#acid attack (somehow)

[gorillaxyz]

i could never visit the us because id be too scaref of getting assassinated

[iliterallydecepticanteven]

The stupid running joke of me perpetually rolling horribly when trying to cast Acid Splash during DnD is not funny anymore. It’s been 7 sessions and I still somehow keep failing this silly little cantrip!!!!!

[jnece-maharlika]

Amity parkers are feral and insane

-Gothamites.

Somehow, someway, Casper high finds their selves in Gotham.

It could be a field trip or a ghost shoved them in a portal, doesn't matter, they're in Gotham.

As they arrive in Gotham, the Casper teachers decide to turn this into something educational and hire a tour guide from Gotham Academy (or was it Gotham university? I forgot) GA agrees and also Sends some of their students to partner up with the amity parkers as a sort "buddy" and to hopefully teacher em the ways of surviving in Gotham.

To the gothamites, the amity parkers look like children who have never been exposed to crime in their life, never been mugged, never been been kidnapped.

But the truth is, compared to the BS amity is used to, Gothams issues are like kindergarten.

First thing the tour guide hears when she greets Casper high Mr lancer telling them to, "Please don't walk into danger, please don't try and provoke the joker, I know he's a bitch but still. If you find yourself in a tricky situation, do not hesitate to punch yourself to freedom, but ABSOLUTELY NO CRITICAL HITs these are NORMAL people they're not like us or the ghosts, they will not survive. Please do not give phantom problems, He's already failing in class he doesn't need more problems"

Its important to keep in mind that:

amity parkers and ghosts are buddies now.

The Ambient ectoplasm gave them a form of super strength, also making it so that they are able to touch ghost.

They join the ghost brawls everyone in a while and has some wins.

Most, if not all are liminal in a way.

Everyone knows that Danny is phantom but have signed an NDA that says they aren't allowed to tell anyone who isn't a native amity parker who he is.

Things is, The gothamites don't know about this and take it as if Mr lancer and the students are underestimating Gotham. So as a from of pettiness, all the Gotham students decided to bring their amity partner to the most dangerous places they can think of.

Niky has lead sam into a park that poison ivy frequents. Of course, poison ivy is there but instead of running away in fear like niky expected, Sam runs up to ivy, complements her and joins the path of eco terrorism.

Tucker and his partner Vic finds himself in the middle of a riddler attack, locked in a room with no way out, a countdown timer with 20 secs remaining and a riddle in a computer.

Vic is panicking as he tries to figure it out, he looked to tucker for help. Tucker just shrugged and hacked the computer, not even bothering to solve the riddle. It worked and Vic is baffled and the riddler is frustrated.

Danny find himself in the hands of the joker, (his partner ran the moment joker was seen) hanging upside down on top of a large pool of acid, because, it's classic for joker. He is also being live streamed.

The teachers in GA are panicking, the bats are panicking.

Casper high teacher took one look at the stream and shrugged. "Eh, he'll be fine." They also called the number that joker has displayed on the screen, just to say, "Daniel Fenton, make sure your back before in GA 6 pm or else were leaving you to find the hotel on your own."

The time is 5:30 pm.

It takes 25 minutes to walk from Joker to GA.

Danny sighs, might as well start walking.

He uses intangibility to free himself and fall into the vat of acid.

The Gothamites are shocked and screaming, the bats are shocked. Amity parkes went "oh" and continued placing bets on how fast Danny will get back.

Danny then proceeds to swim out of the acid pool, punch the joker in the face, knocking him out in a single hit and then proceeds to casually squeeze out the acid from his Casper high "I am a proud amitian" shirt as if it's regular water.

All of this was done in 5 minutes.

All of this was caught on stream.

The Gothamites are passed out, the bats are questioning everything. Batman is searching up everything he can about acid side effects and about Danny but ends up with nothing.

The amity parkers just raised their bets even further.

Danny somehow makes it back 10 minutes late and Wes wins the bet.

[hoshigray]

hey!! I love you works=) Can I request a fem!chubby(optional)reader x gojo,where gojo is her mean roommate and after a night when he had fun with a random girl and reader couldn't sleep because of it she confront him and he shows her how much he loves-hates her (NSWF if you can,when I say love-hate I mean he loves her,but she is not afraid to attack his ego so he finds this quite annoying) I truly understand if you don't want to write and I respect your decision =) I just say to try my luck and see if you like the idea

lol well, I'm lucky to have time to indulge in this idea, so why not? hope i did this right...

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Gojo x roommate! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - the reader can be read as chubby or not - implied mutual feelings/pining - kissing/making out - teasing - fingering (f! receiving) - oral (f! receiving) - clitoral play (swiping and licking) - doggy style + missionary position - unprotected sex (psa: wrap it up or get tf up) - Gojo being a bit whipped for you - pet names (angel, baby, princess, sweetie) - implied usage of alcohol - mention of saliva/drool. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.1k

“God, you can be such a fucking dumbass…Who told you to drink so much?”

“Listen–hic–I was just being the life of the party. Plus, gotta impress the ladies~”

“Oh, for God’s sake, just eat your damn mocha bread.”

Lying on the living room couch with you sitting on your knees on the carpet, tending to his drunken state, was not something Satoru Gojo had planned. It was supposed to be a chill night at the club with the guys – Geto, Nanami, and Haibara – yet he somehow found his way to the dance floor and danced like a rock star, drinking like a fish from taking up all the shots bought by all the women infatuated by him. What can he say; he could never refuse the ladies, even if he doesn’t like alcohol.

However, he’ll admit he might have overdone it and puked in the club bathroom for a solid 20 minutes before his friends decided it was time to go. You opened your apartment door to your roommate being carried by Haibara and Geto, the dark-haired men apologizing for the inconvenience at the late hour after dropping their friend on the couch and leaving you to deal with the tipsy fool. 

Although, with him dealing with the raging headache and horrid acid from the vomit earlier ruining his tastebuds, Gojo would say this wasn’t all too bad. Why? Well, now he has his cute roommate to look after him like they always do.

Although he feels a bit bad that you were up to see him at this ungodly hour, watching you sitting beside him and feeding him his favorite snack to ease his subsiding intoxication made him feel warm. The little pout on your face as you break apart pieces of the mocha bread to feed into his mouth, your gorgeous eyes examining him to see if he’s okay, and your cute pajamas comprised of an oversized shirt and some shorts. If it meant being treated by you like this, the snow-haired man figured he ought to get drunk more often.

The only problem was you nagging at him like he was a child, grabbing for his hand to hold the glass of water on his own. “Drink; I don’t want you puking on my carpet.” Yup, you were his roommate, all right.

He rolled his eyes while taking a sip. “You’re supposed to be talking all sweet and slow to me here because my head’s going at sixty miles an hour. Aren’t you supposed to be sympathetic to the weak?”

You scoffed. “Oh please, you are not weak; you’re just dumb enough to drink whatever thing some pretty girl gives you.” 

“Hmph,” He puffs at you, evoking your eye to twitch. “Well, maybe I should just go back to the venue and find that pretty lady who was dancing with me all night!” He takes a bite of some more mocha bread. “I’m sure she’d be nice enough to minister to my drunk self.”

That was a lie. There was a lady he was dancing with, the same lady who hung out with the guys at the club and had a good time with them. The woman was a wild and entertaining girl, Gojo will admit. But in all aspects, she was just there; she was nothing. If anything, Gojo wished that you were there instead of her. You were busy with work, opting to sit this out and maybe go with the guys the next time. 

And although he didn’t try to argue (outside of pestering you in giving in and coming along), he couldn’t get his mind off you while he was away. You were all he could think about, wondering if you were okay or if you remembered to eat dinner. Or just imagining you being with him, wearing something nice and letting loose around his friends – around him. Fuck, just visioning him and you dancing together would’ve been such a treat and probably saved his poor liver and stomach from all the alcohol. 

Instead, he’s spending the last moments of his late-night high with you, who should be sleeping. You say to him, “Would you?”

He draws his brows upwards. “Hmm?”

“Would you go back?” he now notices the look on your face, as if you’re going back and forth with something internally. “I mean, probably not because I’m sure whoever has to deal with you can’t feed you your favorite bread.” 

He hums, taking note of your expression and your fingers playing with the edge of his plate. “Why do you ask?”

“Because Nanami called me earlier when you were getting a little too wild, like, five shots in,” The number throws the man in a whirlwind; damn, I had more than five? “And he told me you were so tipsy and touchy that you couldn’t stop asking about me. Like, ‘Where’s Y/n’ or ‘Man, I wish Y/n was here; they love this song.’” 

Did I say that? “I said that?” A curt nod is given to Gojo, and he presses his lips to a thin line. Ah, shit. 

“All I’m saying is,” you continue with a pout. “It would be pretty scummy of you to say you’d wanna hang with another woman and then turn around and worry about me, for whatever reason.” 

Sky-blue eyes observe yours downcasted to the plate with the sweet bread. He couldn’t ignore how cute you avoided his gaze — it’s what prompted him to say this: “…There is a reason.”

“Hmm?”

“I didn’t worry about you for nothing,” you watch the white-haired man bring his upper body up from the couch with his elbows. His face is now a foot away from yours, close enough for you to see the earnest glint in his eyes under the soft, warm glow of the ceiling lighting. “Nothing is for ‘whatever’ reason if it’s with you.”

Your brows furrowed together, eyes avoiding Gojo’s gaze. “What could that reason be, I wonder. You’re just saying that so I can stop being up taking care of—“You couldn’t finish that sentence; how could you when Gojo brought a hand to your chin and prompted you to look back at him? Azure eyes pierced right into yours; it made your heart skip, and your body dare not to move.

“You want me to prove you wrong?” He asks with a neutral expression, hard for you to gauge what’s on his mind. You know him; he likes to poke fun or try to get you riled up. So, this shouldn’t be any different (aside from him holding your chin).

You huff, “Go ahead.”

And it was there where you should’ve chosen your words carefully.

“Khaaa! Ohhh! G–Gojo, stop…! Y’r fingerss—Ahhaaa!”

“Aht, aht, don’t do that, angel. Open those legs up for me…Fuck, you’re so cute…Mmm”

It took you aback when Gojo stood up from the couch, took your hand, and walked you from the living room to his room. Confusion on your part turned into immediate shock when he brought you into a kiss. With wide eyes and thoughts going at a million miles per hour, you instinctively tried to brush him off you. But one kiss turned into two, and two kisses turned into three. And before you know it, you sink into the feel of his pillowy lips, a leg situating between yours while your hands come around his neck.

And the surprises don’t stop there; Gojo then hoists you up — yes, picks you up! — and brings you to his bed to continue laying his lips on you. Your shaky moans resulted from his kisses trailing from your chin to your collarbone, the humps of his lower half chafing the groin of your shorts. The twitch of your chasm happens involuntarily — how embarrassing! Especially when he distracts you by claiming your lips again so he can pull down your bottoms and panties.

And that’s how we end up here, you crying out for him as he kisses and nibbles on your ear while his fingers play with your wet folds. “—Ahahhnn!! G–Gojo, no..! Not there…Hnnfff…!”

“You say that, but you’re not letting my fingers go, huh.” He chortles before kissing your cheek, stuffing his middle finger to aid his forefinger in scraping your inner walls. The wails that escaped your lips were so unlike the stern persona he’d usually deal with; they provoked him into wanting to hear more. “Damn, didn’t know my little cute roomie could make such cute sounds. Let me hear more, ‘kay?” 

Cute!? The adjective had your cheeks increase in heat with the twitch of your southern walls clamping onto Gojo’s digits. “Hoooh! Q–Quit playing with me, Gojo; just stop going so fa—Aaahhhh!!” 

From your protest, his fingers go even faster. And worse, he sneaks his thumb to your clitoris, where he shocks your body with swipes and grinds to the delicate pearl. Too fast for you to chew on your lip to shield the creams, “Hey now, I said call me by my name.” He looks at you with flushed cheeks and soft, hooded eyes — way too late to blame the alcohol for such effects. But you can see the passion that’s burning inside those blue orbs of his. “Don’t be stubborn on me, pretty girl. What’s my name, Y/n?”

God, first cutie, now pretty girl; how many names was he gonna call you to drag you deep into your pool of embarrassment? “Haahhh, Satoru, please,” your body jerks to the jabs of his fingers hitting inside you. 

