#tentacles are looking pristine

[dharma-warma]

had the worst morning shift ever but my tentacles are looking fucking fantastic so at least there's that

[contamination-zone]

Hiding Spot

[UTMV FIC] Contains: platonic Fresh & Nightmare, cuddling, possessive Nightmare, [~1,500 words]

He rose with an annoyed groan. Pests, in his castle… one of those incompetent fools would be punished for this. Perhaps he could skewer the creature and leave it before their door. He pulled back his chair with one quick movement, tentacle raised and ready to strike, only to find a different type of pest hiding there. Shoved into the corner, much too big for the small space, Fresh.

Fic under cut! or on AO3

Creaking in the dark was what woke him. Scrabbling, like a rat.

He rose with an annoyed groan. Pests, in his castle… one of those incompetent fools would be punished for this. Perhaps he could skewer the creature and leave it before their door. 

Foot steps silent as he made his way to his desk, the one he kept in his room when he didn’t want to work in his office. Smaller, but still much too nice to have some rodent trying to make a home in it. His mouth curled at the thought.

He pulled back his chair with one quick movement, tentacle raised and ready to strike, only to find a different type of pest hiding there.

Shoved into the corner, much too big for the small space, Fresh.

He blinked his eyes. Bringing a hand to his face, he tried to wipe the last dregs of sleep from them. That was… he was seeing it right.

“What are you doing here…?”

It didn’t move, uncharacteristically quiet. Worryingly so, if he was any other monster.

“Answer me.” He growled. A tentacle moved closer, snaking around its ankle, ready to pull it out from its hiding place.

That seemed to finally shock it out of its stupor, [one he was beginning to think was sleep] and make it flinch. Harshly.

Fresh’s glasses, which had been blank until that point, flashed a few symbols he couldn’t quite catch before settling on “wassup.”

“Nightmare! How’s it hanging?” It’s voice was squeaky and loud, compensating for the tiredness that seemed to dwell under the surface. It shifted a bit under the desk, seemingly trying to catch its bearings. “Fancy seeing you here…”

He gave it a flat look. “Yes.”

It laughed nervously. It must have felt his restraint. Seeming to have at least a little logic in its empty skull, it didn’t pull him off.

The parasite didn’t offer anymore explanation, just engaging in a staring contest with him. He gave its ankle a warning tug, pulling it half-way out from its “hiding spot.” He would not be humoring its games.

A squeaky noise and almost desperate scrambling was his reward, the creature seeming almost desperate to stay in ifs hiding place. In pity alone he let his grip go slack again. The warning was clear, however.

“Think you could let me in your crib for a tad, bro? Just ah… just until morning.”

Searching it up and down for the cause of such a strange request, he took a closer look at its appearance. Its pristine coat was rumpled, little tears littered its pants and shirt. Mud crusted its heelys but he could only feel a half-hearted disgust at that.

A new snarl creeped across his face. Nothing could hunt his prey but him. This was… unacceptable. Z 

He tightened his grip once more and dragged it fully out from the desk and into his space. Ignoring its yelp and struggles, he categorized the rest of the damage.

“Wait hold on a sec my brotato-“

Running his hand along its arm he noted the way it tensed and whined. His tentacles did the same, feeling along it and seeing which spots got pained reactions.

“Personal space! Mind the merchandise!!”

It seemed only a few light bruises marred it, but still too much for his comfort. 

He kicked out its legs and left it kneeling with a single motion. Eye level, he growled, “who did this?”

It squirmed trying to get comfortable on its knees. Motions sluggish, it seemed it hadn’t left sleep behind fully.

“Watcha taking about bro?”

He squeezed one of its bruises.

“Ow ow ow- no- okay okay!!” It squeaked, giving in. It shifted guiltily, though Nightmare suspected it was just trying to look pathetic for him. “Was looking for something to eat in that dungeon of yours. That unradical guard you have didn’t seem into the idea of cannibalism though.”

Horror did this…? He should have assumed. None of his gang had been formally introduced to Fresh, even if they had seen him around with Nightmare. The idiot he’d given guard duty had a short fuse, and Nightmare knew the closest monster they had in the dungeon was a papyrus. If that’s the one Fresh decided to make a meal out of… he could see how this situation happened.

Even as he figured out the how and why, the annoyance didn’t subside. He would not tolerate his subordinates touching his pet. 

It shifted again, and he was once more reminded of its presence out of the hypothetical. He didn’t think it would tolerate him keeping it on the floor much longer, even if it did go to him for protection. [Internally, he was trying not to preen at that fact. Of course his pet would come to him for safety.]

“You got your answer. Be a pal and let me up?” If it wasn’t wearing its glasses he’s sure it would be batting its imaginary eyelashes at him. 

He considered its plea. Letting it go would probably be beneficial to its opinion of him, but… “and why did you hesitate to tell me?”

It stilled, glasses turning into question marks. “Don’t you complain about your lil’ posse always being up to this typa’ thing?” And he usually didn’t do anything about it, was left unsaid.

He tightened his grip, ignoring its wince. “You’re not part of my gang.”

“Yeah?” Confusion was wafting in the air, slowly replacing the fear. Not very appealing…

“That means,” he spelled out very slowly, “that different rules apply to you.” 

“Aw, am I your favourite?” It puffed up, though he could see through its facade. Anxiety was slowly seeping from it, freaked out from not knowing his expectations. 

He sighed. “No. You are just more useful to me unharmed.” That wasn’t wholly true, the negativity was more potent when it was hurt. However… if it was harmed it was more likely to run away, and that would render all this a moot point.

It seemed to relax at that, any established motives always putting it at ease. It was cute how easy to please it was. Maybe it was too ready to fall asleep in his grasp though.

It did go to his room to sleep under his desk… it probably didn’t get much rest yet. He wouldn’t be letting it get itself killed from lack of sleep, and he certainly wouldn’t be letting it sleep on his floor like an animal. Mind made up, he dragged it to its feet. 

“Nightmare?” It squeaked as he dragged it to his bed.

“You said you wanted to spend the night. I refuse to have you on the floor, so you’ll be joining me.”

Fresh flailed around a bit before seeming to give up on resisting, resigned to its fate. He knew it was a clever little thing.

He settled comfortably where he’d been before this mess, dragging Fresh along.

It was tense as it tries to find a comfortable position, eventually curling into a tight ball at his side. His dear Fresh was always unsure in bed, more used to sleeping in tight little hide-always than the open spaces a bed provided. 

The anxiety was sweet, and he brought the tense bundle of bones closer; tentacles draped around it, leaving it in a tight dark space. Relaxation slowly seeped into it, like a bird with a blanket over its cage.

It’s claws scrabbled a little at his chest, the motion almost digging. It would probably be more affective if it was actually in a hole in the ground and not in his arms.

“Settle down, pet,” He murmured against its neck, wondering if it knew how easily he could snap it.

It hummed, sleepy, shivering at his cold breath. The motion was undeniably cute….

He nuzzled against its vertebrae, eliciting a whine. “Lemmie’ sleep man…”

“Thought you were always to to having fun,” he teased.

“Tomorrow… tired, hungry.”

“Fine fine. Tomorrow.” He settled his face on the crook of its neck, pulling it as close to himself as he could.

It squirmed a bit, before settling back down again. The bruises must have been bothering it.

Tomorrow, he’d give it a new body without bruises. Tomorrow, he would deal with the fool who’d done that to it. Today though… he was going to enjoy this, having it in his arms and too tired to leave.

[ilidaeandquill]

Thinking about the different Gateways in Cult of the Lamb.

Gateways. Plural. Not enough people acknowledge the fact that we enter multiple gateways.

This Gateway is pretty obvious. For simplicity purposes, I’ll call it “The Gateway.” It’s the Gateway where Narinder, Baal, and Amy were imprisoned - but that’s all we know about it.

We know it has multiple points of entry. No clue why, though, or what the significance of these entrances is. It’s also implied that the Lamb goes to the Gateway any time they die, so what makes these entrances so significant during the final fight and Narinder’s imprisonment?

And this. I don’t want to call it “Hell” since our surviving, mortal followers can come with us: I’ll call it “The Hellscape.”

We only come here once, during the final boss fight. Can the Lamb access it again? How? What purpose does this realm serve? And hey back to Narinder dragging mortals into the Hellscape - how could he do that? Can the Lamb do that? Can they do the opposite? Could they, theoretically, try to enter the afterlife and visit other Lambs? What would the consequences of an adventure like that be?

And then this. The Goat’s Gateway. The Goat in general. So little is known about you, and that both infuriates and infatuates me.

The Goat is from another universe. Is this the Gateway from whence you came? Then I’ll call this “The Parallel Gateway,” if only to simplify things for myself.

Why does it look so similar, yet so different, to the other Gateway? In place of chains, there's some sort of tentacle demon (what's with the significance of tentacles anyway in CotL???). Who is that? Why are they here? What's the ichor-like substance all around the statue and in the puddle? Is it ichor? The resurrection curse? Something else entirely? Did I fuck up the lore in my fic?

Why could the Lamb only come here after defeating TOWW and becoming the God of Death? Could Narinder have made it here? Did he? Did any of the Bishops?

And back to the one character we know came from this place: The Goat. I wonder how they reacted to this new world. I wonder if they even knew they traveled between worlds.

(Ah you know what. Fuck it. I need to write a little warm-up today anyway. I've scheduled the next two hours to be writing time so I'll just warm up here.)

Errant as it is, I can't bring myself to hate it. To even think of its evil.

Every other part of this world is evil; if the Parallel Gateway truly stems from such malice, nothing will change. Is it going to scare you with stories of slaughter and sin? That exists beyond the Parallel, beyond the Gateways, beyond anything only belonging to gods.

There is nothing about this vast world that can scare you now. You've seen it all. Instinct turns into habit, turns into mantras, turns into routine. The handle of the axe fits your hands so well. Years ago, their own crown morphed into a sword, and all they did was grin.

Errant as it is, this truth means nothing to you. So, you came from a parallel universe. What difference does it make? You're here now, and the Lamb in front of you, palm outstretched to clasp your own. Eons of mystery dwell under your feet, deep like ichor.

A part of you could care less. You take the outstretched hand and follow it through pristine fields.

The Lamb guides you through their own Gateways. With the hand that is not holding yours, they point to chains, climbing from heaven to heaven. Your own Gateway held beasts instead of bindings. You share this news with the Lamb; they let out a startled bleat.

A crevice waited in its fields, shattered like glass. The Lamb smiles sadly when they look at it. "He was powerful," they start, "my benefactor. So powerful they trapped him here for eons. And, still, it was not enough."

Not enough - you try not to laugh. Infinity was not enough? Errant as it is, you let the Lamb ramble, for they are your greatest ally.

The Lamb stands from the crevice, hellfire warm on their cheeks. "If you want, we can return now."

That word catches your mind. "Return?" For you had a home, once, beyond this realm. You have your own Gateway. Ichor still tugs on your cashmere.

The Lamb takes no note of such ichor. Their home is yours, now. You are theirs, now.

You find your way back to the mortal realm, together.

[poisoned-pearls]

Bleached

Word count: 3.2k

Nami Ashengrotto is having a hard time admitting when she needs help. Enzi just wants her to feel better.

(aka Enzi helping Nami after her overblot, + their first kiss, and a piano)

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

“Nami, you can’t keep pushing yourself like this,” Enzi crouched down next to where Nami was currently collapsed on the floor, helping her back up. 

She looked up at her, eyebrows furrowed as the hyena’s hands hoisted her up. “I can walk, you know.”

“Right now? I don’t think you can,” Enzi sighed, struggling to keep Nami in a comfortable position as she moved her to the kitchen’s barstool seats, “why don’t you use the wheelchair the doctor gave you?”

She narrowed her eyes at the thing currently sat near their front door, unmoved since she arrived back home, “look at it! I can’t even move in it, I don’t want someone forcing me to go anywhere!” Its wheels were tiny, hospital greys of the seat fabric in contrast with the warm whites and blues of their home. The moment they’d sat her in it on her way home her future had flashed before her eyes. Calling her dads for every minor moment she needed to move. To use the restroom, to wash her face, to grab a snack, to even just have the sun on her face for a moment. 

And she dreaded it.

“Nams, you know the only people pushing you would be me or your dads, we aren’t gonna make you go anywhere you didn’t tell us to go,” Enzis ears flattened as she leaned on the counter, arms crossed on pristine marble, “‘sides, can’t your dad just buy you a different one? It’s not like money’s an issue for you.”

“… can we just… drop it, okay?” She looked at her with those eyes Enzi’s never been able to say no to, and she caved. 

“Okay, but still. If you don’t want to use a wheelchair, let’s get you… something, at least. Your dad still uses a cane, right?” Nami nodded, and Enzi started to head towards the room Mr. Jamil had pointed out as Azul’s office.

Nami went to her hair, gently running her hands through the ivory white locks. She hated it. Her legs ached with every step, her overworked muscles screaming with pain. She could barely get her arms above her shoulders without it feeling like her bones were cracking, and Seven forbid if she turned her head too quickly. Her muscles seemed to protest everything she even thought about doing.

But she wanted to move. She wanted to be done, to be back at school where no one knew about her overblot and she could go back to working at the lounge instead of laying around her house doing nothing.

She despised doing nothing. 

(For she had always been doing everything, you see.)

Doing nothing when nothing needed to be done was a reward. This nothing was not that. There were many things that needed to be done, but she was unable to do them. That’s where her issue lied.

Because if she didn’t do them, who would? Nobody. Or even worse, somebody.

If she didn’t win her violin competitions, somebody better would. Which meant another thing she’d failed. If she didn’t run the lounge, nobody else would. Which would mean she’d fail. 

Lately all she felt like she could do was fail.

And that damned wheelchair kept staring at her. She didn’t want to touch it at all, much less use it. She didn’t need help. She doesn’t want help. Nami Ashengrotto is perfectly capable of doing things herself. She can study herself, sing herself, and most definitely move herself. She didn’t need anyone’s help, anyone’s aid, or their favors. 

And she most definitely didn’t need help to do something as simple as walking.

(Walking, in fact, was not simple to her. It was an intricate dance of limbs she never quite figured out. If you paid close attention to her gait, you’d notice the ever so slightly inhuman movements, small moments where her knees or ankles bent more than what was normally possible. Her legs were an illusion after all, each leg a twist of four tentacles hiding in magic to make her appear fully human. Her legs lacked bones, relying on pure muscle to hold the rest of her body upright. Of course, she’d spent her entire life correcting the little inhuman quirks in her steps, so you’d never really notice unless you were staring for far too long. She was proud of her walk.)

The soft pitter-pat of Enzis steps down the hallway snapped her out of her own thoughts, head perking up as quickly as it could with her injuries.

“Here, hopefully your pops won’t mind my digging around his room, I couldn’t find it for a hot minute.” Enzi came around towards her, placing the cane on her lap. she tucked nami’s hair behind her ear, “want me to put it up? It won’t be as nice as when your dad does it, but…”

“Yes, please,” she sighs out, leaning into Enzis touch against her face, “a braid?” 

Enzi stared at her for a moment before leaning in and kissing her forehead, “yeah, I can try that.” 

“Try? Should I worry?” Nami’s head turned to the side, eyebrow raising ever so slightly at the other.

“Not at all!” Another kiss on her cheek, “don’t worry, you’re in good hands.”

…

“Enzi…” she turned her head in the mirror, inspecting the lopsided braid currently holding her hair. 

“I said good hands, not skilled ones,” Enzi somewhat laughed out, hands falling on her hips. Her head fell to the side, “I can remake it, if you’d like. Can’t promise it’ll look any better though.”

Nami sighed, voice low, “it’s alright, not like I’m going anywhere. It does the job just fine, no point in being caught up in aesthetics.”   

Enzis lips pursed, eyes seeming to hold a thousand different thoughts at once. 

Nami’s eyes looked hollow. Gone was the spark of superiority and slyness she always seemed to hold, leaving only an echo of what once was. Bags weighed under her eyes, something Enzi had never once seen her with before. Sorrow seemed to creep in every corner of her being, a constant underlying emotion dragging her down. Nami was always caught up in aesthetics, she caught her staring at her appearance every spare second she had.

Enzi glanced around the room, looking for something, anything, that could bring a smile to her face. Hell, she’d settle for that little half smile she does when she’s making fun of something. Her eyes landed on the piano off to the side in their living room.

“Hey, come on, why don’t I play you a song?” She nudged the white haired girl with her shoulder, grinning at her.

“You… play for me?” She smiled slightly at that, laughing softly in the middle of her phrase.

“Mhm! Come on, you play for everybody, might as well return the favor,” she said, holding out her arms for Nami to fall into.

She does, and her grip around the hyena is tight and she helps her get her footing, while keeping her weight off of her legs.

Although difficult because of nami’s staggering height over her, through Enzi’s help and the cane, they’re able to make their way over to the living room. Nami unceremoniously plops down on the couch closest to the piano, leaning against the armrest as she watches Enzi settle onto the bench.

Enzi flexed her fingers for a moment. In truth, she really couldn’t play the piano, but she knew one song. It was… exceedingly simple, and she’s sure Nami probably came out of the womb (or…egg? As she had heard?) able to execute it perfectly, but it was something. Something that had a chance of making Nami smile. Or laugh, she wouldn’t mind making a fool of herself to hear her laugh.

She pressed down the first few notes, eyes locked on the keys in front of her. She cringed as she accidentally pressed the wrong key, chord ringing out a cacophony of bad sounds. Moving her finger, she gets it correct and begins to play through the song.

It was a childhood nursery rhyme, something she’d learned on a daycare toy piano. She’d been so proud of herself when she got it right she’d never been able to forget since.

Nami listened intently, eyes drifting shut as she played. Enzi glanced at her out of the corner of her eye, and felt as pride swelled in her as her eyes landed on a serene smile across her face. She slowly began to get some life back into her, head rocking ever so slightly back and forth to the beat.

Each note filled her ears, the sound crisp and clean. They had to keep this piano in pristine condition, with regular cleanings and tunings, because she’d yet to hear even a modicum of error in it. It made sense, of course, with two experienced pianists and an excess of money in the household, but still.

During the final moments of the song, Nami’s hum of the melody filled her ears, perking up at the sound of her voice.

