordecai, suggests a stage of denial and pain that comes with her grieving over atlas. remember what mordecai said to mitzi in response?

“losses are endemic to this business. you’ve brought them on yourself in your persistence… as though you could bring the remains of atlas’ estate to anything but further disgrace.”

his crticisim of mitzi isn’t just about the state of the lackadaisy, in fact, mordecai subconsciously targets himself for his own inability to move on. mordecai and mitzi are different people, that is no question. but this scene serves as a great analogy that this conversation could very much be happening in their heads. this is a conversation not between two people but between one and oneself.

here’s also another thing to note: their seating arrangement.

whether or not tracy meant for this to be intentional, there’s a lot you can take in this scene in regards to their character. mitzi sits in the passenger seat at the front, where the light is more prominent. it symbolises her active role as the current face of the lackadaisy and the one taking on visible responsibility for its perseverance. however, note that she is still in the passenger seat, not the driver’s— mitzi is losing control, she is struggling to move forward in the wake of atlas’ passing. but she’s still not fully in charge of its trajectory, think of how asa and mordecai looks down on her current position.

occasionally, she’d glance back at mordecai to speak, which definitely shows her discomfort and mistrust towards him, she’s unwilling to fully confront him. and in my opinion, not only does this reveal her vulnerability, this also shows her internal discontent.

mordecai, on the other hand, is sitting behind her (literally AND metaphorically) in the shadows. he sits in the back, detached from the lackadaisy but not completely. he observes mitzi from behind, his direct vision fixed on the back of her head, almost as if he’s reflecting on her choices and her struggles— perhaps… confronted with his own betrayal.

plus, if you’re thinking: what about the holes in the windows? GREAT question. despite how they want to present themselves, be it independent (mitzi) or calculated (mordecai), they’re both incredibly vulnerable individuals.

as they sit in this confined space together, they breathe in the air of their inescapable bond and mutual dependence. their dynamic equal parts antagonistic and deeply intertwined.

[sovonight]

promise | xan/radri, bg2 | ao3

—✧✧✧—

"It is true, then, that this Bhaalspawn is an elf? How unfortunate. Then again, it was inevitable that Bhaal would mar our people; it is a small mercy, at least, that she was not raised among us."

"…And why is that?" Xan asks.

"Her violent nature. It inhibits her ability to live peacefully in our society." An eyebrow rises—in response to the expression on his face, Xan realizes. He composes his features, glancing neutrally down at the report in his hands. His writing is neat, thorough… and carefully objective.

"She has no more violent a nature than most adventurers, simply trying to make their way in this world," Xan says.

"Is that so? What led you to this evaluation of her?" A wave of a hand. "Point not to her good intentions; they matter little when her actions lead only to bloodshed."

"I can only ask to be believed as one of her earliest and most constant companions," Xan says. "She finds no joy in the path she has been set on, and is as much at the mercy of the coming chaos as we."

"…I see." The words contain a sense of surprise—he was not expected to speak of her this way. "Well, it matters not in the end. She should not be a concern for long. No doubt another of her kin will dispose of her, as she disposed of Sarevok—and so it will go on until this period of chaos, too, is swept behind us."

Dispose of her? Xan's grip on his report weakens; the papers shift, threatening to fall.

"Ah, hold a moment." A shuffling of papers on the desk. "I nearly forgot—there is another assignment for you. You will be traveling to Athkatla. We believe that—"

"I refuse to go." Barely aware that his lips have moved, it takes Xan a moment to realize that the words were his—and that he is now being stared at.

"Ahem—well, let me first describe it to you in full. I know you may not think yourself qualified, but I assure you, you are—"

"I resign."

—

"You seem to contemplate your moonblade more often these days," Radri says.

Xan looks abruptly up from the exposed flames of the moonblade, and sheathes it quickly before she can see much of it. Letting the door to their room close behind her, Radri joins him by the window, noting upon her approach the way that he casts his gaze upon the windowpanes—quiet, and subdued. This alone is not unlike him, but his grip on the moonblade's hilt is tight, and as she'd said, she's noticed him watching its flames frequently ever since their reunion.

"Is something… wrong?" Radri asks.

Xan pauses, a breath held, before sighing and meeting her eye.

"I can hide nothing from you, can I?" Xan says.