“Heh, good girl. My little angel…” Gojo kisses you again, sucking on your tongue with a teasing vigor before lifting your shirt to display your body to him in its whole form. Your breasts spill open for him to claim a nipple into his mouth for a quick suck. He then travels down your abdomen, playfully nibbling on your soft skin and flesh for you to jerk. His hands massage your inner thighs after spreading them further. 

His face then comes down to your bare cunt, blowing on it to make you squirm. “Fuck, I’ve been wanting to look at you for so long. You made such a gorgeous mess for me.” 

“Go fuck yourself, Gojo,” you peer down at him, only for him to beam with a mischievous smile. Damn, you cursed his dimples for making him look like a childish bastard!

“No thanks, I’m more interested in fucking this cute thing.” He snickers to himself before descending further in between your legs and having you gasp sharply at the feel of his lips on your slit. His tongue swishes between your folds and sucks in your leaking substances for him to savor, the wet muscle teasing its entrance of your vagina before inserting inside.

You almost choke on your spit, crying out for him to stop and trying to close your legs. But that proves worthless, Gojo’s hands holding them to your chest for him to feast on you properly. You’re forced to accept the laps of his tongue, and it has your ears ringing with the obscene sounds coming from the commotion.

“—Ohoo!! Satoru, stop!!” You bring a hand to his head to grab a tuff of his snow-white hair. It does nothing, only making him eat you out even more unsteadily.  His nose occasionally bumps into your clit, your other hand gripping the sheets. “Stooop it, I’m gonna cummm, if you keep….!”

“Go ahead, baby,” he withdraws his mouth, slipping his fingers back inside you to massage euphorically. Your eyes roll up when he licks on your clitoris. “Let’s see my pretty angel be messy for me.” 

You couldn’t prevent yourself from following his command even if you wanted to, the fingers and his wet muscle all doing their part in making sure you give in. And so you do, releasing the reins to let your orgasm overcome you, clamping onto his fingers as it pass through your body through the shocks and your erotic howls. 

And Gojo eats you up through your sensitive nerves and all, his hands not letting you writhe out of this as he stuffs his face into your cunt. Your body jolts with every passing shock until it relaxes. And even then, Gojo still carries a naughty grin when lifting his face and licking his digits. “Look at that, princess. Making my fingers all pretty.”

The display made your ears hot. “Don’t play with it like that!”

“Why, I’m gonna play with you a whole lot more, anyway,” he says while kissing your thighs. He surprises you with a bite, making you huff in surprise. “Gonna play and mark you all mine all night long.”

And he was not lying. Everything happened so fast; one moment, you’re lying on Gojo’s bed with him, eating you out until you come from his mouth two times. The next moment, your pajamas are stripped off you and thrown to the floor along with his. 

“—Noohhh!! Ohhh, fuuuck, ahh, ‘Toruuu, yer goin’ too fast…! Slow down!!”

“Hnngh! Ahhhh, easy for you to say with you gripping on me like crazy…Holy shiiiit, you feel so good…”

Now, you two in the nude are fucking like animals. The hour is way past late for noises to disrupt your neighbors, yet here you are on Gojo’s bed with your face down to the sheets and your ass propped up for him to drill his length deep inside you. He’s caged you beneath him, his strong arms on either side of you while his hips thrust into your plump ass and thighs. The sounds of the action were so raunchy to the ears, something straight from a porno.

The two of you have been going at it for about two previous rounds; your body is already sensitive and sweaty from this. You want to be tired – your mind is trying to tell you you’re exhausted. However, it’s impossible to think of anything else with Gojo hammering his dick into you like no tomorrow. Excessive come leaks from your cunt down your thighs, a white ring forming around the base of his shaft — evidence of your sexes union. 

“Ohhh Jesus, this ’s too much…Nnnphh!” The clap of your ass smacking onto Gojo’s pelvis made you sheepish, sinking your face further into the sheets to try and conceal your cries. But that’s not working when the tip of his cock grazes your velvety walls in such a precise motion that you almost choke on a sob, drool coming down your mouth. “Oh God, right there, ‘Toruuu…”

The white-haired man observes from above, examining your round ass and body jerk from his movements. Fuck, you looked so fucking sexy like this under him, wailing out from him being able to make you feel so good. It strokes his ego so badly, but that’s what happens when he’s finally proving to you how much he’s wanted your body like this. Your erotic body, your adorable mewls, and your amazingly tight cunt clenching on him as if you don’t want to let him go — it all makes his head pound, and his strokes smack on your harsher.

“Shiiiit, I’m so close…” He moans with a cold sweat that rolls down to his chin and hits the skin of your trapezius. Gojo then decides to switch things up before his evident release comes knocking. “Hey, sweetie. Let me see that pretty face of yours.”

You were already maneuvered to face him before he could finish that sentence, your front forced to be seen in his gaze. Your half-lidded orbs locked in with Gojo’s as he bucks his hips to you during missionary. Oh, what an intimate position! 

“Hic—Don’t look!” You say while putting your hands up to his face – accidentally hitting the bottom of his chin, taking him by surprise – not wanting him to see your disheveled and messy self under his observant eyes. 

But that didn’t fly by with him, immediately grabbing your wrists and pinning them down. “Oh, none of that, princess,” his face descends to brush his nose against yours. “I told you I’d prove you wrong. So, how am I supposed to do that with you hiding from me like that?”

You gulp to give him a snarky answer, “Mmmph—You’ve proven that enough!”

“I don’t think so,” he chuckles lightly; fuck, he sounds so hot. “With you, there’s never enough.” He takes your lips with him before you can say more, grinding his hips onto your squelching chasm to scrape your sensitive spots to evoke your screams to be taken from his mouth. 

Gojo then snaps his hips into you at an unsteady tempo, the rhythm too fast to comprehend and catch yourself. The rough hits of his dick so harsh and sporadic, and your mewls are muffled by his kisses. Your hands go to his back, preparing yourself for the climax that rushes back to you for the fifth time that night. 

Oh, fuck, oh my fucking God! And it hits you like a slap to the face; your exhausted body trembles for yet another crescendo to crash over you. Your legs come around to Gojo’s waist to hold on. And Gojo’s not too far from orgasming on his own; the fluttering contractions of your cunt force him to give in and spill into you once again, groaning into your wet and puffy lips. 

The two of you embrace the jolts of your bodies in union, your lips glued to his as he kisses you through it all. And he drops his sweaty body on yours, the heat between you two sticking to your skins from the contact. A hand comes to the top of your head, caressing and massaging your scalp to further your relaxed state.

Gojo breaks the kiss with a soft sound, and a string of saliva sticks to you two until it’s broken apart from his ascent. He chortles, using a thumb to wipe your mouth from spit. “Well, did I make my point?”

You send him a tired glare, sighing heavily while your finger traces his back. “More than enough, Satoru.”

He beams, the dimples returning to blind you. “Good! Because I was thinking of going for another round—“

Your lips quiver with dread at the words, grabbing for a pillow and instantly hitting him in the head with it, not caring about him exclaiming in pain from the impact.

“Hurry up and get off me, you drunk, horny bastard!!”

But one thing was definite; it wasn’t the alcohol that Gojo was drunk on — it was you.

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – dividers from @/benkeibear.

[hauntingrabbits]

Batman my little pony AU. Part 2 here, Part 3 here

More info on these under the cut!

1. Sundown Mane/Batpony (Bruce Wayne)

His backstory & general situation is pretty much identical to every other batman out there so I wont get into it.

Other notes:

-His cutie mark is a masquerade mask that I tried to make vaguely bat-shaped. The general public sees his Cutie Mark through the lense of his reputation, and he leans into it heavily to obscure the truth. In interviews, he presents it as being tied to hosting galas (it’s the reason he started hosting those huge masquerade balls in the first place) and/or his fashionable looks, but in truth it’s far more representative of his stealth and disguise capabilities, as well as his masked night time hobbies as a whole.

-He’s not an actual bat-pony in any way, the bat wing appearance is just the costume (intentionally designed that way for intimidation, battle, and obscuring his identity further). Though most citizens assume he’s a true bat-pony, other rumors range from him being a vampire, to an Earth pony with false tech-based wings, to a magically disguised alicorn, to a spirit of the night.

-If Batman were actually to be a pony I think he’d 100% be an earth pony, because his big thing is relying on skill and tech rather than power and he has the whole “normal guy amongst gods” thing going on. HOWEVER. There are actual bat ponies in this show. How am I not supposed to utilize that somehow for the guy whose name is BATMAN? Also with Sundown I think being a Pegasus just fits the playboy personality front he puts up. I don’t know why, its just vibes.

-I think he just doesn’t fly much while patrolling as batpony, instead using his wings for extra jump or for intimidation and cover like with his cape. They’re probably steel-tipped or something too. He doesn’t rely on flight for advantage and trains entirely grounded because he doesn’t want to be dependent on flight and find himself lost if his wings are ever incapacitated.

2. Apollo Honeyscales/Two-Face (Harvey Dent)

Fascinated by the Equestrian legal system and craving a more organized society than what was offered by his generally disorderly and solitary fellow Chimeras, Apollo moved to Gotham to pursue higher education. Unfortunately, ponies are often intimidated by, if not downright terrified of Chimeras, so though Chimera cultures usually give each head equal social weight and three individual names, Apollo quickly adapted to instead try to present himself as pony-like as possible. He used a singular name and pronoun for his whole body, presented the less intimidating, herbivorous-looking goat as his “main” head, and eventually even took to having a faux Cutie Mark applied for media and court appearances. Prior to the attack, the lion and the snake head were never seen talking in public, and even in private the only ponies to have heard them speak were his close friends Sundown Mane and Glider Gold.

After being attacked with acid in court, Scales succumbed to injury and had to be amputated, while Honeybite was left alive but severely scarred. With this event, Apollo’s and Honeybite’s already fragile mental states from years of pony society othering them, the weight of their job, and personal repression finally snapped in their grief and anger, leading Honeybite to fully take the reins and create the criminal persona of Two-Face. Attempts from both Sundown and Glider and to reach out since have been unsuccessful.

Other Notes:

-According to the wiki only one chimera shows up in the whole show so. I made stuff up. -Chimeras typically being solitary is based on the fact we only ever see one in the show. This solitary nature would make it hard for them to have a widespread legal system at all, let alone to enforce it; thus Apollo’s original fascination with the foreign pony legal system. The Chimera in the show also has individual names for each head, each with a slightly different style (the goat following pony name conventions with the name Pumpkin Cake, the tiger following a slightly more violent version of pony name conventions with the name Sweetkill, and the Snake bluntly just being named Snakey). I tried to follow similar conventions for Apollo. I was most happy with the name Scales, because it followed the blunt snake naming convention while also sort of doubling as a scales of justice reference. Apollo is just a reference to Harvey’s nickname in some of the comics, and Honeybite is just for fun.

-His perfectly split coat is unique even among other chimeras, and as Apollo he was generally considered attractive and “exotic” by Equestrian media outlets.

-The temporary Cutie Mark application was done professionally. (Surely ponies have perfected this art, right? Like this has to be something pony society does and has services for, right? Ponies covering up embarrassing Cutie Marks, blank flanks covering up an embarrassing lack of a Curie Mark, Ponies getting Cutie Marks done for costumes, theater, movies, etc… you get it.) Apollo’s choice of a faux Cutie Mark is meant to serve as both a way of further integrating himself into pony society and a proclamation of his legal skills.

-Apollo was a genuinely great lawyer. Ponies on defense were often so preoccupied at the terror of having a lion and a snake silently stare them down that they wouldn’t realize it was actually the goat they should’ve really been afraid of until their entire case had already been ruthlessly torn to shreds.

3. Glider Gold (Gilda Gold)

Even prior to their relationship and subsequent engagement, Glider had long been Apollo’s closest friend and confidant. She saw the way his job and keeping up his image was tearing him apart long before the acid attack, and she deeply regrets not trying harder to get him the help he needed before it was too late. Multiple news outlets have been trying to get an interview with her and their efforts only increase every time Two-Face shows up in the news (despite Sundown’s efforts to dissuade them). She hasn’t been the same since the attack and Apollo’s disappearance, losing interest in her work and finding her friendship with Sundown heavily strained as they both feel the weight of Apollo’s absence.