“That was very nice,” she whispered, eyes creasing with her smile. Before Enzi could mutter out an excuse about how it was really nothing, Nami’s arms began to shift as she lifted herself up.

Nami placed the cane underneath her, leaning all of her body weight against it as she slowly made her way to the piano. Enzi shot out her arms, helping guide her (and potentially catch her should she fall) to the bench she currently sat on. 

“N-nami?” She stuttered out in confusion as Nami plopped down next to her, motioning for her to scoot over. She did as she was told (or well, nudged) giving her enough room to sit. 

“Can you grab that book next to you? The one with the tabs?” She turned and asked, seeming to not hear her previous call of her name.

“Oh- uh- yeah,” she leaned over, now noticing the basket nestled in between the window and piano, holding tens of books that all appeared to hold sheet music.

She took the book from enzis grasp carefully, setting it on the proper stand before flipping it open to a particular page.

At the top it read something about oceanic symphony no. 2, the name continued on to dribble into random words and letters that surely meant something to the other girl but absolute nonsense to Enzi.

She turned to the other girl, sun illuminating her face and giving her skin a glow she’d not seen in months. Her hand came up to move the braid over her shoulder, before tapping on the keys with her nail for a few moments.

Then, after she tapped for a while, she spread her fingers over the keys and began to play.

It was majestic. The symphony of notes that filled her ears was the most beautiful piece she’d ever listened to. Nami’s face was the picture of peacefulness, as if she entered another world while playing. Her eyes barely even glanced at the music.

Enzi leaned over, gently placing her head on the others shoulders, being careful to not let her ears get in the way of her sight. Her eyes followed the others intense movements.

Her manicured hands swept over the keys, playing the finishing notes of the song. She stilled as the music lingered in the air, fading into the silence as she let out a sigh.

“That was beautiful, Nams,” Enzis hand came up to tuck her hair back as she turned towards the girl beside her. “You play like an angel.”

“It’s nothing really, I’ve played far better before,” she sighed, flipping through her sheet music, “my nails are done, so my postures off, and…” she began to flip through her music, but Enzi reached out and pushed it closed.

“Sounded perfect to me,” she shrugged, “sides, even if you messed up,”she put air quotes around the words messed up, “I liked your version better anyways.”

Nami sighed, but smiled at the other. She ran her hand over Enzis thigh in a comforting manner. She’d pet her hair if she could manage to get her hands that high up.

A hand closed around Nami’s, gently cradling it as Enzi nuzzled her head into the other’s neck. Enzi always enjoyed being close to her, Nami’s warmth wrapping around her, embracing her. She smelled nice too, jasmine, sea salt, and driftwood mixing into a refreshing blend. 

She buried her head deeper into the crevice of her skin, delighting in the way Nami’s breath hitched, hand turning and squeezing the one Enzi had placed on top of it. Nami’s skin was impossibly soft, something she’d learned took meticulous work to keep up over her time spent here the last week.

She felt Nami’s eyes land on her, watching intently. Enzi turned her head up a bit before finally lifting it off of her shoulder. Nami gave her another gentle smile, voice almost a whisper when she said “I can play for you again, if you’d like.”

Enzi cocked her head to the side, smiling as she softly said, “I’d like that,” in response. 

They stayed like that, faces only a few inches apart as their breaths slowly synced with one another’s. It was the most relaxed she’d seen Nami since she’d arrived. With the mid morning sun illuminating her from behind, she looked angelic. 

Her eyes fell to the others lips, all of a sudden all too aware of their proximity to one another. Her hand slowly came up to her face, tentatively cradling the other's face.

Nami seemed to melt into Enzi’s touch, letting out a deep breath. Her eyes fluttered shut, carrying a deep exhaustion in them. Her overblot had a deep effect on her, but it’d never been clearer to Enzi in that moment. Her face gave away every amount of sleep she’d lost, pain she felt as clear as day. 

Her thumb absentmindedly reached out to rub against her bottom lip, memorizing the soft plump feeling she had against her skin. Nami peered at her from underneath her eyelashes, waiting for the others' attention before giving her the smallest nod of approval.

Enzi closed the distance between their lips slowly, savoring every second she got to kiss the other girl. Nami’s lips were exactly like her, soft and pampered to an extreme. They felt as if they’d been perfectly moisturized her entire life, and for a moment, she’d honestly believe it if it was true. 

She’d kissed many girls before Nami. Some quick, some slow, some experienced, some not. She’d… experimented a lot in the last two years since figuring out some stuff about herself. But Nami was different. from the moment they’d met those girls she’d known faded away from her memory, whether they’d been there for only a few moments, or a few months. Even before they were more serious, she found herself declining invitations to parties, pulling back from other girls she’d been talking to. It felt unfair, to be internally comparing them to Nami at every step. They couldn’t compete- not to Enzi. Nami was… perfection. She supposes that’s why Nami’s overblot had shaken her so much. She was supposed to be invincible, infallible, to think that even Nami thought she contained flaws…. It broke her heart. 

(Of course, Enzi knows that nobody is perfect. Nami has flaws, but Enzi would much rather prefer to call them quirks. Quirks that Nami could work through, or were so minor they didn’t really matter much at all. But Nami most definitely didn’t have anything wrong with her.)

So here she sat, despite all of that experience with turning girls into putty in her hands, lost as to what to do next. 

 Nami pushed against her lips a bit more, trying and failing to do something before she hurriedly panted out, “you can touch me you know. I won’t break.”

And if that didn’t light a fire in her.

She moved on instinct, hand on Nami’s cheek weaving its way through her hair, wrapping around the back of her head. The other went around her waist, pulling her closer by the small of her back. Nami let out a satisfied hum at her actions, which was a high Enzi firmly believed she’d be living on for the next few months. 

Their mouths slowly melded together, Enzi letting out a low purr Nami couldn’t help but smile at. She peeked an eye open, glancing at the tail currently wagging up a storm behind her. It was… flustering, to say the least, to have such tangible evidence of her enjoyment.

Nami had never kissed anyone before. Or well, at least not like this. (She’d kissed her family, but her family most definitely did not kiss her with an open mouth.) Enzis hands were a steady force guiding her and she fought through her body's aches. She couldn’t move her arms much, but she could hold the others hips, holding them loose but steady.

She tilted her head a bit more, mouth falling even more open until Nami froze up, shoving the girl down and away from her by her legs. Enzi looked at her frazzled until she saw the wide eyed stare currently looking behind her.

“Baba!” Nami’s voice squeaked out as Enzi felt all color drain from her face, a nervous smile spreading over her face in a silent plea, Arabic slipping out of her mouth, “when did you get here-?” 

She did not just get caught making out with his daughter. 

In front of him.

 oh she was dead. “Rest in peace, Enzi Bucchi,” she could hear her eulogy now, “at least she died doing what she loved.”  What could she even say? ‘Hey, thanks for keeping me here after showing up at an ungodly hour of the morning as a complete stranger, claiming to know your daughter, as thanks for your immense kindness and patience, I’ve stolen her first kiss. Sorry about that.’

Yeah. She was dead. Enzi just wants it to be fast, maybe a snap of her neck…

When she finally turned around to face the terrifying presence that was Nami’s father behind her, she paused for a moment. His face seemed… conflicted. Like he was fighting himself (and losing) in some great battle in his mind. 

His eyebrows furrowed for a moment at Enzi when his attention shifted to Nami, belatedly saying, “dear… your hair.”

Utterly confused, Nami turned to look at the braid across her shoulder. It was still a pale white, not unlike the white of dead coral. It’s only when Enzi, in her utter confusion since she’d completely missed the Arabic being exchanged, runs her hand from behind her neck down her braid that she sees it.

A wave of red fell down her hair.

It was only for a moment, but something seemed to click in Enzis head. Her hands went around Nami’s face, pressing their lips together for a few moments despite Nami’s (insanely overprotective and somewhat terrifying) father behind them.

She pulled away just as quickly as she’d kissed her, eyes intensely locked on her hair.

Another flash of red fell down her hair.

She was actually helping Nami get better.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

heyyyy…. So I’ve had this in my drafts for a while, but I’ve finally been able to finish it!! They’re so special to me guys you don’t understand…. Anyways. Thank you for reading down to here!! And if ur new- I’ve got a lot more stuff for these guys-!! I’ve got tags for their names that have all of the content I’ve made for them

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Nami’s Taglist

@ghostiidasponk @stormyscrapez @squishosaur @snowrinrin @inotonline

@mello-bee @thehollowwriter @meowbyul @lowcallyfruity @saneriddlefan67 

@driedupeyeballs @shadowy-skies @usurper-of-heavens

[ahoycaptainautumn]

Fated Mates

Synopsis: you, a vengeful vampire slayer, cross paths with the devious and handsome Astarion. Instead of a stake through the heart, Astarion finds something he thought impossible for vampire spawn. A mate.

Not sure how many chapters this will be but it will be slow burn 🖤

Crimson eyes. All that swims in your memory is the look of pure satisfaction in those eyes at the carnage that unfolds before you. Your mother and siblings laid drained and lifeless before you. Your father chanting prayers as he grovels at the feet of the man before you. He is sleek and pristine, with onyx colored hair and prestigious clothing now splattered with the blood of your loved ones. His lips form a nasty sneer, sharp canines glistening in the now dimly lit manor.

“You should have never made a wager you couldn’t keep, especially with a vampire.”

•••

Suddenly you are jolted away from the heart wrenching memory. Nightmares coming and going as blurs of reality swing past you. A tentacle creature. Some type of bug. But what alarms you now is the feeling of rock beneath you. You try to come to as your memories try to serve you. A ship, crashing said ship, others. Others! You jolt from the ground and look over. The Githyanki fighter is next to you as well as the other female you believed to have introduced herself as Shadowheart. You all look at eachother, relieved to be alive.

-

You all set foot to find any others that might have been held captive while in that demonic ship. So far you have found a tiefling named Karlach and the humans Gale and Wylls. You split up in search of any others with a designated spot to return to. You come upon one last survivor as you crest over a small hill. Silver hair rustles in the wind as the elf’s back faces you. He just barely looks over his shoulder at you, motioning you closer.

“Quickly! I have one of those brain things cornered over here! Come kill it!” He demands. He points towards the grass down the slope in front of him. You take cautious steps, moving silently towards where he mentions. You tense, hand ready at your weapon. A loud squeal comes bursting from the grass as a hog barrels out and away from you. You barely have a moment to turn around to the elf before a dagger is pressed to your throat. In seconds you are thrown to the ground tugging against strong arms ensnaring you.

“Now me and you are going to have a little chat. And you even think about pulling something and you’ll lose that darling neck of yours.” He all but purrs in your ear. You thrash against him, failing to pull the weapon away from your throat.

“Now I saw you on that ship, don’t even bother lying to me. What did you and those brain freaks do to me!?” He growls. You try to take a look at him but he has you pinned too tightly.

“I don’t have anything to do with those animals! I was taken, we all were!” You try to reason. Your temper begins to take over your fright. You escaped that hell hole. Fought tooth and bone to leave with your life. You would not be put down by some scared little elf. He bites back at you, focused on getting answers and not enough on how tight of a grip he has on you. Fury licks up the base of your body and fills your vision.

“Nice try but you’ll find me hard to convince, now what-“ you cut off his ranting as your leg wraps around one of his own. Your opposite arms elbow plants firmly in the ground as you swing yourself up and over the elf. You land him on his back; twisting his wrist in your right hand as your left hand reaches down to grab his now dropping blade. In one smooth motion your legs capture his frame under your own hip to hip as both of your hands ring around his stolen dagger. Confusion smears over his features as hands shoot up in defense. You just bring yourself to give into your anger, to drive the dagger directly into his heart for infuriating you with his insane tactics before your eyes meet. Crimson eyes meet your (e/c) ones. And the world falls out from beneath you. You plummet into a vast nothingness. Your heart gripped and laid bare. Vampire.

-

Astarions POV

-

Barely escaping out of a now wrecked ship with disguising brain maggots crawling from it was probably within the top ten worst days of Asatarion’s long life. His muscles ached and his neck throbbed from the impact of where he now found himself. Brushing off dirt from his sleeves, Asatarion rose to his nimble feet as he shook out the pains in his legs. He finds himself in a grassy plain. The ship that once held him hostage was now just over the horizon smashed in against a mountain. Wreckage spewed across the field with no hint as to where he now found himself. He had half a mind to just start walking and find somewhere someplace someone to end up in. But he remembered there were others, whether fellow captive or foe he was not sure. As if on cue, the crunch of feet on leaves and twigs ushered in behind him. A malicious smirk graced his handsome face. Now there was someone with answers. Or dinner. He could take it or leave it. The manic leer doesn’t leave his face as he feigns terror to his new audience. With a signal of his wagging hand he gestures for them to come forward.

“Quickly! I have one of those brain things cornered over here! Come kill it!” Soft steps quietly make their way towards and past him. Your frame comes into his view. Your (h/c) hair billows behind you as you step in front of him. He takes in your toned form flecked with blood and feels his hunger only grow. A tasty little treat. You appease his cries and look over into the clearing where grass covers most of what hides beneath. Just as you ready yourself for another battle a boar rushes out. Astarion jumps on your temporary confusion and pounces onto you. His blade reaches your neck as he hurls your joined bodies to the ground. You twist and curl from him as you listlessly fight from his grasp.

“Now me and you are going to have a little chat. And you even think about pulling something and you’ll lose that darling neck of yours.” Your face may be facing away from him but he can feel the anger pulsing in your rising blood pressure. Your suppulent artery thrums, tantalizing him under your (s/c) skin. He nearly loses himself there staring at your beating pulse. He reigns himself in, shaking the thoughts and desires to be dealt with momentarily.

“Now I saw you on that ship, don’t even bother lying to me. What did you and those brain freaks do to me!?” He spits. Your talon like nails dig into him as you fight back.

“I don’t have anything to do with those animals! I was taken, we all were!” You all but scream. Astarion snarls, the sound vibrating in his aching fangs. “Nice try but you’ll find me hard to convince, now what-“ Astarion finds himself interrupted as you maneuver your body to throw him under yourself. Your long legs hook under each of his own while you busy yourself with stealing his dagger. Astarion can’t help but be mildly impressed but confusion and annoyance soon take precedence. His hands shoot upwards to grab the weapon from your nimble hands. His gaze darts up to you and the moment your gazes lock it as if fire runs throughout his entire body. Every system, every neuron locks against his will. The rest of the world falls to the sidelines, the world blurring around you. You seem to have the same reaction as your muscles relax and a quizzical look takes over the fiery one of earlier.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” You sneer. Astarion puts on his most dazzling smile in hopes it covers the utter confusion he feels at what had just passed between the two of you.

“Astarion my dear, and what’s your name oh so deadly killer?” Your temper flares across your face at his teasing.

“(Y/n).” It sounds vaguely familiar. Like a name long forgotten wiggling in the back of his mind. Or it was the rabid worm that was placed there.

“If you are all done wrestling now, we have ground to cover!” Shadowheart yells. You look up at her, back to him and then back to her. Torn on whether to stab him or not, you decide on the latter. You hoist yourself up and side step away from him. Bringing himself up by the elbows Astarion takes a moment to look you over. Interesting.

Part 2 here

[tyrantisterror]

After making my first favorite princess, The Thorn, tonight I made my third favorite, The Spectre! Now, you may be thinking, "That's not a logical progression," but I assure you it is! See, some of the fabric I picked for the Spectre is ALSO fabric I want to use for my second favorite princess, Happily Ever After, because Happily Ever After has the most fancy and multi-layered dress of all the princesses, and the more different fabrics, the better. But I didn't want to over use any of the fabric for the Spectre, so I figured it was better to make her first so I could be sure I had enough, and use the leftovers to add to HEA (in part because I still have, like, five OTHER different fabrics for her, greedy thing).

Besides, this popularity contest for my heart is an incredibly close race - all these princesses are just facets of the same woman/elder god, after all. And, like, the Spectre does hold the distinction of being the incarnation that made me decide once and for all that I had to save this woman in my first run of Slay the Princess (well, of the completed version that came out before the Pristine Cut, I mean - technically my first runs were of, like, the demos that only the first chapter and the intro of the second chapters).

SPOILERS IN THE NEXT TWO PARAGRAPHS

See, you get the spectre by ACTUALLY slaying the princess in one go and surviving like a remorseless murderer, only to realize your reward is sitting in an empty room forever, which sucks ass, and then deciding to, uh, take the same way out the princess got. You return to the cabin and find out, surprise, she's a ghost now . While she (rightfully!) guilts you for killing her just because some asshole told you to, she makes it clear she doesn't want revenge - she wants a way out of the shitty cabin you were just stuck in one lifetime ago. So she gives you a choice: let her possess your body and hitch a ride as a way of apology for, you know, murdering her, and then you both can be free.

And if you agree to it - a big ask, given that you have no assurance she'll keep her word and, y'know, you did KILL her so she definitely has a reason to hurt you - she keeps true to her word. Better yet, she actually defends you when the Narrator critiques you for helping her, telling him that you're a good person trying to make things right after you fucked up, which is a remarkable amount of grace to be given by a person you fucking murdered. This cemented for me that the Princess is truly honest with you in the beginning - she doesn't want to destroy the world, she doesn't want to hurt you, she just wants freedom. After that, it was ride or die - I would not end this game without freeing her too.

...whoops, slipping back into gabbing about the game again. I did enough of that in February, let's get back to the sculpture.

Unfortunately, they do not, to my knowledge, make translucent pipecleaners (and if such a thing did exist it would probably not be within my crafting budget), so I could not make her match the semi-corporeal look she had in the game even if I bought only translucent cloth. So I had to settle for just her dress being made of translucent cloth, which I then had to layer up to hell and back to hide the fact that it was covering a partially pipecleaner skeleton. There are four pipecleaner tentacles hidden beneath all that shredded fabric to make it semi-articulate and malleable (and to connect it to her torso).

Two down, five to go!

...ok I feel bad that I rambled about why I love the Spectre and didn't do it for the Thorn when I posted her model, so I'm just going to add a post script to amend that.