Xan turns away from the window, the sunlight upon him shifting away from his profile and falling into bright lines upon his shoulders, instead. His hand is still on the moonblade's hilt, his thumb beside the gem on its pommel. Radri recalls that despite the lack of light in Mulahey's lair, the moonblade's gems had displayed brilliant flashes of color when she opened the chest it had been held captive in… but now, they appear dull and ordinary.

"I was going to wait until I was certain beyond a shadow of a doubt, but I think I am only deluding myself to hope otherwise now," Xan says. "My moonblade's flames have dimmed."

What?

"It—it isn't dying, is it?" Radri asks, despite feeling that her guess is unlikely; she fears that any other explanation would mean worse.

Xan casts his gaze down towards the dusty floor between them, pausing to consider his next words.

"As I think I mentioned once, this blade will outlive you and I for a long time yet," Xan begins. "No, it is something else. I thought at first that it was scolding me for failing to protect you from Irenicus… but those were my own feelings. Unfortunately, I suspect it is displeased with my departure from Evereska and the Greycloaks."

"Why?" Radri asks. "You haven't abandoned your duties. Like with the child, in the Temple District—you didn't need to be a Greycloak to help her."

"The moonblade's judgment is not a system of points and tallies, Estel'amin," Xan says. "If I commit senseless murder one day, but then save a life the next, do you think my moonblade would consider my transgression forgiven?"

"You know what I mean," Radri says. "You're still Xan, after everything. Your heart hasn't changed."

His gaze rises to meet hers with a solemn look.

"Hasn't it?" Xan asks.

His eyes are patient, waiting for her at his guidance's conclusion—and when she finds it, her brows flinch upwards in hurt.

"Me? But I…" Radri says, her gaze flicking down to the moonblade before returning to his eyes, "It only sees me as a Bhaalspawn?"

"I cannot say for certain how it sees you," Xan says, "But it understands what I am willing to do for you."

"What… What you're willing to…" Radri says, feeling faint, imagining what he would possibly need to do to draw the moonblade's ire, "No, you wouldn't do anything like that."

"How can we know? It is said that a man does not know his true limits until he is pushed to the brink of desperation," Xan says, and sighs. "Besides, I cannot be sure that the journey ahead will afford me the luxury of choice. Who can say what your fate will drive us to? Will there always be a better option? If presented with two evils, my death is certain, no matter which I choose."

"But—wouldn't the moonblade recognize that you're in a difficult situation, and be merciful?" Radri asks.

"I do not think it possible," Xan says. "Because as long as I am with you, there is a third choice: abandoning you. As I refuse to do so, I can only bear the consequences."

Consequences. Death. She knew the moonblade could kill him, but had never considered it a possibility—despite all his self-deprecating comments, Xan has always struck her as a steadfast and competent wielder. To think that she might be what changes that….

"Despite everything, we are, in a way, fortunate," Xan says, his voice filtering back into her awareness. "We have the courtesy of a gentle warning. It could have given no indication until the day it killed me, instead."

His tone is light—for him—and while his words are spoken almost sarcastically, she gets the sense that he's trying to reassure her.

"Is there nothing I can do?" Radri asks, feeling even as the words leave her that she already knows what his answer will be. Xan's resigned nonchalance fades, leaving only sadness in its place.

"There is nothing for you to do. It is my choice."

She should nod, she thinks; she should accept this as solemnly as he has, and exit without worrying him. But an unmistakable feeling of dread has already begun to burrow into her chest, and though she can duck her head, she cannot raise it. Cut off in her field of vision, Xan moves towards her, his hand reaching out.

"Radri…"

"No," Radri says, a distant part of her hating her failure to bite back her words, "No, it's fine. Khalid is dead, Imoen is gone, Jaheira is cursed, and now you are too."

With a forced, bitter smile, she turns on her heel and escapes the room before she can cry in front of him.

—

"You are still awake," Xan says, surprise apparent on his face. The small flame in his hand flickers as he slips into their room, night having long fallen outside.

"Just thinking," Radri says, though to tell the truth, her past few hours have been spent staring quietly out of the window with her journal untouched by her side. Pushing herself off the bed, she snags the candle from the side table, and meets Xan where he stands by the door; he lets the flame in his hand die, lighting the candle, instead.

"And you? What keeps you up so late?" Radri asks, recalling the echoes of another night. "No visions, I hope?"

"If only I could say that none remain, save for the one that stands before me," Xan says. "But, no. None that I have not come to expect."