Other notes:

-I wasn’t even going to draw Gilda originally because she’s such a minor character in Batman stuff but as I was writing out Apollo’s background she nudged her way back in. I like her too much.

-This version is based on her very first iteration where she was a sculptor. Her green coat is a reference to that version’s accompanying Two-Face (also his first iteration), who had green scarring.

- The choice for her to be a pegasus was mainly just to go with her silly name, but I do think being a pegasus would be beneficial to a sculptor. No ladder required to work on high details just fly up there.

-I am not immune to the bruce/harvey/gilda agenda

[semisomnosres]

I'll try to throw in a little bit of lore

A mysterious disease that only the Norisu clan could resist at the cost of their lives. Unfortunately, it was not possible to completely eradicate it and it terrorizes the city to this day, and only a ninja, thanks to the mask, can fight monsters without being absorbed by this filth. The disease is called the “Sorcerer’s Curse”; in ancient Japan it was believed that all illnesses and misfortunes were the fault of demons/yokai/punishment of the gods and other evil spirits. It all started with the fact that one of the first infected was mistaken for an evil sorcerer who cast a curse on everyone, which was completely wrong, but rumors spread like wildfire, and somehow, imperceptibly, this name stuck. (The First already has a shitload of things to do, he is one of those people who, if he could, would not blink so that he could work more, but coming up with an adequate name and then accustoming people to it is clearly not what he wants to spend his time on.)

Mutated beasts appeared just as unexpectedly along with the infection. Ugly, evil, hungry creatures, wreaking chaos and eating everyone they find. They usually live and hunt in their own territory, but at the same time they have the audacity to sneak into the city to hunt. The curse had a strong impact on the environment, poisoning the land for years and changing it over so many years so that some places resemble nightmares. (For example: Trees that look like a trypophobic hell, boiling swamps where even the steam burns to the point of pain, living pieces of meat growing straight from the ground and other delights that an adequate person would not want to see in person)

It’s relatively safe within the city, except for moments of monster attacks (which a ninja can handle) and shitty weather: hail of icy needles, acid rain season, etc. This is already common and people have adapted to such conditions over so many years. But there are also truly dangerous places where only a ninja or a complete idiot would go. (the level with the swamp from Dark Souls says hello)

From time to time, Randy has to go there voluntarily (forcibly), because only there can he get ingredients for some drugs (like those cones for creating smoke bombs) Infected people - It is quite easy to distinguish from animals - by preserved human features, personal belongings, hair, and the ability to speak humanly (but usually it turns out something incoherent, or the infected person repeats the same word) Over time, their consciousness and body will change more and more: they will begin to forget about themselves, become more aggressive and experience constantly incessant pain from body deformation and insatiable hunger (The speed of development of the virus depends on the person, some can retain their sanity and control over their actions to the last, while others They immediately break down and begin to attack those around them)

Although there are difficult situations, it will be possible to reverse the transformation, but there is an exception. - if they eat a person, or simply taste blood, then they are immediately classified as beasts and belong to extermination. (there is another point of infection, which I will talk about a little later). As in the canon, they are also called Abominations, but for a slightly different reason. In origa, their breath simply stinks, here the unpleasant odor appears due to the decomposition of cells by parasites. They smell like rotten meat in swamp soil and metal.

Logically, I decided to make changes in the approach to battles. (combat medics) They also use weapons/magic, etc., but in the original the ninja has a choice of how hard and how deep he will push the nunchucks into someone’s insides, there are more choices of poisons and types of heals.

Another idea is that it depends on the character of the ninja whether the treatment will be painless or even the feeling of an injection will be the same as being hit with a knife

And I will mention a person who has an important role in the city - McFist. As a true smart-ass capitalist, he managed to make money from the epidemic. (And more precisely, selling all sorts of devices for home protection, umbrellas against acid rain, alarms, etc. And his second profitable industry is the funeral home) Not to say that he is a straight-up villain here, he rather has the vibe of an annoying neighbor. It infuriates him that a ninja, in the heat of fulfilling his duties, can (accidentally) ruin some of his stores, and the ninja is annoyed that it’s up to him to clean up the consequences of some of his awesome ideas (for example, he will build a plant right near the borders of the city, where in the end the pipeline became for monsters highway directly to the city sewer system.)

[towriteloveontheirarms]

Ñuha drakarītsos (dark!Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

synopsis: Aemond attacks Harrenhal and decides he deserves a spoil of war. And he doesn´t take lightly to any objections.

warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, (public) humiliation, non-consensual sex, oral sex (m receiving), penetrative sex, reader getting treated like a toy, angst, no happy end, afab reader

word count: 3.1k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall @urmomsgirlfriend1

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

Dividers by @targaryen-dynasty

Adrenaline races through your body as you run through the halls of Harrenhal. Keeping your bare feet moving over the hard stone ground and your heartbeat pounding in your ears. Your loud, huffing breath is the only thing you hear besides it. You don't remember losing your shoes or ripping the skirts of your dress. It does not matter now though. All that matters is getting out of the castle and away from the men invading it or die trying. But you refuse to give up without a fight.

You can count the number of hallways on one hand, when you get caught by a knight and despite your struggles, are forced back to the inner courtyard. There you get pushed towards the other woman from the castle, who had all been rounded up like scared animals. Clinging to one another, shaking and crying hysterically. Your eyes flit over the yard. Knights are pushing around lords and servants, rounding up more women. The screams mixed with the scent of fire entering your nose is disorienting. Your head spins from the cacophony around you and then silently everything goes quiet as he enters the courtyard. That piercing blue eye burns into your body for just a moment before eyeing the rest of his and his men's work. His voice is heard barking orders at his men and then Aemond Targaryen stands before all of you, lips pressed together in a thin line and his hands behind his perfectly straight back.

With a methodical carefulness the prince regards all of you, looking down his nose. After walking the line, he comes back around to stand in front of you.

“You.” He says plainly.

Before you know what exactly he means by that, you get pushed a few steps forward and your clothes are ripped off your body. A gasp goes through the group behind you, the women cowering away to further single you out as Aemond walks towards you.

Inches away from you, he stills. One of his large, rough hands finds it´s way onto your thigh, the thumb sliding over the inside to graze your folds. Instinctively your legs squeeze together tightly, a thick layer of goosebumps spreads over your body, yet while it brought a sardonic smile to his lips, yours are graced by a snarl. His touch wanders upwards, leaving a burning trace in its wake that makes you feel the need to purge. Acidic taste burns its way up your oesophagus, overwhelming you entirely as the burning trails over the curve of your breasts to stop right under your jawline.

He runs a thumb over your lip ring, tracing the curve of your lip before finally releasing your chin.

“Unclean.” He mutters, sounding unimpressed at the dirt and ash that had accumulated on your skin. 

The smirk returns to his face as he reaches out and grabs onto your cheek.

He leans in close, his warm breath against your skin as he whispers. “You´re going to make a perfect little whore for me.”

The only answer he gets is a growl from deep within your body.

A soldier gets called over to wrap his cape over your shoulder. It is wet with drying blood and smells of the fires that had been set all around the castle, leaving you uncomfortable. Though it gives a sense of modesty.

The thought of which goes flying as soon as Aemond wraps an arm around your waist, to without much decorum, pick you up over his shoulder. To no avail you kick your legs and hit the back of the prince’s armour, which only gets regarded with a tightening of his grip.

Somehow, he manages to get you on top of Vhagar, trapping you between his arms. “Now. Are you going to behave yourself?” He asks firmly but doesn't wait for an answer as he commands Vhagar to take flight.

He doesn´t need to. It was more of an order than a question really. It is not like you could do much anyway without falling off the massive dragon and breaking your neck if you are lucky.

“Let me go!” You break your silence against him once you are far away enough from the castle for the screams on the ground to fall silent.

“Or mayhap you could give yourself to me right here.” He muses aloud.

“I will never give myself to you willingly.” You spit out the bitter tasting words. “And if you truly believe there to be even the slightest chance of it, you must be a bigger fool than the usurper himself.”

Aemond smiles coldly at your defiant words, enjoying the fact that you were unable to fully submit to him. He leans forward and bites down hard enough on your neck to break the skin where his teeth marked your flesh. It stings horribly, yet he seemed to find pleasure in your pain. 

“And yet here you are, unable to do anything but sit in my lap and take whatever I choose to give you.” He purred softly, running his fingers over your hair gently before suddenly yanking it back harshly in a makeshift ponytail, causing tears to spring to your eyes.

The sharp pain running through your scalp lets up only moments after, yet as Aemond lets up on your throbbing tresses, he immediately begins pinching at your breasts through the fabric that hangs around your shoulders still.

“Perhaps I should break more than just your will?” He asked with a sinister grin, reaching between your thighs to pinch at them as well.

The sensation makes you jump in the dragon's saddle, only saved from falling by his arms around you and holding onto the next best thing you can find, which luckily is the pommel.

Your heart beats wildly out of your chest and while the wind howls in your ears, carrying over a loud amused laugh from behind your back.

By the time you reach the capital and the red keep, you feel ready to pass out. Even if in all technicality the way doesn’t take long on dragon back, the prince´s relentless teasing and humiliation has you so on edge that it becomes straining.

When Vhagar finally lands and your feet feel some solid ground under their soles, you are immediately restrained by the wrists behind your back. At first you have half a mind of making a run for it, but one look into Aemond's eye tells you that there wasn't a worse idea in the world right now and that his treatment would become only worse if you followed up on that instinct. So, you comply with him as he nudges you in the back to get you to walk. Stumbling after him as he leads the way towards his chambers, you shiver under the judging glances of passing royalty and servants alike. Hearing their whispers about the now open and thus very revealing cape had you clench your fists.

You want to yell at them, rage, defend yourself, run. Anything to make you feel less helpless, but there is no way you would survive that. So, you keep following Aemond, keeping your thoughts to yourself and focusing on the stone floors. Even if their gazes burnt into your body just like his steel blue eyes had back at Harrenhal, you wouldn't meet their eyes. Doing so would only serve to lose the last smidgeof respect you had preserved for yourself.

Somehow the walk through the castle feels even longer than the flight from Harrenhal. Perhaps because it is linked to the much greater shame of being seen in this position, a shame that feels like boulders weighing you down from your stomach.

Eventually he does open the doors to his private chambers to you though, closing them behind you, before coming up to.

Even the way he moves marks him as a predator. The slow steps, cold, ever calculating eyes, the way his head always moves before his body. Always planning something that no matter how hard you try, you can never seem to keep up with. Smelling and getting off on the fear of his prey.

You notice that you have let yourself get lost in thought, when Aemond pulls the cloak off your shoulders and loudly calls in some maids.

On his order they give you what must be the roughest bath ever. Scrubbing until your skin is reddened, but at least it rides you off the dirt and smell of smoke and dragon.

You are given the grace to be dried off, but one look tells you that you won't be given any new clothes.

Instead, once the women hand you over to Aemond again, with arguably pitying gazes, you find yourself held down on the mattress.

With leather straps your wrists and ankles get bound to the bed posts in an embarrassingly open position. And no matter how hard you pull on them, the restraints do not budge, leaving you in that position for anyone that would walk in the room to see.

“Do not worry. You will learn to love being under my control.” Aemond runs the back of his fingers over your burning cheeks.

An amused chuckle leaves his lungs as you turn your head to snap after the slender digits.

“I will never love being under your control. I surely will not ever love anything associated with you.” You pick up the fight against the smooth leather once more, yet all it does is cut into your skin.

“It's quite amusing to watch someone resist so hard.” The blond remarks. “But ultimately futile.”

He leans in close again, his hot breath brushing against your ear as he whispers. “You will learn to crave my touch as much as you fear it.”

Without a warning he bites down on your earlobe, causing you to cry out in pain and shock.

“Fuck you…” You hiss back at him.

Aemond smirks at your response, his eye gleaming with a mix of dominance and pleasure.

“I think I quite enjoy hearing you say that. Although I would much rather do that to you.” His hand wanders down between your legs again to forcefully push two fingers inside of you.