SPOILERS IN THE FOLLOWING RAMBLE

The Thorn is the best princess because you get to actually sit down with her and really talk about all this bullshit you've both been through - the shitty situation you were thrust into, the shitty things you've both done out of fear and self-preservation, the way you've hurt each other and yet also depend on each other to get out. All the princesses have great moments where you can come to terms with them, to be fair, but I find the Thorn's the most satisfying because you can own up to all the shit you've done and tell her - honestly - that you intend to do better, and she does the same.

AND THEN YOU SMOOCH.

[battlemaiden13]

I was re-reading HND (how often I shall not say lol) but I realized some of the others didn't get to see the photos at least in the chapter. This leads to my question lol...

How would these skellies react to certain photos?

Charm

Lust

Axe

Nightmare

Dream

Error

Mirror Bros

(I imagine this may take a bit of a POV direction I also know that Charm did see some of her friends work 😅 but I wonder what image would strike a cord with him lol)

The album was left at the skeleton's house for a few days so these guys might have seen it just laying around as they waited for Kal and You to come back and pick it up. 

CharmThe human had left the house a lovely little gift. A folder full of images of her posing in a variety of manners. They were all very good and with each photo I got more and more excited about that raincheck we had, even though I had no intention of actively pursuing that since I found out she was Syrup’s obsession. 

Each of the photos were exciting and made my magic buzz but by far my favorite was her on a stage. It looked like the one we had at the club, she was doing a back slide against the pole looking directly at the camera with a smirk. Her high heels looked built for dancing and it made me wonder if she had any experience dancing on stage. 

Every Time I saw the picture I got a rush of excitement imagining her doing a private dance just for me on our stage. 

LustThe photos of the human were all good. Each had its own merit but just like my brother I was drawn to one where she was on a mock stage, posed like a dancer. 

It was a cupid pose with no hands. It made her look ethereal, her toes pointed, her head up. It wasn’t clear from any of the photos if she actually knew how to dance or if she had just stumbled into the poses but the photo made me want to dance on stage with her. A feat I had not done in years. 

AxeI couldn’t remember how I got the photo. I just remember staring at it. It was Beans, she wasn’t in any clothes and the underwear she was left in looked flimsy. I could easily rip it off her. 

She was licking something off her fingers, her eyes half lidded as if she was in a daze, her other hand trailing down her stomach. Her skin was so soft and smooth. I wanted to mark it up, to leave a trail of bite marks all over it but I also wanted to keep it pristine, as perfect and clean as it looked now. 

I could imagine Beans whispering to me, moving my hand to cup her breast, to lean down and taste her lips. I could see it all so clearly as if it had happened. Had it happened? Is that how I got this photo? 

I couldn’t remember but as the vivid images ran through my mind I couldn’t find myself caring if it was a real memory or not. 

NightmareCrooks had mentioned the book of photos and curiosity got the better of me. From the first picture my magic was enflamed. The tentacles attached to my body began to writhe seeking out the humans flesh even though she was nowhere near me, leaving them to wave around in an attempt to grasp at something. 

All the pictures were good but one had me doubling over as I had to stop myself from cumming right there. She was in a black goddess style slitted dress with gold accents. The slits coming up way further than appropriate, teasing her skin just below it. Her boobs were practically pooling over the top of the dress and she had a dark frown on her face. 

She looked just like she had when she was a sacrifice, there was  a fire there, a will to fight and no sense of fear. I had to cover my mouth to stop myself from moaning just from the sight of her. 

DreamI watched my brother exit the room in a hurry. He was blushing heavily, covering his face as he practically ran from the room. Curiosity got the better of me and It wasn’t long before I found the album full of pictures of Starlight in little to no clothes. 

One that caught my attention had been heavily edited but it reminded me of a scene I had seen once before.She was in a hot spring, her back to the camera. Starlight had her hands tangled in her hair, lifting it above her shoulders as she glanced back at the camera. Her back was bare but her eye seemed to glow as she stared at the camera. The surrounding area was a forest or swamp and seemed to illuminate her figure. 

She was calling me like a siren and I didn’t know if I could resist her much longer. 

ErrorKiller and Nightmare had been whispering about the pictures for days. Giggling like school girls with a crush. It was annoying and led to me checking out the folder to see what the big deal was. 

There was nothing of interest. The human prancing around in her underwear like she was trying to sell herself. I kept flicking through the book trying to see if any of the photos were worth all the fuss but all it did was make my soul ache. 

She looked healthy. You couldn’t see her ribs, her hair was thick and her eyes weren’t sunken in. She looked nothing like them. As soon as I felt the genuine smile tugging at my teeth I shut the book in annoyance. She wouldn’t replace them. Ever. 

Mint I had no idea why the human would leave such a vile folder of photos just lying around the house. A house that wasn’t even their own living space. It was their own fault for leaving it in such an obvious place. As I was waiting for Mutt to return with his report on the vegetative growth of cross species plantations when I stumbled across the folder. 

It was all very uninteresting. The human in multiple sexual poses wearing little to no clothing in each. I felt nothing looking at them but that’s what I expected. I hardly felt anything ever, an unfortunate side effect of a shattered skull. 

There was nothing of interest in the folder, not until the very end. Someone had obviously sorted through the photos with what would be the more desirable photos at the front and the dud shots at the back. But there was one photo that made me pause. 

My soul felt uncomfortably tight looking at it. It was like I was sick as my stomach bubbled. The photo was slightly blurry and taken as the human was putting clothes back on. She looked like she was trying to say something but her eyes bore into the lens. They sparkled like they did when she talked about the mint coloured flowers. 

I stared at the picture trying to distinguish my feelings. It must have been disgusting, my stomach was all bubbly and my soul ached, my skull began to feel warm but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the photo.

Mango My brother had picked up the black folder a while ago, a picture slipping out onto the floor and he didn’t notice it. I picked up the photo without thinking too much of it but dropped it as if it had burnt me as soon as I caught a glimpse of what the photo was of. 

My hand was shaking as I quickly took a glance at my brother. He was unfazed as he continued to leisurely flick through the folder. Were all the photos like this one? Or was this one an outliner? 

I shakily reached down to see if I had seen the photo correctly. Keeping my sockets shut tight as I slowly brought the photo up before taking a peak and almost dropping the photo once more before clumsily catching it. 

My skull felt like it was on fire and my magic was on the fritz. The photo was taken to make it look like the human was pinning the viewer to a wall. Her sultry smile and hand resting on her collar bone made one's eyes slowly trail down to her breasts covered in a lacy bra.

I sunk into the chair behind me, pulling down my bandana to try and hide under as my magic began glitching again. If I didn’t calm down I could accidentally take out this whole wing of the house.

[helluva-simper]

Red Apples and Roses

Chapter 3: The Arrival

Alastor wakes up.

His head was pounding. He lets out a groan of pain as he sits up- well, attempts to do so.

A flat, firm hand places itself on his chest.

Immediately, Alastor snaps up. He scurries to the back of… something as his eyes turn into radio dials.

“Sir, please calm down.” A voice said but Alastor barely registered it. Red blurred the edges of his vision as he focused on where the voice was coming from. His tendrils erupt from him back before swiftly attacking the figure. 

He could barely focus. He didn't know where he was at, who was with him, and to top it all off, his brain felt like it was punching against the back of his eyes. 

One, two, three, four, five. How many times had he missed?! He was disoriented, his mind clouded with pain and confusion. His tendrils collided with the wall, the furniture, the ground—nothing. It was like he was trying to strike a ghost.

“Please cooperate before I have to use another method.” The figure said. Alastor almost scoffed at that. 

“Hilarious. You’re just a small lit-” Smoke was blown in his face causing him to cough and fall down. 

“What the blazes?!” Alastor exclaimed.

The effect was instant.

Alastor’s thoughts seemed to slow, his limbs felt heavier, his pupils dilated. Everything seemed… calm. 

“What did you-!” “Only some calming dust. You won’t die.” The figure said walking towards him. 

Now that he was somewhat calmer, he could now appraise the demon.

He was a imp, white short hair that was slicked back, a pristine greyish white button up with a name tag that read “Vince”. He also had-

Alastor's head pounded, much worse than the ache from before. He grips his temples with one hand, his thumb and index finger working firmly into his skull. 

“Seeing that your obvious lack of energy to use your power is making itself known to you, it'd be best if you sat down.” The imp, Vince, said dryly. 

Alastor wanted to say ‘no’, to prove that ViNcE was wrong but his brain was trying to break through his skull so he begrudgingly complied. Vince nods in approval before clearing his throat. 

“Lord Morningstar will be with you soon. In the meantime I'll get you some tea for your head.” 

Ugh. Tea.

The Imp clasped his hands behind his back. Alastor took his hand off his face so he could look at Vince. 

“... Why am I here? What does he want with me?” He asked. Noticing how annoyingly timid he sounded he backed it up with a, “I know presence is ever so enjoyable but it's not as fun for me when I'm practically being held captive.” Alastor looks behind himself to see his tentacles had retracted without him knowing. 

Whatever the hell that imp blew in my face it is strong. Alastor thought. 

Vince's expressionless face didn't waver.

“Your guess is as good as mine. “ He said before leaving

                He was going to get out .

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ 

Lucifer was in the west wing, opposite from where he has stored the demon,

He doesn’t know why he has taken in the Radio Demon. Perhaps it was pity and how it was obvious how he didn’t want anyone seeing him that day. Or perhaps it was because he felt obligated to do so since he was the king. Either way they were here now and it was a surprise the noise he overheard didn’t last long. Whatever Vince was doing, he was great at it.

“Yes! Finally! The.. super, cutesy, totally normal yellow duck! That also transforms into a crocodile-!” 

“Sir.” Lucifer growls as he snaps his face to the door.

“Viiiin! What do you want now?! You see I’m busy!” Lucifer whines as he sees Vince walk through the door.

“With all due respect, my Lord. The Radio Demon is growing restless and if we don’t do something, perhaps give him answers on why we have brought him here since I don’t have an answer for that, he’ll be more aggressive.” Vince says with a stern expression.

“Noooo, not the stern face. Ughhhh, do I have to?” Lucifer complains. Vince raises a brow making Lucifer groan again. Lucifer rubs his face in annoyance as he gets up. Vince hands him a tray with tea and crackers. Lucifer lets out a confused noise. 

“For Alastor,” Vince said.

“Who?”

Vince sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“The Radio Demon, sire.” He said, enunciating each word slowly. 

“Ohhhh.” Lucifer replies in acknowledgement. He takes the tray and leaves to the room Alastor is being held in. 

He arrives at the door of his room, the room where he was keeping the demon. Yeeeeah, he should’ve thought of a better place to keep him. Now his room probably smells, his bed is most likely bloody now. Lucifer groans at the thought. 

Humming a small tone, he opens the door.

Lucifer moved just in time

“Hope you like chamomile, you weird little—”

CRACK.

The tray jerked upward as something sharp slammed into it. The porcelain cup exploded. Tea splattered across the floor. A lone cracker hit the ground with a sad plop.

Lucifer blinked.

A wooden stake—yes, an actual sharpened piece of furniture—was embedded dead-center in the tray, just inches from his skull.

He stared at it.

Then he looked up, locking eyes with the disheveled, wide-eyed demon on his bed.

“What. The. Hell.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

A/N:

Lucifer finally finds out Alastor's name

My first 1k worded chapter

Was watching a bit of court cam while making the last part

I tried to proof read it better but if you see anything plz tell me

I love the title because it spells out "RAAR!"

Previous Next

Taglist

@seaweedmakesart

@yukiko36

@xadoheandterra (Didn't know if you wanted to be tagged if not my bad)

[impala-dreamer]

Taking Over Me

A Supernatural Story

~Dean's guilty pleasure comes to life and Y/N gets tangled in the mix...~

Dean Winchester x F!Reader 

3800 Words

Warnings: NSFW. Monster Fucking. Tentacles. All The Way Through Tentacles. Cum. Poison. Possession. Allll the fucked up things.

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

Fresh from the shower, she hurried down the long hallway, bare feet slapping against the cool tiles. The towel knotted over her breasts was damp and a little too short, exposing more thigh than she usually would in the common areas.

If she rushed, no one would see her.

No one that wasn’t supposed to, anyway.

Bedroom number eleven popped open with a mere touch and Y/N slipped inside, shutting the door behind her. She spun and pushed herself back against the antique wood, staring across the pristine room at Dean who was lounging on the pillows. He was ready for bed, down to a single layer of a thin cotton tee and shorts. His long legs were bare and stretched out across the mattress, propping up his laptop.

He startled when the door shut, looking up from the screen with the guilt of a child caught with his hands in the cookie jar before dinner.

“Uh- hey-” He distracted her with a beaming smile while shutting his computer.

She was not fooled. “Whatcha doin’?” she asked with the tone of someone who already knew the answer.

Dean laughed awkwardly as his cheeks burned bright pink. “N-nothing. Weather- things.”

Y/N kicked back and pushed away from the door. “Weather things?”

Dean squirmed uncomfortably as she came close and clasped both hands on the computer, unable to move it from his lap. He cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. There’s uh… tornados and stuff. Um. Gotta keep an eye on those, ya know.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Tornados, huh?” Clearing the distance between them, Y/N appeared at the side of the bed and looked down at him. The fabric of his shorts was stretched higher than the actual tent they’d pitched when camping a few months ago. She snatched the laptop away and he gasped. “You certainly seem very into weather events. I never knew that was such a passion for you.”

Dean scrambled to cover his lie and his dick.

“Well…” He grinned and clenched his teeth, at a loss. “Ya know… meteorology has always been a… secret, uh, it’s- it’s fun.”

Y/N snuck her finger between the laptop and lifted the screen. Very exaggerated and animated moaning flooded from the speakers and her eyes lit up in awe.

A tiny brunette was being utterly ravaged by what appeared to be all eight legs of a giant blue octopus. The woman screamed in unadulterated pleasure and a wave of cartoon fluids gushed from her extremely swollen and pink holes.

“Oh…”

Dean scrunched his eyes shut and then lurched for the computer. “It’s an art form! You can’t shame me for art.”

Y/N pulled the computer out of his reach and kept watching. “I’m not shaming. It’s just…” She tilted her head as two of the tentacles reached around to circle the woman’s tits, squeezing so hard her dark magenta nipples nearly exploded. “Wow. It’s… different.”

With her distracted, Dean managed to snatch the computer and tuck it under the bed.

“Hey!”

Dean sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. “Go on,” he said, “lemme have it.”

Y/N laughed gently and sat on the edge of the bed. “Babe, I’m not gonna tease you for your choice in pornography. I’m not Sam.”

Green eyes rolled and dimples popped above his lip.

“Really,” she assured him, leaning in and laying a hand on his thick upper thigh. “And believe me, if you saw some of my hidden folder things, you’d know I’m not able to judge.”

His brows lifted in interest.

She bit her lip and went on, laying it on thick. “I just… I don’t know, I was surprised you were in here taking care of yourself. I thought maybe tonight we were gonna…” Her fingers curled inward and she brushed her pinky over the base of his cock. “Ya know…”

Dean swallowed hard and his arms sank to his sides. “I wasn’t… doing anything,” he breathed, stomach tensing as her hand slipped inside the slit of his shorts. “Just watching. I was bored- you were in the shower a long time…”

“I was,” she admitted, slowly dragging her warm hand over his erection. He was near to pulsing under her touch and she popped up on her knees, shifting on the bed to get closer. “I was in there a long… long time.”

His lashes fluttered, his lips parted, chest heaved.

“Getting myself all clean and… smooth for you.”

She batted her eyes and Dean’s mouth watered.

“Smooth?”

Licking her lip, she took his right hand and placed it beneath the towel against her bare sex. Dean moaned as he felt the velvety flesh of her pussy and his heart pounded almost painfully.

“Fuck…”

He tucked his bottom lip between his teeth but Y/N released it, sucking a kiss over his wet mouth until he snapped and took over. He grabbed at the towel, tearing it away as he nipped at the soft flesh of her throat and below.

Y/N rolled onto her back and he followed, closing in on her like a starved wolf. He growled against her mouth and hissed when she locked her legs around his hips, jerking him forward with a hitched kick on the ass.

“Better than anime?” she whispered, licking at the tender flesh of his ear.

He nudged at her cunt, teasing and threatening all in one rough motion. “Oh, hell yeah…”

Dean woke up late, his old bones tired from a night of fun. He sat up with a cough and dragged a hand down his stubbled cheek, scratching at the shadow and wondering if he should bother shaving. Y/N might like a beard, he thought, and decided to give it another day at least. Just to test it out.

Y/N was whistling loudly, a familiar tune floating from her lips down through the hallways.

“Styx?”

Still groggy, Dean followed the sound, rubbing at his eyes when the walls began to undulate around him. He felt almost drunk, but soon shook it away when Y/N came into view.

“Come sail away… come sail away with me…”

She was bent over, ass pushed out high, digging through the archives in room 7B. Her whistle was intoxicating and Dean felt his blood rushing south. His ears rang with her song and he slipped into the room and slunk up behind her, grabbing her hips.

Y/N yelped and stood, falling back against his firm chest. “Dean!”

He nuzzled into the crook of her neck and took a tiny bite. “Mmm… mornin’.”

She could feel him stiffen against her ass and she pushed back against it, rubbing suggestively. “Morning nothing- it’s almost noon.” Her left hand snuck up and curled around the back of his head, holding his lips to her flesh. “You OK, sleepyhead?”

He breathed her in- dust and sweat and her fruity shampoo. He hummed happily. “Very…”

Her nails scraped along his scalp and ideas flooded his brain.

“Busy?” he asked, already envisioning slamming her up against the metal shelves and sinking so deep into her that he could see it in her eyes.

“Kinda.” She held up a small octagonal box. The brass was dark with age and she rubbed at the inlaid symbol on the top. “This is cool. I don’t know what it is, but the top thingy is pretty.” She rubbed it again and the tarnish moved beneath her fingers, clearing the brass.

Dean eyed it for a second and shrugged. “Never seen it before.” His lips pulled at her ear.

“Probably shouldn’t play with it,” she sighed. “Might have some evil creature trapped inside that could eat us alive.”

His hot breath fluttered into her ear and she shivered. “I could eat you alive,” he growled.

