#and I attract fellow weirdos

[literallytooangrytodie]

any opinion or headcanons on those akagi/kaiji fusions from that one mini comic fkmt did?

Fkmt really gave us akakai’s love children and then do nothing with them afterwards, they never even got the chance to meet their fathers 😞😔

Other than that I have sm but also nothing at all to say abt them? I mean their only personality trait is being suicidal lmao. Ig I have a small softspot for them bc they’re akakai fusion but also bc i have a similar (but not the same) relationship with someone irl lol

Tldr: cool chars with wasted potential akakai def fucked

Edit: oh and have this sketch I had of them a few months back

[thealienstud]

Why am seeing so much hate towards studs, butches, and masc lesbians on Twitter and tiktok lately 👎🏾😑

[noxturnalpascal]

Dancing is a Dangerous Game

(FrankieMorales  x  F!Stripper!Reader)

A/N & Warnings: Sexual Content below - 18+ only, Frankie doing what he do (iykyk), unspecified age gap (anywhere from 10-15 yrs), talk of stripping/dancing as a job that pays the bills. The photos on the Moodboard are just for fun, the female Reader is not specifically physically described so you can imagine her however you want. Thank you to @saradika for the divider.

Did I make this prompt up myself for me and some fellow writers? Yes. Did I set the word count limit? Also Yes. Did I stick anywhere even close to that limit? *laughs hysterically.

PROMPT: Pick a Pedge Daddy character - Joel Miller, Frankie Morales, Dave York, etc. (it can be Canon or Non-Canon/AU/No Outbreak).

PPCU Daddy is surprised - and excited - to learn that the grad/postgrad student he hires to watch his child sometimes also works as a: stripper/dancer/cam-girl/onlyfans-model/dating-or-escort-service (or straight-up SW) 

*1000 word Minimum - 2000 word Maximum

WC: 4749  (I have a problem)

Frankie’s mouth was hanging open. He knew he should close it. He knew he looked like a weirdo. He knew he was about to get a “Catfish, lookin’ like a fish” joke from his friends. But for the life of him he couldn’t take his eyes off the stage, or close his gaping jaw.

Not since his babysitter walked on stage and started taking her clothes off.

To be fair, you're not his babysitter anymore. Not since he called you three weeks ago asking if you could babysit for him tonight and you broke the news to him that you'd gotten a new job and couldn't babysit anymore. At least now he understands why you left the not-so-lucrative world of babysitting for an arguably better-paying gig. 

You've only been dancing for two minutes and he already sees more money on the stage than he would've paid you to sit his kid tonight. He’s been watching as you undulate your body across the stage, bending and dipping, stripping down to your underwear. Even though part of him thinks he should, he definitely doesn’t look away when you divest yourself of your lacy little bra.

He always thought you were hot. He was a newly-single dad, interviewing you for a semi-regular babysitting gig. He tried to focus on your resume and your qualifications. He tried to breathe through his mouth so he couldn’t smell your delicate perfume. He tried to ignore the dewy pink lipgloss you had spread across your mouth, which is in stark contrast to the bright red lipstick you are currently sporting.

He was very motivated by the fact that you, as a graduate student in your mid-20’s, seemed more responsible to leave his kid with than the other applicants to his babysitting ad, all of whom were literal teenagers. But truth be told - you were also really fucking hot. Horny dad and the hot babysitter, what a fucking cliche he was.

However, in the eleven months you babysat for him, he never acted on his inappropriate attraction to you. He never treated you as anything other than an employee. You’d show up to his house, hair in a messy bun, wearing comfy clothes, ready to sit on the living room floor all evening playing with his kid. He was polite, and respectful, and was almost positive you never caught him staring at your tits.

Your tits that he’s most definitely staring at right now. Holy shit you have great tits.

“Fuckin’ A Fish, if you’re gonna keep your mouth open, you could at least pour some beer into it.”

“Huh?” Frankie snaps his head back to the table he’s sat at, surrounded by his friends. They all chuckle. 

“We’re about to order the next round and you didn’t even drink any of that one yet,” Benny says as he points to the dripping bottle in Frankie’s hand.

Oh, sorry, Frankie mumbles as he pushes the now-warm bottle to his lips and begins to drink the beer down, his eyes moving back to the stage. The entire club is lit only by colored lights that coordinate with the twirling lights and lasers pointed at the stage, pulsating to the tempo of the music you’ve picked. Fog rolls across the floor of the stage, cascading over the edge. 

There’s a single golden pole at an outcropping of the stage that you’re now gripping with both hands, sticking your ass out towards the audience and giving it a wiggle. You let go of the pole and hook your thumbs into the waistband of your panties. You slowly begin to push them down and just as the crack of your ass comes into view Frankie momentarily forgets that he can’t swallow liquid and breathe at the same time. 

He begins to sputter and cough, choking on the bubbly liquid and spurting it across the table onto the faces of half of his friends. He’s met with groans, curses, and several swats to the back of his head as he attempts to get his wheezing under control, and the fluid out of his trachea.

Santi, who somehow managed to avoid Frankie’s beer-foam projectile, slaps a palm on Frankie’s shoulder and says,

“Guys, Frankie’s real sorry, he’s just never seen a naked woman before.”

The laughter at Frankie’s expense serves as some form of forgiveness, and everyone slowly goes back to flirting with the wandering dancers and ordering their second round. Santi keeps his hand on Frankie’s shoulder and leans into Frankie’s personal space.

“You alright?” Santi asks, squeezing his friend’s shoulder firmly.

Frankie manages to mutter a strangled yeah before several rounds of trying to clear his throat. The lights have dimmed, sinking the club temporarily into a hazy darkness. He briefly registers that the song you were dancing to has ended, so you’ve most likely left the stage.

Santi laughs, shaking his head. He moves his mouth right to Frankie’s ear, almost whispering.

“When I convinced Will to have his bachelor party at this club I thought you’d be the one making your hot babysitter choke, not the other way around,” and he claps Frankie on the back hard, “if you know what I mean.”

Frankie’s eyes go wide as he meets Santi’s crooked grin, but his friend offers nothing more as he moves to the other side of the table, turning his devilish smile on the waitress. He orders two beers and three shots for each man, dismissing the groans of protest from the table. Bachelor Down!, he shouts at Will as everyone does their shots and chases them with cheap beer.

You approach the table full of men with seven other dancers, each of you assigned by the club to give a 20-minute private dance to one of the members of the bachelor party. You’re each in various states of dress, but most are only half-dressed. You’re back in your lacy underwear set - panties and bra - but the sheer nature of the fabric leaves little to the imagination. 

Your previous job as a part-time nanny worked while you were an undergrad. When you started law school it became too much and you had to switch to more infrequent evening babysitting gigs so you had your days free for school and studying. Unable to keep up with school payments you recently had to find something new. Something that only required night and weekend availability, but paid really well.

Enter: Stripping. 

You’ve only been doing this job for a little over a month but you’d quickly gotten very comfortable with being naked in front of strangers. You had your little dance routine and could easily make flirty banter with the club’s customers. Your boss was impressed enough that he’d started assigning you party gigs with some of the other girls, like this bachelor group.

You walk up to the group of strangers, the rest of the girls fan around the table as you’re left standing just behind a broad-shouldered man with a baseball cap on, curls sticking out from under the back strap. You turn to the man with a big smile on your face.

Holy Fuck. 

Not a Stranger.

It’s Francisco Morales. The hot dad you until-recently babysat for.

He looks at you sheepishly. Your hands immediately fly to cover your breasts, suddenly mortified that your nipples are showing through your nearly-transparent choice of outfit. 

“Mr. Morales!”

“Oh I- I already,” he begins to stutter. Is he telling you that he’s already seen your tits? 

You look around at the collection of empty beer bottles and shot glasses on the table and figure that they’ve all been here for much longer than just your dance. So covering your nipples does nothing for your modesty as hot dad has probably already seen everything. You drop your arms to your side, attempting to look relaxed and casual.

“So I-uh. I guess you found a babysitter for tonight.”

He laughs. He actually laughs at your awkward attempt at diffusing the tension. Thank god. He opens his mouth to speak but before he can say anything one of his friends is speaking to the group. He explains that “everyone gets a private dance” and no one can object - and he looks right at Mr. Morales when he says this - because “it’s all been paid for already.”

Following the lead of the other girls you gently grab Mr. Morales’ hand, missing the looks back and forth between him and his friend. You do your best to confidently lead him back to the private rooms with the rest of his group. There are a dozen rooms in the hallway and eight of them have been held in reserve for this bachelor party group. Pulling him inside the last room on the right, you close the door behind you. 

The room is dim, save for the red glow of the lights. The ceiling and floor are both painted black and the three walls without the door are mirrored. Towards the left is a single high-backed black leather chair facing a brass pole that sits in the exact center of the room. On the far side of the room is a curved loveseat against the wall.

This should be easy. Not just because this is your job but because unlike any other man you’ve ever led back here, this is a man you are extremely attracted to. 

This is a man you have fantasized about.

You’ve imagined his curls between your fingers when you’ve grabbed a fistful of a customer's hair, imagined that it’s his stubble scratching between your breasts when you’ve pressed them close. You’ve envisioned his wide chest as you ran your hands down their front, his massive paws in your hands as you’ve taken their sweaty palms and placed them on your rolling hips. 

You’ve wished they were his thighs that you were grinding your ass onto and his erection that you all-too-frequently felt pressing into you. That should make this easy. But instead you’re super fucking nervous. Even more nervous than your first night here, when you dragged your panties down your legs and bent over, exposing your pussy lips to a packed room of strangers. 

What makes you most nervous is probably that the fantasies didn’t stop in the club. It would be one thing if they were just here, serving as a comfort, self-soothing by putting a familiar face in place of a groping stranger’s face. But that’s not the truth. You’ve imagined him at home too. 

In the shower, pretending your hands were his hands as you pinched and plucked at your wet nipples. Daydreaming about his weight on top of you, fucking into you, as you drove one of your toys in and out of your wet cunt. 

And if you’re being perfectly honest, you can admit that it’s been going on for almost a year, since shortly after he hired you to be his babysitter. Remembering the times you’d made yourself come on his couch, hours after his kid had fallen asleep, waiting for him to return home from a night out with his friends. Your hand stuffed down the front of your pants, petting your clit to the thought of him on his knees in front of you.

You never thought you’d actually be naked in front of your fantasy-DILF. This is like being slapped in the face with your own wet dreams. This is kind of a nightmare.

“Listen, you don’t have to-” he begins just as you start to speak as well.

“Mr. Morales I know-” and you both stop and let out breathy, nervous laughs.

“C-Can you please stop calling me Mr. Morales?”

“Oh sorry! Is that weird?”

“It sounds like the start of a bad porno,” he groans, laughing again. “Please just call me Frankie.”

“Of course, I’m so sorry Mist- Frankie. Sorry. Frankie.”

You both break out in laughter again, loudly this time, hoping to finally diffuse some of the tension. A knock sounds at the door and a deep voice - security - asks if everything is alright. You shout back that everything is fine and the room quiets down.

“I should start the music and get going,” you say quietly, motioning for him to sit on the curved red velvet seat against the far wall.

You press a button above his head and music starts up, the first of three songs forming a 10-minute loop that will repeat for this booking. You look into the mirrored wall to your left and notice how nervous you look. Then you meet his eyes in the mirror. Why does he look just as nervous?

You straddle one of his legs and shakily reach back to undo the clasp on your bra. You meet his eyes again. Fuck he can see how your hands are shaking. You look like such a fucking kid. A goddamn amateur. This is going to be the least-sexy lapdance he’s ever been given. 

You can’t stop the gasp that leaves your lips when you suddenly feel his hot hands covering yours at your back. 

“You can leave this on if you’d be more comfortable,” he says softly, barely heard over the pumping bass of the music.

“No I’m fine, I’m just…” you don’t know how to explain to him without embarrassing yourself but suddenly you’re making an admission and the word-vomit has left your mouth before you can even do anything to stop it. “I just always thought you were hot.” 

There it is. It’s out there now. 

He opens his mouth to say something and your nerves bubble up and come out as more words and why the fuck are you talking more?