"Deep in study, then?" Radri asks, stepping away to return the candle to the side table.

"One could say that," Xan says, and sighs. "I have been studying the moonblade again."

Radri stills. After she had run out of their last conversation, Xan had not brought it up again—and she, both ashamed of her response and preoccupied with worry for Jaheira's more immediate curse, had not either. In the end, Jaheira's curse had been resolved in a matter of days, but she doubts that Xan is here now to tell her the cure to his.

"…Has it gotten worse?" Radri asks.

"At this point, you would be able to see "worse" without my telling you. No, I have other news," Xan says. "If my moonblade were to attempt to strike me down, there is perhaps a way that I could survive it. I have discovered a way to divert part of the damage, so that it is shared between myself and another."

She blinks.

"You… You can survive it?" Radri asks.

"I may have a chance to," Xan corrects her, but it hardly tempers her response: in an instant, she has him in a tight hug.

"Xan," Radri breathes with relief, "Just tell me what needs to be done, and I'll do it. I have more health, too, I can take more of the damage—"

"Estel'amin," Xan says, his hand cupping her cheek and lifting her gaze to his, "When did I say that you would need to be the one to bear it with me?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Radri says. Xan sighs.

"And to think, I agonized over this to such a late hour," Xan says. "Yes, in the end, you are the only one I can ask. To divert the damage, a connection must be established with the moonblade—not a true connection, only a fraction of one, guided by my hand. Normally, even this would be impossible, as the moonblade will accept ties to none but its wielder… but we are bonded, our spirits intertwined in the Weave. It will know nothing."

Xan separates himself from her gently, taking her hands into his, and looks seriously into her eyes.

"However, I cannot guarantee that this will work as I have planned," Xan says. "Even if we are successful today, there is a chance that the moonblade's wrath will be too great for us to bear, and you may very well end up dying alongside me. If you are at all hesitant, we will leave this here, and it will be as if I never spoke."

"I'm certain, Tahlimil. I want this," Radri says.

But at the sound of his name, a strum of uncertainty travels across their bond—when, usually, the emotion that her use of his name elicits from him is affection. Uncertain herself if she had felt that correctly, Radri searches the depths of his eyes—but she finds the same uncertainty there, as well.

"…Are you hesitant?" Radri asks.

Xan's eyes widen, caught—and as his gaze falls from hers, she notices what she had not recognized to be courage in his shoulders, as well.

"How can I not be?" Xan confesses. "The moonblade's consequences should be mine to bear, and mine alone. This is one burden I am not meant to share."

"...Then you don't think this is the right thing to do," Radri says, feeling the beginnings of a dull resignation grow in her heart. But rather than agree with her, the corners of Xan's lips rise in a faint, self-amused smile.

"No, I do. I feel I must have gone mad to think so, but despite everything, I do. It is only that, from this moment forward, all I can do is hope against hope that my choice is understood," Xan says, then his smile fades. "I seem to have found myself experiencing many of these moments, in these past months…."

His last sentence is spoken less to her, and more to himself—and he looks tired again, worn, like he did on the day of their reunion. The urgency of before forgotten, Radri reaches up to brush the shadow of his hair aside from his eyes, and trails the caress to hold the side of his face gently in her palm.

"Sounds exhausting," Radri says, softly. "Will you tell me?"

Xan's gaze rises to meet hers, and free from shadow, a trace of candlelight flickers in his dark eyes.

"Stories for another time," Xan says—and yet, his gaze is tender, and a weight seems to have been lifted, as if another piece of resolve has found its place. He draws her touch to his lips, and kisses her hand briefly, before releasing it back to her.

Unfastening the moonblade from his belt, Xan holds it between them, its grip held loosely in one hand, and its sheath in the other.

"This is your last chance to change your mind," Xan says.

Radri's gaze runs across the moonblade; its brilliant flames are hidden at present, and she has never stared very long into that fire when she had the chance, but she has an imprint of them on her mind's eye—perhaps from Xan's memory.

Radri meets his eye, committed, and Xan inclines his head.

"Then lay your hand over mine," Xan guides. "I will begin."

—

The pillow at the back of her head is firmer than usual. Scrunching her closed eyes further, Radri shifts, trying to ease the stiffness in her neck. She had had the strangest vision: a storm had visited her, and pain had followed, painted in vivid flames…

"Radri?" The word is hushed, relieved—and opening her eyes, Radri finds Xan looking worriedly down at her.