Y/N smiled and turned her head so she could lick at his hungry lips. “I guess I could take a break…”

Dean let out a moan that vibrated through her and Y/N rolled her hips back until they were both throbbing and aching. Reaching around, Dean lifted his left hand to her chest while the right slid between her thighs.

The box fell onto the cement and the ancient lock shattered at their feet.

“Fuck, Dean…”

Her pulse was racing beneath his lips, her pussy already dripping. He could feel her jeans dampen over his palm.

Close to feral, Dean tugged his hands away and grabbed her upper arms, spinning her around to face him. They scuffled over the floor, kicking at the box while they rearranged in each others’ arms.

Lost in a kiss, neither heard the brass lid creak open.

The neon glow that leaked out wasn’t seen as Dean shoved her back against the metal shelves and attacked, crushing her with every ounce of himself. He licked deep into her mouth, scratched down her sides, jerked a knee between her legs.

Y/N grasped at his shoulders, fingers curling into the gray flannel he wore. “God, Dean… need you so bad…” Her voice flowed through him and Dean grunted back, unable to find any words as he fumbled with two zippers at once.

The air in the room shifted. A slowly rising mist poured free from the box, illuminated by streaks of purple neon. The mist floated up around their ankles, but neither noticed.

She bit down into the bend of his neck, marking his shoulder with a tiny red crescent moon and he hissed against her cheek. “Fuck me, Dean…”

He grinned, eyes hazy and staring into her. “I’m tryin’-”

The cloud lifted around their hips and a strange warmth struck them both. Y/N’s exposed middle shivered with goosebumps as the mist touched her and she looked down with wide eyes that let in the fear.

“Dean-” She slapped his chest to get his attention.

“I’m workin’ on it,” he laughed, face buried in her hair as his hands struggled.

“No!” She grabbed his face and turned him downward. “Look!”

The fog was moving faster, climbing higher with every breath. It tickled her jaw and Y/N gasped, looking to Dean for help.

“What the fuck!”

Surprised, he took a step back and the mist enveloped Y/N. It sucked her down into a hazy mess of purple so thick that Dean couldn’t even make out the spot she’d been in.

“Y/N!”

She screamed and then fell silent. Dean spun on the spot, totally surrounded by the alien fog.

“Y/N!” He yelled for her and the mist crept in, filling his mouth and trickling down his throat. He choked on it, unable to move any air. He clawed at his throat, but there was nothing to move, nothing to break free from. The cloud lifted above his head, expanding to fill the entire room.

Dean’s head hit the cement and green eyes slammed shut.

He woke with a gasping breath, lungs aching and head throbbing. Tacky warmth was spread on the side of his face and he knew that he’d been bleeding. He tried to reach for the wound, but his hands were stuck, locked tight above his head by the enchanted metal cuffs that hung against the back wall of the dungeon.

Slowly, the room came into view and he shivered. The air was on full blast, pumping in through vents in the ceiling and casting down icy air into the stone lined room. He gave himself a quick shake to shed the dregs of unconsciousness blinked into the dim light.

Vision was not his friend and Dean cringed at the sight before him.

Y/N was lying on the cold floor in the center of the devil’s trap, her naked body displayed as if she were sleeping. Her hands were hung at her sides, her legs perfectly straight. Her eyes were still closed but she was breathing and Dean called to her.

“Y/N!” His voice bounced through the room but she didn’t stir. “Baby, come on. Wake up!”

Her lashes fluttered. Her throat tensed with a cough.

“That’s it, baby,” he urged, “wake up. Come on.”

She struggled to open her eyes, and when she did, panic filled them. She tried to move, but her limbs were numb, unresponsive.

“Dean?” She turned towards his voice, only her head able to move. Her eyes were wide and flooded with horrors he missed while passed out. “Dean! We have to get out of here. Now.”

Her breaths were heavy, pained. She tried to move again, but only managed to twist her left foot a bit to the right.

“Fuck! I can’t move!”

Dean took a breath and looked around. They were alone and the secret entrance closed. Something had put them in here to keep safe.

“We’re OK.” He swallowed hard. “Hey! Look at me, OK? We’re OK. We been in worse situations, right?”

He smiled but she wasn’t buying it. A tear slipped down her cheek and Dean’s heart ached.

“We’re gonna be just fine.”

She nodded. “Yeah. Right. OK.”

They looked into each other’s eyes, finding the will to stay calm within. He exhaled slowly and she mimicked, calming down for a moment.

It was a brief moment that shattered when the door creaked open.

“Dean?” Her heart raced, eyes shooting towards the entrance.

No one entered, but the light from the box glowed bright from between the metal shelves. Dean stared at the neon, trying to decipher his task. If he knew what he was up against, he could fight it. He couldn’t exactly punch the fog.

He grit his teeth and tugged at the chains. “Hello? Who’s there!”

Y/N drew in a scared breath and whimpered. “Dean…”

His eyes followed hers and his jaw dropped in awe.

Slithering through the gap in the portal was a long, slimy tendril. It was firm and thick, the color of an eggplant, and it moved across the floor like an eel.

Dean blinked in wonder as more appendages appeared, sliding through the crack in countless numbers until a swarm of squirming, slithering things darkened the edges of the devil’s trap. They skirted the red paint, looming within inches of Y/N’s paralyzed form.

Her jaw trembled and she grit her teeth to try and stay calm. Years of almost getting herself killed had taught her that panic helped no one.

Quickly, she looked up at Dean but he was as lost as she; there were no plans, no ideas. They were in trouble.

“Dean…”

The tentacles breached the sigil and Y/N screamed as two warm, wet things slid across her feet and wrapped themselves around her ankles. Tiny suckers on the underside attached themselves to her flesh, puckering and slurping, kissing her calves and feet.

Y/N’s breath caught. The sensation was almost pleasant, and she let herself relax a little.

Dean watched as the strands of flesh crawled up higher, slipping between and around her thighs.

“Y/N?” His heart was pounding, nerves on edge, and yet- he couldn’t stop watching. He clawed at the cuffs, yanked down hard on the chain, but his eyes never left Y/N. “Baby?”

Her eyes were heavy, lips parted with a deep exhale. “Dean… it’s… it’s OK…”

The arms twisted around her legs jerked suddenly and her knees fell open. A clipped moan left her lips and Dean’s stomach tensed.

“It’s so… warm…” She sighed and bit her bottom lip, keeping in a string of aroused noises. “Dean…”

He pulled hard on the cuffs and a single line of blood dribbled down his forearm. “Y/N… I can’t- It’s-”

Words vanished as a third tendril slinked between her legs and nuzzled at her cunt. Y/N cried out in shock but sank back down into blissful compliance as the suckers closed around her clit.

“Oh my god- Dean- it’s-”

His eyes were locked on her body, unable and unwilling to turn away.

“Oh, fuck!”

Y/N’s eyes rolled and another tentacle slipped in between her thighs, this one sinking without warning into her tight pussy. It jammed itself in deep and then expanded to fill her channel completely.

“Jesus Christ!” Her voice cracked as the invader pulled out just enough to let her juices flow freely before slipping back in. Her body tensed and her hips jerked upwards, moved by the tentacles.

Dean’s mouth watered despite his fear. The sound of the thing fucking into her rang in his ears and his cock twitched hard. The wetness squelched loudly and another slinking eel came around, sliding through the mess to nudge at her tightest hole. He couldn’t look away, couldn’t resist the arousal that zapped through his veins.

Y/N exhaled a shaking laugh as the monster filled her up. She tried to squirm away, to buck her hips to the rhythm of it moving, but she was locked in place, trapped by some magical bondage that she couldn’t explain.

More tendrils appeared, attacking her in ways that Dean couldn’t fathom. They attached themselves to her nipples, sucking with slurping hunger that made Y/N cry out with spasming pleasure. They tangled in her hair, coiled around her arms, her throat. They covered her eyes, blinding her from Dean, pulsed at her ears until she could hear nothing but the wetness and their suctioning kisses.

“Dean?” She tried to turn her face, to look for him, but it was all darkness. “Dean! They’re…”

A gentle buzzing sounded in the back of her mind and Y/N was distracted, listening to it intently.

Dean called to her, but she could no longer respond. The tentacles pushed and pulled at her flesh, twisted her limbs, puppeted each finger.

“They’re… taking over… me…” The buzzing was incessant and distracting. She held her breath as the thick snake in her cunt moved deeper still. She could feel it breaking through, plunging into stomach, fucking everything inside. There was no pain, only a deep, throbbing point of pleasure that radiated outward and blocked everything else out.

Panting and tense with guilty arousal, Dean stared at her stomach as the tentacle bulged in her lower belly. He could see the tip poking through, climbing upwards through her system. It crawled higher and Y/N gagged when it entered the base of her throat.

“Oh, god- Y/N!” His voice was strangled and his cock was stiff. He hated himself for watching, for not closing his eyes to the horror, but it was strangely beautiful and Y/N’s pleasured cries were alluring and intoxicating.

Her head jerked as the tendril passed into her throat and pushed across her tongue.

Dean gaped, eyes wide and staring. The tip slipped from her lips and pumped outwards like some alien tongue. It thrust in and out, pulling and pushing from her cunt to her mouth, flooding her body with its poison slime.

Gagging and suffocating, Y/N felt herself slipping into darkness. The buzzing grew louder and the suckers pulled harder. Her thigh quaked as she came and her muscles squeezed hard around the appendages, coaxing it to fuck her harder.

“Y/N!”

His voice faded into the background, so far away, so quiet.

The larger tentacle forced itself through her lips again and blue tinged liquid pulsed from the tip. It exploded from her mouth, choking her and covering her face and chest in a thick, oozing cum-like mess.

Dean shuddered, his body shaking as he came in his jeans, untouched and disgusted with himself, terrified for Y/N. He clenched his teeth and roared, using what little strength he had left to yank at the chains.

Y/N’s body twitched as the tentacles retreated. They slithered from her holes and untangled themselves from her limbs, setting her free.

Dean held his breath, watching her chest. She wasn’t moving.

“Y/N?”

His eyes flooded with wetness and he blinked a single tear that slid down his face, catching in the stubble.

“Y/N…”

Suddenly, her eyes popped open and she took a breath. Mechanically, she sat up and twisted to look up at Dean.

Her smile was unnatural and terrifying, her lips stretching too far up into her cheeks. Her eyes were wrong, the irises overtaken with neon purple light.

“Y/N?”

She stood, climbing to her feet with minimal effort. She opened her mouth and an unearthly tongue curled out, licking the cum from her face. She smiled again and cocked her head, regarding Dean.

“Thank you for the female,” she said, voice high-pitched and awkward. “She will be very useful.”

The metal cut into his wrists again and Dean raged, screaming for her as she walked away.

The shelves slid closed behind her and Dean was left alone in the cold darkness, confused and horrified.

“Y/N!”

“Dean! Hey!”

She slapped his cheek and he woke, jerking up and away from her. He kicked at the blanket and scrambled for his gun, a strangled cry dying in the back of his throat.

“Whoa!” Y/N pulled away and sat on the edge of the bed, her hands raised in surrender, her sleepy face twisted with worry. “Dean! It’s me!”

A deep breath pushed him back into reality. “Holy shit!” He scrubbed a hand down his face and popped his jaw, uncomfortable and still reeling. “That was a dream?”

Y/N blinked at him, confused. “Uh… probably. What the hell happened? You started kicking me and when I woke up you were twisted and screaming.”

The dream played tricks on him, tinting her eyes purple and snaking a tiny eel around her throat, but he pushed it away. He slapped his cheeks and rubbed at his eyes.

“Wow. That was insane.”

Settling, he leaned back against the headboard and opened his arms. Carefully, Y/N slid in next to him.

“Babe, you’re soaked through with sweat…” Y/N lifted the cotton from his chest and cringed. “Gross. You OK?”

He exhaled loudly and nodded, dropping his arm around her shoulder. “Yeah. Just a really… really fucked up dream.”

Y/N snuggled close and slipped her arm around his waist, making him jump.

“Wow, I guess it was.”

He laughed at himself and sighed. “Gotta stop watching all that hentia. It’s doin’ things to me.”

Y/N danced her fingers over his stomach and down. “Not all bad things…” Her hand slipped and she cupped his dick, rubbing gently.

Still on edge, Dean hissed and grabbed her wrist, carefully guiding her away. “Yeah. Not… not now… Bad. Bad things.”

Laughing sweetly, she set her arm back around his chest and cuddled close. “Maybe you should really be looking up tornadoes before bed. Those never gave you nightmares.”

“Yeah, maybe.” He smirked and rubbed a hand down her arm. “Definitely gotta lay off the monster fucking… for a while, anyway…”

2023 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@aditimukul @agirlwithdemonblood @akshi8278 @alwayskeepfightingsweetheart @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @charred-angelwings @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @djs8891 @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @deansyahtzee @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @iamsapphine @idreamofdeanie @ilsawasanacrobat @impalaspixie @iprobablyshipit91 @jackles010378 @justcallmeasmodeus @kazsrm67 @kittenofdoomage @k-slla @leigh70 @lyarr24 @mariekoukie6661 @maggiegirl17 @pandaxo79 @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @roseblue373 @sacriceria @samwellwinchesterthebrave @sexyvixen7 @spideysimpossiblegirl @spnexploration @stevekempscocktails @the-wounded-healer05  

[itsybitsylemonsqueezy]

Wow, my Baldur's Gate 3 post blew up somewhat... nice. Well, time for more headcanons, of the unapologetically horny variety. (Yes, yes, I know everyone and their mother has done this already, well here's mine. Nyeh.)

Including: Astarion, The Emperor, Gale, Halsin, Jaheira, Karlach, Lae'zel, Raphael, Shadowheart, Wyll, and Zevlor

Tumblr is run by unfun prudes who would like my 30-year-old thoughts to remain Chaste and Pristine™ so filth under the cut until they ban me or whatever

Astarion

So the truly hilarious thing about Astarion is that he claims to be a pillow princess, but is almost always a dom. Like, I find it very funny that he enjoys the Aesthetics™ of being a spoiled brat, too delicate and pampered to lift a finger, but in reality, he's a bit of a work horse who finds having nothing to do dull as rocks.

Not to say that he doesn't enjoy receiving, I fully believe he does, but I think it's mostly relaxing at best and dissociative at worst. We'll assume though he's with a trusted partner for now though, rather than deal with the Hang Ups. I think inevitably he'd eventually roll over and change positions and end up in charge. I think it's an undeniable itch for him, even when he's being treated very well. There's just something so enthralling and exciting about being in control and playing with someone. It gives him a satisfying challenge the way being a pillow princess doesn't.

I think sex is particularly about aesthetics for Astarion as well. Bondage, costume, the art and immersion of it would be appealing. Role play would naturally extend out of this, especially as a safe outlet for some of his more complicated feelings. Succeeding at multiple layers of social interaction and intimacy would be extremely rewarding for him, I think.

He's also a very giving lover. I'm not sure praise would quite do it for him, that's not exactly his build. The submission though... oh yes, that does wonders. And he's very keen to reward that submission with nice things, sweet things, unbearably sweet, more than you can take... that's the kind of torture he's into, whining, begging, pleading, from the too muchness of it all, from how good he's being to you... mmm, yes, that's the stuff. It's soothing to understand you can be in control and not hurt people, to know that the control is not corruptive, not a bad thing in itself. I think it'd do a lot for his confidence and self-image.

Also, very into feeding as a sexual thing. He is a hedonist after all, more pleasure is more pleasure.

(The) Emperor

Hey, haters to the left, please. We believe in free love here and that includes the tentacle-y kind.

Look, okay, the dude comes on... strong. Too strong, to be honest. A little overly possessive, overly needy, but there is a hot, sweet core in there. And with a little patience, time, and reassurance, that can be honed into a respectful balance. If you can be patient and take your time, you can help him understand that he doesn't need to be in your every thought or be constantly touching to still have a deep bond. Do gotta watch those tendencies though.

That said, tentacles are a gift! Strong, dexterous, perfect for holding, squeezing, manipulating, and of course, inserting. It's hard to imagine a more intuitive metaphor for desire than tentacles, constantly grasping as they are. And boy, the Emperor wants. Also potentially has some experience using these, probably has a fair idea of how to make this good for both of you, so a pretty good bonus there.

While the Emperor tends to think he knows best and never enters anything without a plan, I think he'd be willing to take instruction. Your pleasure would be a point of pride so if something could be going better, I think he'd listen. Communication reaffirms trust after all. It's no dishonor to be spoken to or even commanded.

Honestly not sure illithid experience pleasure outside of making you orgasm and just like voyeuring or skimming the pleasure off your brain, so it's probably all about you here. Which also means we're probably not looking at marathon sessions; it'll be just the right amount of attention to a big, satisfying orgasm and then warm, languid rest. But the trick is, you're not going to get any gentle, casual encounters. His focus is unparalleled so it's very hard to back off of 100. That's fun, but can be exhausting, especially if you like a bit of variety.

Gale

Sometimes it's hard to see what Mystra saw in Gale; other times it's blinding. He's the most self-congratulating, infuriating, annoying bastard you know and he's also, somehow, perfect. What the fuck. The basic problem with Gale is that he'll tell you, to your face, that he fucked a goddess and when and where and how and the worst thing of all is he's not lying; he's actually good.

Gale has the enviable qualities of simultaneously being very laid back and very enthusiastic. He's happy with whatever position you suggest and is just thrilled to be invited. Throws himself into whatever's on the table.

Not to say that he doesn't have ideas, god, but he never shuts up about his ideas. And they're all, frustratingly, really good ideas too! "Oh, well I thought since we're in the hot tub, a little ice in my fingertips might be electrifying." "Have you considered the effects of shifting local gravity so you could ride me longer?" "I've taken the liberty of enchanting your dildo so you can feel it when you peg me!" God, don't you just hate him for being right all the time?

And to make matters worse, the stupid prick is full of wondering adoration for you, always trying to give you the best time possible, the best time ever. And he cares So Much he even notices if The Most Sensations Ever isn't the right thing right now and adjusts. He's just as happy to sit and cuddle or read next to each other. Ugh, disgusting. It's like someone made him in the Best Lover Conceivable factory and blew the whole budget on just him! Like, why Mystra gotta ruin the dating scene like that?!