“I know, I know,” you spit out before he can get a word in, “the babysitter thirsting after the hot dad, how prosaic, right? Talk about a bad porno.”

His warm hands still touching you, he slowly moves his fingers around yours, deftly undoing the clasp of your bra for you.

“It’s okay, I kinda… thought you were hot too,” his admission slips out in a whisper.

You really want to kiss him right now. But that would be a very bad idea. Security patrols the hallway and the door has a small window towards the top of it. It allows security to peek inside and see from the shoulders up. Usually if they can see your shoulders, all is good. If they can’t see your shoulders, it gives them an idea if rules are being broken or if the girls need help. 

Kissing - among other things - is against the rules.

You barely turn to look at the windowed door but you’re embarrassed to think that Frankie must know what you’re thinking because it’s like he can read your mind. Or maybe he’s just thinking about kissing you too? Either way he puts his hands back down to his sides and lets you lean into him, allowing your bra to slowly shift down your shoulders until it falls into his lap.

Your tits are right in his face. You’re half naked in front of the hot dad whose child you used to babysit. The hot dad who you’ve pictured doing this exact thing with - and more. But he’s not even looking at your tits. He’s looking you right in your eyes and making you feel more naked than you’ve ever been in your whole life.

He shouldn’t be here, not doing this, not with you. He should ask for a different girl. He should tell the security guy to kick him out. He’s making you so uncomfortable, he can tell by your twitching movements and halting breaths. He can’t stop staring at you like he’s some kind of lonely creep, what a fucking weirdo he’s being.

You position your legs on the outside of his, keeping his legs slightly open and his hands obediently face-down on the couch next to him. You’re straddling him but hovering above his lap, seemingly careful not to touch him. When you put your hands on his shoulders to brace yourself you begin to stiffly roll your body towards and then away from him.

He doesn’t know where to look. He can’t keep looking at your face, he knows the eye-contact is getting very disturbing. Why the hell did he tell you he kinda thought you were hot too? At least he didn’t admit the truth, that he thought you were fucking supernova-hot. He’s had to bite his tongue countless times to stop from asking you out.

He focuses his eyes at the hollow dip that lies at the base of your throat. It has a dance of its own, moving slightly with your pulse and rolling with your shallow breaths, the rise and fall of your chest a baseline rhythm. He tries not to think about your bare breasts just below, breasts that he’s thought about putting his hands on every single time you’ve walked into his house for the last year. 

He can see your deep red lips in his peripheral vision, and immediately the image of those lips on his skin is conjured. He pictures a chaste kiss planted on his cheek followed by a less-chaste thought of his thumb pressed into your mouth, your eyes looking up at him while your lips leave a red ring on his hand. He needs to fucking calm down. This is just a dance. You’re at work doing your literal job.

He suddenly notices you’ve almost completely stopped moving. He looks up at your face and you’re wearing a tight, pained expression. His brows furrow. Oh no. What’s wrong? Is his erection noticable? Is he creeping you out too badly? Do you want him to leave? He opens his mouth to ask if you’re okay but you silence him with a gentle squeeze to his shoulders.

“I think I’m gonna die if you don’t touch me,” you squeak out in a strained whisper.

In the back of his head a part of him thinks that he shouldn’t immediately cave. It shouldn’t be this easy. Part of him thinks he should need more than just you saying that. 

But he doesn’t. At all.

He slowly slides his body down the sofa, pushing his frame between your legs. You move your feet apart to accommodate his wide shoulders once you realize he won’t fit otherwise. He stops when his ass is sitting on the floor and his head is just above the seat of the sofa, you towering over him. He reaches down and begins to take off your platform heels one at a time. 

As your bare feet hit the floor you run your hands up your neck, over your face, and through your hair, your knees knocking at his shoulders. Touching you gently with only two fingers on each hand, he pushes on the backs of your thighs, guiding you even closer to his face. He grabs your feet and holds them in his hands, forcing your legs to fold and pushing your knees past his ears as his head rests back on the seat.

You’re kneeling at the edge of the sofa, shins on the cushion, feet dangling over his shoulders, your toes curled in his massive hands on his chest, and his head between your thighs. Your face still looks uneasy, and he can just make out whining noises over the music. High-pitched and breathy, the way a dog would beg for scraps at the dinner table.

“Don’t worry baby, I’m gonna touch you now,” he growls.

You grab the brim of his hat and twist it off his head, immediately diving your fingers into his locks. He squeezes your toes and you take his cue, lifting your hips and canting them towards his waiting mouth. Latching his mouth onto your underwear, he runs his tongue up and down your covered seam. 

He feels you begin to rock your hips into his face, rolling your body above him. Any security who looked in the window would see your shoulders moving to the beat and assume you were kneeling on the couch and giving a lap dance. He can only barely see you from his angle, sees the lace of your panties, sees your wrists grabbing at his hair.

Letting go of one of your feet, he grabs at your wrist, dragging your hand from his head to the front of your own underwear. You run your fingers down yourself, parting them around his mouth, letting his tongue tangle in them. Then you grab the edge of the gusset and pull it to the side.

Wasting no time, he immediately begins to lick at your folds, tasting the wetness that has gathered there. A lot of wetness. Christ, you’re so fucking wet. His nose touches just below your clit and a string of your arousal attaches him to you when he pulls back slightly.

A slight pause in the music has his heart stop and his stomach in his throat. After a couple seconds - that seem to stretch on forever - the first song begins playing again, restarting what must be a looped set of music. 

That must mean this private dance-time is halfway over. Ten minutes left but since you two probably started after everyone else you might not have the full ten minutes of privacy if his friends decide to burst in the door. Which, if they’re led by Santi, is a real possibility.

Less than ten minutes. No problem.

You must also feel the sense of urgency because you adjust your hand that is holding your panties to the side. You take your thumb and pointer finger and move them over yourself, parting your lips to open yourself more to him and pulling up slightly, exposing your nub. He flattens his tongue in response and drags it over your sensitive bundle, noting the way your body trembles when he does so.

He knows he doesn’t have the time to edge you as he’d like to, but he can’t help himself when he moves his head lower and twists his tongue into your hole, thrusting it into you. You are bouncing yourself slightly up and down, helping him fuck yourself on his tongue. He feels your wetness pouring over his lips and dripping down through his whiskers.

He feels your hand leave your own body and tangle back in his curls along with your other one, grabbing two fistfuls of hair tightly in your grip. Having had enough of his teasing you’re apparently deciding to take matters into your own hands.

Frankie loves eating pussy but this? This might be his favorite thing in the whole world.

He angles his head perfectly, opens his mouth, and sticks his tongue out stiffly as you begin to grind your pussy against his face. You’re using his nose, his tongue, his chin, even the bristles of his facial hair. You’re using whatever you can to get yourself off as you ride his face. It takes everything in his power not to break out in a giant smile.

He doesn’t hear you, you’re still being the quietest you’ve been since you got in this room, but he feels it. Shit, does he ever feel it. He feels your body tense, then your legs quiver, feels the pulsing in your cunt as you press yourself firm into his still-open mouth. He gently laps up your gushing orgasm as you release the grip on his hair and whimper softly above him.

Knowing you’re short on time, he has you climb off him much sooner than he’d like you to. Your heavy-lidded eyes meet his and then yours go wide. You bend down and grab his hat, plopping it back on his head and attempting to tame his just-fucked-hair back underneath it. You run to the corner of the room and grab a small robe hanging on a hook, skipping back over and roughly wiping his face off with it the way you would a toddler after a meal.

He quickly adjusts himself, tucking his protruding hardness under his belt in an attempt to conceal it as he watches you adjust your askew panties. Still topless, you throw the robe back towards the corner in a panic just as there is a quick knock at the door. Without a signal to enter the door flies open anyways, no less than three of his friends bursting through the doorway drunkenly, shots in hand for Frankie to partake in.

They make Frankie drink the shots before he even leaves the room and then they drag him away from you, hollering obnoxiously. All he can manage is an apologetic look over his shoulder as he hears the final song finally come to an end. Time’s up. Luckily you’re laughing at their antics and don’t seem to be upset. Maybe you were just flirting with him because that’s your job. Maybe you just wanted a good tip.

A tip! Shit.

Being dragged down the hallway Frankie grabs Santi by the arm and asks in his ear how much he should tip you. Santi says he usually tips $200. Frankie is shocked that a 20 minute dance would garner that big of a tip, but then again it’s been a long time since he’s been at a place like this. And to be fair, you - albeit unknowingly - let him fulfill a long-time fantasy of his.

$200 is more than he would have paid you to watch his kid tonight. No wonder you’re not his babysitter anymore. He fishes around in his wallet and takes out all the cash he has, $236. He manages to break off from the group of guys after they do another couple shots and he looks around for you. 

Unable to find you he spots one of the girls you came to the table with and she lets him know you’re on a break but she can get the tip to you. He hands her the folded bills and she thanks him by leaning in and giving him a peck on the cheek. When she pulls back from him she widens her eyes at him and flashes him a knowing smile.

“I’m sure she’s very appreciative… of the tip,” she winks.

Frankie tries not to blush and resists the urge to high-tail it to the bathroom and wash his face off, opting instead to keep the scent of you on him. He returns to the table of his too-drunk-to-notice friends and finishes out the night of revelry.

.

3:03am

Hey

Hi

3:06am

Sorry

3:09am

You’re probably asleep

3:10am

Hi

I’m just getting home actually

3:11am

Oh cool me too

Sorry to bother 

I just wanted to make sure you got your tip

I left it with your friend

3:14am

I did, yes. Thank you so much.

3:14am

Cool 👍

3:16am

Don’t take this the wrong way…

But how drunk were you tonight?

3:18am

Idk

Why?

What did I do?

I’m so sorry

3:19am

No, don’t be sorry!

I’m not trying to be rude.

I just….

Did you mean to tip me that amount?

3:25am

Oh my god

Was it not enough?

I can give you more

I’m really sorry

Do you have Venmo?

3:27am

No! OMG. It was plenty!

Literally the most I’ve ever been tipped is like 40%

You tipped me 118%

3:30am

Oh

3:31am

Yeah so I just wanted to make sure you didn’t get too drunk

And accidentally just give me everything in your wallet

3:35am

Is that what happened?

3:37am

Because I can Venmo some money back to you

It’s really not a problem

3:40am

Sorry no

I just tipped what my friend told me to

3:41am

Well I checked with the other girls….

NONE of your friends tipped that much

And they were all very generous!

3:44am

But none as generous as you

3:45am

He’s such an asshole

I’m sorry

I didn’t know

I feel like an idiot

3:46am

Again, please don’t be sorry

It was VERY generous of you

And I’m very grateful

3:50am

I was in a giving mood tonight I suppose

3:51am

Mr. Morales, is that you being flirty?

3:53am

Oh we’re back to Mr. Morales now?

3:55am

Can you get a babysitter on Wednesday night?

3:55am

I don’t have custody this week so no babysitter needed

Why?

3:56am

We should go out to dinner

3:57am

Oh we should?

3:59am

Yeah we should

Frankie

4:01am

MY treat

4:01am

LOL I should hope so!

4:02am

Pick me up at 7 😉

4:02am

I will

See you Wednesday

[xdyledz]

My weirdo

Description!: when you tell people that your boyfriend is a little werid they don’t seem to believe, heck HE doesn’t even believe it.

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

wednesday 10:24 am

“ y/n you really lucked out with akaashi “ y/f/n said as she leaned against a locker next to yours. “ huh? what do you mean?” “ he’s like the perfect guy girl ugh if i had a boyfriend like him i would ever let him leave my side “ you chuckled at that, i mean she’s right akaashi is very nice.

“ well yes he is very sweet, and VERY attractive” you said while slightly turning your head and showing a smirk. Y/f/n smiles and before she can speak you throw out at “ and you know he’s a little werid….why are you looking at me like that?”

“ you’re joking right? him werid now if you were dating konoha i would understand but akaashi werid? “ you weren’t sure how to respond to this, it’s not like he’s werid in a BAD way it’s just you would never expect this from him.