You cry out, a strangled sound that claws its way out of your lungs, but he does not relent. The sensation of his fingers penetrating is brutal, making you want to scream, but you bite your tongue instead. Under no circumstances would you give Aemond that satisfaction, if you could prevent it. Yet your thighs squeeze together tightly.

The action now elicits a deep growl from his throat, warning you to better behave or he might not be so kind as he is at the moment.

“Now be a good girl and spread your legs for me.” He continues to force his fingers inside of you, tearing at your sensibilities as he watches your face twist in discomfort and humiliation. His violation fuelling your hatred for him only further.

Eventually you have no other choice but to let your legs fall apart.

“That´s a good girl.” Aemond purrs.

His other hands slides up the middle of your body to rest loosely around the base of your neck.

Though he doesn't restrict your breathing yet, it hitches in your throat still. Aemond is unpredictable, even if you were to follow each of his commands.

Then suddenly his fingers leave your aching cunny. The same moment the rustling of clothes fills the room alongside your shallow inhalation.

Even with his hand away from your neck, you only dare to look at the prince from the corner of your eyes. It proves to be enough to take in the sight of pale skin, being exposed until even his breaches fall to the ground.

Aemond grabs your hair to force your lips open in a gasp. Without wasting time, his hardened length gets buried deep in your throat, forcing you to gag and choke as your body desperately tries to adapt to his long cock. Meanwhile Aemond, with a deep groan, began to thrust into you harshly. Tears burn in your eyes and flow over when you see the look of cruel joy in his darkened one. The wet sounds of the blond fucking your throat are beyond lewd and loud enough to be heard by the guards outside the door for sure. At the same time, you can´t stay quiet at the intrusion. Your lungs refuse to be silenced. Even if your cries for help are muffled and masked by the sounds of deep moans, you don´t give up hope one of them would take pity on you.

But nothing happens. The doors stay closed, no one intervenes, the leather cuffs do not budge for you to find a way out yourself. And you are forced to listen to your torturers irregular breathing and expressions of pleasure.

By the time he pulls out of your mouth with a wet pop, Aemond´s cock is soaked with a mix of spit and pre cum, the mixture dribbling down to his stones and wetting your chin from your swollen lips.

However, the assault has not found its end yet.

Aemond climbs in between your legs and lines up his slickened length at your in fear tightened opening. Your fists clench in preparation until the knuckles turn pale. None of it is enough to help against the pain.

Without preparation and with one swift motion, Aemond buries himself inside your core until he bottoms out.

“There we go.” He coos in a taunting tone over your stifled scream. “Feeling nice and full now, are we not, ñuha drakarītsos? My little dragonfire.”

Again, there is no break. He pulled out slowly to give you just the smallest moment to breathe, only to push back in even harsher than before. Every time he thrusts into you, a new scream claws its way out of your lungs, long after they are raw and hurt almost as much as the rest of your body.

Aemond reaches deep inside of you, stretching your still narrowed core, the curve of it making sure to hit all the most sensitive spots inside and out with the assistance of one large hand coming down to rub circles into your pearl to get you to loosen up.

His efforts, to your detriment, are fruitful sooner than late.

Under Aemond´s ministrations your body begins to betray you. Writhing and squirming against your will. The way liquid fire flows through your veins, calling for more and the feel of his stones slapping against your backside with every thrust. At the same time bile rises in your throat from how wrong this is. This shouldn´t make you feel good. None of it.

“Are you finally realising your place in the world, ñuha drakarītsos? Are you ready to give in to me?” Aemond leans down to let his breath tickle your ear.

His hand finds its way around your throat again, warning you not to say the wrong thing.

“Never. I will never bow my head to a levereter like you…” You are cut off by Aemond´s hand squeezing your throat tight enough to cut off any air flow.

Helplessly you gasp for air, as he keeps rutting into you, unflinching. Luckily your torturer shows a smidge of mercy, letting go of your neck just as the black dots begin to dance in your vision begin to grow.

“I will give you another chance. Are you ready to submit to me?” He puts extra emphasis on every word as he spits them out like sone expired food.

“You may ask as often as you wish. My answer will not change.” You shoot back in the same tone, spitting in his face afterwards.

“Oh, I will make you regret this.” The prince growls angrier than you had ever seen anyone. It is not a threat, especially not one made idly. It is a promise that he means to fulfil.

Until long past sunset, Aemond pounds you into the mattress, to a point where you pass overstimulation by a longshot. His seed leaks out of your swollen, numb folds to stain the bed sheets. A red print of his hand signals where he had cut off your breath repeatedly. And still he kept thrusting into you at a brutal pace. Where he still takes the strength from to keep it up you aren´t sure. And if you are honest with yourself, his efforts to make you submit have you unable to coherently think anything at the moment.

Much to Aemond´s delight, he is able to observe your head rolling from side to side weakly, your whole body shaking uncontrollably, the fight entirely gone from your spent muscles. At least for now. You have resorted to begging him to stop on a barely coherent mumbling tone, raw from everything that has happened prior, which is answered by a wolfish smirk as Aemond finally slows his hip movements.

The slower thrusts allow him to lean down one last time to suck purple and blue marks into the sensitive skin around the one his hand had left earlier. Some pitiful, scratchy and quite hurtful whines leave your mouth in response to the prince´s doings. Observing his masterpiece it only takes Aemond a few more pumps to climax one last time.

Through hazy eyes and an even hazier mind you barely register him pulling out. Your senses are overwhelmed by the low light of the moon reflecting off his hair to make it shimmer like liquid silver and the stench of has previously transpired. You are exhausted, eyes barely able to keep open as Aemond gets off the bed to clean his cock and get redressed.

Once he is finished caring for himself, the blond, releases your weakened limbs from the restraints. Then he climbs in bed next to you, though he makes no attempt to share his blanket with you, nor show any care towards your still far-gone mind. Why would he you were naught more than a spoil of war, a toy to be used and thrown away once it became too broken. He seemed to sense however that there was some fight left in you, even if at the moment you did not.

“You better be ready to bow to me on the morrow. Or there will be more punishment. I do not mind either way. It is up to you if I will your dream or your worst nightmare.” Aemond rasps, the tiredness in his voice clearly audible even through the fog that seemed to want to stay in your brain. You don´t remember much of what followed that night. Somehow he ended up with one of his arms laid loosely over your middle. Though the air between the two of you remains as hostile as before.

He knows there is no fondness for him in your heart, no trust. He can’t blame you for it. In all honesty he does not even care much for it. You belonged to him now either way. His little dragonfire.

[spurbleu]

cw. anxiety attack, john price x reader. gentle angst drabble. (venty ig)

‧︎✳︎༚︎‧︎⁎︎°︎

is it possible for something to be hot and cold simultaneously?

sure feels that way- rasps peaking in puffs of acid on the back of his tongue. reeling in its own indecision- burning frigidity. sizzling stove pan, somehow keeping the ice solid in frosty cruelty.

somewhere in between.

that’s where price found himself, now. inbetween. not unfamiliar, but uncomfortable. sticky and suffocating, cant see shit. vignette vision, cloudy edges. the head of his heart thudding in his chest with a ferocity he’s accustomed to- on the field.

but not here. not with you. this couldn’t, shouldn’t, be happening.

clock. desk. rug. bedpost. gun- fuck. shit.

he glances to you. usually the hard lines of your silhouette calm him- solidify your presence and his safety beside it. but tonight, he can’t seem to find where you begin and where it ends. ribbons unfurling where his jagged hands cut it. his own fault, that he is the way he is.

he wants to hold you close but can’t seem to figure out where. you head is there but then it’s not. hallow and rise of your shoulders, lost to the sheets and the dark corners he braved when he was younger (thought his fear has dissipated, seems it’s come back twice as strong).

“focus on the things you can’t see- hear them. feel them.” always so good at comfort, weren’t you, sweet thing.

his breath. your breath. the shifting of the sheets. your mumble. the boiler in the basement. your voice, calling, aimless. here. im here, find me.

“honey?”

lost again. vision was blurred from sleep, and something festering. it feeds on the marrow, and the insomniac in him thought prods how. he feels as though it’s already eaten what it could’ve. how could there be more? how does it still find something to take?

doesn’t answer. instead, it jolts down to his hands. clammy, sheath of sweat burrowing in his life lines that feel to old and young at the same time (he’s conflicted tonight, isn’t he). similar to his hold on a gun, shot a man, shot tw-

a breath.

like when he held your hand for the first time. movies, bad one. you laughed, so it was okay. okay. less clammy, not that you minded. you never did.

“john?”

it’s louder now, he’s almost out. just a little while more now, don’t rock the boat. breathes like he was taught. looks around. counts.

you are not there. you are here. clock. desk. carpet. bedpost. picture frame. clock, your grandmothers. good cook. desk, god how many times have you kissed him there, before sleep- he’d like to kiss you now, if you’re there. are you th-

“john, sweetheart. breathe.”

he does, and even in the dark he sees you. and he’s better. breathing. living. a good man.

“i’m ‘ere dove. just a terror.”

his breath. your breath. the shifting of the sheets. your mumble. the boiler in the basement.

your kiss. hey, im right here. with you. going no where.

he believes you. helps him sleep, believing. holds you closer, as if to punctuate it. focuses on your breath, because it when it expands, it tells him that as long as your alive, he can navigate out of it.

neck deep in mud, the thicket he’s subjected himself to, you’re there. pitch belly sky and dull blade beginnings- yet you still find a way to shine.

clock. desk. carpet. bedpost. you. you. you.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Adventure: The Big Ambitions of Baron Bittly

Monsters from the primal expanse of the Drovidiin Wilds have been appearing without warning in the kingdom's heartland, somehow teleported hundreds of miles to rampage through towns and cities. After more than one skirmish with the beats, your party has ventured to the bordertown of Thimblewell on the edge of the wilds, seeking answers.

Adventure Hooks:

Though the party have heard whisperings of the beast attacks before, their firsthand exposure to the phenomenon comes when they hear screams and cries coming from the town's fancy playhouse. An acid spitting drake has somehow found its way inside the building during the middle of the performance and its rampage threatens to bring the house down.

Tasked with tracking down a crew of bandits that've been plundering local caravans, the party's raid of the outlaw's encampment is thrown into chaos when one of their targets breaks open an innocuous crate, pulls out a glowing glass canister and smashes it in the middle of the melee: unleashing a beast in a burst of blue light into an already chaotic final battle.

The party find a strange tension when they arrive in the town of Thimblewell. Though the settlement has a long history of being beset by monsters from the primeval wilderness it borders, there've been no attacks for the past several years and no one seems to want to talk about why. Eventually a disgruntled former guardsman points them in the direction of the local landholder, an amateur mage with a reputation for conducting strange experiments. He fails to mention that said mage has a defence system built into his manse, and that he's been expecting the party's arrival for some time.

Background: Irnett Bittley was never a mage of large talent, both because he was unable to summon up the showy displays of elemental mastery that would have earned him a living as a court wizard, and because his self important streak made him too proud to ever suffer suffer through an apprenticeship. He was a great mage, destined for great things, and the fact that others couldn't see that was their failing.

Tired of being challenged or denied by people who genuinely knew better, Bittley picked up stakes and went to the boonies seeking to find a pond small enough to consider him a big fish. He found it in Thimblewell, a little town sorely in need of a handymage, and he could have been happy and well liked there if the need to be great wasn't etched on his soul. Thimblewell had a monster problem, and while Bittley was no battlecaster he did have a knack for bindings and containment spells. If he managed to catch a monster by supprise while it was distracted by the local millitia he could shrink it down and hold it in stasis, effectively defeating the monster by kicking the can indefinitely down the road.

The townsfolk heaped praised upon him for his heroics, only to have their goodwill spat right back in their faces as Bittley started asking for increasingly steep "donations" to keep his enchantments in place, all but threatening to release the beasts again if his impromptu tax wasn't paid. Fast forward a couple of decades and Baron Bittley has become rich enough to buy himself a title and become Thimblewell's defacto ruler.

Still not content to be a backwoods landbarron, Bittley's latest scheme is to sell his stockpile of captured beasts one by one to unscrupulous individuals who are in need of a good monster: thieves in need of a distraction, poachers and collectors trafficking in rare specimens, nobles who'd prefer an untraceable and indiscriminate means of assassination. This enterprise is making Bittley even more rich, but with success comes paranoia, and we all know how dangerous a paranoid mage can be.