Trouble is, he's obsessively good at doing exactly what you want because he was groomed by a goddess so... 😬 Sometimes you have to remind him he's enough. Sometimes you have to let him know that he isn't as good as what he could do for others, that he was already good, just on his own. Sometimes you gotta take care of him because he won't remember and he won't realize. And he might pout and object, but he deserves a good time too. Not that he wasn't having a good time but... you know what I mean. Let him be the focus.

Gale's very into attention and a slow, sweet time. Work him up painstakingly, bring him to the edge of begging, tell him what a good boy he is. He'll be crying with pleasure. Don't let him rush, rushing is a cheap shortcut and it means he doesn't have to endure being adored just as much as he adores you. It's the only time he'll ever be shy, having to accept love. But this should also, of course, always be paired with letting him reciprocate. One-sided affection or interaction would be torture for the poor boy. He wants so badly to be good, but gotta temper that a bit with reminding him he already is.

Halsin

Oakfather giving Mystra a run for her mother for "ruining the dating scene" with this one. Only The Oakfather went "thicc whores only" and the world cried amen for we were blessed.

What can we say about this polyamorous icon that hasn't already been said? Well, perhaps counter to some above examples, Halsin blessedly doesn't have to be at 110% all the time. Having a soft time is just as good as a rough ride. Although... we all know you're getting more of the latter on average, right?

The nice thing about Halsin is you don't have to worry about him denying himself or doing things just because he thinks you want them; he's a master of balance. He absolutely has his own personal, selfish desires and he knows how to serve them in turn. There's something refreshingly organic about Halsin's attraction, he's into you for perceptible maybe even measurable reasons, you don't have to worry about what's going on in that beautiful head of his so much.

A lot of energy in this one though, gotta be aware of that appetite. But hey, if you're into Halsin, you're probably open to maybe a couple more partners, together or separately. Halsin is certainly down for all of those combos.

Very generous lover, not satisfied until you say so. Down for any length of time, any position, but he strikes me as a man who's not into a lot of frills. Sex is about the physical pleasure, those animalistic instincts, and the kinetic energy between people being used and blended to create something more, something almost beyond us. A lot of artifice and dressing up wouldn't make a lot of sense to him and he's not likely to get much out of it. Don't think he'd yuck your yum, but unlikely to participate himself.

Might even prefer multiple partners at once and the longer the session the better. Short sessions are possible, but he's not going to enjoy it as much unless he can get really into the rhythm of it. Again, it's about balancing the energy, which often involves a bit of warm up and getting into the groove to truly satisfy. If one partner, high energy is best if possible. Come in with some goals in mind or you might get overwhelmed. Wouldn't be surprised if sometimes Halsin doesn't come at all due to his unreal stamina and thresholds.

Can't think of a better teacher to help you try something new though. Patient, kind, thoughtful with feedback from long experience. And he's incredibly appreciative of the unique skills every person has, the things only they bring are always valuable to him, something to be cherished and enjoyed. One of the few people who can be instructive, encouraging, and erotic all at the same time. It's a rare breed.

Jaheira

I'd let Mama Harper boss me around any day. And she is decidedly the boss, she's been giving orders since before I was born and that isn't about to change. Strong dom MILF energy here. And she definitely knows what she wants so those orders are going to be clear and consistent.

I don't think the strap is her preference, but I don't think she'd be opposed. But as another druid, I think she likes to go in bare handed, as it were. And, to be fair, she doesn't need help, I've seen those hands work a lash. She's strong and flexible, whatever you ask for she can give. She seems to have less in the raw energy department than Halsin, but I'll chalk that up to not being chief. I think it would take awhile to wear her down though, can't take her for fast or easy. Just like Halsin, I bet she prefers longer sessions to shorter, but would probably be a bit more flexible on this.

I think her real specialty is probably ropes, any kind of bondage. And she seems keen to teach the uninitiated, to make it not scary and safe. Her argument being the restraint in and of itself heightens the pleasure, why not try it? Not a bad argument.

She also probably enjoys herself most getting a work out in. She can be gentle for you, but her own pleasure is found in conquering, mastering. A test of strength or wills would probably be called for here. Tbh, I can't imagine her being that interested until you can prove you're a match for her in some way. Not terribly interested in coddling.

Karlach

Oh, a goddess among mere mortals. Those tits, that ass! She could break me in half and I would thank her, crying tears of joy. Karlach deserves every happiness on earth. Karlach is maybe the most enthusiastic person here, and that's saying something. The feeling of being close to others, but specifically sex, is such an important love language to Karlach. She has high physical needs and so is very excited and very determined to make you have as good a time as she is having. Unfortunately, sometimes this has a spiraling effect that results in questions like "how many orgasms is too many orgasms?" She just gets carried away, poor thing. But, nonetheless, as addictive as a good time is, you'll probably run out of stamina before she does. Though I bet she'd still keep going past the point of discomfort for herself, just because she's so excited and in love and bursting with joy and energy. It's hard to stop when there's so much you want to say and do and experience. Especially after being restrained so long.

On that topic, bondage probably not a good fit here. Anything that prevents touch for her is not really going to be her thing.

On the flip side, there is no such thing as too much, too hard, too long. I cannot imagine someone more eager to gobble you up, to taste you everywhere, to squeeze you close and shudder and gasp until your sweat smells the same. Like... she is here for this, she is into it. And she'll intuitively go for whatever is going to be more tactile, more of your touch and your body on hers. But also more scent, more excitement. She's going to respond like lightning to any little squeak or shiver to get any reaction out of you. She's so hungry for it.

And she's had a lot of time to think of ideas so you won't run dry on creativity for a good long while. Also important to note, she's only going to be a fast draw in the early days when everything is so urgent. She will slow down in time, though I think she'll end up running faster and hotter than most here. Her appetite is strong, but her stamina is actually on the low side. So more orgasms, but less space between them. Over stimulation is going to be huge here.

Not sure she has the patience for role play or anything fancy. This is not to say she isn't vocal she is... very vocal. Constantly. But that's quite affirming. And I think she'd be pretty into displays, perhaps even a bit of exhibitionism. After all, voyeurism/exhibitionism is all she had for awhile, so I suspect that would carry over into now. I think in particular she'd like to show you off, since she has a keen understanding of the eroticism of visuals. Not everyone's cup of tea of course, and she doesn't have to, but she just gets excited and proud. This makes her feel so good she can't help wanting to shout about it.

All of this said, she's also probably the most attentive in safety and aftercare. Halsin is a safety nut as well, but Karlach absolutely dotes. She wants to make sure she didn't hurt you or wear you out in any way and so will make extra, extra sure any little need is taken care of.

Lae'zel

Lae'zel's pussy could kill a man, in fact, it probably has. Not the most romantic of our choices, at least at first, but vigorous, satisfying, honestly intimidating. But, sex is very accessible with Lae'zel. Sex is part of communion for her, but in a different way than Halsin. It's exercise and contest and entertainment and group cohesion all in one. For these reasons, she's not as intimidating as you'd expect because just you saying yes to her pleases her. If she's invited you, that means she's already judged you worthy. She's not going to be upset when giving pointers because she has no hang ups about how sex is supposed to work. She doesn't expect you to read her mind and would probably be mad if you tried. Clear communication is part of this and you already earned the trust for it.

And on the flip side, she will not be distressed by you stating your desires because she's also not trying to read your mind. She wants you to trust her enough to say what you want. Honestly, she's probably a good starting place for virgins, her openness would be soothing. She might even have the patience to instruct, though she's not a terribly patient woman in general.

Also, not to bury it, Lae'zel just likes sex, the sweat, the scents, the weird, sticky feelings of it, the shivering glow through the body. Sex is fun for her and that's obvious in her vocalizations, both articulated words and not. And she knows that the more times you have sex with the same partner, the easier it gets, the more enjoyable it is. I think she'd like watching that progress, like a good team coming together. It's a sign of trust and affection. And in time, if she comes to trust you a lot, the sex becomes even more intimate and vulnerable, as you start to trust each other experimenting, going by instinct rather than plan. Those little shifts would be thrilling for her as she learns to improvise and accept new ideas. Surprising her would be delightful because she always thinks she has the upper hand. How fun to show her that's not always the case.

Lae'zel is a dom more out of necessity than desire, I think. She's probably a switch, happy with whatever suits; she just ends up doming a lot because no one has earned her subbing/she doesn't trust enough yet. But taking turns would also be valuable team building for her, important everyone trains even the skills they're weak at. Together, we become better at sex and at understanding each other. Weirdly, a very emotionally healthy outlook.

Raphael

I think I feel about Raphael as others feel about Enver Gortash. I want to project every flithy, nasty ass thought onto this wet rag of a man. So, without further ado: humiliation is the name of the game. I think if you fucked Haarlep in front of him, binding him so he couldn't do anything, only watch as Haarlep groans about how much better you are than Raphael, I think he'd come in his over-tailored pants. Cuckold the shit out of him. I think he needs to be stepped on, pegged, and drooling in the street. Never let him have his own way. I think he'd see stars getting pushed around like that. I think it would be great for him. Just use him like a cock sleeve, really dig in there. Absolutely deserved.

Like, imagine if this whole thing is his cringefail attempt to court Zariel. Imagine that level of humiliation. Works on this for thousands of years, only to burn his own house down over a few puny mortals stealing his shit. Oh my goddddd.

If nothing else, it would be Fucking Hilarious.

Shadowheart

So Shadowheart is probably into some hardcore stuff, right? She strikes me as someone with a bit of a home invasion kink. Definitely here for the blindfold/sensory deprivation kink. Restraints, but not just bondage, I'm thinking vinyl suits. Shadowheart's definitely into the unconventional. The more toys and artifice, the better.

It's probably next to impossible for Shadowheart to relax sexually. I don't think it's that she isn't into sex, but it's probably difficult for her to calm down and feel safe being vulnerable, get in touch with soft, gentle things that are just nice. Things that hurt a bit are more comfortable, more familiar, and even have less to do with her personally so she doesn't have to deal with her own feelings and preferences. But, with a bit of patience and a firm hand, you could coax Shadowheart into easing up, allowing herself to be taken care of, and to enjoy just a simple hand job or the too soft touch of lips. She's a bit of a project, but especially if you enjoy a bit of darkness and danger, very rewarding.

And Shadowheart would be big into reciprocation, you can't do something nice for her without her doing the same to you. And she'd take it as a point of pride that she's very good at making people beg for mercy. I think she'd become very giving over time, if you can be patient and teach her how to enjoy herself, in time she will give as much and more back to you.

And to be clear, not suggesting she doesn't also and always enjoy a bit of bondage and sensory deprivation, but I think she'd enjoy it more once she's come to terms with the fact this is not a service she's required to provide, an act which could determine her worth, but just occupations she enjoys for herself, outside of external validation. Teaching Shadowheart to masturbate could be huge. I do worry about her some times. A little self-love lessons might be necessary.

Edging also definitely something to try here. The slower the better. But, it's gotta have that pay off, or she'll start circling back to denial is the end in itself. Which... maybe sometimes, but there's also a lot to be enjoyed in the climax too!

Wyll

Hard to find a sweeter, gentler soul on the road. And a softer touch too. Needless to say, it's a lot of firsts with Wyll. But, he's a quick study and enjoys being tender and lovely. And I'll say it right now, even with this illustrious company, I don't think anyone gives better head than Wyll Ravenguard. Such a soft mouth and singularly focused and determined, he genuinely enjoys it too. It's such an act of service and this boy is all about acts of service. He wouldn't even get distracted by his own pleasure, just entirely focused on what he can give you. Halsin might have greater skill, but that heartfelt desire is unparalleled.

Wyll is made to be commanded, he will do whatever you say in bed. Even if you gave him control, I'm not sure he'd want it and definitely wouldn't know what to do with it. Now, not to say he's a pillow princess, those hips are doing their share of heavy lifting. Just to say that he wants instruction, he wants to follow your lead and let you tell him what to do. Praise would be huge here, tell him what a good boy he is, how well he's doing, he'd go mad.

To prolong the pleasure, a little orgasm denial may be useful, make him work for it. He loves a challenge and a test to prove his worthiness. And, in time, you could get experimental with him as you build his confidence. Maybe a little exhibitionism. Maybe a little bondage, a little role play. As long as the trust and love is there, Wyll's willing to try anything once.

Maybe the most fun thing about Wyll is Wyll actually can keep it down. Some of us just have to scream about it, but Wyll can actually get away with a fair mount because of his cool exterior. And Wyll is available for quickies, an advantage over some others here since he doesn't require a huge amount of energy set aside to have a good time. Wyll responds better to smaller but frequent affection and physical touch than big events spaced out. And Wyll is impulsively romantic, he likes to surprise with fun ideas and sudden invitations, which is a reward unto itself.

Zevlor

And a win for Team Sexualizing Old Men! I remember my roots. It is truly a tragedy that Larian won't let me sex up that old man. Look at him, you know it'd be good. So tender, so thorough. And Zevlor deserves something nice god damn it.

You know he knows what he's about. None of that shy, awkward fumbling you get with the new kids. Heck, he probably knows how to get you off standing against a wall, still in his armor! A true prince among men here. Don't think because no one's asked in awhile his skills have diminished.

Very passable oral skills, surprisingly long stamina, not just in oral too ;). Not the fastest ride you'll ever have and some positions are probably going to be out, battle-scarred knees and such, but for my money, absolutely delightful. Don't have to contend with more power than sense here.

And hey, if you want some Honorable Mentions like Aylin, Enver Gortash, or Dammon, let me know! I'm always down to give sexual headcanons no one wanted! 

[it-happened-one-fic]

Ink and Magic - Merchant From the Depths

Author Notes: Part 3 of this sort of halfway non canon compliant what if with the overblots and their aftermath! A lot of what I said for part 1 counts for this section too. This isn't exactly romantic. in fact, I would say it counts as more platonic, but it certainly can be taken as shippy. This will also be a series, though the Diasomnia section won't come out until that entire matter is resolved in game. As per usual, reader is gender-neutral. I hope you enjoy!

Spoilers for Book 3: The Merchant from the Depths!!

[Heartslabyul] [Savanaclaw] [Octavinelle: You're Here!] [Scarabia] [Pomefiore] [Ignihyde] [Diasomnia]

Type: Gender-neutral reader/ fic series/ Can be platonic or romantic/ fluff/ angst/ comfort/ Spoilers for Octavinelle overblot.

Word Count: 1803

I landed on my backside hard, grunting from both the impact and the stinging sensation in my sides from where Azul had just hurled me with his tentacles across what had become a battlefield as soon as he’d overblotted.

The sounds of screaming had me looking up, wide-eyed, to see both Jade and Floyd firing off multiple spells in quick succession at the shrieking octo-merman. 

I couldn’t see either of their faces as they blasted relentlessly at Azul’s overblotted form, which released piercing screams and jerked in agony each time a spell connected with either his body or the blot monster that seemed loomed over him.

I suppose that, in the end, it only made sense that it came down to the Leech twins. Moray eels were a natural predator of octopi, after all….

Azul collapsed with a lurching gasp as the twins at last stopped firing, and the blot monster collapsed with a great cry. Spilling ink everywhere and causing the thick black liquid to swirl through what had once been pristine water that surrounded the Octavinelle dorm. I grimaced at how the ink spiraled around like a great, dark snake until, at last, it began to slowly dissipate.

The housewarden let out a quiet whimpering sound, muttering something to himself until his voice rose so that I could at last hear him as he looked up at me, of all people. 

His normally pale blue eyes were impossibly bright and shone with bitter tears as the purple flame that was over his right eye flickered out of existence, “I… I just wanted to….”

His voice cracked, and I felt something within me tense, almost like I was the one whose heart was breaking.

I was in motion before hardly anyone else reacted to him slumping forward. Reverting back to a human form as he toppled towards the ground.

My feet dug into the muddy ground, and I could hear the others behind me shouting, their voices mixing and mingling, along with Jade and Floyd’s shouts that were directed at Azul.

Distantly, a small part of me almost begged me to stop. I knew what was going to happen after all. But somehow I found myself focusing, my vision tunneling so that it seemed like Azul was the only thing I could see as I ran forward and towards him.

I felt myself speed up as Azul stared back at me, tears streaking their way, unbidden, down his face, even as his expression grew numb and he succumbed to exhaustion.

 Those pale blue eyes of his, the same color as a cold winter sky, flickered shut as he collapsed into my arms, and I sank to the ground with him under the weight of his already limp body. And even as I heard his two close friends continue to call out his name, their voices tinged with something akin to fear mixed with concern, I was immediately exhausted.

But it would be alright. This was the third time I’d done this. So I ignored all of the yelling and shouting around me and surrendered myself to the oblivion of the darkness that would no doubt hold his memories and stories of trauma as I hit my knees.

And that brief moment of silence was almost peaceful, as that solid blackness enveloped me and dulled all of my senses until I could no longer hear what any of my companions were shouting.

“The only place I ever belonged was inside an octopus pot,” Azul’s voice was calm as it rang out through the darkness that surrounded me, and I didn’t even bother looking for him, even though he sounded like he was right beside me. 

Perfectly on cue, the film of his history slowly began to play. Unfolding his life events in front of me, all for him to narrate and explain.

He had been an adorable little chubby child, evidently enough. One that appeared to cry frequently and was generally emotional.

A silly little octo-twerp he called himself, and I immediately recalled him saying those exact words as he was overblotting. 

I could only assume from his vehemence then and the events I was seeing now that he had been called that numerous times.

But from what I was seeing here, octopi mermen were not well liked. Why, I couldn’t say…. But his classmates' distaste for him was rather evident as they jeered at his tiny childhood form.

I could now say that Azul had hatched his plot for vengeance on those who mocked him early on in his life. Before he even had met Floyd and Jade.

Despite his resentful nature, which had apparently been present even when he was a child, I couldn’t keep the smile from my face as younger versions of the twins swam into view with brightly sparkling mismatched eyes as they greeted him. And it didn’t take long before it was obvious that the three were going to be sticking together.

“Octy here’s pretty funny, Jade.”

“I agree, Floyd. He’s quite fascinating.”

It was the first time I’d actually seen the tiny Azul actually appear to be happy through the course of these memories, and it immediately made me wonder exactly how close the three young men were.