You twist your face and throw out a small pout and say “ don’t talk about my love life, where’s your boyfriend “ “ HEY”. you two go back and forth for a bit having a friendly bicker, unknowing to you a figure comes up behind you.

you notice y/f/n eyes flicker to the side for a moment and throw out a smile before she quickly raps up the conversation. “ oh before i go are you guys still going out on saturday? “ making a confused face you say “ guys? oh me and keiji? yes we’re still going out but i promise thursday im yours “ there’s an awkward beat of you to staring at each other and ‘ what is she looking at behind me? is there a fight?’ you close you locker and say “ i’ll see you at lunch bye!” after waving to her you turn around and- “ AHHH “.

stumble back a bit you see your boyfriend standing there…” keiji have you been there the whole time?” you say while putting you hand to your heart and trying to calm down while ignoring the stares from your fellow school mates “ um yes? did you not notice?” “ keiji what? no! you didn’t say anything “ he puts his hand up to scratch the back of his head and says “ oh well we should head to class” grabbing your hand and leading you to class.

wednesday 6:45 pm

“ here “ “ keiji i hate cookies and cream “ akaashi freezes in his spot and turns down to look at you “ and i hate bokutos emo modes but i still deal with them “ after finishing his sentace he sits down on the couch and makes sure to Scooch a little far from you.

“ keijiiii you can at least act like you care “ you say as you scooch over to him and throw your legs over his lap “ y/n you’re favorite ice cream is cookies and cream “ he says as he picks up his spoon to take a bite out of the small carton. mid bight he hears.

“ Yeah i am right you are a little weird “ you look up at your boyfriend and see a spoon hanging out of his mouth and his eyebrows pushed in. “ …what?..” “ keiji you’re weird “. you’re boyfriend is deep in thought trying to figure out the puzzle pieces “ i’m werid because…i got your favorite ice cream?” “ no i mean you do werid things “ “ what how?”

you take a deep breath and give him a kiss on the cheek, gathering a spoon full of ice cream and putting it into your mouth you say “ well for starters, you need to stop scaring me! “. There’s a pause before he speaks “ how do i scare you? wait are you talking about earlier with y/f/n?” he wipes a pea ice of cookie off your lip and licks him thumb. “ ok first you’re a freak for that second yes you always do that “ now looking more puzzled then ever he says “ how and a freak?… and how is that werid “ “ being a freak is not weird “ you say with a smile “ no i mean me standing behind you “.

you chuckle and say “ you don’t make yourself know keiji, you just stand there and not even next to me BEHIND me so when i turn around i either A bumb into you and B get scared, and it’s not even just me, i’ve seen you do this to everyone! “ you say and start laughing as you remember the times he has scared his family and friends even his coach!

“ i don’t- i think think it’s that werid “ akaashi mumbles under his breath and he takes another bite of his ice cream. “ so i’m weird because of that? that’s not that bad “ he says as he gives you a look “ well you do have a staring problem “ “ okay now you just lying to me “.

for the next 20 ish minutes you tell akaashi about his werid habits, his questionable t shirts that he only wears to sleep now, or the time you caught him acting out a fight or conversation he had, or when he just randomly screams out of no were. “ oh yeah and you’re doing one right now you like to bite ice cream”

setting his ice down on the coffee table infront of him he says “ alright first you just have sensitive teeth don’t make fun of me for being more developed then you and second i’ve had enough badgering for the night “ he says as he lets his face fall into his cold hands.

you giggle to yourself, wrapping your arms around his frame making his head lay on your shoulder you say. “ even if you are a werido it means your not boring, and plus i scored big time with you. You’re kind, and funny, you’re sweet and you smell good, you can cook and you give me some of your food….and you’re incredibly handsome “ you say as you kiss his forehead.

You hear him let out a big sigh as he wraps his arms around you and give you a few pecks to your neck. “ well take you” “ your welcome keiji” you feel him smile against your neck.

“ so are we going to talk about how you bite me? or how you love to stick your feet on me? “

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯

soo first story since…2021 i think? yeah so please leave comments on how i can improve!



[punkeropercyjackson]

Jason is NOT a kinks fantasy or a flawless bad boy or a blameless victim,he's literally just autistic(and y'all are just ableist and also basic)

Absolute ass at socializing and this dates back to his Robin days where his only friend was Eddie 'god of dorkitude' Bloomberg(affectionate)

No filter EVER

Most of the time he's mean on purpose but there's a good handful of instinces where it's completely accidental and dosen't realize he's doing it and is just acting naturally

Has been into classical literature his entire existense and employs it into his life enough to count as a special interest

'Childish' favorite food(neapolitan)

Only orders non-alcoholic drinks at bars even as Red Hood

Resting Bitch Face

Makes weird noises at random

Has such a strong need for black and white morality that Red Hood came to be

And as a goddamn TWEEN he pushed a guy off a roof for being a sexual abuser and didn't regret it even after it put him in hot water with his dad for killing,the dad in question being BATMAN

Dosen't understand the appeal of traditional romantic and sexual norms and actively insults them

Is goth punk

But still feels attraction,only exclusively to fellow weirdos and freaks(And no i don't mean horny people because they're normies,i mean Artemis was created to be the Wonderfam outcast and Rose is a biracial goth girl and probs both autistic too)

Man hating mama's boy

Gamer but not an incel about it

Symptoms and coping mechanisms(not refering to the killing thing)cause him to clash with the rest of the Batfam,who're autistic-coded as a whole except maybe Alfred(and even then,i can see it)

And y'all niggas won't stop saying gross shit about him you frame as compliments but are literally degrading insults that target his mental health and things he's made clear he's not all because he's hot and alt,erasing his almost textual autistic-coding since it's not appealing to your cisheteronormative fantasies you think are 'the female experience' as you hate on almost every DC girl and infantilize him when it's obvious by how he treats Roy for coddling at him that he dosen't want it.You don't 'Need Him',you need to log off and keep that shit to yourself instead of cursing us with it.Ma'am's and Sir's,these are PUBLIC PLATFORMS,there's no privacy in public tags and we've got a right to call y'all annoying because the fact is you are.You leave that poor autistic faggot alone,he dosen't want your ass,he's an actual freak instead of just being into incest fics like a wattpad high schooler!!

[akajustmerry]

one of the reasons I find the whole bisexual "discourse" (it's not discourse mostly just biphobia and misogyny) about bisexual women who are with men/mostly date men being "included" is that, apart from it being stupid ass discourse, I don't relate to that. I stand in solidarity always with my fellow bisexuals but I'm a bisexual who doesn't prioritise men so much so that when I was a kid I assumed I was a lesbian. even as an adult my attraction to men is often a pleasant surprise to me in the way that an artist you like coming back from hiatus with a good song. I'm always like "oh okay cool we're doing that! nice!" and if I'm honest I do not really see myself ending up with a man, like again, it will be a pleasant surprise if I do because I've always "preferred" women (I don't like the word prefer but you get it). I find the bi discourse about bi women and fems preferring men really isolating because as a bisexual who's not a man I feel like people assume my "preference" is for men because it's bisexual women/fem ppl who do dominate the shitcourse so much. it genuinely feels so isolating to me. a lot of bisexual women I'm friends with are with men and mostly "prefer" men and I love that for them but that's not my experience really. to be clear, I do not hold them responsible for this discourse in any way because it's not from them, it comes from biphobic assholes. But yk....all this to say that I wish there was more discussion about how diverse in both gender and sexuality the bi community is, and how biphobia isn't JUST weirdos being misogynistic about bi women and their boyfriends. but because we never seem to get past the very basic acceptance of cis bi women and their "heterosexual" partners in discussions, bi people who don't fit that demographic (bi people who are poc, disabled, or not cis women) kinda don't get a look in. people don't even talk about the homophobia and biphobia cis bisexual men face from their partners because every year the discourse gets so swept up shitting on bi cis women. It's weird!!! It makes me feel weird!!!

[chaifootsteps]

I'm going to be honest and say that I think all Hazbin and Helluva and Spindalhorse did was attract people who were already assholes to a fandom where they know they can not only get away with harassing and stalking and making weird, easy to disprove claims, but know that that type of behavior is actively encouraged by bother fellow assholes and the creators.

And to the fandom in general, how do you guys see all that these stans are doing and get pissed that people outside of the fandom think your fandom is a cult? Like, seriously, we're all waiting for an answer to that one question.

Ok. Let me rephrase that question. How can you be pissed that your fandom is seen as a cult when the creators who gave your fandom a reason to exist actively encourage harassment to people who don't actively make HH or HB a part of their identity, when there are multiple documents show casing Vivziepop and the stans insanity and harassment and how it had affected them via Ken and Kedi and many others to the point where they might have grounds for a court case via harassment campaigns, when there are people in your fandom who loudly dismiss criticism and spin weird conspiracy theories about people that the last anon had pointed out are very easy to disprove, and when people in your fandom actively stalk blogs waiting to harass the people who own those blogs. How can you be pissed that your fandom is seen as a cult when all of this is prevalent in your fandom?

This. Anyone who's in the Hazbin fandom and upset about it being seen as a creepy, cultish fandom full of unstable weirdoes needs to take a long, hard look at the reason it's like that, who's benefitting from it being that way, and who's part of the problem.

[whumpetywhumpwhump]

Okay, what you think of seizure/convulsions whump? And when did you realize you were a hospital/sickfic fan?

*love your blog, let's be friends!!

Coupla great questions!!!

1. I do love seizure whump a LOT. I try to make sure things are accurate because ofc these things (like a lot of sickfic and whumpy stuff) do affect real people, but yes I absolutely love reading and writing about it. Since I don't usually read whumper content, a lot of the seizure stuff comes in the form of epilepsy HCs and also pretty serious illnesses like meningitis.

There's something about seizures in whump which just takes things to the next level- if a character is epileptic, the looming threat of a seizure is just always there, and when it happens there's the panic of how long it's going to last/whether it's going to be a big one etc etc. If a character is sick and starts seizing, it's a sign that things really aren't right, and perhaps tips the scales for caretakers from 'illness like the flu' to 'this character is dangerously ill and needs to go to a hospital NOW'.

I have so many things I could talk about here lol, and maybe if people want to see it I could make a whole post about seizure whump on its own, but yeah, I like it a whole bunch!

2. I can't quite pinpoint the exact time I realised I was really into hospital whump, and that's probably because I've been into it for a LONGGG time. Like, even as a kid if there was a character I was really into, I'd start picturing them in these precarious situations. It's only when I got older, obviously, that I discovered there was a community of people who were just like me, and I have to say it was super relieving (I genuinely thought I was a complete weirdo with original, weird thoughts).

I mean, to put things into perspective I wanted to be a doctor when I was five, and a lot of that was because I already loved whump.

An interesting little thing as well is how I think this side of me co-exists with my emetophobia: I've always been super afraid of vomit IRL, and as somebody who's also super into psychology, I find it so interesting how the things we fear and the things we're attracted to can be so linked. After all, 'arousal' is the word used to describe the body's reaction to a stimulus, fearful or exciting or.... otherwise. A lot of people love scary movies because the domesticated fear is like a safe way of experiencing terror that otherwise only happens in real life dangerous situations. In a similar way, I suppose I love sickfics because I'm so afraid of them IRL, and it's a safe way to explore the intense feelings I have about it.

Anyway, this post derailed into me talking about WHY I'm into sickfic (I think) but I find it fascinating!!!

Thanks so much for the ask, and we can definitely be friends! Always love meeting fellow whump lovers ❤️

[baby-xemnas]

if gin and sanji crossed paths again what would happen........ would sanji figure it out.. would gin confess ...... who would move first or would it even be either of them?? do they stay in mayne pining forever?? would they ever have a first kiss???? shaking and trembling on the ground i miss them so much. oh fellow ginsan believer please share your visions 🙏

sanji would have no choice but to figure it out because IM HOPING when they meet again Gin is at least slightly less mangy and hobo-esque.

Sanji having an avalanche of Oh god Right you had Feelings for me and i didn't hate it 😳💘

Having someone who is so focused on YOU gotta made you feel some type of way. And Gin still calls him "Sanji-san" and no way that doesnt make Sanji tingle you know....thats a scary older man..