Challenges & Complications:

1: The drake was intended as a means of assassination, targeted at a countess and her heir attending the playhouse's performance in one of the box seats. As the party runs in to save the screaming commoners, they'll potentially be diverted by the countess's guards, intending to save their employer's life before anyone else's. Saving the noble might earn them a rich reward at the cost of many lives, but choosing to look after the common people will earn them the ire of the acid-scarred heir, who watched them save the rabble while his flesh burned and his mother was crushed to death under rubble.

2: After the party have defeated the bandits, they'll find three more of those arcane canisters left in the box, each containing its own miniaturized monster waiting to be unleashed. The caravan the bandits robbed was smuggling these beasts to a buyer with dangerous aims, meaning the caravan's owners now have good reason to want the party silenced. Do the party report their findings? Extort those who hired them at the cost of a knife in the back? Or do they just take their offbrand pokeballs and run, dreaming of the chaos they can cause.

3: Baron Bittley knows the party is coming for him thanks to his spies in town, he also knows he could never hope to take them in a fair fight. Thankfully he’s got access to magic, so he doesn’t need to fight fair, allowing them into his home only to catch them in a trap that will shrink them down to a few inches tall, whereafter it’s a simple matter of mage-handing them over into the basement bound dowry chest/prison he’s made for all those in town who’ve dissented to his rule over the years.

Thankfully the tiny townsfolk have been working on a jailbreak for some time now, having painstakingly sawed their way out of the box while their inattentive overlord’s been distracted domineering the world outside. The greatest hurdle to their escape has been the wild landscape of the junk fulled manor basement, filled with various pests that’ve become arcanely mutated from the leakage from the mage’s lab on the floor above. The party will need to engage in some borrowers esque traversal across the basement, up through the walls, and into the lab if they have any hope of reversing their predicament.

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[ugh-to-love-a-boy]

DATING SERO, MINA, AND DENKI WOULD INCLUDE!

DATING HANTA SERO WOULD INCLUDE

• Spider-Man kisses I know its probably over said, but he would tape himself up and kiss his s/o randomly.

• hanging out with the Bakusquad and being best friends with Denki and Mina, doing chaotic things that make Bakugo question why those are his friends.

• This man is a gentleman, so if you want to take it slow, he’s respectful and stays within the set boundaries. He would never ever force anyone into something they don’t want.

s/o,• If Mineta was caught staring or he heard him say something about his s/o he would probably tape his mouth shut and get either Mr. Aizawa or Bakugo to do something more,because cause he would probably just get his s/o and get them away from the pervert.

• As stated earlier, he stays within boundaries, so when it comes to PDA, he doesn’t really have a problem with it. He’s fine with hand-holding hugs and kisses if you are too great, but if you are not, he’s respectful of that and just sticks to hand-holding.

• Though I feel like he would definitely be affectionate, cuddles in the commons, watching movies with the bakusquad, or just in your room or in his, and forehead kisses are probably what he enjoys both receiving and giving, though if his s/o is too short, he’s okay with just hand kisses.

• and he probably gives you adorable little gifts, nothing costly, given the fact that you’re both just high schoolers.

DATING DENKI KAMINARI WOULD INCLUDE

• You would have to put up with his atrocious flirting skills, though after a while you’d think it’s cute how he still tries to win you over when you're already his and he’s yours.

• You now have a portable outlet anywhere you go. Your phone needs charging. He’s got your hearing aids. He’s got you literally anything that requires electricity. He would use his quirk for it.

• Now hanging out with the bakusquad is really fun. Being close friends with Mina and Sero, you would almost always be up to your weird shenanigans. Kirishima loves you and Denki together, but he’s running out of energy trying to keep Bakugo calm.

• If he caught Mineta, his (now former) friend, talking about his s/o, he would not be cool about it; he would most likely scream about it, getting the attention of half the dorms instantly, including Mr. Aizawa, who was not happy about Mineta yet again being a pervert.

• This man is a simp for his s/o, and he wants everyone to know they are his, so hand-holding and quick kisses throughout the day make him happier than anything.

• As stated above, he’s affectionate, so everyone knew you were dating within a couple of hours, but the poor Bakusquad had the worst of it; they had to see his flirting with you and the cuddling anytime they hung out.

• Now, when he’s nervous, it’s not very rare that he would accidentally shock you while holding hands in training camp. You were holding hands when the attack began, and he shocked you.

DATING MINA ASHIDO WOULD INCUDE

• late-night sleepovers Either she is sneaking into your room because she is bored, or you are sneaking into her room because you are bored.

• random shopping sprees with Momo and what you two can’t afford; that’s why you have Momo.

• Hanging out with the Bakusquad is a given, and being besties with Kirishima while things get crazy somehow means Bakugou doesn’t try to kill you two.

• skin care/self-care nights with the girls every week, just going over the random things that take place at UA

• Personal alone time is sweet; she is a very affectionate girlfriend, holding piggyback rides, kisses, and cuddling the whole 9-yard

• If she so much as thought Mineta was staring at her, she would threaten to burn his eyeballs right out of his body with her acid, and if she heard him say anything, she would threaten his tongue next.

• From her bubbly nature, she is friends with almost everyone, so with you together, you are also friends with almost all of Mineta and a handful of people from 1-B.

• You are always either hanging out with her or talking, and if you are not fine, it's not like a codependent relationship; you just bring out the best in each other.

[spacesquidlings]

Don't You Worry Your Pretty Little Mind

Summary: With his lover bedridden after a battle gone awry, Astarion finds himself acting as her nurse, comforting her as best as he can, giving in to many of her whims. And despite all his theatrics, there is no one she wants by her side more than him.

Pairing: Astarion x Tav

Warnings/Tags: Hurt/Comfort, mostly comfort, fluff, some suggestive mentions, mild description of acid-based/burning wound, references to pain (nothing graphic)

Taglist<3: @spacebarbarianweird

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The sharp smell of medicinal herbs burned in her nose, wafting over her as the pillows beneath her head and neck were readjusted once more. Pain followed fast on its heels, a phantom compared to what she’d felt earlier, before she’d blacked out entirely.

“How’s that, darling?” Astarion’s nimble fingers prodded at the pillows, fluffing them as best as he could without disturbing her. He drew her from her memories, from the blinding pain that had sent her into unconsciousness.

She whined, wrinkling her nose as another wave of smell hit her, the ointments smeared across her wounds seeping through the bandages wrapped around them. It burned as she breathed it in, daggers piercing the inside of her nose and scratching at the back of her throat. Pain radiated up her side and she shifted, nearly gagging as the smell grew stronger.

“Hurts,” was all she could manage, her voice cracking from the effort.

He huffed, crossing his arms and stepping back to examine his work. “I think that’s the best you’re going to get, my love. As much as I wish to, I cannot turn the bed into clouds.”

“Thank you for trying,” she murmured, barely stifling a groan as she shifted. 

She kept trying to find a comfortable position and yet she could find none. No matter how she lay she could not take the pressure off of all her wounds, and the pure frustration of it all made her eyes burn, angry tears pooling in the creases of her eyes. It painted the world in quicksilver and moonbeams, and yet she could find no comfort in the facsimile of the calm of the night.

“Don’t cry, please.” Astarion’s voice quivered, his brow drawing together. Somehow his skin grew paler, blanching at the sight of her tears. “Please, darling. You’re scaring me.”

She sniffled, reaching up to wipe her tears away, hissing in pain as her body grew taut, muscles and skin tight from the burns she’d sustained. Her bottom lip quivered, a sob caught in her throat, too weak to even wail.

“Oh my darling,” Astarion cooed, voice soft as feather-down. His hands hovered above her, as if hesitant to touch her. “You’re going to be okay.”

She whimpered. Was she? Was she truly going to be okay? She wanted to reach for him, but useless as she was, she could not even raise her hands to wipe her face, let alone hold him.

She watched as he seemed to come to some sort of resolution, his fingers delicately lowering to brush the tears from her eyes. Her vision cleared for the barest of moments before more tears trekked down her cheeks, the salt stinging where it seeped into her bandages.

“You’re going to get through this.” He brushed back loose strands of hair that had fallen across her cheek, caught in the ointment smeared on her skin. “You’re strong, my love. You were strong enough to survive such powerful magic. You’ll survive this.”

She wasn’t so sure about that. Although she’d survived the initial attack, she didn’t know if she was going to make it through the after-effects.

She hadn’t been thinking when it had all happened, shoving a child out of the way of their assailant, only to be swathed in burning pain. There had been no thoughts of putting up a shield, of casting a spell to push the attacker back. There had only been the thread of panic that had burst in her mind, her body moving before her mind could catch up.

When it had first washed over her she’d thought it fire, but then it had become worse. So terribly worse.

She’d learned, once she’d awoke, covered in the stinking ointment and bandaged, that it had been acid. A horrible homemade concoction that had very nearly killed her from its potency.

But she could not find it in herself to regret it, not really. She had managed to survive, but that child would not have. And her stepping in the way of the attack had been enough of a distraction for Astarion to make a killing blow.

Although she doubted she would make it through the consequences of her actions. Namely the reeking ointment and the near-unbearable pain.

As if reading her thoughts, Astarion clicked his tongue. “Don’t be so dramatic. You can survive anything, darling. Even a little homemade potion.”

She huffed, looking away. It hurt to speak, and yet she couldn’t help herself as she snapped back at him. “It’s a lot more than a homemade potion.”

“Well, it was homemade. He was a master artificer and wizard. I don’t think he bought it from a market.”

Groaning, she squeezed her eyes shut, as if that would staunch the flow of tears. “It hurts so much, Astarion.”

When he responded his voice was quieter, softer. “I know, darling.”

“I feel like I’m being burned alive.”

He didn’t answer this time, not at first. Silence descended, heavy, uncomfortable as her bandages.

It was more unbearable than the lingering sting of the acid, and she opened her eyes, the world limned in silver once more, searching for her beloved in the little room.

His eyes were wide, the crimson of his irises stark against the pallor of his skin. She could see the shimmering silver caught in the alabaster of his lashes, the gold of the firelight catching in his own tears.

“You’re going to be okay.” He spoke fiercely, each word as strong as a blow as he clenched his jaw. She wouldn’t have heard the quiver in his voice if she didn’t know him so well, didn’t know when he was trying to keep something hidden. “You’re going to get through this, and then we’re going on a long vacation.”

Her heart twisted, clenched in the grip of sorrow. “Astarion. My love, I’m so sorry, I-”

He shook his head, his hand delicately cupping her cheek. His own tears streaked down his cheeks, but he made no move to wipe them away. “Don’t apologise. Just get through this, got it?”

“Okay. Okay, I will.” Her heart squeezed all the tighter, aching, struggling to beat. 

She tried to reach up, tried to hold his face, but she’d hardly raised her hand more than an inch before a ripple of pain made her gasp, fingers trembling like the branches of a sapling in a storm.

Astarion chuckled, lowering his head until the tips of her fingers brushed against his cheek. “Is this what you were hoping for, darling?”

“Thank you.” Her bottom lip was quivering again, her heart in her throat. Sadness was a vice that held her tight, nameless, all-consuming, drowning out even the smell of the ointment. She hurt so much, and she had hurt him. In her callousness she had hurt her most beloved and she didn’t know how to fix it, how to make him smile.

With a sigh Astarion lifted his head. His lips twitched, one brow arching. “What’s on your mind?”

“I just… I…” She couldn’t find the words, couldn’t figure out how to say it.

She felt like she was crumpling, formless and weak.

He shushed her gently, brushing the pads of his fingers against her cheeks. “Hush. It’s okay, my love. It’s okay.” Another twitch of his lips. “Wait to thank me until after I’ve changed your bandages.”

Shuddering, she looked away, feeling worse than helpless. “I look horrible, don’t I?”

“No you don’t.” A pause, his eyes searching hers. “It doesn’t look good, but you could never look horrible.”

An entire new wave of misery washed over her, and she wished she could still be unconscious, unaware of this pain and the knowledge that she looked horrible.

“Be honest,” she sniffed. “I look like something from a child’s nightmare.”

“Oh please.” He rolled his eyes. “Now you really are being dramatic.”

She whimpered, scowling as best as she could.