The pillow is him, she thinks, and then, Why am I…?

"You fell unconscious as I finished the spell," Xan explains, upon seeing the slight disorientation in her eyes. "I was barely able to catch you."

The spell—the moonblade. Radri sits up, her eyes finding the moonblade, which lays beside them. She doesn't know what she should expect. The moonblade doesn't look any different, and besides a faint headache that has already subsided, she doesn't feel any different, either.

"Did it work?" Radri asks.

"I believe so, though I hope we will not have to put it to the test," Xan says. "But that is not my concern at the moment. You cried out in pain…"

Xan takes her face into his hands, looking over her with worry—but all she feels now is relief, and she leans affectionately into his touch.

"I'm alright, Xan," Radri says. "In fact, I feel much better."

"Better?" Xan echoes. "You do remember what you have just agreed to?"

"Of course," Radri says, an effortless smile blooming on her face. "You're safe."

"…Safe-er," Xan concedes, though his expression carries all the words he's holding back. She's only secured him a chance; as long as he's tied to the moonblade, he's still doomed.

But at least we're doomed together, Radri thinks. She nestles in against him, floating on the feeling of having been able to do something to help, after all the helplessness of these past few weeks.

"We're really in this together now," Radri murmurs to herself, and sighs. "Almost like we're married."

Her head rests against his shoulder, but instead of accepting her into his embrace as usual, Xan stills, his surprise flitting across their bond.

"Married?"

"Ah—Wait, I meant—" Radri rushes, ready to take back her words, but Xan relaxes, drawing her close and kissing her hair.

"I suppose it is," Xan says. "Right now, your safety is all that matters, but perhaps once Irenicus is taken care of, we will be able to hold the ceremony. During those days we spent on the road, before everything, I imagined it would be a grand event, held in Evereska…"

Xan speaks wistfully, his head leant against hers—but Radri pulls herself away.

"You still want to marry me?" Radri asks, looking at him in disbelief.

"Yes?" Xan says, puzzled by her question—then his expression falls. "Do you… no longer wish to?"

"No," Radri starts, before rushing to clarify, "No, I mean, I do wish to! But, I thought… You know, given…"

"That you cannot enter Evereska? That was just a remnant of a dream; we can be wed anywhere you wish," Xan says.

"No, it's—"

"The size of the ceremony?" Xan asks. "If you desire it, it can simply be the two of us, although I assumed that at the least you would want Imoen present—"

"A Bhaalspawn," Radri forces out before she drowns in his consideration, "How could a Bhaalspawn associate herself with your House?"

She can't face him, but their bond communicates the conflicted emotion she hides on her face to him regardless. The sequence of his response follows: a shard of surprise, then a fierce protectiveness, which becomes a familiar warmth.

"Why should that matter?" Xan says. "My House will soon fall out of memory outside of Evermeet; my siblings have already left in the Retreat."

His touch finds her shoulder, but she does not relax.

"So I will never meet them?" Radri asks. "So you will never see them, ever again? Suppose we survive this, and live long—how will you explain me to them?"

"My life is my own. I will not have them judge me for it," Xan says; though subtle, there is an edge in those words. "Besides… I am not as close with my siblings as you are with Imoen."

"Your other ties, then," Radri says. "You do not think much of them, but you have them—many more than I."

"My other ties are of even less consequence," Xan says, growing serious and concerned now. "Radri… you know I care little for what others think. What is this really about?"

This is about him. This is about how, since the moment she read Gorion's letter, her life has well and truly torn apart at the seams—and how, since their reconciliation in the catacombs, she has not yet seen Xan hesitate to tear his apart to match her. She cannot regret her newly formed connection with the moonblade—not when it can save him, and allow him to stay with her—but she can add it to the cost of their love, and feel its weight press down upon her.

"I don't want you to do this for me," Radri says, her throat growing tight with emotion. "You shouldn't have to do this for me. I am the reviled Bhaalspawn—"

"And I am the moonblade wielder, and yet you now bear part of my burden with me," Xan says. "Would you deny me the same?"

"That's different," she says, "It's my fault to begin with."

"You may as well say that I am at fault, for choosing to follow you," Xan says, "Or Alaundo is at fault for writing his prophecies, or Bhaal is—well, perhaps we can all agree that Bhaal is at fault. Or is it the very nature of our world itself that is at fault?"