They all seemed to prefer to view their relationship as one where they could slip apart at any moment, but from what I saw here in his memories and judging from Floyd and Jade’s immediate and concerned reaction as they had left to return to Azul as soon as the anemones had disappeared from Ace, Deuce, and Grim’s heads, I suspected they were far closer than they let on.

As I continued to watch the film of Azul’s past, he sank deeper into his plot as it gave him what he felt he needed. Purpose and strength. 

It was saddening that he felt like he could only ever be worthwhile if he attained other’s gifts. Like his own merits weren’t enough on their own.

By the end of the rolling film-like memories, he’d vowed numerous times that he would never be weak again.

“I’ll make everyone who ever mocked me quaver and beg for mercy,” His voice held a determination that was as impressive as it was frightening. And yet, I couldn’t help but admire the amount of resolve Azul had possessed even as a child.

It was true that he’d been beyond wrong to do what he’d done. But it was also true that, just as the others had been, the root of his breakdown ran deep throughout his entire person and life experience.

I opened my eyes, blinking blearily, before I realized I’d slumped down over where Azul rested on my lap, so that my upper body was laying over Azul’s. Almost like I was shielding both him and his memories of his childhood from the world.

 I leaned back, slowly pushing myself upright, and I could immediately hear the scrambling of people to reach me. 

A steady hand rested on my back as another curved around my wrist, as if they were worried it would give way under the weight of my own still-heavy body.

“How are you feeling?” Deuce’s voice was right near me, close enough that I assumed the hand on my back belonged to him. I nodded in response before glancing over to see Jade Leech, of all people, kneeling down next to me.

My eyes went wide, but he simply ignored me. His gaze staying on where Azul continued to rest with his head on my lap, “What happened?”

His voice was ever calm, and his expression was unreadable, as was his brother’s, whom I could now see standing behind him. One thing I could tell, though, was that they were mystified as to what had just occurred.

“They were helping him through the direct aftermath of the overblot,” Leona answered for me, startling me with how close he actually was.

Looking over, I saw him standing over me, his arms crossed as he frowned down at where I knelt on the still wet ground.

Of those here, he probably understood what had just occurred best. But his words were still confusing. In what way had I helped Azul through a rehashing of his memories?

“So you did the connection thing again?” Ace’s slightly judgmental tone came from behind me,  and I glanced over my shoulder to make eye contact with the frowning redhead, who held Grim, and beside whom Jack and Ruggie stood.

 I nodded, finding my head still felt foggy from ‘connecting,’ as he called it, to Azul, “Yeah…. I saw his memories and everything. Just like with Riddle and Leona.” I looked back over as I spoke, making eye contact with Leona, who held my gaze unflinchingly.

I started to straighten a bit more before immediately regretting that decision as a shooting pain went through my waist. I let out a pained grunt, and I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder, “Careful, you got hurt pretty badly in the fight when Azul grabbed you…”

Jack’s tone was firm, but the concern there was obvious, making me wonder exactly what my side looked like.

“Bad, how?”

None of my friends actually responded to my worried question. Instead, it was Floyd answered, “Azul squeezed you pretty tight, and what with his suckers….” 

He trailed off in a distinctly ominous fashion that had me going tense until Leona finished what Floyd had started with a huff, “I fixed the worst of it, but you’ll still need to go to the infirmary.”

I twisted again to thank him, but froze when Azul let out a groan. The arms he’d thrown loosely around my waist tightened reflexively, causing me to stiffen slightly before his hold loosened once more and his eyes opened.

He blinked once and then twice before slowly looking up, “Prefect….?”

I smiled slightly at him, hardly able to help myself. There was something about having seen each of the overblot victims' memories that made it hard for me to stay upset with them.

Plus there was the fact that he’d been an awfully cute child……

He slowly sat up, his expression growing wary, “What happened?”

And so followed the lengthy explanation, including the awkward parts of me explaining that I saw his memories and heard his thoughts, which naturally led to the tweels teasing a rather flustered Azul.

At this point, I was getting more used to the aftermath of the overblots. But a part of me was still incredibly concerned about why, exactly, I felt the intense need to catch each victim in the overblot fallout and why I saw their memories and thoughts.

Even as I could feel Azul's gaze on me, I couldn’t deny that Ace might be right to be concerned about my connecting with them….

[pursuitseternal]

“Stealing:” the Raven and the Ascendant at it again in “Our Blood is Thicker”

(Ascended) Astarion x Cordehlia (Tav) | E | 4K

🎨 by @marimosalad full more NSFW ON X and below the cut

Summary: Returning home, Cordhelia gets her hands on Astarion’s old tunic. What better way to tease him, just like she used to… by stealing his stuff.

CW: busty!Cordy, the Raven and the Ascendant’s continuing journey, dirty talk, taunting, and praise, marriage bond flashback, floor riding smut.

Previous ch | ao3 link | Masterlist

Chapter 22… Stealing

💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞

“Love?” Cordehlia called as she trudged her way up the stairs of the Palace. Her hand left a few streaks of blood on the handrail as she climbed higher towards their chambers. She rolled her eyes as the new colors he had chosen for the Palace, intimidating darks and burning scarlets and burnished golds. Everything the world expected of the Vampire Ascendant as he made his new domain on the ashes of his former Master and tormentor.

She huffed through her nose. The Crimson Palace. Of course he’d take that literally.

Cordehlia couldn’t even look at the massive sprawling portraits of his face that dotted the place. She, more than anyone, knew his ego could rage if unchecked, shaking her head, she recalled all that dripping arrogance as the young lording of their people. Now add wealth, unparalleled power, and the title of Hero of the Gate…. Cordehlia sighed as she reached the master bedroom.

The sunset’s light poured into the room through the colored windows, a wash of blues and greens and goldens like the forests of their youth. For as bloodied as the rest of the Palace had been made, this… this was their sanctum. Their private retreat from the demands of power and expectation. A place where the Vampire Ascendant and his Consort were just… them. Walls, bedding, decor, it all was burnished in golds and colored in verdancy. Airy and light and simple. A breath of fresh forest air in the throes of the City.

“Astarion?” Cordehlia called once more, starting to unlace her bloodied black leather armor. Those Bhaalists had been easy. Too many to dispatch quickly, but easy. She slipped off each piece to set it carefully by the door. The blood collected and dried in the little carved feathers all along her armor. For as fearsome as she looked as the Raven, it sure was hell to clean after each night she went out. Fortunately they had servants now. A palace full.

Besides, he liked the way she looked in the armor he had bought her, when she was covered in black leather and cape, face half concealed beneath her new helm. His little harbinger of death, his own fierce Right Hand to work in the shadows.

The fall of the Netherbrain had only been a beginning, the rest of those tendrils… or tentacles… of the Dead Three’s power still needed dismantling. By day, they rebuilt the City, funding projects and attending galas, by night they crept in the dark to finish what had begun months before….

When they weren’t here, in this bedchamber, still making up for centuries apart from one another.

She smiled, still looking around the room for any traces he was home. But given the pristine cleanliness, the answer was a resounding negative. His meetings must have run late, she concluded, heading to the bathing chamber to draw a warm bath. Bhaalist blood, she had learned, tasted worse than it smelled, and she was eager to be free of it.

Today had been a special battle, one opportunity to try to cut the Bhaalists off at the root, and it had taken her nearly all day. As she sank into the warm and soapy water, she felt the tension leaving her muscled frame. A few moments to herself sounded like balm to her weariness. After all, if she truly needed him she could simply tug gently at that new bond that connected them mind to mind, not just soul to soul. No, for now, she could enjoy herself alone.

Maybe it was her lost in the scent of the perfumed soaps, of moss and sweet grass and wildflowers that wafted on the steam. Maybe it was her, lost as she wandered through her memories of times before, of their young, carefree and bloodless days.

Whatever it was, Cordehlia’s heart brimmed with nostalgia.

As the sun lowered, it slatted through the cool colored stained glass of their rooms, bathing her in a flood of green and blue light. Cordehlia smiled, remembering the mossy banks of their youth in the forests of the Yuirwood. So far away, and so long ago, she could feel the same longing for nature and the open air. The water had grown cold, the only sign of how long she had been soaking away the sweat and blood of her day. Stepping out carefully, she dried her cool and pale skin, heading into their bed chamber to find something comfortable for the evening.

She took a deep breath as she crossed their large chamber. Her hand ran over the leaves and scrollwork of the patterns on their wardrobes. For all the comforts she had at the tips of her fingers now, she missed those days on the road, fucking in his tent, falling in love with him all over again for the man he was now, the reflection of her own inner darkness made sharper inside him.

The door opened easily, her elegant gowns and lingerie hanging perfectly inside. Such finery. Too fine for her. She glanced at the bloodied leather armor across the room, grappling with that lingering pain in her heart at the darkness she was trying to use for good, for justice… for cleansing the City. Still, her heart longed to go back to simpler days, innocent days. She craved those moments when Astarion was with her, making her heal from that demanding darkness that was her nature.

Her hands searched the bottom of the wardrobe, a pile of their old clothing from their adventures on the road pushed into the darkest, furthest corner. Carefully, she fished out her old flowing tunic, the bell shaped sleeves still forever stained from dirt and blood and Illithid slime. The nostalgia was so great, her heart thrumming with the memories of joy and angst of it all. Another pale, stained linen shirt laid beside it.

Those ruffles, that deep v cut and lacing sent a thrill of recognition instantly to her heart, and her core. Soft as she remembered, she held the shirt in her hands, reverent almost, as she pressed it to her face. Breathing deeply, her heart thumped slowly but steadily with the rush of joy it gave her.

His. His shirt. Old and repaired countless times and eccentric. Just like him.

A tug of a smirk at her lips, and she settled it over her body. She had grown a little rounder, fuller, and curvier since their days on the road and in battle. Well-fed, cared for, adored, her curves strained against the narrow cuts of his shirt. Her breasts nearly poured out from that deep v of his collar. An embrace of his shirt all over her torso.

She smiled. Oh, he would be livid to see her in this, she smirked. Not that she liked irritating him or inciting him to be annoyed. She didn’t like doing that… she loved it.

Just as she was imagining that irritated furrow to his brow and his nasally and whiny voice, his near-silent footsteps climbed up the center stair. Her stomach leapt, oh, she would taunt him mercilessly in this. She glanced over her shoulder, impish as she bent down to rummage more in the bottom of their wardrobe. She made sure the hem of his shirt rested on the crest of her hips as she bent forward.

Giving him a sight to behold as he entered.

Reckless, mischievous, Cordehlia held her breath to savor the sounds of him. The click of the door, the sharp inhale into his undead lungs, the softer gritting of his teeth and racing of his pulse as he took in the display of his Bride as she presented herself so… lewdly. So perfectly.

“My…” he couldn't even get out a pet name without his voice cracking at the sight of her bent over like that. He could smell her bloodied, discarded armor beside him as he closed the door. “A successful raid against the Bhaalists, it would seem, my little Raven.”

Cordehlia smirked, her face the perfect picture of startled and breathless. Too perfect. “Oh, my love,” she turned completely around and stood strength, a hand on her heaving bosom as if she had to catch her breath. “I didn’t know you were home…”

His eyes narrowed, an irritated smirk on his thick and sensual lips. “Yes you did, my little minx,” he rasped. “You’re senses are too sharp for that excuse, they always were,” he grunted as he crossed to her. Crimson eyes scanned her body, taking in the sight of her shirt.

His shirt.

“Where did you find these old rags?” he purred, that privileged, judgmental tone cooling his voice as he crossed over towards her. His finger picked at the ruffles as if they offended him. “I’ve bought you dresses, exotic silks and shifts and gowns for the bedroom, and this…” he sneers a bit naughtily, “you pick my old shirt?”

“I did,” she smiled back, so haughty and taunting. “For as… nice as your gifts are…” she trailed off, making her eyes big and innocent and teary, “they just don’t smell or feel like you against my skin…”

His eyes dilated as he watched her hand against her skin, watching as she teased his shirt over her body. “It’s a little snug, however,” she chuckled, picking at the collar that her breasts were positively spilling out from.

All fangs and breath, he kissed her, consuming her. Hands clawed at those full and supple breasts she couldn’t stop mentioning. His fingers squeezed like a vice, a moment of aggression followed by long and sensuous caressing. Cordehlia groaned, arching against him, trying to lift the shift from her body.

“Ah, ah,” he tutted in mock chastisement. “You made your choice of apparel. And I must say, I might even look better on you than me, my love. But now, you’re going to have to live with the consequences of your choice.”

“You mean, getting fucked is the consequence of my choice, don’t you?”

Astarion only gave that low, reverberating chuckle. “Now, I liked the sight of you before, why don’t you bend over again, my bride, and I’ll give you what you were clearly seeking?”

She looked so innocent as she smiled up at him. As if she hadn’t just been bent over to taunt him, as if she hadn’t been caked in the blood of their enemies before that. “I don’t know what you mean, she replied so calmly. “I was just looking for a little something comfortable to slip into.” She tried to back away, eyes darting as he started to unfasted the clasps of his ornate jacket before it landed on the floor for him to step over. “You’ll never believe…” she smirked, impish as she backed up some more, “I thought it was my tunic, it felt so familiar until I put this old thing on.” Letting out a small giggle, she only smirked harder as he closed that distance she kept insisting on making.

His ravenous smirk only widened. “You always did like games of chase as a girl,” he replied, voice like gravel from his growing desire for her. “And you always were such a tease and a horrible liar.”

Cordehlia let out a giggle as she turned to dart away. But he was all the faster, too many decades of these same kinds of games to not know her every next little move. Swiftly and suddenly, her vision was filled with bright blues and greens of the stained glass windows as he caught her and pinned her tightly beneath him. “I think I’ve won, my darling,” he rasped in her ear, his body pressing against her back and his hands running up and down her bare legs.

“For now…” she purred as she pushed away from the window just a bit.

“How about, for now, you let me enjoy the sight of you in my shirt, you adorable thief,” he chuckled, a hand reaching around her waist, the other pinning her hands above her head and against the cool glass of the windows. The bare skin of his chest radiated heat, his temperature seeming to burn hotter the more his hand slunk over her belly, the more it teased the ancient fabric of his old shirt. “Little light fingered Cordehlia, always getting in trouble…”

She huffed a laugh, hiding the groan in her voice as his fingers found their way between her legs. “Usually getting caught because of something you made me do with you, little lordling.” He tried to lift her head away from the window, but his hand just squashed her harder, pressing her breasts against the cool glass harder, making her shiver where her skin touched it from the cut of his shirt.

“Now, now,” he groaned, grinding his hardened cock against her bare ass, “you got me into trouble just as much, from what I can recall.”

Cordehlia gave that low and musical laugh, her mirth broken by a few pants as his fingers determinedly sought out her clit. “From what I

remember, you loved it…”

Astarion hissed, his cock aching to be so confined, but that feeling and scent of her own arousal was too delicious to pull away from. Closing his eyes, he felt her mind, her memories tickling in his own brain, an invitation to join her. The blue and green light of the room faded from reality, the sun of the Yuirwood bathing their youthful faces as her memories came to life….

“You give that back!” Astarion’s voice called after her, that red-haired terror he loved to be around. Loved to be around… until she did something utterly irritating, like stealing his new book from his mother.

“I’m not going to break it,” she taunted back over her shoulder, her rosy lips turned in a teasing, impish grin. “Not like you need another book for your massive collection, Astarion, you spoiled brat.”

That made him grind his teeth and sprint all the faster after her. Reaching one hand, he caught the trailing ends of her hair, pulling her up short and making her tumble into the mossy forest floor.

“Fuck you!” Cordehlia hissed, barely breathing as the wind got knocked from her lungs. Astarion towered over her, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

“Doubly naughty,” his voice creaked from thirst and exertion. “Stealing my book,” he snatched it from her hands as she laid in the dirt, “and using such foul language for a she-elf of breeding.”

She sneered a smile, her fist landing at the back of his knee making him crumple to the dirt beside her. Swift and graceful, she pinned him down. “You’d think you would know, by your age, I am not just some she-elf of breeding…”

“By our age, you should know that it’s unbecoming and unattractive to steal things from your closest of friends. We aren’t just little elflings anymore.” He grunted, his face growing pink as he fought against her hands that braced his fists at his side, as he tried to throw her off from how she straddled him.

“You know I hate when you do this?” He spat.

“Do what?” Cordehlia pouted, holding on to him tightly. “When I beat you? When I outsmart you?” She taunted, reaching for the book from his side to flaunt it in his face.

“I hate when you pin me like this, like some little brat of a she-elf,” he grumbles. But Cordehlia only held on harder, pushing him to the earth more beneath her legs. She moved to toss the book away when…

“Astarion, is something the matter?” She looked at him, his eyes were dark, his face was flushed. “You don’t look right…” As she moved to set the book down, she felt something under her. “Something wrong with your stomach? You have a bump…”

He hissed and threw her off. “I said I don’t like it,” he grumbled, grabbing his book and holding it over his lower stomach. “Stop taking my things, Cordehlia, and maybe if you ask nicely, I’ll share them with you instead.” He sniffed and turned to stride away.

Her laughter broke the spell, their memories fading as the palace’s walls and colored windows took shape again. She rammed him backwards, sending Astarion flying most ungracefully to the carpet behind him. Sprawled out, he caught his breath, opening his eyes to see her feral, cunning leering face descend on him to pin him down. “Little did I know then just how much you actually loved when I was pressed against you,” she purred, sitting astride him the same as in the past, her hips grinding down on his confined cock, hands splayed on his bare chest.

He groaned under her, teeth bared and hands tight on her hips.

“Don’t look so cross with me,” she panted, grinding her slick folds on the velvet of his breeches. “How can you be angry when I look so adorable in my purloined shirt?”

“Because…” he grunted, “one, it’s my shirt, and two…” he slid his hands to the band of his trousers, forcing them down to let his cock finally free, “if I don’t do now what I wanted to do with you then, I’m afraid you’ll find me far worse off than… cross…” he smirks up at her, fangs glinting with mischief.

“Oh, you can be so much worse than cross,” Cordehlia teased, “spoiled for instance, annoying…” that smooth, hard skin of his cock pressed deliciously beneath her, and biting her lip, she tilted herself to catch it. Sinking on to it, groaning to be finally filled and satisfied to have him under her power.