Sighing, Astarion perched on the edge of the bed, toying with the blankets, readjusting them over and over. Even so, his eyes never left hers, earnest and bright. “You’re hurt. You don’t look horrible, you look like someone who’s injured. You look like someone who needs to be taken care of until you’re better.”

Fangs flashing in the light, he gave her a half-moon smile. “And luckily for you, you’ve been blessed with someone as devoted as me, who will be here until you’re all better. Even though you’re being very vain.”

She frowned. “If I could throw a pillow at you, I would.”

“Well thank the gods you don’t have the strength right now.”

He leaned closer, fixing her pillows again. “Beneath all those bandages is the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.” He paused, smirking. “Well, second most beautiful. After me of course.”

“Oh of course.”

“You’re no child’s nightmare, darling.” The corners of his lips hiked higher. “In fact, I’d wager you’re a child’s hero now.”

She snorted. “Oh, I’m so sure.”

He poked her shoulder gently, beaming. “I am. I bet that kid’s already off telling all her friends.”

“She’s probably forgotten by now.”

“Oh no.” he gave a theatrical shake of his head. “No, certainly not. Rumour has probably spread that there’s a new hero on the sword coast.”

The corners of her lips tipped up, tugged by laughter bubbling in her throat. “Oh please.”

“The blade of frontiers had better move over,” he continued, mischief twinkling in his eyes like entire galaxies of stars. “There’s a new hero protecting Faerûn now.”

She giggled, shaking her head as best as she could. “I’m no hero! Besides, what would I even be called?”

Astarion tapped his cheek, eyes skyward as he hummed thoughtfully. “Now that’s a good question.”

“See? You can’t be a hero without a cool name.”

“How about ‘protector of the most beautiful vampire spawn?’ Or ‘the prettiest saviour of children from acid?’” He brushed the back of his index finger over her brow, smirking a little too broadly. His fangs flashed before disappearing again as he spoke, mischief in his words. “Or, and I think this one is the best, ‘the fool of faerûn.’”

She gaped at him, mouth falling open.

“You know, since you ran into an acid attack.” He shrugged. “You got the kid out of the way, but you didn’t get yourself out of the way in time.”

She wrinkled her nose as she answered, equal parts annoyed and amused. “You are so lucky, Astarion.”

“To have you by my side?” He stroked her hair, smirking. He knew perfectly well that was not what she was referring to. “I most certainly am lucky, darling.”

“You’re lucky I can barely raise my arms, or else you’d have a pillow in your face.”

“Yes well, you did kind of deserve that.” He tapped the top of her head, his expression growing more serious. “You had me terrified. I thought I’d lost you.”

His words were sobering, and she no longer felt the glimmer of mirth she had before. She sank into the pillows, dropping her gaze. “Astarion, I-”

“It’s already happened.” He cut her off before she could finish her apology, his brows drawing low as he continued. “I want you to focus on healing, on getting better. That’s the only apology I’m willing to accept.”

She swallowed, finding his gaze. “Okay.”

“And just as I said, once you are better, we’re going on vacation.”

It was so mundane, to talk of going on a vacation. A trip meant for relaxation, for having fun, where the highest stakes were finding delicious new food in an unfamiliar place. The sudden segue felt like something out of a dream, surreal when compared to her most recent memory, the wall of blackness in her mind after the rush of burning pain.

A giggle bubbled from her lips, earning a bemused look from Astarion. “What’s so funny? You think me incapable of a vacation?”

“No, that’s not it at all.” In fact it was all too easy to imagine him lounging around all day, the picture of indolence as he languidly sauntered down unfamiliar streets, as he stretched out on some sumptuous bed in a rented room.

“Well don’t keep me in suspense, darling.” He laid on his side, propping his head up in his hand. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

She giggled again, feeling ridiculous. “It’s nothing, really. It just feels strange to be talking of going on vacation, especially when I’m here covered in this gross ointment.”

He clicked his tongue. “That ‘gross ointment’ is going to help speed along your recovery.” He sniffed, nose wrinkling. “Although it is not exactly a pleasant smell.”

“I want a bath,” she whined. “I want to feel clean and smell pretty.”

“Once you are well enough, my love.” He gave her an indulgent smile. “I will give you the most luxurious bath you can dream of.”

Sighing, she imagined it in her mind. Warm water and flower petals and bath oils perfuming the air, helping her feel alive once again. “Do you think you could do that when we go on vacation, too?”

A chuckle, a darkening of his eyes. “There is plenty I plan to do, once you’re better.”

“Including a bath?” She ignored the somersault of her belly, the heat suddenly blooming at the apex of her thighs. Now really was not the time, not when she could barely stand the blankets that were draped over her.

“Yes,” he drawled. “The most splendid of baths every day for you, my dear.”

She relaxed as best she could against the pillows, daydreaming once more of such a thing. Of feeling the warm heat of the water seeping into her bones, of fingers massaging her scalp, trailing lovingly down her back.

“We can do whatever you wish,” he murmured, his gaze softening. “So long as you get better. You have to promise me you’ll get better.”

“I promise. I’ll do my best.”

“Good.” Astarion sighed, toying with her hair. Just the sight of him was stronger than any balm or medicine. The slight curve of his lips as he smiled, relief stitching itself into his expression, more a comfort than any sleeping potion.

He was still speaking, not that she heard even a word of it. Her mind couldn’t keep itself steady, flitting like hummingbird wings as the pain ebbed and flowed through her. Astarion had to pinch her cheek once, twice, before she could focus her thoughts, like trying to coax the ocean through the eye of a needle.

“Have I lost you, darling?” He chuckled, smoothing his hand over the sting where he’d pinched her. “I would have thought you would listen raptly as I spoke.”

She managed a roll of her eyes, knowing he was doing little more than teasing her. Distracting her, perhaps, to take the edge off of the unrelenting burn of her body.

“Forgive me, my love,” she rasped, batting her lashes as swiftly as she could in the moment. “It’s just hard to focus, even on your limitless charm.”

His brows knit together, lips pursing. She caught a flash in his eyes, worry quickly masked before she could begin to pick at it.

“You should rest, darling,” he murmured. “You’ll feel a little better once you wake.”

Astarion made to stand, the bed shifting as his weight vanished, and a ripple of pain went through her side, her chest. Not only her body screaming from the movement, little more than a jostle and yet enough to irritate the weeping wounds beneath her bandages, but her heart screaming too. Pain lancing in her chest, her heartbeat turning to the quiver of a loosed bowstring.

What would she do without him? How could she stand the anger of the poison that had flayed her skin? How could she try to brave the darkness of her unconsciousness? All without him?

A whimper fled from her lips, drawing Astarion’s gaze. The lines in his brow only deepened, and he sank back into the bed. A question hung on his lips, his hands reaching towards her, hovering, hesitancy making his face look wan.

“Don’t go,” she pleaded. “Please.”

The anxiety in his face fell away, like the last of a stone wall crumbling to ruin. Relief, and no small amount of mischief, remained, shining like light through stained glass, refracting rainbows across the ceiling and walls.

“I’m honoured that you want me close, love, but I’m not going far.” There was laughter in his voice, making it lilt like the opening of a song. “I’ll be back in less than a moment.”

With a swiftness that sometimes scared her, Astarion moved across the room, the sound of glass clicking as he sorted through little bottles and vials on their dresser. There were perfumes, lotions, oils, a pretty pink nail polish he’d presented to her only a few days before the attack.

She wanted to ask what he was doing, but in another moment he was back, wiggling a bottle no thicker than her pinky, filled with an oily-looking, iridescent liquid.

“To help you sleep,” he said before she could ask. “It’s supposed to numb some of the pain so you can rest.”

She tried to sit up, only to cry out as a thousand daggers stabbed at her, as her skin drew taut beneath her bandages. She collapsed back, wincing at the red stains blooming on some of her bandages.

“Darling, I fear that is the exact opposite of trying to get better.” Astarion tsked softly, sliding one hand behind her head, flicking the cap of the bottle open with the other.

“I was going to take the medicine.” She had to draw in lungfuls of air to push past the stabbing throb across her body, steadying the sudden surge of nausea in her belly.

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. The arch of his brow and the quirk of his mouth made it seem like she’d just said the most ridiculous thing in the world, and it made her want to pout.

“You’re so impatient,” he chided, bringing the bottle to her lips. “Obviously I was going to help you with it. The more you move the harder it is for you to heal.”

She could say nothing as she drank the potion, fighting not to gag as the oily substance slid down her throat. It tasted bitter, and it coated the inside of her mouth like grease.

Setting the empty bottle to the side, Astarion grinned. “See? That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” He patted her head, not yet done teasing her. “Imagine how much easier it would have been if you’d just waited for me the first time.”

“Are you saying you’ll take care of me? You’re going to nurse me back to health?”

He chuckled. “Of course, darling. I’m terribly keen to play as your doctor.”

“Oh Astarion, don’t tease me so much,” she whined. “I can hardly think of a clever response right now.”

“I don’t mind.” He tapped the tip of her nose, unscathed from the attack. “That pretty blush of yours is all I need.”

“Astarion.”

He lifted his hands quickly, palms out in surrender. “Alright, alright, that’s enough for now. I’ll leave you to your rest.”

Panic seized her and she gasped. “My love, wait. Wait!”

She reached her arms out as far as she could, making a grabbing motion with her hands. Astarion’s brows rose, the corner of his lips quirking up. “Oh? And what’s this?”

Whining, she stretched her arms out a little further. “I want you.”

“So needy.” His tone was chiding, but his smile only grew. “Do you need me to continue comforting you, darling?”

“Astarion, please.” She couldn’t spar with him now, and so she was at the mercy of his teasing. She pushed out her bottom lip, pouting as best she could, giving him her biggest doe eyes. “I need you.”

“And how do you need me?”

If she could have ground her teeth she would have. But as it stood she could not, so she settled for a wrinkle of her nose, her cheeks burning from the heat he’d coaxed into them. He was smiling far too broadly, his eyes full of mirth.

With a sigh she said, “I need you to stay with me. I need you to hold me, my beloved. Please.”

“Oh my.” She could see the faintest touch of colour in his cheeks, like the first hint of the blushing dawn in the dove-grey of the morning sky. “Well how could I ever say no to such a request?”

Happiness softened the edges of her ire as Astarion tugged at the blankets, carefully slipping into the bed beside her. She sank to the side, his body beckoning her close, wincing only barely as he pressed against her side. He draped an arm loosely over her stomach, no heavier than another blanket, and yet she felt safer because of it, warmer than any blanket could make her feel.

“How is this?” He murmured softly against her ear, his breath tangling in her unbound hair. “Better?”

“This is very nice,” she said, just as quietly. “Thank you, my love.”

“Do you think you can sleep?” His voice wobbled, revealing the fear that had been hiding beneath his joking tone. “It will help with your healing.”

“But I only just got comfy,” she whined, not caring how pitiful she sounded.

A snort, cool fingers brushing back her hair. His breath gathered against her skin as he lowered his head, sighing. “That is so you can sleep, darling.”

“I don’t know if I can sleep.”

“If I’m distracting you, it may be better if I go-”

“No!” It would have been a shriek if she’d been able to shriek right now. As it was it sounded like a garbled rasp, and Astarion had to press his face to her neck to muffle his laughter.

“Don’t go. Please love, I want you to stay.” She didn’t feel right without him close, felt like she was on the verge of dying. She wanted to cling to him, to hold fast, finding comfort in the acid of his comments and the bergamot clinging to his skin.

“I’ll stay.” He laid a gentle kiss to her neck, a stark difference to the teasing laughter from only seconds ago. “See? I have no plan to move.”

“Really?”

“Why would I, when such a beautiful, needy little thing is in my arms.”

She turned her head away so he could not see the crimson staining her cheeks. She had no response, no clever rejoinder. She was terribly needy for his closeness, but he didn’t have to say it like that.

“You really must rest, though,” he continued, pressing another kiss to her throat. “How else will you get better so we can take a vacation?”

“You seem very set on the idea of this vacation,” she mused. Already she could feel the medicine working, the pain beginning to ebb, dulling breath by breath. “What do you even want to do?”

“What don’t I want to do, darling?” He sighed, stroking her hair. “I want to lounge and sleep in late. And perhaps we can visit a spa; we both need it after this.”