She doesn't respond, and in her silence, Xan wraps his arms around her in another embrace. His head rests beside hers, and his voice emerges low, and quiet.

"You wish to spare me, Estel'amin, but I am not content to be spared," Xan says. "Let me bear this with you."

His comfort is tempting, familiar. She had sheltered in it in Candlekeep's catacombs; in Baldur's Gate, when her heritage had become public knowledge; and in this same room, weeks ago, when Xan had found his way back to her and she had cried in his arms, Irenicus' pain still fresh in her mind. She wants to close her eyes and accept it again, but her thoughts run on: How long can this last?

One day, Xan will come to his senses, and he will regret having thrown everything away for her. What awaits her is either his death or his resentment...

...She should just let him go.

A pang shoots through Radri's heart at that thought, and echoes in Xan's. His compassion, his worry, rise in her chest—and enveloped in his warmth, she cannot bring herself to refuse him just yet.

"Okay," she whispers, at last.

"Will you promise it?" Xan asks. "Will you bind us together, as I did?"

There is a twinge of desperation in those words, as though he knows what she had just considered. A weak smile pulls the curve of her mouth upwards, for no one's benefit but her own.

"I'm not the one with the sentient sword," Radri says. "There's no need for binding. Besides, I don't have any spells."

"You do," Xan says. "Your kiss, for one. And I wish to be bound to you—so there is, in fact, a need."

Radri finds the strength to pull away from his embrace to look at him; Xan is determined, and completely serious. The line of her mouth breaks into a wobble.

"You are so…" She doesn't know whether she wants to laugh or cry; she releases a puff of a breath that could be the precursor to either, "Ridiculous."

The look on Xan's face softens, and in lieu of words he simply closes his eyes, presumably waiting for her binding kiss.

"Xan… really," Radri tries.

But as he waits, and she gazes upon him waiting, a small glimmer of hope emerges in her chest—not that her kiss can be any substitute for a spell, or that she has any ability to bind them together outside of their existing bond, but that she can believe him. Xan has weighed his sacrifices; he knows them better than she. And here, there are no monks, no Phlydia, no Keeper of Tomes, with a thousand words of warning and misplaced compassion that wind through her past to say but one thing: You are more trouble than you are worth.

"I promise to let you bear this with me," Radri says, at last. The words leave her more easily than she had thought—and miraculously, she feels lighter for them. A corner of Xan's lips rises.

"And…?"

Feeling a bit silly, she nevertheless leans in and kisses him lightly on the forehead. When she pulls away, Xan's eyes are open once more, bearing the warmth of candlelight within them as he meets her gaze.

"Thank you, Estel'amin." His love and sincerity wash over her through the bond; she blushes.

"N-Now—shall we go to bed, at last? Or are we going to exchange promises until sunrise?" Radri asks, standing quickly to avoid acknowledging the heat in her face. She holds a hand out to Xan, who gazes up at her with a faint smile upon his lips.

"To bed," Xan confirms, and rises to join her; he kisses her warm cheek.

She sits at the side of the bed, and waits for Xan to retrieve the moonblade and lean it against the side table, as always. When his attention is hers again, he accepts her hand, and the candle is extinguished with a quiet command.

[hermesmoly]

i think about huaisang's rage a lot. it's not loud or boisterous like his brother's, not escalating or expeditious like jin guangyao's. it's like a breeze, silent, almost untraceable, but there. it's a rage that waited over a decade to age into fine wine, a rage to not only hurt but destroy.

[theloverofdragons]

“…Do I have hair?”

“I must admit that the sculptor is very talented, they’ve gotten all the intricacies of your outfit down, Jaania.”

“Yes, not to mention the skilled magic of ensuring the balance of the fire and ice, to keep them controlled and stop them from affecting each other.”

“I have hair.”

“I must say, this is really quite humbling in a way my first statue wasn’t really.”

“First statue?”

“Ah yes. It was made for my funeral in Falconreach after Nythera killed me.”

“…WHAT.”

“Long story.”

“Hello? Is anyone listening to me? I have hair!”

“Yes Alex, we heard you. Also I don’t remember seeing you wear robes like these.”

“As far as I remember, I haven’t. I like them don’t get me wrong, but I can’t think of where they got this design from. Any ideas, Jaania? …Jaania?”

“What a lovely bit of grass I’m looking at, most fascinating.”