Confession comes from Gin but its not direct he is just very "ah yeah ive thought of you the whole time and never forgot what you did for me, meeting a kind man like you changed my life" but hes kind of subtle-ish about it - expressing those things as compliments that Sanji can be like thanks and move on - Gin very maturely giving Sanji an out (and it kinda pisses Sanji off because if Gin had been more persistent - Sanji would have an excuse ^^ But noo Gin is being annoyingly mature about it while not hiding his obsession at all...what the fuck

Gin feels crazy that he has Sanji within reach but he holds back because Sanji is amazing and important and he cant just jump him so Sanji has to....oh it makes him so mad to have to be vulnerable and confront Gin like "Are you done messing around or we will decide this like grown men" he cant Not recognize how Gin makes him feel - Gin is the only one who have ever been truly His and of course he is attracted to him (despite his best efforts. Gin couldn't be further from being a beautiful woman if he tried) but he is more shocked that this connection they've made in the brief time after they met, is still there and strong, stronger somehow because it's been tested.

my vision is that Gin kisses Sanji first once he confirms that Sanji does reciprocate his feelings somewhat (Sanji just got done bitching at him about acting like a vague weirdo) and of course all hell breaks lose because after Gin puts his hand on the back of Sanji's neck to kiss him - theres no stopping - Sanji's surprised faceis too cute and Gin waited too long for this - he held him in place cuz he didnt want to slam their mouths together suddenly and having their teeth clash - that'd ruin it! (he thought about it a lot) but holding Sanji by the nape is so intimate Gin is worried for a second he is about to get a rejection and a beating. But Sanji braces himself and allows it but starts kissing back few seconds later. Gin is trying his best not to rush, worried if he's a bad kisser (he is, Sanji will undoubtedly tell him so later) he waits for Sanji (who's got plenty impatience in him as well, it turns out) to take the lead while he wraps the other hand around Sanji's waist and admires his strong and lean body, knowing how deadly it is (getting hard cuz its SANJI!!! He is holding Sanji!!!! holy shit!!!)

When Sanji leans away to catch a breath he calls Gin a bastard and Gin is more in love than ever

[kaisazen]

you call it love, i call it insomnia

SYPNOSIS. In which a specific harbinger keeps coming into your diner at the oddest times because of his weird job, to your surprise, things don't go very well when a tired snezhnayan man shamelessly flirts with someone he's barely met before.

THEME.

AU: Canon Universe (Genshin)

Character Ship: Tartaglia x Gn!Reader

Prompt: "you come into my 24hour diner at the oddest times bc of your weird job but you keep forgetting that we talk because you're always sleep deprived"

Content: Flirting!!!, mentions of sex/intercourse, two flirty insomniac idiots being questionable.

"Well look who the cat dragged in", you murmured as a tired looking man entered the store with his head hung low.

He does a double take to make sure his eyes were seeing things right, and they were. It was you, working on the same time he came. He released a relieved sigh, and made his way to the counter.

"I'll have a cup of coffee, no milk, and no sugar." He looks back at you with a dazed expression that didn't make his tiredness obvious.

"Would that be all?"

"Actually, I want to add an extra. I wanna get the charming and cute worker here that's working hard to serve me during these ungodly hours." The man said as he rested his arm on the counter, his face staring awfully close to yours.

You roll your eyes as you move his resting arm away from the counter that reflected the fluorescent lights. Of course, you weren't a stranger to weirdos like him. There were a lot of people ranging from hobos to potential criminals that you'd encounter during your midnight shifts.

"I see you're not the type to converse"

"I pay no heed to weirdos like you that go into my diner at ungodly hours. And oh my archons, you even think that's attractive." You lay his coffee cup infront of him with utter caution though you'd rather spill the hot substance onto his face at any given moment.

"I just wanted to find a way to talk to you"

"Well that's awfully direct. I go by the name of (Name)".

The man smirks and helds out a hand for you. "You can call me Tartaglia, though most people call me Childe. It is a pleasure to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you too, fellow insomniac."

And after that first night of name exchange, Childe kept coming for the next consecutive nights. You found it awfully strange of how you have never seen him in Liyue before. But you get to see the flirty outlander whenever night hits and people no longer open those doors except for him. You just wonder what his job in Liyue might be.

"Hey (Name), aren't you at least curious for what my occupation in Liyue might be?"

You put down the glass that you were wiping dry, only to be met by drunken eyes that were starting to shape like hearts if you squint enough.

"No, as a matter of fact. I don't think I need to stick my nose that far out of people's lives."

You can see from the corner of your eye at the slight twitch of his lip, insisting on showing his smirk.

"How would you feel if I told you that I'm feared by nations and recognized as part of the most powerful organizations in Teyvat?"

"And how would you feel if I told you that you're looking like I could totally fuck you right now?" You murmur jokingly but you made it audible enough for him to hear.

Perhaps you did mean it. Was it the smell of chemical alcohol getting to your head? Or was it the number of times this man had been visiting the place, always wondering how his sultry voice finds its way into your own heart?

"Oh, so you're saying you wanna fuck with one of the Fatui Harbingers?"

"Even better. So stop coming to my diner when you can go to my place instead."

You cut of his lustful trance with a smack of a card right between his dazed eyes. The card had your home address and with your contact number.

"What was that for?!"

"That's what you call seduction. Not bad for a mere diner owner that now knows how to woo a Harbinger, no?".

After that night, you didn't know whether Childe was only bluffing about him being part of the Harbingers or if he was actually dead-ass serious.

[legrandepapillon]

maybe an easy prompt, but something that has been on my mind kinda based on theo's own gameplay and how mad he got at wyll for rizzing shadowheart up asdfghj

but, at any point of their relationship (pre, during, whatever act you prefer) astarion getting insane horrendously jealous of wyll's and shadowheart weirdo/weirdo friendship.

The Boldness Bloodwine Brings

Rating: M (to be on the safe side, there is no smut)

this one got away from me. i intended for it to be a drabble, just something idly written to pass my time & warm up to prompt filling, but it became a little bit more than that. the idea of astarion being jealous has always compelled me, and i got carried away.

i went with a distant post-game setting, so that i could work with a firm establishment of astarion & wyll’s relationship. i feel like if this had happened during game events or even before the epilogue, it might’ve been more of big deal than i made it here. also, i hope i give enough hints towards it but this is Astarion origin + Wyll romance + Avernus ending. Astarion’s party on my origin playthrough has been Karlach, Shadowheart & Wyll for Act 1 so that’s what i did here.

as far as shadowheart & wyll’s “weirdo relationship”, i looked for some of their banter but wasn’t confident that i could capture the two of them in that manner, so i just went with astarion going slightly crazy not quite girlfriend over the two of them. hope it’s still up to your tastes, anon!! thank you for the prompt, i had a lot of fun writing this

This is silly, really.

Astarion stews over his chalice topped with bloodwine, glaring over the din of his former—and some current—fellow adventurers with narrowed red eyes. Honestly, it’s all so inane. He should be positively luxuriating in the opportunity to be back on the material plane, spread over some velvet chaise longue with virgins offering up their wrists for him to suckle from like some overfed babe. Or in the very heart of Waterdeep’s noble elite, dressed in the finest silks from Amn and fattening his pockets with the jewels from drunk patriars. He even briefly contemplated an orgy the very picture of decadence and pleasure, the stench of sex and sweat and ecstasy laden beneath the smoke of freshly burning incense.

Or… well, perhaps that was shooting a bit for the stars. He doubts his dear Blade would content himself with hazy orgies. More of a romantic dinner and make love beneath the stars type, all told.

No matter whether or not he would’ve ever been able to convince Wyll to participate. Because Wyll is not at his side, lavishing him with unending attention and serenading him with prose so purple it’d attract the Kings of Calimshan and Cormyr alike.

No, Wyll is surrounded by Gale and Shadowheart telling some less-than thrilling tale of how they’d tricked a nupperibo into blindly waddling itself into its own demise. He imagines that Wyll, with all his honeyed words and dashing charm, makes the event sound a lot more thrilling than it was. In reality, Karlach had tripped right out of the bumbling blind idiots’ way and it’d face-planted into a boiling hot spring. It’s a story about as meaningless as ox shit, not at all as high-stakes as his dear Blade makes it sound, and hardly worth that stupid doe-eyed look Shadowheart is giving him.

Shadowheart. 

The grip on his chalice pales the knuckles around the middle, but Astarion rolls his eyes outwardly as his gaze lands on her.

She certainly looks more beautiful than she’d been tromping around in mud and dirt during their days of traveling, at least. Settled into a more peaceful life in the farmside, last Astarion had caught word of. Though if one were to attempt to guess by her dress tonight, farmhand may be the furthest thing from their mind. The Selunite way of life has sunken its fingers into her and held her tenderly, the gossamer white of her dress flowing like water round her ankles. Her whimsical white tresses have been taken into a braid by less-strict fingers, her hair fitting loosely and comfortably in the style as opposed to the tight black rope she swung around back on that beach. There’s a glint of something woven through with her braids, catching the evening light whenever she turns her head or tips it back to laugh. And her face… he hadn’t thought it possible, but perhaps without the burden of grief and loss leaning heavily on her shoulders, it’d smoothed out some of those worry lines in her forehead. Brightened up her eyes, made her smile more. She looks the fout of youth herself,  half-leaning on a wall and clutching a goblet of wine as she listens rapt on Wyll’s story. Entirely too young, by Astarion’s estimations. Truthfully, had he still possessed the desire to say flattery for the sake of saying it, he would compliment her on how well she’d gotten on in such a short time.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t. And can’t possibly think of a good reason to pay her a compliment now, while she fawns over Wyll like some buxom-bosomed maiden found a prince.

The thought almost makes him snarl, and when he catches himself, the tension withers from his shoulders. This is so… pathetic, banal, pointless, stupid. Astarion does not own Wyll—far from it. After each of them finally escaping the bondages of their former masters, able to go where they please and do as they please without someone tugging at the proverbial leash, they hardly were in a hurry to chain themselves to another. Wyll wanted romance, he knows it so. But in Avernus, the closest they could find was hot-mouthed embraces while resting at the House of Hope, or the lean of support following a particularly agonizing failure. As the Blade of Avernus, Wyll no longer had room for courting and romance like they’d had before the defeat of the Netherbrain. He tried whenever he could, by the Triad, he did. But there are no acorns filled with wishing magic or starlight beaches for dancing in Avernus and most of the wine had the lingering taste of ash or rotten eggs to it.

And Astarion was… well, he wasn’t dissatisfied with the arrangement. He quite enjoyed having just one man to bat his eyelashes at whenever he fancied, and kick into a different tent whenever he didn’t. His moods could change at the drop of copper, and Wyll went along with each one with hardly a murmur of dissent. Whenever they could sleep somewhere without having to worry about their heads being separated from their necks, he and Wyll did get up to a bit of romantic fun. And when there was no time for that, when it was nothing but the grind against mortar and pestle to behead sultry cambions or bully infernal mechanics into use… well, that was okay, too. A little well-presented carnage and chaos could just as well set his heart aflutter, Wyll surely knew that by now. He didn’t need something steady and storybook to feel desired. The way that Wyll always left his left flank open to keep a line of sight on him in battle, or how he kissed his knuckles in relief whenever they made it out of a scrap with a particularly dedicated group of abishai.

Wyll loves him in every way that matters. And he, albeit with great reluctance in admitting it aloud, loves him back.

So why does he feel so… unmoored at just how happy the young man looks with his equally young former companion. What is this acidic stirring in his chest, melting away all the genuinely good regards he’s used to keeping Shadowheart in? For nearly two years she’d been his ally, his partner, his co-conspirator and even his friend. How many times had the two of them sat on the very perimeters of camp, some vintage he’d nicked from a cellar filling their rusted bronze chalices, gossiping in Elvish about their companions until the wine tinged their pointed ears pink? She was more his friend than Wyll’s by any measure, even after she’d ditched her bitch of a dark goddess and turned towards living a life in light he couldn’t join her in. 