“A spa sounds nice.” She imagined it, sleeping the morning away, skilled hands massaging the knots from her back and arms, floral-scented serums and creams and oils pressed to her face, bringing her skin to life.

“And shopping,” he continued, just as lost in his daydreams as she. “So much shopping. We must refresh our wardrobes, darling. It’s all very…” She could picture the wrinkle of his nose without even looking at him. “Last season. We must be ahead of all the rest.”

“I’ll put my trust in you, then,” she murmured. “I’m sure you know what is best.”

She wouldn’t mind some new gowns, if she were honest. She would need something to make her feel pretty again after she was healed.

Astarion hummed, combing fingers through her hair. “Have you fallen asleep already?”

“No,” she answered, not feeling tired in the least. Now that the pain was fading she felt wide awake, energized.

“Well you should,” he admonished. “It will certainly put me at ease knowing you’re resting.”

“But I’m not tired, my love.”

He sighed, undoubtedly rolling his eyes. “What can I do to help?”

She hummed, wracking her mind for something that could help, that would lull her into the gentle darkness of unconsciousness.

Before she had met him, she would sometimes fall asleep to the faint sounds of music beyond her windows, or she would hum her favourite melodies until she could not hum them any longer.

“Could you…” She licked her lips, twisting as far away from his gaze as she could as a new wave of heat washed over her. “Could you sing for me?”

The silence that fell from her question stretched long, and she feared he would laugh, or tell her that no he could not. But then, soft as a caress, Astarion asked “you wish for me to sing?”

She swallowed, her flushing cheeks be damned. She wanted to meet his gaze as she again made her shameless request, a small comfort that had helped her in the years before she’d met him.

“Will you please sing for me?” He was close enough now for her to take his free hand, even as tremors still quivered through hers. “Please, my love? It really would help me sleep.”

For a moment he searched her gaze, his expression serious. Soft light gilded his features, twinning in the strands of his hair, painting the lines of his jaw, the bridge of his nose. His eyes seemed to glow, and she had the strangest feeling that she was being observed by a deity, a powerful, celestial being not of this world.

Her heart ached, and she held his hand tighter, reminding herself that he was not an ethereal being of light and dreams. He was real, he was here with her, he was not going anywhere.

Astarion’s eyes flicked down, to their intertwined hands, seeming to come to some sort of resolution.

“You are so terribly lucky I find you so wonderful,” he sighed, lashes fanning over his cheeks as he closed his eyes. “I wouldn’t sing for just anyone, you know.”

She gingerly brought his hand to her lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “I think I would hate it if you did. I want you to sing for only me.”

His eyes opened, his expression tender despite how he had bemoaned such a task. “Any requests, my dear?”

“A lullaby, please.” She held fast to his hand, clutching it as surely as a child clutched a beloved doll. “Any lullaby, whatever your favourites are.”

He mulled it over, stroking her hair absently. “Alright, I have a few in mind.”

His voice quivered at first, uncertainty staining his voice. The words tremulous, quiet, yet as he continued, seeming to realize this was not an elaborate ruse to tease him, he grew louder, more confident. The faintest touch of colour stained his cheeks, but it could have been the burning red of the sky at sunset for how it ignited warmth in her own heart.

At first she felt nothing, energy still buzzing like static along her nerves and sizzling in her veins. But the wispy tendrils of fatigue slowly crept over her, Astarion’s words coming in and out of focus, blurring together. She was certain he was switching to Elven every now and again, the songs he was singing old, excavated from a corner of his memory draped in cobwebs and dust.

She yawned, her eyelids growing heavy. It became harder to keep them open, and eventually she just gave in, sighing in response to Astarion’s teasing laughter as his fingertips skipped across her brow.

“Are you asleep yet?”

“Not yet,” she grumbled, scrunching her nose.

“I guess I have no choice, but to keep going.”

She hummed in approval, earning another quiet huff of laughter before he continued, beginning a new song she did not recognize.

She wouldn’t have said he was the very best, and although she didn’t recognize every song he chose, she could tell some of it was off-key, the notes too sharp or flat. But she didn’t care, finding comfort in the off-tune lilt of his voice. It was a melody just for her, carrying her like white-capped waves towards sleep.

Her fingers found their way to his shirt, twisting into the cream coloured fabric, snagging on the ties that held it closed. She could not move enough to tuck herself beneath his chin the way she liked best, but she could hold onto him like this at least. She could anchor herself, no longer lost to the pain of her wounds.

Astarion’s voice blurred, words melting into each other until she could not recognize a single one, her mind muddled as a turbid river. All her thoughts turned to nonsense, but for one, shining bright as a star, holding fast in the cloudiness of her mind.

That she would get better. That she had to get better. She couldn’t let him sing her lullabies for nothing. She had to make up for the worry she was causing him.

She might have said the thoughts aloud, she really wasn’t sure. Her body was growing fuzzy, the world around her melting in and out of focus.

What she was sure of was that Astarion paused for the briefest of moments, brought his lips to her brow. He murmured against her skin, that he was holding her to that promise. That he would need her to get better so she could help him come up with a name for her new heroic persona while on their languid holiday.

She wanted to promise that she would, if only because she loved him so much she couldn’t bear upsetting him. But Astarion started singing again, and his voice suddenly sounded very, very far away, like an echo behind glass.

And then she was gone, lost to sleep, one step closer to healing, just as she had promised.

[yanderes-galore]

yandere pets🐱🐶? Reader either accidentally eats something weird or comes into contact with alien pollen that makes the Xenomorphs reject their current Queen n make them view reader as their new “leader”. They become overprotective domestic pets. Platonic ofc

I love the idea but I'll do a version closer to canon if that's fine ^^

Yandere! Xenomorphs Seeing You As Queen/Leader

Pairing: Platonic/Pet-Like

Possible Trigger Warnings: Female/Gender-Neutral Darling, Overprotective behavior, Stalking, Kidnapping, Territorial/Possessive behavior, Forced companionship.

This idea reminds me of something similar to the fourth Alien movie.

In this case you'd be similar to Ripley 8, some sort of experiment involving a human harboring Xenomorph DNA.

This would naturally make you connected to the Xenomorphs.

However, the non-canon Alien pollen also seems like an interesting idea.

Maybe the "spores" seep into your skin and make you smell like a Xenomorph, somehow altering your DNA in the process?

These are the ideas I came up with that could make this concept work.

We haven't really seen Xenomorphs reject a Queen, however I could have missed it in lore.

As a result I would assume they'd react similarly to insects: they'd most likely kill the old Queen if they are somehow attached to you.

It's that or the Queen has already died at some point and the Hive is looking for a new one.

Which makes them choose you due to your smell.

I'd assume this concept would go like this, you have a whole Hive under your control.

It doesn't matter if you like it or not, the Xenomorphs see you as their new "Queen" regardless of gender.

While they would prefer you stay in their Hive, Drones would try to follow you just about anywhere.

Honestly towards you they may just act like pets.

You can't lay eggs or reproduce so the colony is doomed to be small.

That is unless a small group of Drones break off with you while a new Queen actually settles in the Hive.

If we go with that idea then I suspect you'd have about six-ish Drones following you at all times.

Obviously if they all saw you as leader than they'd fiercely protect you.

Even if this is a small group that separates from the rest of the Hive, they'd probably try to make your home a new Hive.

Wherever you live this new group will infest, they think they're helping.

After all they only know Hives as homes, they have no idea you live differently.

Expect the waxy and wet coating of Xenomorph Hives to quickly coat a sections of your home.

I'd assume they'd pick one of three places; your basement (if you have one), attic (if you have one), or your bedroom.

They'll make a section of your living space theirs then try to drag you into it as their leader/Queen.

You'll notice they smell rather acidic/earthy... yet they don't have a strong smell.

Even if you already smell like a Xenomorph I can see them trying to rub against you or cuddle you to make the pheromone smell stronger.

Xenomorphs would most likely be territorial of their new leader and home.

You can't really prevent it, either.

Better hope no friends come over as they'll be quickly attacked by one or two of the large Drones.

You may not even get to experience human contact again.

Your new Xenomorph followers would probably find a new place to make a nest then just drag you there.

Humans are a great source of hosts, yet they see them as too dangerous for you to be around.

They could harm the colony.

They could harm their Queen.

As a result, your overprotective Xenomorph pets would most likely become territorial to the point your life is now in isolation.

Sadly, you don't have a choice in the matter...

Until you eventually pass... you'll be their Queen/leader... away from humanity until something changes (if it even does).

[thisisnotthenerd]

bigger and better things

an exploration of the bad kids as children and what it means to be destined for greatness

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

i. adaine abernant

the disappointed looks start to wear on adaine sometime in middle school.

she tries so hard, always working to meet what they've asked of her and somehow never measuring up. not like aelwyn, who's so good at magic, at talking to people, at behaving like a "proper young elven wizard" even when she gets adaine in trouble for things that she does. hacking away at her spellcraft until it's perfect, beyond reproach even as she continues to fail in their eyes.

(a talented young wizard, they call her. able to cast great workings of magic with the barest of material components, a true credit to her class)

she's not elegant in her magic. not like her father with his delicate enchantments, nor her mother with her careful conjurations, nor aelwyn with her impeccable abjuration.

no, adaine is a diviner, stumbling around with ill omens, always a half-step ahead and behind where she is supposed to be.

thinking about it makes the breath catch in her chest, makes the room start to spin, makes flashes appear in her eyes, fragments of thought, of memory, of portents. her parents disdain these attacks, calling them simple weakness of the mind. she should be beyond this helplessness, this fear that dogs her every step.

"no, she cannot go to anyone for it. one cannot show weakness like this; no proper elf would. honestly, she's like some sort of solesian mage, all big fuss and minimal results. i'd be ashamed to present her in front of the court of stars. we'll leave her here."

sometimes the anxiety builds so much that adaine lives out of her mind, seeing a day go by in her mind and reliving it with her body, or is it the other way around?

she sees a question on the entrance exam and answers it with the response she knows to be correct, despite never truly seeing it before. the panic builds, tight in her chest and throat, words swimming on the page as her eyes flash white, blank and vacant and yet seeing more, more, more than there is to be seen on the page.

something's wrong, something's wrong, something's wrong.

(this is the day the harpy sinks, taking the elven oracle eleminthindriel with it)

when the letter comes in the mail, announcing her failure to enter the first-year class at hudol, aelwyn looks at adaine with pity in her eyes and a little bit of something more, something ugly and guilty and acidic. the panic rises again as their father finds the letter and shouts at her, incandescently angry at her once again.

"the daughter of a hudol professor and diplomat, failing the entrance exam. they expect more of her than this. it's like she's not even trying to be a respectable wizard. goddess forbid she try to manage herself appropriately. now the only half-decent option is bloody aguefort, and everyone knows how aguefort is."

(aguefort goes to war at her call, some two years later)

[azurem]

The reason why Ink and Nightmare are kind of friendly with each other... In my inkmareverse...! (this is me yapping again I'm sorry if it makes no sense)

Ink knew. It was a very recurring trope, actually. Bad guy fakes to have good intentions, charms and sweet-talk their objective, steals and destroys whatever they have and laughs themself insane. He has seen that one lots, and lots of time,— Post-genocide pacifist run don't always end up with the human somehow rehabilitating the (if depicted as such) homicidal fallen child back into morality, after all— more than enough, to be able to tell this was the thing going on the moment Nightmare approached him, his black silhouette strikingly dark against the newly formed Anti-Void.

Classic setting, really. But it wasn't like Ink could expect more from this archetype of antagonist. As entertaining as they were, they did end up being quite repetitive once in a while. Really? Just as another AU got destroyed, leaving him unable to fully snap back into attention since the white burned him like sulphuric acid (metaphorically)? He wasn't slick at all.

But this— the promise to let him "borrow his boys" when Error came to destroy alternative universes, just in exchange of prioritizing the existence of negative AUs first over the rest of them all— was... very much attractive to ignore.

Of course, don't get him wrong! He actually doesn't quite like playing the bad guy (a lot of Creators used to get kind of snappy if he got too sassy), but even he can't deny the offer was... just what he needed.

After all, ever since a lot of Creators... lost interest, creativity has been quite low. A storm to a drizzle kind of comparison. It was kind of hard getting back into the whole fighting shtick, especially since Ink used to relay in his paint being plenty enough he could keep attacking without having to fear the possibility of getting... blank.