Astarion bucked beneath her, a pleased, arrogant grin on his lips as his eyes closed. “Well, at least I’ve learned over the centuries how to play nicely with one person.”

“Ha! Barely,” Cordehlia scoffed as she slowed down on him. Sitting perfectly, frustratingly still, she teased his shirt on her body. Her strong and lithe fingers brushing her skin where her breasts pushed up through the cut of his collar. Lifting up its hem, she brought that ivory fabric to her face and breathed in deep. Astarion’s eyes went wide, dark and dilated as he watched her own pale belly and the curves of her breasts slowly come into view. Every breath she took, he could feel her muscles expand and relax around his cock. And then she sighed, “Still smells like you, my love. Like your salt and sweat and musk… like how you smelled after a long day of fighting and killing and…” she dropped the shirt and grinded on his length again suddenly, “fucking.”

He sat up with so much strength, wrapping her body in his arms, face nuzzled into her shoulder. His breath flowed over the crook of her neck, sending shivers to scatter down her spine. “Honestly, darling, now it smells like you… mouthwatering and fresh and fierce.” He smirked at her, slowly lifting his head to brush noses with his love. “And I think I like it better that way…”

Fangs sank gently into her neck, making Cordehlia buck erratically on his lap, the sudden movement making him pull away quickly with a snarl. Blood on his chin, dripping down her neck, he looked her over with lust-blown eyes. Lips pressed against his gently, her breath sweeter than meadowgrass as she slowly rode him. A steady tempo, a rocking of their union as she took her sweet time to buck on his cock. Craving every inch, every ridge and vein of him single her, she wanted to feel, to remind her that they had made it.

They had won.

Her undead heart palpitated in her chest, or maybe it was his own heart beating so hard beneath his ribs it resonated in her very bones. He bent in worship of her, giving her the very air from his lungs and blood from his veins to sustain her as they moved like water over rocks, so pure and fluid. Warm touch and strong fingers clung into her hair, tugging her head back, angling her mouth just right for his tongue to delve deep inside, to skate over her fangs and feast on her taste. Breath growing short, her aching muscles flooded with the need to finish, to chase that release he always, always gave. Arms hugged her tight, a gesture that was once so innocent between them now something so full-blooded and thick with heavy desire. Her own two arms, capable of so much violence and strength, clutched around his neck, pulling his mouth to fasten against her own.

The fading daylight bathed them in the softer blues and greens through the windows of the palace. It warmed their skin from without, even as the slow friction of their coupling warmed them quickly from within. His breath grew harsh and stilted, his teeth biting hard on themselves, jaw tight, and every muscle drawn tense; it was enough to shove Cordehlia into her own wave of climax in the same breath as him.

Her lungs burned as all the air disappeared, her aching muscles bunched and fluttered, all she could do was gasp to fill her empty lungs with air. Every breath was laden with his scent, ancient and familiar from his shirt caressing her body, and that all-too-familiar perfume of elegance, of citrus and herbs and brandy.

Catching her breath, she felt his head fall against her bosom, the Ascendant laid low as he caught a second wind cradled against his love’s body. “To bed?” he whispered softly. Drenched, Cordehlia slid off his lap, locking eyes with him as looked up at last.

His eyes might have been kohl-lined now and crimson, his teeth like weapons, and his back forever scared by his torment, but in the bath of blue-green light, he stole her breath. This mighty Ascendant, and yet still the same cocky elven boy who smirked, stealing her heart… he looked up at her with wide loving eyes.

Astarion, even more lithe and sleek since his ascension, stood and pulled his trousers all the way off. Without warning, he swept her in his arms, catching her back in his grip and her lips in his kiss. Their bed caught her as he slipped in beside her, on her, everywhere at once.

Attentive, lusty, and passionate—just as he always had been since he first laid claim to her heart, and then her body, and now her future. Finally.

The room darkened as the sun set, verdant greens and lush blues turning to black again as night fell outside their little haven of a bedroom. But they were far from finished.

Pants and sighs and the slaps of flesh filled their room for hours, but even the undead eventually end up collapsed in a pile of bliss. Resting her head on his chest, the pounding of his heart was her lullaby, that ancient pattern that had soothed her to sleep for years, and Cordehlia drifted off into sleep, still hugged tightly in his old shirt.

Hand in hand, he held her body, not just in his arms in their palace, but in their minds. In their dreams, he found her, bathed in the real soft greens of the Yuirwood. Her confident face looked at him with all the love she had preserved for him for centuries, her eyes a mix of silver and crimson, the oneness of who she had always been and who she was now. His bride, his beloved, and his Raven. Bringing her dream-lips against his, he could taste her breath again on his real tongue.

Lost in his touch, Cordehlia clung to his body and soul. For that moment, even among the dream-like trees, she could smell him, feel him, that boy that stole her and became her everything.

💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞

Just a bit nsfw… so we post it here, by @marimosalad

Hope you loved these menaces 💞

[rainswept]

hihi @kaeyas-beloved !! this was for the secret santa — i’m so sorry it was so late, i had some complications with my health that made it so i was unable to write. i hope you had a great christmas and new years!

blood. childe.

1k words. cw. mentions of drowning/death/violence (in the past)

“One day, I’ll take you to my homeland for winter.”

Nestled in the stomach of the gray patterned bowl Childe holds is a steaming soup, tentacles and crab legs still simmering in a blood red sea.

Beneath the chilling blanket of the abyss he lies, frail and wounded and young. He scrambles to find himself — he hides his throat and bares his teeth — he gains a scar and is sure he’s killed hundreds. With desperation, he lashes out at anything that moves, whether he can see it or not. Sometimes he lands a hit. Sometimes he gets hurt. Sometimes he stumbles in the dark and awaits a blow that never comes.

Garnish and pools of oil bubble up beside it like a delectable hot spring, savory delights wrapped up in little pockets of half-translucent dew.

He squeezes his eyes shut tight. While he can still breathe, blood fills the gaps in remaining senses he has — a metallic taste on his tongue and a sticky thing under his fingernails.

“It snows a lot more than this.”

He cannot feel nor hear a way up, so he goes down.

The darkness settles around him until he no longer has any use for his eyes, and it seeps into mouth and drips down his throat until he can no longer draw breath. Drowning. The sting of his cuts gnaws at his skin and he wraps his fingers tight around the bleeding. Drowning. Drowning. Still drowning.

He sits down on the couch beside you, wood in the fireplace crackling and snapping as he settles. His fingers are bare, free of the gloves that separate him and the blood he spills, and they slip out from beneath the bowl so carefully it barely makes a noise as it settles down onto the wooden coffee table.

He brandishes his sword, spear, claymore, bow. He swings and shoots with a feral vengeance, and he blocks with desperation to protect. One day, he is afraid it will not be enough.

Teucer, Tonia, Anthon — his siblings flash before his eyes. Then you. You, your sweet words and your comforting embrace and your gentle touch as you wash the blood away from his skin. It is washed down the pristine porcelain sink without a second thought, and if a wound is revealed in the process, you bandage it wordlessly. What did he do to deserve that? This he often wonders, though he has never dared to voice it.

Your fingers wrap around his torso, and you place your head against the crook of his neck. His eyelids grow heavy.

People may look at Childe and think, above all else, he is a fighter.

He wouldn’t say they are wrong.

Like melting chocolate wedged between a graham cracker and molten-hot marshmallow — he did always like to make those — he sinks down into your embrace as if it’s the last time he will ever get the chance to.

To be an older sibling, a Harbinger, a lover, is to be a protector. And to protect, most often, you must fight.

He is a fighter — he always has been — that doesn’t change when he dons the codename Childe, or the title Tartaglia, and especially not when he thinks of his family calling out the name “Ajax”. Especially not.

He casts a nostalgic look out of the window. It glitters like forlorn stars scattered about the night sky, hazy memories and long-forgotten childhood dreams that are now realized to never have had a chance to come true.

Drowning.

You pick at your bowl, and he thinks you are humoring him. “Does it, now?”

He laughs. It’s a warm sound, not like the one he makes before a fight, no. It’s genuine, scattered stars in every crack in his voice like that of the ever-burning fireplace in the living room.

“Of course.”

Drowning.

Childe’s grip on his spoon tightens, and his eyes flick to the blooming bouquet, a proud centerpiece on the wooden dining table. He reaches out to adjust one of them that had risen out of the water.

...

Beneath the quelled sky when it’s cold is a myriad of memories, old and new, past, present, and future tangled into a flowering embrace despite the unchanging blanket of snow.

Seeds of hope of all kinds will bud or die, sprout up through the ice as it melts, prove that they are strong. They are steadfast, loyal, and resilient. Like him. Like the Tsaritsa, he hopes. Like his siblings. Like you.

Over and over again, the Eleventh Fatui Harbinger had coaxed blood to spill by his hand. He had stolen it from warm bodies and watched as they grew cold.

He holds you closer as he takes a sip of the soup. Here, he is reminded everything he stands for — why he is still here in the first place. The warmth of your hand, the forgiveness of your touch, the light in his siblings eyes that he is making sure does not get stolen from them like it did his.

Blood, pouring from a wound until eyes grow dim and hazy; blood, the family he had and would spill his to protect; blood, carefully encapsulated in safe veins, blushing cheeks, flushed skin. Love. The warmth in his home, the hull of the ship, the blade of the knife, the seed of the flower. The reason why he survived the abyss, and the reason why he survives now. You cleaning his wounds and him making sure you don’t suffer any.

Love is a tender night like this, sipping on specialty soups, curled up in front of a fireplace as a storm rages outside; limbs tangled beneath soft blankets, fleeting kisses filled with affection. He sinks into your embrace and wraps his arms around you, head resting on your shoulder as you run your fingers through his hair.

Childe was always devoted to his life, his family, you. Everything he did was to protect something he held dear.

He didn’t regret a thing, for that meant you were safe, and he was too. Here, right now, taking breaths of fresh air one by one. Breathing. For once in his life, his head was above the water, and he wasn’t fighting with every ounce of energy to stay there.

i’m sorry this is quite short, but i hope you liked it regardless! i’m not entirely sure how to write for childe, but i’ve wanted to for a while so i figured this was a good time to seize the opportunity.

[booksrbetterthanpeople]

Lila de la Cruz is stuck in a hellhole

Just a random songfic I thought of while religiously listening to MilkyyMelodies' Hazbin Hotel songs

Lila slowly opens her eyes and immediately, she's got a skullache. "Ugh!" She looks around and finds herself in some alley. In no time, she gets back on her feet when she feels something wet against her back. She looks down at her once pristine orange dress, now stained with... She doesn't even know what. "What the?" She looks up and sees boy with deer-like features. He tilts his head and takes a step closer. His eyes narrow until they widen in realization. "Lila Porter?" "Ugh! Get away from me, freak!" Lila screams, pushing him aside with a little more force than necessary so he hits the back of his head against the wall. It's not like anyone was around to see that. And if he goes crying, her adoring fans will come flocking... To... Her side...

"Where the hell am I?" She finally wonders. And how did she get here?

Grabbing her hat off the ground and giving it a proper dusting, she makes her way toward the fortress-like version of her school. A sign near the entrance that reads, 'DuPont Reform Academy' doesn't tell her much, but when she goes inside, it begins to make sense.

This place sickens me to the core There's glass on the floor and the people smell like trash

She swore she saw Myléne with... Tentacles?! She looks like that sea witch Ondine is always crying about.

Mylenesula does a double take when she sees the skeleton and immediately pulls out her phone to text Ivan Oogie. It's really hard to ignore, freaks and creep galore Man, this place is really wack

The skeleton shoves past the other... Versions? of her schoolmates, uncaring, and only wanting to get some answers from someone with magic!

Lila shoves this school's version of Simon to the side, hearing him spout some religious nonsense until she manages to ignore him. She continues on her way, unaware of the strange looks Minister O'Connor and Doctor Cabello are giving her. Even the shadow witch's own shadow is gobsmacked. The good guys all suffer here It seems pretty clear that this place is worse than death

She stands by and watches as Alya- donning a black dress with what looks like some Incan flare- throws a bottle with a pink fluid at an unsuspecting student, turning the girl into a rat. Next to her in a top hat with realistic fox ears and a tail is Nino, laughing at the student's misfortune before looking at Alya as if she raised the sun.

... Now how she would have gone about it, but to each their own. With a cruel smirk, she kicks the rat aside, making sure to use the pointy part of her heel before continuing her way through the courtyard.

YzAlya and Honest Nino stare after her, their jaws dropping in unison. The sorceress stares at the potion bottle attached to her belt to see if it's leaking.

Jafardrien in his snake form gets ready to pounce on the transformed student, but his slit eyes glance over at Lila, and his fang-filled maw drops. I'm sickened right to my corе, standin' on Hell's floor And the peoplе smell like trash

"Díos, this sucks," Lila de la Cruz murmurs, walking around yet another broken potions bottle no one seem to have picked up for weeks if the disintegrated section of the floor has anything to say about it. What a hellhole Despite being a skeleton, her senses still work, and right now- "Ugh, what even is that smell?!"

In this hellhole?

She gets her answer when she turns around and immediately regrets it when she sees fur-covered versions of Alix and Ismael hunched over what can only be a... Carcas. Somehow she gags, and they hear her. Seeing her pearly white bones, they go to pounce, only for her to remove her arm and smack them both with it before storming off.

Recovering first, IsmaScar is about to run after her and rip one of those bones off for himself, only for Alix Khan to hold an arm out in front of him. With a shaky hand, she points, and IsmaScar doesn't know what has her so startled until he sees it. That is a skinless Lila Porter he's looking at. He's too confused to even think about eating her.

Full of misery! How could this be? What forces sent me? To this hellhole? I've looked everywhere, that fairy bitch should be near!

Cosettewether drops her phone and her gaze continues to follow what can only be Lila. She taps Princess Zoé on the shoulder, and before she can say anything, she takes the blonde's chin and turns her toward the skeleton. The Princess blinks to make sure she's seeing things correctly before pulling out her phone to text the others She better get me out of here! Out this hellhole! What a hellhole, in this hellhole

Hearing a yelp, she turns to the direction of the sound and sees a trio consisting of a dual-haired Marinette, a Sabrina with a ton of makeup, and a Chloé who is much sharply dressed standing over a student on the floor and picking up her belongings while crying. Her, um... Lips, curl into a grin before she bursts into laughter and points at the unfortunate girl, catching the other three off guard.

Lila de la Cruz even goes so far as to kick the student's phone away, and as luck would have it, it slides beneath the boot of a student in armored boots, cracking the screen beyond repair.

The three fashionable villains watch her go with varying expressions- Shock, awe, etc. Madame Sabrina adjusts her glasses, sure she must be seeing things.

Bet my fans miss me at FPA, begging me to return and stay Greatest idol that they had! I can do what I want now, things they don't allow Maybe Hell is not so bad

The way Lila sees it, the bad guys run this place. None of the teachers have done a damn thing to stop all that she's seen so far. At that lousy prep school, she can get detention just for not "being a good example," whatever the hell that means. But here? She's been needing an outlet other than music.

No chumps for fans to appease Heros are on their knees, bested by villainous plans! In here where they have no rules, everyone is cruel Think I could become a fan!

... Oh, she just has to. Besides, no rules, apparently.

The musician strides over and snatches a black and blue guitar with raven decals from a student who bares a resemblance to Luka only... Slightly more attractive, she notices. Before the leather-wearing verison of the Prince can say anything and before the Kagami with black sclera can put a sword through her, she plays an impressive riff that catches the attention of everyone in the courtyard.

DiabLuka's look of fury melts into disbelief, then mesmirization, and then something akin to respect. He puts a hand on Kagami Yu's shoulder to stop her before throwing up the goats and headbangs

What a hellhole In this hellhole

Just for laughs, she trips a student on her way upstairs. Obnoxious laughter follows coming from none other than this world's Kim, who looks ready for the hunt. By his side is Ondine, staring at him with nothing but sickening admiration rather than laughing until her gaze drifts to Lila.

While Kimton is still laughing at the student, LeOndine turns his head toward Lila's retreating figure, and his jaw drops.

It's a perfect fit, I'm no hypocrite But I do love this pit, what a hellhole

What really catches her attention are the crowns on top of the heads of the alternate versions of Nathaniel, Marc, and Rose. With them is a horned version of Juleka, but even without a crown, she still has this almost regal aura. Marc, Nathaniel, and Juleka were never ones to flaunt their royal status back at DuPont Prep- a real waste if you ask her. Here, they're all practically letting everyone know they reign supreme. I might stick around, climb the ranks Be the new Queen of Song in town in this hellhole!

She casually strolls past the villains with a dark smirk that has King Nathaniel dropping his tea cup. King Marc blinks a few times while Queen Rose Candy snaps a picture on her phone to send to the others. Juleficent looks at her staff, wondering if she's been casting spells in her sleep again.

Stopping, Lila de la Cruz leans over the railing and looks down at the courtyard from the mezzanine... Soon it'll all be hers'. What a hellhole, in this hellhole

Without even thinking- because, hello! She's already dead- She climbs on top of the railing and leaps, landing perfectly on top of the marble fountain in the middle of the courtyard with nothing breaking. She plays an acid guitar solo that draws the villainous version of her schoolmates toward her. DiabLuka's loud cheering gets them into a frenzy and they scream and cheer her on.

MimRore's grin never leaves her face as her eyes roll into the back of her head and she passes out in Mireides' arms. Using the snakes under his burlap-skin as fingers, Ivan Oogie manages to throw up the goats.

Maxdrome uses his drone to record the spectacle watch again alter- for scientific purposes and so he can enjoy the small concert over and over again.

Nothing is off limits, I'm so with it! And I'm gonna have some fun! Things good guys prohibit, done in minutes! Yeah, my life has just begun!

Jeanatoa, sitting on Sheriff Austin's shoulder, screams her name. Next to them, Lacey Gothel with stars in her eyes looks like a deranged fan wanting to get a lock of their favorite singer's hair.

Reshma Hook throws her pearl necklace the skeletal singer's way, a clear sign of respect as the pirtate would never part with her bounty.