And yet all he can fantasize right now is sinking his canine into her jugular and drinking her dry so that she may never rest her pretty well-manicured fingers on Wyll Ravengard’s shoulder again.

A large warm hand clamps down on his shoulder, starling him from the satisfyingly murderous thoughts that had begun to inch their way forth. Astarion stumbles a bit in surprise, free hand twitching towards the menagerie of daggers he still has strapped all over his person out of habit alone. But it’s just Halsin—swaying a bit on his feet from the plentiful liquor, and smiling too widely for casual acquaintances. Astarion makes a show of tilting his head up haughtily to close some of that towering distance, and dusting off the spot on his shoulder that Halsin had touched. 

Though there’d been many changes from his friends in a year, Halsin seemed as though he was stuck frozen in time. The only visible differences being that his skin had taken on a deeper tan, and his warm green eyes had more wrinkles in the corners. Elsewise, he was still the big oafish elf they’d left behind in Reithwin. He, nor Wyll or Karlach, had gotten the chance to give a formal goodbye on the docks that day. But when Withers had managed to wrangle them all back together a few months on, they’d been bought enough time to escort him back to Reithwin before he helped them open a portal back to Avernus. He distinctly remembers patting Karlach’s back as she weeped, and promised that she’d fix her heart and come help in the rebuilding soon as she could. Halsin had in turn promised a cottage for them all, a little plot of land for them to grow their own livelihood. Settle down into a home after a life on the road. Wyll and Karlach alike had seemed enamored with the idea, but the thought of schlepping around in pig shit and feeding orphans has made Astarion’s spine recoil.

His mouth goes tight at the memory.

“Halsin. I see you haven’t gotten any bigger since I last saw you; fortune be for the Reithwin food supply.” 

His wry insult only draws a booming laugh from the chest of the man, and he claps another hand down—hard—over Astarion’s shoulder. Every muscle in the vampire’s body tenses, and he loosens his hold on his chalice only in the hopes to make the draw of a blade a bit faster should need be. Stabbing the towering tree of an elf might not produce molasses, but his blood would certainly be just as sweet if he kept touching him.

“And I see not even the Hells themselves could scare you straight into submission,” Halsin returns, with an easy smile. “All the glad to hear of it, my friend. You look well.”

“I look exhausted,” and he probably does. They’d portaled straight from the House of Hope to Gale’s rather decadent tower once they were sure it wasn’t some sort of trap. There’d hardly been time for more than a washing up and a change of clothing before they’d been whisked down to a full five-course dinner and as much alcohol as their bodies could tolerate. Astarion hadn’t had a moment to rest since they’d arrived…

… and more importantly, he hadn’t had a moment alone with Wyll. The thought sends him looking over his shoulder, catching eyes with the Blade himself. It seems as if Wyll was in the midst of sizing up the interaction, worried he might have to interfere before Halsin lost one of those paws. But when they lock eyes he smiles, and raises his glass in Astarion’s direction. Curse his feeble, weak, dead heart but he swears it flutters as he returns the gesture. It seems his misdeed of ignoring him tonight can be forgotten just that quickly. 

“Oh, and there’s no wondering as to why,” Halsin muses, having watched the brief interaction. “The thrill of young love. Unhesitatingly self-indulgent, and yet bewitching all the time. Between slaughtering devils and entrancing your Wyll, I doubt there’s much time for sleep.” 

There’s a playful wink and a nudge from the elf, but Astarion quickly bats him away like a disgruntled cat.

“It’s none of that; he’s not my Wyll. Even if it were, it’d be none of your damned business, druid. Don’t you have a schoolyard’s worth of progeny to be tending to?” He makes a show of looking around Gale’s spacious drawing room, but the only people there are a few old friends from the adventuring days and the Heroes of the Gate themselves. No wide-eyed sticky-fingered orphans in sight. “Where are the little devils tonight; I’ll know if my pockets are light, and I’ll know who to expect compensation from.”

“Worry not, Astarion. My children are back at home in Reithwin. They’re being watched by others in the town; it does take a village, as they say.”

“With your lot, it’d take a whole country,” grumbles Astarion, chasing the bitter taste of the talk of children with the bloodwine in his glass. The metallic undertones of the fermented blood adds a rather unusual flavor to the blackberry and herb. It provides both a refreshing quench to the ever-lingering blood thirst, and a lovely buzz beneath his flesh. Astarion can just almost disappear into his fantasies of being fed bloodwine by warm, amber tinted hands. The curve of horns against his cheek as lips wet from cherry wine press to his throat. A hot pink tongue chasing the dribble of wine that slips from the corner of his mouth, pushing it back into his own with all the youthful eagerness of a man made to please.

This one seems far more attainable than all the other half-baked fantasies he’d cooked up earlier. The only problem is… 

A tinkling laughter, louder now but just as delicate as it’d been back then. Shadowheart surprised by her own amusement hides her smile behind her glass, gaze resting warmly on the side of Wyll’s face. He’s half-turned towards her, hands gesticulating wildly into the air and evidently weaving another tale about their exploits into Avernus. Astarion bites down hard enough on his tongue that it draws blood. Still a novelty that he has enough blood in his system to draw it forth, he surprises himself with the pinch of pain and the sudden sluggish flow of inky near-black blood.

“Oh, enough of….” he half-mutters, slipping away from Halsin—who’d devolved into telling stories about his brats to a man that couldn’t care less. Astarion slinks across the drawing room towards the four gathered in the center of it, making a point to cut into the space between Shadowheart and Wyll. There’s plenty space opposite Gale to join in the conversation, but it’s so much more satisfactory to cut the proverbial thread that was the sliver of space that only just separated their shoulders.

The aforementioned woman doesn’t seem to pay any mind, merely shuffles over to accommodate the fourth body and flashes Astarion a genuine grin.

“Astarion! I was wondering when you’d come away from brooding in the shadows. Wyll has been telling us all about Avernus; sounds like you’ve become quite the hellish hero,” she appraises, raising her chalice to her lips. Astarion knows Shadowheart well enough to know it isn’t just the compliment she makes it sound like, but also a teasing about his capabilities. She doesn’t quite believe he’d slipped into the shoes of saving the helpless and slaying the wicked on his own accord. It seems everyone at this Gods forsaken party had caught wind of the love affair between the Blade and his sanguineous Dagger. Astarion has half a mind to appeal to Talos himself; make a real announcement of their amorous connection.

Perhaps maybe then Shadowheart would give him a wider berth.

“A hero implies that there is some sort of saving involved, sweet thing. In Avernus, there is no good or bad. Just us, and every other evil creature we stumble across. The only ‘heroism’ to be found there is in all that blood imps so eagerly offer up to prevent me from starving.”

There’s a grimace from Wyll around his mouthful of wine. “I’d hardly call that heroic, Star. You don’t tend to give them much of a choice; they don’t really offer so much as die screaming.”

The offhanded nickname seems to peak the interest of both Gale and Shadowheart, two sets of eyebrows raising to two hairlines. The wizard at least has the decency to cover his amused smile with his hand, though he cocks his head at the two of them as if he’s waiting any moment for Wyll to drop to his knee and make a sickening show.

“Star?” Shadowheart all but purrs, like a hungry cat that’s just come across the fattest mouse in the fields. “Well, now. There’s a story I’d be all too interested in hearing. When you two last left here, there were no pet names involved yet.”

Now, usually, Astarion would bat away the insinuation immediately. He’d insist that there were none still, because he was not Wyll’s star or sweetheart or anything else so juvenile. He’d bare his fangs at the lot of them, warn them off ever making mention of it again should they enjoy keeping their carotid artery tucked safely behind their jugular. In any other circumstance, he’d hiss and scowl and snarl at the very idea he’d allow himself to be roped into something so banal as a pet name. Like they were schoolchildren and not two men with some of the most powerful arch devils in the Hells calling for their heads.

In fact, from beside him, he can feel the tense in Wyll‘s shoulder as he expects him to do just that. When it was just the two of them in a tent or a room reserved at Hope, he could lavish Astarion with all the ‘my heart’s and ‘shining Star’s and lines from lovesick bards as he’d like. In fact, the vampire would display marked offense if he didn’t. But in public, most especially on the ever-dangerous roads of Avernus, letting anything overhear that there was someone you cared for was almost certainly signing their death warrant. He’d been chastised many times in his beginning for his open affection towards him, a wild-eyed Astarion so close to having something good for once and so pants-shittingly terrified at losing it.

Wyll was an affectionate lover, but he’d have to settle for the moments they could steal because there was too much death and hellfire around them for anything else.

But this time, Astarion leans into the man beside him. He drapes his arms over Wyll’s neck, rests his head in the crook of his neck and shoulder. His chalice of wine sloshes against the edges uneasily with the sudden movement, causing Wyll to bring a hand up to his wrist and steady his grip. It’s perhaps the most tender embrace they’ve shared in front of someone other than Hope or Karlach since they’d first left that dock for Avernus. It’s a deliberate show of their relationship. The thing that Astarion danced in and out of most days, dead heart so full of his foolish Blade and simultaneously so worried about putting him in danger by showing it. Let it not be said that Astarion Ancunín has no love in his body for the red-eyed man who he’d saved the world with. In front of all their closest friends and—dare he say it?—family, he makes a rather bold show of clinging to his fiancé.

The acorn he’d had strung along a bit of gold suddenly feels all too heavy beneath his silks and lace, resting right over his unbeating heart. But Astarion decides the minute discomfort with PDA is worth the way Shadowheart gives the couple a bit more space, a surprised flush to those porcelain cheeks.

Check.

“Well, a lot has changed between now and then. We are quite serious about each other, you know?”

“We always have been, to my knowledge,” Wyll chuckles, patting Astarion’s wrist. “but there’s little time for me to do things the proper way back in Avernus. We make do with what time together we can find.”

“And every moment is absolutely electrifying, wouldn’t you say, darling?” purrs Astarion, peering up into Wyll’s one functioning eye with something lascivious in his own. Shadowheart is practically teeming with intrigue at all the racy details of their bedroom; something far more intriguing than the slaughter of kobolds and bone fiends. Gale gives a small noise of disgust whilst rolling his eyes, though he doesn’t seem to make a move to leave either.

“Yes, Wyll certainly kept his little tricks close to his chest before but now… he’s quite the consummate lover.”

Though he says it to Wyll, his red eyes bore into Shadowheart’s gentle green ones as the words leave his mouth—a proverbial dog pissing on his post. He loves me, wants me, fucks me, and that’s how it’ll stay. He’s laying it on a bit thick now, surely. But the only one that seems to notice anything is amiss is the man himself, who quirks a confused eyebrow.

After two centuries with his sex life belonging to everyone but himself, Astarion didn’t often like to discuss what they got up to privately. Aside from the occasional bawdy joke with Karlach about ‘sheathing the Blade’, he didn’t tend to go handing out details about their bedroom so cavalierly. All the same to Wyll; far from a prude by now, but he’d rather some things stay sacred between the two of them. Public displays of affection aside, they didn’t talk about sex if they didn’t want to. And they didn’t want to… usually.

“I see the wines loosened that tongue of yours,” Gale appraises after a cough of surprise. The older man rocks forth on the ball on his feet, hands clasped behind his back and chin nudging in the direction of his cup. “Glad to see the bloodwine is up to snuff, Astarion.”

A glance from both Wyll and Astarion down to the chalice in his hand, a dawning on the latters expression as his half-baked plan forms another step. Truth is, Astarion isn’t fully aware yet that he’s making an ass out of himself. He doesn’t know… what he’s doing, per se. But Gale delivers an out to him so smoothly, he would kiss the man square on his lips if he wasn’t so appalled at the idea. Leaning into an overt display of drunkenness, he rests more of his weight across Wyll’s shoulders. 

“I don’t need to be drunk to tell you just how mighty the blade can—”

“—Alright, Astarion!” Wyll finally exclaims. The flush of blood to his face isn’t noticeable by eye, but Astarion smells it as it fills the apples of his cheeks in a sudden tidal wave. It’s all too intoxicating, far more than the mediocre bloodwine that Gale had proferred for him. There’s no show in the way he leans closer to chase the scent, which has Wyll clutching his waist now instead to maintain their shared balance. “Maybe we should get you some sleep, before all of Waterdeep knows what we get up to in private.”