Hm. What was he thinking about now...? Oh, sure. Anyways, the contract slash treaty slash... whatever. Sketchy masked guy offering super appetizing looking candy? Probably evil! Bad idea all around. Boo.

(...)

...And yet. And... yet...

He didn't have to give an answer immediately, of course, (he wasn't in such a state he'd be desperate enough to accept anything, Nightmare could tell), but the proposition itself upset him more than enough he wrote it down on his scarf the moment Nightmare finally got away. He didn't even get out of the Anti-Void to write it, unable to risk the chance he'd forget it once he made the jump back to the Doodlesphere.

Once Nightmare attacked once again, forcing Dream and Blue away (hostages were as useful as ever) just to talk to him alone, he had more than enough time talking to the paintbrush that he didn't even hesitate when he gave his answer.

(He said yes, of course.)

[misfortunekeep]

MORE INKBLADE HEADCANONS CAUSE I CANNOT BE STOPPED

Once, they got invited to a high born party because Adaine is The Elvin Oracle and their world's saviour twice over and despite being only half a dragon (wild, untameable) some people considered them noble and an invitation was extended to him, they were forced to dance (too proud to admit you can't dance, Hakinvar? Don't tell me you've gotten rusty after years of being uninvited to these dances, Abernant?) when Adaine got a prophecy and her eyesight is gone, burned white with the power of Divinity, and so as to not be humiliated of stopping in the middle of the dance floor he pulls her close so her weight was on him and continues dancing like nothing was wrong. When she came to, he lifted her up to twirl in the air so that her sudden jolt would be disguised to look like she was surprised by his sudden maneuver. Later he is smug.

I saved you from social embarrassment, Abernant. You're welcome. No the fuck you didn't!? (There are eyes on them, they were so close and that twirl wasn't in the choreo-)

Adaine, rich kid and sister to Aelwyne Abernant, stepsister by law to Figueroth Faeth, and to an extent also stepsister by law through Fig to Fabian Seacaster, and Oisin Hakinvar, with the pride of a dragon and surrounded by the most judgemental teens to have ever walked through the doors of Aguefort Academy, have the most judgemental stare and together they embody all the disapproving posh noble bearing down on some unfortunate soul in ridicule when they are irritated and someone just said something truly astronomically stupid

Adaine is dangerous as she is, but she becomes even more when she accepts that she will probably end up with Oisin. It's an acceptance of his proposal and by doing so she has accepted to become a part of his hoard. Anyone who tried to kidnap her has met a horrible death either by the hands of herself and/or her party or, if they were lucky enough to evade their righteous fury, Oisin's dragon madness.

Walking dragon hoard Adaine is bwksnislanxjf

Walking Dragon Madness Adaine is ajsjbdakks

When they get sucked into their own world snapping at each other with sharp words and even sharper glares, thinking themselves alone (they never are), Oisin always somehow ends up draped on Adaine's back looking as smug and satisfied as a dragon atop his hoard while she hisses acidic curses

If they sleep together, Oisin is always coiled around Adaine, his body and tail covering her so that none can see her unless he moves which he never does, creating a barrier between her and the outside which settles her anxious battle weary mind, everyone has learned to steer clear from lunging distance when they try to wake them because it's when they're asleep and just waking that Oisin's his most Draconic, attacking the intruder near his hoard before he realizes they're in the football field and their friends are here to wake them up because the sun is setting and they need to go home

[cosmicpancakes]

I finally finished this omg!!

TW: graphic depictions of death and stuff, character death, mental breakdowns/panic attacks, stuff like that

Without further ado, here's the oneshot I wrote about that one time Lee Fletcher died lol

__

Tap, tap, tap.

His foot bounced up and down, tapping the tiled floor repeatedly. His nails were bitten to stumps. Will was pretty sure he was going crazy.

He couldn't just leave the infirmary, he knew that, but there had to be something he could do. The infirmary is empty. Even if it wasn't, his sister could easily handle it. He was no help here.

Scratch that. He needed to leave.

Shooting arrows is out of the question, but maybe he could steal a dagger from the infirmary. A spear, a sword- Anything he could use to help with out there. Ritika was already in the infirmary, she could handle an injured person! She was one of the oldest in the cabin anyway, and more skilled than he could ever be. She wouldn't notice if he sneaked away.

The office chair squeaked as it got wheeled back. He couldn't leave through the front, so looking around, he made sure his sister couldn't see him and then opened the window just wide enough for him to jump in the bushes behind the big house.

It hurt. His arms were covered in scratches, painting them an inflamed pink and his knees were stained with a mixture of soil and grass. A wince escaped his lips. He half crawled, half ran out of the Bush and started running towards the armoury.

It was only when he made his way in front of the big house that he realised the severity of the situation. Campers and monsters ran around, littering the green field with scattered arrows and golden dust. Screams and slashes rang in his ears. After a few seconds, his eyes locked onto the armoury just across the canoe lake bridge, and he made a run for it.

Narrowly avoiding monster claws and spears thrown in his direction, Will made his way across the wooden bridge. The planks wobbled beneath his feet until he finally made it to the other side. Greenery got flattened under him as he approached the armoury. It was a medium-sized wooden shed right next to the looming arena.

Shutting the door behind him, he stumbled through the arsenal until he found a decently functional long sword. It was heavier than he anticipated, seeing as he'd never actually held a sword before, but he didn't exactly have time to dwell on that. Just as quickly as he entered, Will made his way out and through the North woods.

This was where the fighting originated, where the monsters first emerged so he knew this was where he would be able to help the most. He could be useful for once. His legs ached, pulsating from the lactic acid build up but he knew he couldn't stop. He ran and ran, and continued running until he reached the labyrinth.

The fighting next to the big house was child's play compared to this. There wasn't a single patch of grass not covered in blood, weapons, or monsters. Corpses of both creatures and demigods were scattered throughout. His eyes moved about frantically, trying to find something he could fight and reasonably win against.

Lee.

His brother was in a small clearing between a few trees just to Will's left. He wasn't a monster, but leaving him alone would just make things worse, right? He sprinted towards him. Lee seemed to be shooting monsters from afar, helping campers on the main battlefield without putting himself in too much danger. It was a smart strategy, one only he could come up with. He was always the smart one, after all. Will was limping from the pain as he approached him, and when they locked eyes, both their eyes widened.

"Oh my Gods- Will! What are you doing here?" He yelled, his words still laced with concern despite trying to scold him. He felt a sense of shame bubble up in his throat.

"I... I couldn't just stay in the infirmary the entire time! I needed to help somehow, I couldn't stand being there doing nothing while people were dying!" He shouted back, his voice hoarse with the sound of sorrow. Lee's eyebrows furrowed.

"I told you to stay in the infirmary for a reason- and what are you doing with that sword? You can't even use it! You're going to seriously hurt yourself." He insisted, dropping his bow and facing him directly.

"I can help! I promise, just give me a chance!" He tried to point the sword towards his brother, but his already exhausted limbs gave out. The sword fell towards him, slashing the arm he was holding it with, and clinked to the ground.

Will yelped, instinctively grabbing the gash with his other hand. Crimson stained his freckled skin as he stood there in shock.

"No no no no no- This is why I didn't want you out here," He ran towards him, softly cupping his face. "Will. Look at me. You need to go back, okay? Ritika will take care of you, but you can't be out here." Lee's voice wavered as their eyes met. He ran his calloused thumb over his little brother's flushed cheek, wiping away tears that would never have been there if he just listened to him for once.

The quiet didn't last for long, though. His brother's head turned to their right as the thudding of too-large footsteps rapidly approached them. It took Lee too long to recognise that it was a hellhound running towards them.

"Just go!" He pleaded, his back turned as he frantically picked up his bow back up. His fingers expertly pulled the string back, arrow steady as he prepared to let go.

Crunch.

The hellhound ran past him, Front paw bloody, making its way for the crowded field. It didn't even see Will.

Something splattered on him. Like when Connor does a canon ball in the creek, and water covers him head to toe.

It was dripping from his face. His shirt was drenched.

... It was blood.

Lee was on the ground.

He wasn't moving.

Blood.

Blood everywhere.

Where is he?

He slowly made his way to him.

He shook his shoulders.

"Lee?"

More blood gushed out of where his neck was supposed to be. It pooled below him.

"Lee, wake up."

He shook his shoulders again.

"I'm sorry for distracting you."

His brother's t-shirt quickly turned from bright orange to a deep red. The only way you could tell it was him was the medic badge he so proudly displayed on his armour.

He wasn't a medic this time. He wanted to fight.

Will wanted to fight too.

Is that why he fell?

"Lee."

His hands were glowing. Flickering? His hands glowed when he healed people. Shallow wounds. Made them wake up.

They flickered. He wasn't healing yet.

It's okay.

He'll wake up.

His hands, still flickering with a soft glow, hovered over where his head should be. Scattered remains of a shattered cranium and pieces of torn cerebrum decorated the pool of blood like lily pads and algae on the surface of the lake. He tried scooping them in one place. His hands were red. Bright, bright red. Dark red. Lumpy. With bits in it. Sharp bits. Small little bits of brain.

Flicker.

flicker flicker flicker

wake up

wake up

lee im sorry

wake up

please

im sorry

There's screaming. Did those words come out? Did Lee hear them? Screaming. There's screaming.

"...-WILL!" He screamed. Will didn't look back to see who it was. "Will, what are you?-"

screaming

he sobbed

who?

"Lee- Lee, oh my-" He sobbed. He couldn't breathe. Who was yelling? "Will please, we can't- I can't lose you too, we need to-"

He didn't take his eyes off his brother.

flicker flicker flicker

wake up

Arms wrapped around his chest, pulling him. He fought. He fought so hard.

"Let me go! Let me- I need to-" He scratched them. He scratched the arms. Did they draw blood? He couldn't tell. Everything was already so

so

red

Bite. Scratch. Scratch.

They let go.

He fell back down. His hands weren't glowing anymore.

Or maybe they were?

He couldn't tell. Too much red.

A voice wept behind him. It grabbed him. The arms. The arms grabbed him again.

they wouldn't let go

he needs to fix him

why wouldn't he let go?

He was dragging him at this point. He fought so hard. Why didn't they let go this time? Doesn't he understand? He needs to heal him. He needs to fix him.

He lost track of where he was. There were no monsters. He could hear them, muffled as they may be, but they weren't there.

His vision was too blurry, too red to make out the details. Wooden walls again. Swords. Spears.

Bows.

He was clinging to someone. His red, sticky hands stained their shirt. One hand was going through his hair. Another hand was holding him.

Where was he?

Where's Lee?

There was blood running down his face again. So much blood.

Tears.

Not blood. Tears?

He couldn't breathe.

he couldn't breathe

"C'mon, breathe, breathe-" He whimpered, his voice shaking. He was crying too. "We'll- we'll fix him, okay? Shhh, breathe, breathe-"

His heart thumped, and thumped, and thumped and he still couldn't breathe

flicker flicker flicker

it's so red

"No no, shhh- I need to-" The arms shook. Their breath hitched. "It's nearly over, I need to go and help them- Just keep breathing, okay?"

flicker

"Stay here, okay? I'll- I'll come back."

Micheal left him.

He sat against the wall, unmoving. Unblinking.

He's gone.

Lee's gone.

_

Will tapped his foot against the tiled floor of the infirmary.

Tap, tap, tap.

On the other side of the room, Micheal was stuffing backpacks full of medical supplies. 7 rolls of bandages. 3 rolls of medical tape. 6 bottles of nectar.

"I'm missing something," His brother lamented, thinking.

Will watched him closely.

Tap, tap, tap.

Another war. It's only been a year since-

It's only been a year.

It was worse this time, however. More dire. More deaths. All of them could die, if they don't succeed.

Who knows how long they're gonna be there fighting? A day? A week?

Last time it was 3 hours, from what he was told.

He bit his lip.

"Hey Lee, could you pass me the necta-"

Micheal slapped his hands over his mouth, shaking his head. He's gone.

Will stopped looking at him.

His hands were red again. Covered in blood.

His hands never stopped being red; They only ever got bloodier.

Tap, tap, tap.