The second Lila de la Cruz climbs down, she's surrounded by Mari De Vil, Chloé Tremaine, and Madame Sabrina, all wearing matching grins as they practically drag her to Mari De Vil's dorm room. There, they proceed to get her out of her clothes stained by the fall and get her into something new and quite stylish she might add.

The red fabric would make things easier if she had to get... Physical when getting inspiration for her music. I'll be a Queen rulin', in no time, baby No orders from anyone! Nothing is off limits, I'm so with it And I'm gonna have some fun

When classes start and she arrives, she's met with a bit of a warm welcome from her fellow villains, their chatter overlapping whatever Mme. Bustier is even saying. Something about being welcoming to their new temporary student until they can find the real Lila.

Speaking truthfully, just look at me I'm finally living free in this hellhole

Oh, like she's leaving this place, and she doubts her new classmates want this Lila Porter chick back. Whatever loser was hanging here before can have those do-gooders back at DuPont Prep. I've got all I need, everything's fine with me Rule over fools with ease, what a hellhole

Making her way to the back, she slides into her seat next to King Nathaniel who shoots her a wide smile that's fitting for the Mad King.

'I can do whatever I want here!' She thinks to herself and leans back in her seat as the pathetic fairy tries to get everyone to pay attention to the lesson. 'I guess this could be fun after all!'

@msweebyness @imsparky2002

[mjolnirswriststrap]

Haunted

“You and I walk a fragile line

I have known it all this time

Never ever thought I'd see it break”

Masterlist Pt.One Pt.Two Pt.Four

Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: Reader escapes her abusive ex and moves to the alps. Bucky is in denial about some things, like what the year is, and if he’s dead. Part 3/6

Warnings: Ghosts, mentions of abusive ex.

AN: I’ve decided to give this more parts and slow down the pacing, I got an idea that I think is just better for the story than what I had originally planned.

The day carried on as if the man was never standing in your living room. Ranting about nazis and and Captain America. Your mind is just under a lot of stress from hiding out and worrying about your ex finding you.

You can’t imagine what soap opera of a movie you fell asleep to. You needed to keep your mind occupied. You had already cleaned and watched enough movies to last a year. You turn to the kitchen and search through the drawers. You only come up with screwdrivers and silverware. You spin on your heel, searching for something to do in the living room.

A light shines through a crack on the wall, behind the couch. You walk past the bar, and climb onto the couch cushions, running your fingers against the hard wood. You trace the outline of a door. You smile to yourself, no way you have a Harry Potter room.

You jump up, going to the end of the couch and giving it a huge push. You kneel down and grasp the small metal handle. You have to put a lot of effort into ripping the half door open. It was sealed shut. You put a foot on either side of the door and pull as hard as you can. You hear a crack and the your back hits the ground.

You look inside to see a small window, almost covered by snow. It was filled with boxes. You grab one and shimmy it out of the closet. After ripping off the tape you pull out a soldiers camouflage uniform, it was in pristine condition. The name plate read Wagner. You pull it from the box and a metal badge falls from the folded fabric.

You pick it up and examine it. It’s a skull with octopus tentacles coming from it. What a weird broach, you think. You’d never saw anything like it. You continue looking through the box to find only a file left. All of the writing was in Russian. You put everything back in the box and pull out another one from the hidden room.

This one only contained files. Except these ones held photos of soldiers doing daily tasks. One of a line of men doing push ups. A group huddled around a campfire. You open the next file and instantly recognize Captain America. You know how famous he was in the 40s for serving in World War II. But why were there pictures of him in this cabin?

You keep looking through the pictures and you see the man from before. He’s standing beside Steve Rogers, smiling with his arm thrown over his shoulder. You flip to the next picture and you see the man again. It’s definitely him. He’s wearing the same uniform as in the pictures. A chill runs down your spine and the smell of mint fills you nose.

You look behind you to see him standing at the door, looking through the glass panes. His hand is raised as if he was about to knock. You shoot up, not taking your eyes off of him. You slowly step towards the door. When all that separates you from the man is the locked door, you look him in the eyes. He looks sad, and confused. You feel no eminent danger radiating from him. If he’s friends with one earth’s mightiest heroes, then he has to be good.

You reach and unlock the door, twisting the knob. “Hello?” You say, heart beating out of your chest. The man’s face conveys pity for your anxious reaction to him. “Please, don’t be afraid. I need your help.” The man says. You step to the side “Please, come in.”. The man steps over the threshold and walks past you to the living room. You smell the same pine and mint that’s been haunting you. You grip the door handle and squeeze your eyes shut. It has a way of fogging your brain.

You shake your head clear and slide the door closed behind yourself. “What’s your name?” “Bucky, as I said before, I am a U.S soldier.”. You nod you head and sit on the couch, opposite of Bucky. “My name is Y/N.” You say, reaching your hand out to shake the strangers. Bucky smiles and reaches out his hand and gently grasps yours. He gasps lightly and you pull your hand away, afraid that you did something wrong. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, it’s just, everything I’ve tried to touch just falls right through my fingers. But I just touched you.” He looked dazed, as if his mind was working a thousand miles per hour. “You said you know Captain America, well I found some pictures of you two together.” He raised his eyes to yours, eyebrows tightly knitted together, “How would you have pictures of Steve and I together?” You maneuver around the couch, picking up the files from the floor.

“I found these in the closet. It was like no one wanted them to be found.” You say, handing him the pictures. Bucky looks through them, mouth slowly falling agape. “This is us, alright. I have no clue why they would be here. I don’t even remember these photos being taken, no one on the team had a camera.”.

You shrug your shoulders. Still trying to wrap your head around him sitting on your couch. “Were you frozen in ice for 70 years like Captain America?” You blurt out, curiosity killing the cat. Bucky’s world stops, he’s just looking at your face, seeing pure innocence being curious, he knows you’re not joking.

“I was just with Steve, days ago, what do you mean 70 years? Is he okay?” Bucky asks, needing to know now. Your heart breaks for him, you don’t know what’s going on, maybe it’s memory loss. “He is more than okay, he fights for us regular people every day, he is a real hero. He was found frozen in the Arctic Ocean. They melted him down and it was like no time had passed for him. I remember seeing it all on the news. It was sad.”

Bucky just nods his head, taking in all of the information. “Why was it sad?” He asks. You look at him, he looks like he’s seen a ghost. “Imagine waking up, and everyone you know is gone. The whole world is different, you woke up in the future. You find out that people worship you, for being a war hero.” You pause, not wanting him to feel like you’re ranting. “It would all feels so overwhelming, I think.”

“You don’t know Steve, he could do anything, overcome anything, I’m happy you people in the future recognize that he was a hero.” He says sadly, as if his friend was a memory of the past. “He is a hero. And any man who served in our military is a hero to me.” You say trying to cheer him up.

Bucky blushes at your words, flattery always working on him. “So, you say Steve’s alive? I need his help, maybe he knows what’s going on with me. How do I do that?” Your smile instantly fades. You have no clue how to contact an avenger. “There’s no way someone like me could get his attention, he’s basically a celebrity.” You say, instantly killing the energy in the room.

You chew on your lip in thought, “You have to go to New York, that’s where he is.”. The crease in Bucky’s brow softens. A glimmer of hope, “Could you take me there?” Your smile fades. You knew he was going to ask.

“I can’t, sorry. I wish I could help more.” You say, truly wishing you could help. “Why not? I mean, the way you made it seem, I’d really need someone guiding me through this new world.” He says, desperate.

You regret turning him down, instantly feeling guilty. “I just can’t, it’s dangerous for me there. I don’t have the courage of a hero like you or Steve.” Bucky hears you out, letting you explain yourself. “Why is it so dangerous? If you don’t mind me asking?” He says, shifting in his seat.

You start picking at the skin around your nails, you want to leave him in the past, talking about him to the first person you meet isn’t really doing that. You look into his eyes, and the blue hue made you feel safe, like you were free to be yourself, open and honest.

“My ex boyfriend. He wasn’t a good guy.” You say testing the waters. Bucky’s arms cross over his chest, he waits for you to continue. “He works for very powerful people, your friend being one of them, so he gets by with murder, literally. He gets paid to contract kill bad guys, and he’s good at what he does, so no one batted an eye at how he treated his girlfriend.”

Bucky sits in silence, letting you finish. “I am sorry you went through that. But hey, you’re here, that’s all that matters. I wish I didn’t ask.” “It’s okay, I just hope you understand, I really can’t help you any more, I can’t ring up Steve, and I won’t step foot in New York again.”

He unfolds his arms, he reaches out and grabs your hand, “I understand, and I’m not mad. I will figure it out.” He maintains eye contact, trying to instill confidence in you. “You have helped me more than you know. Apparently I’ve been floating around in some kind of walking nightmare for the last 70 years, I’m one step closer to figuring out what’s going on with me.” He stands, “ I don’t want to intrude anymore than I already have, I have a lot happening right now, and it’s obvious you don’t need my extra stress.”.

You look at the man in-front of you, he was such a gentleman. You’d never experienced such chivalry. Something inside of you told you that you’d never forgive yourself for letting this man fend for himself. You liked his company, and the thought of him leaving so soon, started to sadden you.

You had been so lonely these last couple days, you didn’t realize how much you craved human contact. “I could try a few things first, shots in the dark at most. But I’m willing to try.” You say, hoping the man would sit back down on your couch.

Bucky’s eyebrows raise, wondering what changed your mind. Whatever it was, he’s grateful. “What can we do?” He says, taking back his seat opposite of you. “I can’t call shield, my ex will find me. We can’t use the power of the internet, he will find me. I can’t have anything trace back to me.” You say, clearly making boundaries.

“What’s the internet?” He asks, dumbfounded. You stop in your tracks, realizing how hard this will be. “We don’t have time for that. Any phone numbers rattling around in there?” You say, hoping to have a lead. “There’s one, the only one I know by heart, my ma’s. I don’t think it’s in use anymore.” He sighs. He leans his head down, knowing he’ll never see her again.

“I’m sorry, you can talk to me, if you need to. I know it must be hard right now.” Bucky looks up with tears in his eyes, “it’s like you said, waking up to find out everyone’s gone, it’s overwhelming.” He explains.

You nod, not wanting to say the wrong thing. “I’m going to do what I can to help you get to your friend.” This time you’re reaching over, and holding his hand. He gives you a sad smile, hoping whatever else you had in mind works.

“I have a friend, she’s an intern at shield, maybe she could get a message up the ranks. It’s a long shot, but I have faith in her, she was so proud when I told her I was leaving, I know she’d love to hear from me.” You say, praying she answers the phone.

You walk to the kitchen, typing in your friends number, “Hey, Darcy? Yes, yes it’s me. I made it, safe and sound. I need a favor. No, I’m not asking for money.” Even in this situation you laugh, Darcy has a way of cracking jokes whenever she can. “I need you to get a message to Captain America…. Hello?….Darcy? Yes I’m serious! I know you have your sneaky little ways, no one can resist that rack.” You stand there and listen to your friend give you every reason why she can’t. “Please, Darc. I’m risking a lot just making contact with someone I used to know. I wouldn’t do this if it didn’t mean a lot.” You turn around and see Bucky watching your side of the conversation.

Darcy finally gives in, not being able to resist the ‘power of friendship’ she said. “His name is Bucky, he was friends with Steve Rogers in the 40’s, like best friends. He’s been lost, kinda like Captain America was. I just need you to let Steve know Bucky is alive, and in Austria.” You end the call with a promise of reconvening the next day.

Bucky stands, walking into the kitchen, “God I really hope this works. Thank you.” You shrug your shoulders, knowing you might have just shot yourself in the foot. “So, we have at least 24 hours till she calls back, so could you tell me more about the whole hand phasing through objects? Or how you don’t seem to remember the last 70 years?” You say, wanting to get to the bottom of it.

Buck pulls a stool from the bar, sitting in it. “The last thing I remember is fighting on a train, with Steve. I fell off the train, and I remember landing in the snow, my arm hurt so bad. That was miles away from here, I ran through a storm and I found this place like a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.” He stares off into the distance, trying to remember every detail. “No one was home, and I was hurting really bad, so I fell asleep on the couch, hiding out for warmth. I had the weirdest dreams, and when I woke, old women were putting groceries in the fridge, they brought that tv.” He throws his thumb over his shoulder.

“But the kicker is, they couldn’t see me, or hear me. Once they left, I had more nightmares, and you woke me up again, you didn’t see me at first either.” He says, clasping his hands in-front of him. You catch his words instantly, “What do you mean, at first? How long didn’t I see you?” Your mind races with all the embarrassing things that could scar you from the last two days. Crying to old romance movies, check. Unceremoniously stripping off your 6 layers of clothing, check. Eating pie for dinner, two nights in a row, check.

“I may have been here the whole time, but don’t worry, I didn’t see anything I shouldn’t have, I promise.” You trust Bucky, already knowing he has some kind of respect. “I’m sorry for whatever yelling at the tv you witnessed. I get very passionate about stupid movies.”

Bucky chuckles at that, “I love films, Casablanca is great.” You smile, having no clue what he’s talking about. “We have time to kill, let’s watch a movie.” You say, wanting to give yourself quiet time to think.

You switch on the little tv, flipping to the movie channel. “Here’s a classic, The Princess Diaries. Mia Thermopolis finds out her dad was secretly a prince of this country and her grandma, the queen, comes and gives her a makeover and forces her to become a political figure. It’s truly a masterpiece.” You finish, taking a deep breath, you have a lot of passion for the movies that raised you.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Bucky says, kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

[simp999]

A New Home Ch. 34

Various! Splatoon Manga x Skilled! Isekai'd! Reader

Wc: 1k

A/N: sorry chat ww uh go read some past chapters for comfort idk

Warnings: Agressive language (swearing), abusive past significant other.

A/N 2: you can avoid reading this part if you think it'll make you uncomfortable,- it's just backstory and doesn't pertain to the story too much.

Back to the start! Previous Next

With a heavy heart, you arrived home and helped Milo make supper for the family. The night went by slowly with Milo's sister on your mind, but recognizing that he didn't seem as heavily affected by it anymore did help soothe you.

That night, you all fell asleep watching a movie; you in Milo's arms while he petted your tentacles. It was difficult not to fall asleep with how gentle he was- he must've had lots of experience.

The following day, Tasha was cleaning her weapon when you noticed a furrow in her brow. She then quietly said that she would be going to stop by Sheldon's today. Ah, she must have noticed a scratch or something. Either way, you figured it would be a good opportunity to spend time with her, so you asked if you could tag along. With a soft nod, she told you when she'd be leaving. Sooner rather than later- she'd rather fix her weapon as quickly as possible. You figured you'd get your weapon checked too while you were there. Seemed convenient.

It didn't take long before the two of you left the house, Tasha making sure not to scratch her weapon further. She held it close on the subway.

Maybe today you'd get to find out why she took such good care of the thing- if a reason at all. You're sure there had to be one, though.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You gave your weapon to Sheldon when you arrived, and he seemed shocked.

"The ink isn't fully going through! How have you been battling like this?"

... you've been at a disadvantage this whole time? He compared it to missing multiple Ink Saver abilities- it was really confusing.

Finally, Tasha carefully handed Sheldon her E-liter, pointing out the scratch he had to buff out. With a pleasant smile on his face while he analyzed the weapon, he said;

"Pristine as ever, Natasha! I admire your dedication to your weapon! If only others were as diligent as you..."

You noticed how Sheldon was looking at you when he said that, and you looked away out of embarrassment. Well, hey- you're sure Leo was much worse; you once caught him using nail polish to repaint a scratch on his dualies after dropping them.

"...Told you not to call me that." She quietly replied.

The two of you left Ammo Knights shortly, making your way to the lobby. It was a hot day, that blazer of Tasha's was probably way too warm. She was about to take it off when you caught her freeze in place.

She appeared terrified. You followed her gaze- and it was at some octoling boy. His tentacles stood out- a sort of mohawk fashion going backwards. He toyed with his Nautilus 47. He wore a wicked smile on his face. His eyes were closed and his sharp teeth showed. He sat next to what you assumed was his twin; a matching forward mohawk and a big frown. An octobrush sat next to him. The first one- the smiley one had pink tentacles, the second, frowny, had blue. The first laughed like a hyena as some girl he sat with told a joke, his arm around her with a seemingly painfully tight grip.

..he seemed like he was holding her hostage. Damn.

You looked back at Tasha and she seemed to cower even further as she stared at him. She held her weapon with shaky hands- wait, Tasha? With shaky hands? What the hell happened between these two?

The two of you had to walk by them to get to the Subway. You slowly tried to reach for her back, gently rubbing circles as you guided her, placing yourself between her and the twins.

But you were still noticed. You suppose she does stand out a bit with her height.

The pink-tentacled one stood up.

"Hey there sweetheart! S' been a while, love. How ya been?"

He got much too close, breath mixing with hers. She held her weapon even closer. She kept her head down. His hand left her shoulder when she flinched and she quickly tried to walk off, and you heard him mumble under his breath; "Tch. Bitch. Got what you deserved anyways."

Her hand shook as she held it in front of her mask on the subway. She was still frozen and you could see her tearing up.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You trailed behind her as she rushed to her room. Despite what you may assume, she continued to hold your hand. She needed company. She didn't want to be left alone.

She took her mask off as she shook. She was so vulnerable.

That's right. Her scars.

Wait... is that how she got those?

What the hell did that asshole do?!

Sobs wracked her body as you held her free hand, her other thumb rubbing her weapon, soothing her.

Once you offered her a soft hug, and you got her to breathe properly again, she began to explain. You wiped her tears as she went on.

"My weapon malfunctioned once and only once. The night I ran away from him.

...the night he gave me these scars.

I couldn't defend myself."

You looked at her with sympathy, and rubbed your thumb over the palm of her hand to soothe her. You stood up once again and held her head close to your chest, resting your chin on her head as you pet her tentacles.

Milo heard from Leo that the twins were in the square. Trav n' Marx. Milo put two and two together and raced down to Tasha's room to try to comfort her. He wrapped her in a blanket and quickly let his motherly instincts take over.

According to all you've gathered, she had an abusive boyfriend.

Tasha of all people.

Goes to show it can happen to anyone.

Poor girl...

.

.

.

Mar.26,24

Next Part