“Maybe not all of Waterdeep,” Shadowheart returns warmly. “After all, Gale’s mother is nowhere to be found.”

“Hey! I resent that!” exclaims the man on his mother’s behalf, which only entices one of those sweet little laughs from their cleric. Wyll politely excuses the both of them from conversation before he can get roped into whether or not Morena Dekarios’ tongue is obliged to a bit of gossip. He passes his own glass to Gale and plucks Astarion’s from his fingers to hand over to Shadowheart, before securing a strong arm around the shorter man’s waist and hauling most of his weight to the staircase. 

He plays his part the whole way up, bumping him into the banister and tripping over his feet at the landing. It certainly isn’t the first time he’s played up the illusion of intoxication for someone else’s benefit. There was a certain breed of individual back in Baldur’s Gate that quite liked the idea of having someone that couldn’t quite tell whether or not they were being had. Astarion had perfected all sorts of tricks for seduction over two-hundred years, this is perhaps one of the most popular. Unlike the marks he’d targeted back in the Gate, though, Wyll’s hands do not wander beneath his waistline. He does not grope or molest, merely anchors his partner in a strong, steady grip as he maneuvers them up what seems to be unending flights of stairs.

Astarion waits until they’re safely within the bedroom Gale had offered them to drop the act—righting himself to steady feet and fixing the wrinkles from his waistcoat. He floats elegantly over to the vanity and settles down, picking up a fresh handkerchief and dampening it to begin removing the kohl from around his eyes. 

Wyll splutters in surprise behind him.

“Oh, Wyll, seriously dear,” Astarion leans over the chair of his vanity. “You didn’t really think I’d get drunk off of a few glasses of donkey piss, did you? My tastes are far more eclectic than that.”

The man shakes his head at his partner, collapsing with palpable exhaustion at the foot of the bed they share. “Gale had it brewed especially for you, Astarion, how was I to—nevermind that. Why did you pretend to be drunk?” 

Why did he? The only answer that presents itself, bright and clear at the forefront of his mind, is because he’d wanted to get Wyll’s attention away from Shadowheart. At the moment it’d made complete sense, but as he deliberates on it more, he doesn’t know why he’d wanted that either. What exactly had it been about her proximity to Wyll that had disturbed him so much he felt the need to cut into their conversation, make lascivious innuendos towards their sex life, and then pretend to be so inebriated he could hardly stand? What was that stinging, acidic feeling right in the center of his chest? Blooming in the space between his lungs and his heart, making the former constrict and the latter weigh so heavy? The way she batted her fingers against his shoulder, laughed at his jokes, smiled coyly over her wine… she’d done it all before, when they were on the road together. Battling against a giant mind control brain and the Chosen of the Dead Gods. It hadn’t bothered him then. So why did it bother him now? What was it about Wyll and Shadowheart laughing together that made him want rip her throat out and curse him to Arvandor and back?

Lips turning down into a scowl, he turns back to face the mirror. In the reflection he can only see the array of powders and creams he’d demanded of Gale’s house servant, and Wyll in the distant corner—now moved to light candles around the room. 

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” echoes the man, striking another match to light the lamp on Astarion’s bedside. “You just randomly decided to play at being a drunk for the fun of it?”

“Yes, exactly that,” the vampire agrees, flashing his lover a false smile over his shoulder. “Wasn’t it fun?”

“No, not really. You’re too heavy to half-carry up that many flights of stairs for no good reason,” Wyll crosses the space now, coming to stand behind Astarion. A hand reaches forward, hesitating only when the paler man flinches by instinct. “May I?”

“You may,” he sniffs, anchored by the sight of Wyll in the reflection of the mirror. Battle-calloused fingers gently tug the silk neck cloth from its spot tucked his doublet, exposing more planes of pale white flesh. Careful with Astarion’s niceties as he knows the man doesn’t get much chance to wear them, he folds the cloth neatly before leaning down to take one of his hands. Crimson eyes track his movements intently in the mirror, watching as Wyll first kisses each knuckle before sliding his rings from the accompanying finger. The jewels clatter loudly onto the varnished wood of Gale’s vanity, a mix of stolen gold bands and sweetly purchased sapphire gems. Wyll takes the other hand when he’s done with the first, repeating the process just as meticulously as he’d done before.

It’s in moments like this that Astarion can feel every muscle in his body finally relax. He spent most of his days walking around on the tips of his toes, constantly bolstering himself for the next catastrophe. Jumping straight from Cazador’s commands into the mix of Gods and cultists into literal actual real hell had done nothing to soothe any tensions. He was tightly wound at all times, constantly ready to brace or fight or flee. It wasn’t until Wyll took him in his rough hunters hands, deliberately and delicately unwound him bit by bit, that he got to experience what it felt like to be at ease. To be protected by someone, so safe with them that getting comfortable for a moment wouldn’t become an immediate death sentence.

Astarion sighs at the thought. It isn’t the first time it’s fluttered across his mind, alone with him. You make me feel safe. Like there’s nothing on Earth I have to worry about besides you. I hate it because of how much I love it. I’m so afraid of getting used to it, because once I do I know I’d destroy anything that tried to get between us. By the Gods, Wyll, I’m alarmingly in love with you. 

He doesn’t realize his eyes have fluttered closed until he feels a kiss press to each of his eyelids. Any other time he’d roll his eyes at such treacly sentimentality. But he can’t bring himself to ruin this for Wyll; especially not after he’s already ruined his night.

Red eyes fly open at the thought. They land on where Wyll is slowly unbuttoning his doublet; no ulterior motive behind those nimble fingers beyond getting him into more comfortable clothing. Astarion brings his hand to cover Wyll’s, cool fingers immediately sending a small shiver through the younger man’s flesh.

“Darling, you would tell me if I’d ruined the night, wouldn’t you?” he asks softly. Vulnerably. His voice trembles at the end of the question, brow furrowing deeply at the thought. He still hadn’t been able to make heads or tails of all the conflicting feelings that’d driven him to calling the night early. All told, he’d been having a grand time for most of the evening. They’d commiserated Karlach’s inability to leave Avernus to join the reunion, but had all gotten together to create a message on one of Rolan’s fancy projectors to take back to her. That had been followed up by Alfira strumming the strings to her lyre, kicking them up into song worthy of the most ribald dance hall. Between the long-fermented bloodwine—about as strong as mead but delicious as blackberry wine—and Wyll leading him in a few dances in Gale’s more than spacious sunroom, Astarion had believed he’d been having fun at first.

But then the party had quieted down, dinner and alcohol had kicked in and loud revelry had broken into quieter conversations throughout the downstairs of Gale’s home. He doesn’t know when he’d planted himself in that shadowy corner, or why he’d stayed there instead of joining the conversation with his friends. He doesn’t know why Shadowheart’s comfortable familiarity with Wyll had made him so annoyed, nor does he know why he’d chosen to call their night over it. But here and now, he does feel the guilt begin to worm itself into his chest right under that heavy burning feeling from earlier that still persists.

Wyll had given up so much of his life for others already. He’d given up his home in Baldur’s Gate to save the city, he’d given up chasing his own liberation from his pact to save it again, and he’d given up guaranteed safety as its Duke to save Karlach. Though in the time between now and then, Astarion had forced him into selfishness practically by dagger-point on more than one occasion, he could still catch him giving things up. Like tonight, giving up the fun conversation he’d been having with Shadowheart and Gale to tend to his selfish vampire partner.

“—Astarion, Astarion,” Wyll insists, squeezing his hands. He hadn’t realized he’d retreated so visibly into his thoughts, but when he blinks at the man, there’s a flicker of relief on his face. “My star, what ever could make you think you ruined my night?”

“Well, I don’t know. You were talking to Shadowheart. You seemed to really enjoy telling her all about your tales of heroism—she enjoyed listening to them, too, from what I can tell. I just hope that my flight of fancy hadn’t ruined your evening, that’s all.” He says it with a nonchalant air, a shrug to his shoulder and gaze askance as though the words leaving his mouth have no meaning to them at all. But there’s too much jerkiness to his movements and solemnity to his tone for it to ever be believed that he’s as apathetic to the matter as he claims.

“My evening with… Shadowheart?” says Wyll slowly, somehow confused and discerning all at once. As though he can’t parse where this is coming from, but he’s beginning to put the pieces into place. Astarion gestures limply in response, which isn’t much of a response at all. “Astarion. Did you think I was flirting with Shadowheart?”

“Oh, Heavens no,” A moment of relief on the face of the man kneeling in front of him. “You are rarely so bold. But she was flirting with you.”

Wyll splutters, entirely aghast at the notion. There’s that delicious smell of all his blood rushing to his cheeks again, and Astarion is suddenly reminded that the deer he’d drained for Halsin to butcher before dinner is the last time he’d eaten. His mouth salivates with the thought of helping Wyll with some of that misappropriated blood, but before his mind can get ahead of him, the man himself is gripping both of his hands so tightly he thinks they might actually lose a little color in the tips. Another novelty of a regulated diet, his skin was perhaps not as sickly pale as it’d been at first. He had the barest hints of color to his extremities, just enough to pass as elven in the right lantern light. 

“Astarion. She didn’t tell you?” Wyll asks, a twinge of amusement in his voice. “She and Karlach—they’ve been speaking through sending since our first time resting at the House of Hope. They’re smitten with each other, quite frankly. I was telling her stories about Karlach; it seemed to lift her spirits from the fact that she couldn’t be here tonight.”

The vampire spawn blanches, slowly connecting the dots. He can recall brief conversations between Blade and Warrior of Avernus, offhanded mentions of the moon cleric back on the material plane. Between their hunit for Zariel’s head, an internal mechanic worth his spit and the amount of fiends and devils sent to collect their head, he hadn’t bothered to put much thought into it before.

But the seemingly never ending supply of parchment and sending stones that Hope kept them in stock with, the bundle of letters that Karlach guarded with all the ferocity of a junkyard dog, and the dopey smile whenever anyone mentioned their old adventuring days around the tiefling… he doesn’t know how he didn’t put it together before. There was obviously someone waiting for her back here, someone she was eager to get back to.

“She… and Karlach… really? This whole time?”

“How could you not know?” chuckles Wyll, his good eye twinkling with bemusement. Whether at his reaction or the situation at large, the pale elf isn’t interested in determining. “Karlach practically bowls you over whenever we manage to get letters from this plane.”

“Oh, for all I could have guessed, she’d subscribed to one of Halsin’s adopt-a-bloody-orphan programs and was tracking the progress of her new progeny!”

“Astarion, were you jealous of Shadowheart?” continues the younger man, genuinely looking like he’s on the edge of devolving into full-out laughter. Astarion glares at him in return, mouth twisted into a scowl at the mirth that spreads from the smile on his lips to the red-iris of his working eye. But against all of his better judgment to protest and scoff and and lie and deny, deny, deny, he knows two things. He’s already revealed his hand to the man, and even if he hadn’t, Wyll would see right through him regardless.

For a man with only half his vision, he had a funny way of doing that. 

Still, he won’t also give him the satisfaction of a response. So he just stares at him indignantly, until Wyll finally cracks and dissolves into a fit of—admittedly, politely restrained—laughter masked beneath a hand cupped over his mouth. Astarion rolls his eyes at him, shoving the man away to return back to all the fancy hair and facial care that he’d made Gale’s housekeep go through the pain of finding for him. Whilst Wyll has a proper laugh at his expense, he finishes wiping his face clean from all of the maquillage he’d used.

After the laughter spans into minutes, he gives a huff of annoyance. “Alright, you’ve had your fun!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, my love,” Wyll returns, still wiping a tear of mirth from the corner of his eyes. “It’s just—you really were—and of Shadowheart no less?! What could you possibly have to be jealous of when it comes to Shadowheart? I’ve never paid her more than half a glance. All the time I’ve known her, and I still don’t even know the woman’s real name. Let alone have any desire to take her to bed!”