****

For @7yd1a who requested: the mage trio visits their statue

[kiraman]

As the war with Noxus rages and Ionia becomes an open, endless grave, commander Xan Irelia is forced to accept an unlikely alliance. The tides of war soon begin to shift and so does her world.

Enemies to allies to lovers, except they're enemies only in Irelia's head, and not Riven's.

Chapter 1 is now live, and I will be posting chapter 2 on Sunday! 💮🗡️

art source / beta/editing by my lovely @big-mama-y

[kunazz]

THINKING ABOUT….jjk men giving you head. they all just can’t get enough, dropping to their knees whenever they have the chance just to take in their mouth, gagging and slobbering all over your length.

i think gojo would be the type to push you into a bathroom stall, not caring about who’s around, he’s already undoing your belt anyways, he’s just too needy, and he needs to feel the weight of your cock on his tongue before he goes insane.

suguru would have a little bit more decency, he doesn’t like people watching, he thinks that you’re too perfect for those monkeys to lay their eyes upon, especially when your face scrunches up just when you’re about to cum. he’d most likely suck you off in your car.

nanami would be the type to appear as though he’s more ‘classy’ and ‘respectable’ but he really isn’t. you’re in the library for something? he’s already on his knees under the table; you’re making food in the kitchen? let him suck your cock whilst you’re mixing whatever it is you’re making. he’ll quite literally drop to his knees anywhere, you don’t have to ask.

sukuna would make you work for it a little, he’d start by palming you under the table when you’re having dinner with friends, he’ll work you up all night until you break and start begging for his mouth, say you’re desperate — that you might die if you don’t have his lips around your cock in two seconds. that’ll get him dropping to his knees, he’ll definitely suck you off wherever he pleases, he doesn’t really care, but he likes doing it in alleyways more, it makes him feel like a cheap slut — but he won’t admit that to you.

mahito loves giving you blow jobs. no seriously it’s become an addiction, he doesn’t care what you’re doing, even if you’re driving he’ll slowly run his hand up your thigh, feigning innocence before he breaks, and finally sinks lower to suck you off. he’s the definition of a cockslut.

[crowleys-hips]

a little Bite of an old one by yours truly

heyy how you doing

@crowleys-bentley-and-plants @phantomram-b00 @charlotte-zophie @crowleys-curl @quoththemaiden @thewibblylever @genderqueer-hippie @celestialcrowley @ineffable-rohese @alwaysbemybae @fearandhatred @weasleywrinkles @brokewokebespoke @eybefioro @captainblou @amagnificentobsession @marika-misc @phoen1xr0se @simonezitrone79 @thatqueercookie @tiptopticketyboo @veil-of-lament @celticseawych @nimbusalba @annewind @di-42 @seven-stars-in-his-palm @ineffabildaddy @fellshish @foolishlovers @ficreader500 @the-stars-are-ineffable @bowtiepastabitch @sabotage-on-mercury @minervas-hand @lickthecowhappy @goodomensafterdark

if you wanna get added or removed let me knoww

[mangoxanax]

.ೃ࿐Texts with Inumaki, Toge 🌌

A/n ★ hey chat i should have a monoma smau up like tmr ive been holding it off cuz stuff 😞😞 but 4 now heres inumaki

C/W ★ fem!reader, a little suggestive, language, brainrot language, you calling inumaki big, telling inumaki to kay why ess

Hope you enjoy!! ☆

©mangoxanax on tumblr, do not steal, repost without permission or copy, or claiming as your own.

[allaboutyn]

⁖ A R T H U R M O R G A N

seasons of you posted 10/25/24 with 15.7k words

⩝ pairing: arthur morgan × female!reader ⩝ content warning: based in 21st century, former outlaw/mercenary turned farmer, nsfw, domestic abuse, slow burn, mentions of sexual assault (sorry) ⩝ au: modern au ⩝ included in neighbor series on @strwbrrybxn ⩝ archive of our own

epilogue ; coming soon

⩝ a lil bonus for seasons of you ♡

devil you know ; coming soon

⩝ pairing: bodyguard!arthur morgan × mafia princess!female reader ⩝ content warning: based in 21st century, slow burn, nsfw, virginity loss, age gap (reader is 23, arthur is 36), micah bell's reader's dad (sorry, not sorry), violence, canon events but rewritten to fit, arthur values himself and his life very little ⩝ au: bodyguard/mafia au, modern au