“Lots of things can happen in half a glance, Wyll, I don’t know!” huffs Astarion. “She looked gorgeous. Youthful. And she would probably be a more sensible fit on your arm than… well—”

“Nobody is more perfect for me than you, Astarion.” Blood-red eyes flicker up at this, mouth slightly agape. Not at the words; he’d heard some variant of them a million times before. But rather how quickly they come, as if Wyll didn’t have to think a moment before saying something so impossibly virtuous. The sizzling, acidic sensation beneath his chest begins to ebb away finally—replaced by that inexplicable fluttering of earlier. “You don’t believe me, my heart? What else do I have to do to show you? What words can I say to prove it?”

Floundering like a beached fish, no snarky retort or dismissive platitude comes to mind. Wyll closes the little space between them so effortlessly, a large hand coming up to swipe an errant curl from the vampire’s forehead. That same hand trails down, clutching both of Astarion’s hands between his own with the conviction of a pious man come to pray. His fingers gently squeeze at the man’s knuckles, his eye trails languidly over his lover’s face before finally landing contentedly on his own gaze. If looking at someone you love could provide sustenance, Wyll might be satisfied for the rest of his days—he drinks in the bewilderment in those scarlet red eyes, silent for several long moments in his contendedness to just admire his darling. The fluttering in Astarion’s chest becomes a war drum, pounding so hard against his ribcage it feels as though the bedeviled thing is trying to rip through his chest cavity and run into Wyll’s arms. 

Love must make people delusional, because he’d been certain that his heart couldn’t beat anymore after his undeath.

When Wyll speaks again, it’s with that dashing confidence of his. As if there was little more he could be sure of than this.

“You’re all that’s on my mind, all that lives within my heart. The truth to every word I speak, the spring beneath every step, the purpose behind every drawing breath,” he brings their hands to his lips, breath warm against ever-cool digits. Presses a sweet kiss to the spot where deep amber skin meets milky white. “My sun, my sky, my moon and my stars. Astarion, it’s you. In every dream, in every fantasy, in every desire. It’s always you and only you.”

Before his adventures with his friends and his descent into the Hells, Astarion had been sure he’d discovered every way someone could be knocked breathless. A punch to the stomach, a dizzying hit to the temple, a sudden stab to the lungs. He’s endured an uncountable about of torment and injustice alike, all that had been rather adept in reminding him that he was dead and even the air he bothered to breathe was useless.

Yet it wasn’t until he met Wyll Ravengard that he came to understand how not only mere words could knock him breathless, but how the feeling could be accompanied by thrilling euphoria as opposed to the usual sinking dread.

Whenever he begins to doubt the man, even for the smallest of moments, there was always Wyll to swoop in to remind him. This storybook prince of a hero, how had it taken two hundred years for some God to finally hear his prayers?

Perhaps unnerved by the silence, Wyll gives another squeeze to his hands. “Astarion… my heart? Are you alright?”

“That,” a gust of air he doesn’t need leaves his lips, as he stares wild-eyed at the man in front of him. Slowly sorting his thoughts; placing all of the sickly sweet love confessions of his own aside, choosing something that was perhaps more on brand. “was the most erotic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

And it’s not even a lie, to boot. He’s must be getting better at this whole romance deal.

“Astarion, it wasn’t meant to be erotic. I was trying to tell you that I love—”

“Oh, I know what you were trying to do. I don’t happen to get much say in what my dick finds attractive.”

A wince from Wyll, a flicker of concern that he recognizes well. Sometimes he fell back into old habits, unsure ofof any other way to show his genuine affection for the man. It’s obvious he worries now that this is what Astarion is doing, because he begins to draw away. “Star…” In an act of reassurance of his own, the rogue surges forward. Places two hands on either side of Wyll’s face, pulls him in for a kiss. “… mm!” 

They both taste of blackberry wine; Astarion’s lips a touch more metallic than Wyll’s own. It would be nauseatingly sweet, in any other context. The taste of fruits or the way his thumb caresses Wyll’s cheek or the saccharine little request for permission his tongue still does at his bottom lip. But in this moment, Astarion is not nauseated in the slightest. There is not curl of disgust in his stomach, no desire to let mechanics take over and slip into more pleasant fantasies. There’s no desire for anything at all, except to kiss this sweet, darling, foolish man breathless.

No fantasy could ever compare to the real thing when it came to Wyll Ravengard, something he learned anew everyday.

When he does pull away from the kiss, to offer his partner the air he, himself, doesn’t need, there’s a fond smile on his lips.

“And lest it ever be forgotten… I love you, too.” It earns a breathy chuckle from Wyll, who pulls him in again by the back of his neck. Their foreheads knock together and eyes flutter closed, one of the rare moments of peace they can steal from the unforgiving world. A rough thumb strokes the curls at the back of Astarion’s neck, longer and fuller since they’d begun their adventure. Pale hands cup a scarred cheek, fingertips resting gently against the divots of his scars.

The stinging, acidic sensation of jealousy is completely gone now, much to the vampire’s relief. There was never anything to be worried about with Shadowheart, of course. It’s made evident in their quiet moments like this that the only person that could catch Wyll’s eye is the one sitting in front of him. No amount of gossamer gowns or flowing twine-woven braids could ever tempt him from what they have; truthfully, he shouldn’t have doubted it in the first place. From his memory, Astarion has never been loved so fully and with so much devotion. He’s never loved anyone that way either.

He’s still learning, of course. He’ll be learning for a long while yet, according to Wyll. But it’s rather pleasant to know Wyll would be there to reassure him whenever he needs. A novelty upon novelties.

“Now. Take me to bed. We haven’t had rest on nice lenin in so long,” Astarion simpers, taking Wyll’s hand to tug him to the canopied bed instead. As opposed to their early days, the man doesn’t protest or dawdle; consummate lover indeed, Wyll was still a young man of some twenty-six years. The promise of sex, freely given and eagerly desired, blows the pupil on his red eye wide.

“Surely, it muffles sound much better than that threadbare shit we have back at the House of Hope; I truly do not wish the whole lot of them to hear just how much I love you.”

“Except for Shadowheart, I’ll wager?” jokes Wyll, leaning down to take off one of his boots. Astarion tosses a look over his shoulder; first menacing, before he breaks into a warm smile at his own expense.

“Well. Except for Shadowheart.”

[lover-of-mine]

Oh SO much has happened. Mustache confirmation broke my heart. Someone hold him down and shave it off!

The deleted scene of Eddie and Chris was posted a half hour ago and the BTs have IMMEDIATELY jumped on it. Of course the narrative is ‘this proves Eddie is straight’ ‘Eddie has always and exclusively been attracted to women’ ‘they are dropping this to shut up the Buddies’ yeah okay. Remember when the deleted Tommy Henren medal scene was released? And the BTs said ‘oh this is signalling that Tommy is going to be really important next season and that the general audience loves him?’ Apparently releasing a deleted scene of Eddie does not mean the same thing. The network is not trying to tell us that Eddie has a major role next season. Just that Eddie is straight. Which is honestly again just a weirdo narrative because dating women in the past does not preclude him from liking men.

Aside from that. Two big things obviously: the con and the Twitter space. Not really much to say about the con aside from what’s publicly known. BTs are just harassing the poor organizers of this event even though Lou was never confirmed for this con. It was just a poll to gauge interest. Though it was funny to see BTs immediately jump to the ‘Ryan is getting invited instead’ narrative. Why are they obsessed with conflating Lou and Ryan/Tommy and Eddie so much? Weird.

Also please free Kenny from this narrative that he never asked to be a part of. No he is not going to drop out of the con because the organizers considered inviting Lou and decided not to.

The Twitter space was just nasty. ‘Oliver is catering to Buddies because he cares what people on social media think about him.’ Have we forgotten what it was like when he was on Twitter back in the day? He was sick of us! He straight-up told fans they were annoying! And you think that the same man who did that would purposefully hang out with a fellow cast member just to appease strangers on the Internet? Yeah alright.

As for everyone calling Oliver racist for hanging out with Ryan. Besides how hypocritical they are for saying this given Lou’s undeniable racism and bigotry. It is so clear BTs do not actually care about this. If they did they would not exclusively be targeting Oliver. Kenny was also hanging out with Ryan. Where are the allegations of him aligning with anti-black racism? But no it only matters when Oliver is involved. A ship war is more important to them than these allegations of racism apparently.

Mark my words. When Lou arrives on set it will be an excessively professional work environment. He started this and encouraged it through the cameos. No one is going to be buddy-buddy with him. He will show up do his job and go home and that will drive the BTs crazy.

hello baby 💙

Honestly, Eddie talking about meeting the wife we know he had proving something is exactly the type of thing they would try to spin for real. We're keeping up as regularly scheduled, I guess.

But, seriously, Oliver catering to us when he was always very no-nonsense when it comes to his social media presence. He would never hang out with and post someone if he doesn't feel like it. But it is true, it's not about whatever problematic behavior Ryan might exhibit, because if it was there would be pushback on the whole cast, not just Oliver since they were all at Ryan's. And I agree, when he shows up it will be just professional considering he is responsible for this whole mess starting. But let's see how it comes when he shows up.

[lostcauses-noregrets]

A few words about trolling and harassment

I've had quite a lot of asks recently about how to deal with trolling, hate and negativity in fandom. There are too many to answer individually, so I hope you don't mind me answering like this.

Sadly trolling and hate is nothing new, it's always been a feature of fandom, and the Eruri fandom is no exception. Because the Eruri fandom has quite visible and popular artists and writers, I think it tends to attracts more trolls than you might expect for such a small fandom. It's also noticeable that incidents of hate and trolling always increase when the whole fandom becomes more active in the run up to anime season releases. Trolling can happen at any time though, sometimes it's a single sorry individual with no life, too much time on their hands, and no imagination to do anything more creative.

Being targeted by trolls can be understandably upsetting and I know that some people get really anxious and upset by the low level ship hate that buzzes around in the background. So how to deal with it? It might sound trite but the best thing to do with trolls is ignore them. Trolls are desperate for your attention, so don't give it to them. I know that's easier said than done though so my advice is that if you can't resist responding, do so with humour. Trolls rarely appreciate being laughed at. I have a strict policy of ignoring all the anon hate I get here on tumblr, but occasionally I get an ask that is too hilarious not to share, so I post it on twitter for everyone to point and laugh at.

Dealing with disingenuous fans can be a bit tricker, as it's not always easy to tell when someone is arguing a point in good faith or if it's bait and they're just trying to start shit. Like trolls, bait is best ignored. Don't let them hook you in and don't argue back, it's not worth wasting your time trying to change their mind. You won't. Just walk away. Spend your precious time on something that you enjoy instead, like reading your favourite fanfic, or creating something new for your fandom. And whatever you do, don't engage with ship hate and ship wars. Leave others to enjoy their ship, and you focus on enjoying your own. Shipping isn't a competition; it's not something you can win or lose. If people are bringing negativity and hate into the tags block them, and curate your timeline to minimise their visibility.

If you find that trolling, harassment and fandom discourse is making you really anxious and upset then you need to disengage. It's vitally important to establish your own boundaries and to stick by them. Don't hang out in spaces where there are people who will upset you, block and report obvious trolls, and mute anyone who brings negativity into your fandom spaces, even if they're from your own side of the fandom. Don't feel that you have to engage with the fandom at large. The best advice I've ever heard is that fandom is best enjoyed with a small group of like minded weirdos who you can share your kinks and headcanons with and who you can bitch to in private. Its sound advice and it's worked for me for years.

Way back in 2018, my friend and fellow Eruri fan @valisi-clark did a fascinating survey of why people send Anon hate. The anonymous responses they got were really eye opening. if you're interested you can read the whole thing here: Anonymous Hate Survey.

I can also highly recommend this beautiful post from @ladymacbethsspot with solid practical advice on how to deal with all kinds of bullying and harassment.

I hope this helps folk to navigate fandom's stormy waters. If anyone needs to get anything off their chest, my ask box is always open. I can't respond to every ask I get, but I do read them all.

[goshdangronpa]

Hey, I finally got to tumblr! :D I think I'm pretty out of touch with DR fandom, so I'm jumping at my chance to talk to a fellow partner in crime. What did you like about Irumatsu in the first place? I'm so deep into my headcanons at this point, I'd like to know how others perceive them. I love how you're writing their dynamic!

Omg heeeey :) thank you so much for your kind words about "Kaede's Rhapsody"! I'm exploring that very question through this story - if not, I would've skipped all these thousands of words and cut to the smut! I hope you enjoy that exploration in upcoming chapters ...

... and I can still answer your question here!

What drew me to them isn't deep at all. I enjoyed Kaede as a protagonist (I really needed to warm up to Shuichi lol). Then Miu Iruma swiftly became my fave char in V3, with her outrageous dialogue, huge personality, and shockingly fragile arrogance.

That's only enough to make me consider a ship. In fact, from introductions alone, I first fancied Kaede with Maki and accepted Miu x Kiibo as a given. But I've discovered that "Normal Protag and Somewhat Antagonistic Weirdo" describes nearly all my favorite ships. Both saiouma and oumota from V3, komahina in SDR2, especially tokomaru and syomaru from UDG. It's the friction that gives it spice: shipping two perfectly nice characters (such as, idk, saimatsu) isn't quite as fun as shipping two characters who bicker and clash between (or during!) wholesome cuddling (such as, idk, irumatsu!).

There's a real opposites attract thing going on, too. Kaede is clearly a prep (not derogatory) who dresses conservatively; Miu struts around in BDSM gear and features other punk elements. Kaede strives to be nice but won't suffer fools; Miu talks a lot of smack but backs down from any pushback. Kaede is selfless to the point of self-sacrifice; Miu dies after putting her own life before everyone else's.

Besides how sharply they contrast, I also like how much they have in common. Kaede and Miu are capable of empathy, but equally capable of taking elaborate measures for what they consider the greater good. They both die as a result of trying to murder someone else. They can be deeply stubborn. And heck, they're 5'8" blondes who press lots of keys.

What really makes the ship for me is how they complement each other. Miu's a bully, but Kaede consistently argues back without hesitation, challenging the self-proclaimed genius. She's no passive victim, which is so important to making this dynamic feel balanced. Even more important is that she’s not a brute about it, either. When Kaede’s done parrying insults, she takes a genuine interest in Miu and tries to react the girl beneath the gorgeous girl genius. Kaede seems to be the only character who takes pains to treat her like a person, rather than just some misanthropic weirdo.

I think during or after the fourth trial, it's said that Kiibo and Gonta are the only ones who considered her a friend. I think about that a lot, and I'm sure Kaede would've shed a tear for her. Moreover, she would've protected her before that point. And I think that one pleasant relationship could've brought out the protective side in Miu as well. These two would drive each other crazy, but they'd be there for reach other. If they don't rip each other apart first, they'd be crazy in love and crazy good together. Not to mention, fun to read about ... and write about!

[youremyheaven]

I have prominent Ketu placements, and in my chart, I also have Mercury, Moon, Venus, and Sun. I’ll share my experience with men. I’ve been with a Sun man. Yes, he was fun, but not boyfriend material. He was more involved with his friends than with me. Sun men have ego issues because whenever we fought, he would become egotistical. They do have a lot of pride, so they won’t simp for you. For whatever reason, it’s hard for them to care about your needs. I don’t like Sun men because every Sun man I've dealt with somehow makes it about themselves. Sun men are also oblivious; they don’t consider the consequences of their actions. If you get mad at them, they won’t know why. They aren’t good partners because they want to be chased. I’ve been with a Jupiter man in my teenage years, and he was my first boyfriend, and he was really good to me. I feel like I can be myself with them because they aren’t domineering, and I prefer men who reciprocate because I’m a lover girl. I do like Jupiter men because they are receptive and pretty much husband material. I haven’t had a bad experience with them. I’m currently talking to a few men right now. I’m also having fun with a fellow Moon man, and he’s a bit passive, but I actually enjoy that. It’s a fresh breath of air compared to sun men. I also tend to attract older and mature men. Most of the men I’ve talked to/been with have prominent Saturn placements. That includes my Jupiter and Sun ex and some of the men I’ve been talking to, like the Moon man. I find it hot when they put me in my place. 😂 I’ve had good and bad experiences with Saturn men. With my sun ex, he was more on the controlling side. With my Jupiter ex, he wasn’t controlling but helped me develop maturity, haha, and was super helpful. One thing, I do like about Saturn men is that they can be quite loyal. They prefer monogamous relationships. I also like the company of Saturn women. They are boss bitches and they keep things real, which I appreciate. They don’t play around the bush. I do have some experiences where some of them were total bitches. I’ve talked to a Bharani Moon man who was totally my type at first. He was an artsy guy/musician and has a hot ass voice, but he had a toxic view of love and had too many girl friends. He was lowkey a weirdo, but that might be his Mercury sun? Idk. But yeah, he gave clout chaser vibes because he only wanted to be friends with people that benefited him in a way. Honestly, I don’t really care about him because his actions gave me an ick. I’m also talking to another Venus/Jupiter man, and he makes me feel special because he has high standards and doesn’t tolerate bs. He is quite romantic as well. He does things for me that he won’t do for other people. He also has Saturn in his chart haha. He knows he’s better than others but is pretty humble about it.

Interesting 👀

[onegianthotmess]

✨Amelia’s Peachy Blog Rules✨

Hello to all of my fellow weirdos! Welcome to the hot mess that is my blog! Here, I will establish my rules and the fandoms I write for and will talk about with all of you!

But, a small note to add before we start is that I will not tolerate any sort of hatefulness or rudeness on my blog towards myself or anyone. This will be a free space to debate and discuss opinions and for people to feel safe and comfortable. If you do not like what I post or reblog, please just move along and go about your day without even sparing a glance at my blog.

Also, if I post anything of my own, I will not tolerate it being taken and edited without my permission or reposted without my permission, but reblogs are greatly appreciated. Thank you and I hope you have a good morning/afternoon/evening/night/overall day and stay safe out there!

I Will Write:

🍑 “X Reader” to the best of my abilities (Maybe some OC inserts if I’m up for it, it’ll depend what is requested of me)

🍑 “X Reader” will always have a female or gender neutral reader as I am a female myself and am not comfortable writing for a male reader, but I will do a gender neutral reader if that is requested of me

🍑 Fluff

🍑 SOFT Angst to Fluff (I’m an emotional, sappy wreck, can’t handle hardcore angst)

🍑 Family/Domestic Headcanons

🍑 Romantic Headcanons

🍑 Overall cuteness

🍑 Little Space (Little space is sort of a thing that some people use to destress like me or cope with trauma by mentally aging down to a headspace or age that is younger than they actually are and sometimes some people, either good friends or a romantic partner or someone else, act as a caregiver towards them. It’s not like an adult being attracted to a child in the case of a romantic partner, but rather an adult attracted to another adult who regresses)

🍑 Some suggestive content, depends on what is requested of me

I Will Not Write:

🍑 HARDCORE Smutty Smut

🍑 Character Deaths (I can, but it depends on my mood and the story and who I have to kill off. You can request it, but it may or may not be possible depending on the factors previously listed-)

🍑 HARDCORE Angst

🍑 Pedophilia (Fuck off if you came here for that shit)

🍑 Incest (The fuck is wrong with you people? GET SOME GODDAMN HELP IF YOU INTO THAT!)

🍑 Little Space smut (If it’s your little space, you can do what you’d like, but I’m personally uncomfortable with writing this kind of thing and I’m going to keep that boundary in place.)

🍑 Anything to do with racism, homophobia, transphobia and just discrimination against anyone in general. This is a safe space for people to enjoy some nice fanfiction, not to be haters and to be hated on!

Fandoms I Partake In:

🍑 MHA/BNHA (I have not finished the anime nor the manga, I don’t have any services to watch it, so no spoilers please!)

🍑 IkemenVampire (I might try out a few more Ikemen games, so be aware of that)

🍑 IkemenVillains (I’d like to be in the middle of a William and Ellis sandwich. That will be all-)

🍑 Fruits Basket (Haven’t watched the third season, in the middle of trying to rewatch the first two because it’s been so long)

🍑 Demon Slayer (I AM READY FOR SEASON FOUR, BABES!!!)

🍑 TMNT (Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Specifically 2012, Bayverse, Rise, and Mutant Mayhem)

🍑 HTTYD (How to Train Your Dragon)

🍑 MK (Mortal Kombat. I was a late 2000’s baby that grew up playing MK9 as my first ever Mortal Kombat game, so I don’t know the full cast of characters from previous games, but I have a good list of characters and story from earlier games in my head from the videos I’ve watched from my wormy brain hyperfixating on Mortal Kombat)

🍑 Harry Potter (I’ve only watched the movies, but I have seen videos about the books, so I do know what the books were like, to an extent at least)

🍑 FNaF (Five Nights at Freddy’s. HOW TF HAVE I GONE A WHOLE MONTH WITHOUT ADDING THIS?! WELL, NOW I HAVE ADDED IT, IN MID-NOVEMBER OF 2023!)

🍑 Mariolore (It’s these cosplay shorts by this amazing cosplay couple named DinoBunny that are a sort of a spin-off of the Mario franchise, but with its own unique story involving adaptations of the characters and different events based on what happens in the original story/franchise. I watch them on YouTube, just in case that is relevant to how much of the story has actually been released)

🍑 Resident Evil (I’m not too well versed on the overall story, but I know the story from the RE1 Remake, the RE3 Remake, the RE4 Remake, the RE4 Remake DLC: Separate Ways, RE7: Biohazard, RE8/Village, and RE8/Village DLC: Shadows of Rose. I just know, in summary, that Umbrella Corporation bad and pulled some fuckery with the T-virus and bioweapon shit, the Connections are bad and made bioweapon shit, Mother Miranda pretty much started it all in hopes to revive her daughter, and Rose is doing some shit working with Chris Redfield who helped to raise her in honor of Ethan’s dying wish during the whole village incident. I’ll try to get better versed on the story and characters in the future, but that is all I know at the moment)

🍑 My Happy Marriage (Anime watcher! No manga reading here yet!)

🍑 Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events (My fifth grade teacher read the first couple books to me and my class while also showing us the Netflix series to show the differences between the two and make it more fun. I ended up watching the whole series as it progressed outside of school and was partially traumatized by the episode where Sunny almost died from a fucking fungus. That scared the shit out of me, but it’s still a damn good series if I do say so myself.)

🍑 Poppy Playtime (I find it an interesting concept and I may write something for it at one point!)

🍑 Sofia the First (It was one of my favorite shows as a kid and I’m so sad we never got a continuation of the story to see them grow up! ALSO I’M SO FUCKING MAD WE NEVER GOT SOFIA AND HUGO’S WEDDING!!!)

🍑 Komi Can’t Communicate (Komi Shouko is my wife. That’s it.)

🍑 The Way of the Househusband (Anime watcher!! And I think Tatsu would be such a cool and funny dad with all his yakuza lingo!)

🍑 Monster Prom (Haven’t seen any other full playthroughs, I’m watching a Monster Camp one rn, and I wanna makeout with Damien and gossip with his little sister that he DEFINITELY has because I fucking said so, fuckers-)

🍑 Buddy Daddies (You know that scene where they’re running away into the woods while Rei shoots back at that guy’s goonies?? Yeah, I wanna do that with Rei because I love him and want to take care of him while also forcing him to learn household chores!)

🍑 Yuuri!!! On Ice (I’VE FINALLY GOT CRUNCHYROLL ON MY PHONE PEOPLE!!!)

🍑 Twisted-Wonderland (My current “Holy Trinity” contains Riddle, Deuce, and Malleus-)

🍑 Aphmau (Were you a MyStreet kid or a Diaries kid? I was a MyStreet kid!)

🍑 Nimona (Ambrosius and Ballister are definitely girl dads and I’d like to petition for a sequel to Nimona, pwease!!!)

🍑 Law & Order: SVU (Olivia and Fin are my favorite characters and I know the show is probably bad for my anxiety, but I shall still continue to watch it!)

🍑 I’ll add onto the fandoms list if anymore come to mind

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Thank you for reading my rules and I look forward to your requests! I hope you enjoy your journey on my blog, fellow weirdos! Have a peachy time!