#and unproofread

[beomslover]

gimme ur hybrid txt thoughts :)) anything in general. i really love to hear others ideas !!

(I’m a new follower and I love your account so far! Keep it up :)))))

FIRST OF ALL TYSM???!?!?!! this is so encouraging and kind, i’m truly glad you enjoy my work :(( thank you so much for this, and i hope you enjoy baby

secondly i have so much to say about hybrid!txt and idk how to organize my thoughts so let’s go :)

yeonjun

- first of all he’s a fox hybrid, nothing more nothing less

- ik everyone says that but choi yeonjun is such a fox. he’s more fox than an actual fox actually.

- i feel like you would meet him as a pup and he’d immediately imprint on you and stick to your side like a magnet literally for the rest of your life

- your little dog-cat boy will be all over you all the time :((

- he’d build comfy nests for the two of you, surrounded by your (his) favorite articles of your clothing, blankets, and teddies :(

(a lot more under the cut)

- he’ll get pouty and sulky if you leave your little nest so don’t leave :( he’s building a home for you, be nice

- did i mention that he wants your attention all the time

- he may seem like he’s all grown up but he’s still a clingy, playful pup inside

- loves to play fetch with you too

- even though he’ll always use his “old dog” excuse when you ask him to wash the dishes or pick up after himself

- imagine jjun is pestering you while you’re trying to do your work so you toss a bouncy ball to distract him but he returns it to you with a playful glint in his eye <//3 how could you say no to that face??

- buy him chew toys to play with while you’re busy :”) they’ll keep him occupied long enough for you to get some work done

- but it never lasts too long because he’ll get tired of playing soon enough and want to cuddle you again :((

- needy pup will just sit in your lap, attempting to tuck his long legs away so they won’t be too much of a bother

- “is this okay?” jjun would ask, and you’re mildly uncomfortable and a bit warm for your liking but you’d better say yes anyway

- tldr; clingy feline canine boy

soobin

- i tried to think mildly outside the box a bit so hear me out alright

- wolf hybrid

- everything about soobin screams wolf pup to me right??? like yeah he’s big and definitely not a pup but isn’t he such a wolf pup though??

- the answer is yes btw

- he can definitely be clingy but he’s a lot more quiet and calculated about it

- soobin will pretend he’s just hanging out in your space and patiently wait for you to give him the physical attention he so desires

- he’ll lie across your lap silently and patiently and then pretend to have no reaction when you scratch behind his ears

- a protector for sure

- but again, a quiet protector

- he’s no crazy possessive alpha but he’ll definitely guard you from other hybrids and gently tug you away if he notices someone making you uncomfortable

- always makes sure you’re okay before worrying about himself :(( just wants to know his beloved is safe and comfortable at all times, his needs can wait

- soobin will also trail you like the loyal puppy that he is

- no matter where you go, he’s right there with you, either with his arm wrapped around your waist or trailing closely behind you

- you never have to worry about him seeing anyone else because he only ever has eyes for you

- sometimes soobin can get too lost in you and you have to remind him to maintain his other relationships though (same)

- it’s never too extreme though, he just needs gentle reminders that you’re not the only person alive :)

- wolf hybrid!soobin loves having his hair brushed and will give you the biggest, most pitiful puppy eyes until you do it for him

- will probably make you wear a matching bracelet so everyone knows you’re his :) nothing too flashy though, he’s subtle about his possessiveness

- tldr; idk basic wolf hybrid things

beomgyu

- OUR BABY BEARRRR

- big-little baby bear boy with little baby bear ears :((

- he gets insecure because all the boys have bigger ears than him so make sure you pat his head and tell him you love his little ears!!

- gyu will giggle like crazy if you play with his ears :(( but no one else gets to do it or he’ll get mad

- a biter

- he just likes to gently bite down on your arms or legs for no reason in particular

- sometimes gyu bites too hard and draws blood but he profusely apologizes and helps you clean up right away </3

- poor boy doesn’t know how strong he is

- will get excited to see you and give you the tightest hugs before quickly remembering that you aren’t a bear like him

- beomgyu fiercely protective of things that are his :)

- his family, his friends, his things, his love, you name it

- it takes him a while to get used to your friends and make sure they’re good enough for you, but after that no one else is allowed to talk to you without receiving the coldest death glare from him

- grumbles under his breath about how ugly they were and how “they probably don’t even have pretty ears like me right?? ‘m prettier right??”

- sighs </3 he’s so cute when he’s jealous </3

- gyu would prefer if you relied on him for protection but he ends up needing your protection more often than not :’)

- baby bear is adventurous but very clumsy

- he really really loves when you lay on his chest or curl up in his arms </3 makes him feel needed

- which he is obviously

- you need him as much as he needs you (which he’ll never admit is a lot)

- tldr; protective boy who wants praise and reassurance sometimes!

taehyun

- i must say i was conflicted about this one due to my desire to be unique

- but taehyun is just such a cat hybrid

- i think he’d be a deep grey chartreux for some reason, it just makes sense to me

- he’s elegant and quiet, and doesn’t mind spending most of your time together completing separate activities in the same room

- tyun also likes to sit at your feet while you’re occupied with work or whatever show you’re interested in at the moment, resting his head against your knee as he reads a book or watches along with you

- he loves socializing with you, contrary to popular belief

- even if you aren’t as social, he loves to go out with you on his arm because he loves to show you off </3

- tyun does prefer to spend alone time with you though

- his fav couple activity has to be curling up together in a sunny spot on the carpet and napping the day away

- sunny cat naps with tyun </////3

- he also loves loves loves scenting you

- because he’s totally not possessive but you need to smell like him because you belong to him, in his words

- imagine your kitty tyun curling up on your lap and nuzzling his cheek against your neck, gently purring and mewling as he “subtly” marks you as his :(

- he’ll get fussy if you’re ticklish though so stay still!!

- he won’t ever directly ask to you to pet him :) instead he’ll nudge you and poke you and head butt you until you get the message

- can and will cat nap directly on top of you and will definitely grumble if you wake him

- another biter but in a very different way

- tyun simply uses your arm as a mouthrest in stark contrast to gyu’s full on biting

- his little chompers get tired sometimes and he needs a nice warm cushion so deal with it :’)

- actually i think he might nip you sometimes just for fun

- kitty tyun is actually more playful than he seem, but he loves to play innocent if ever he does pull a little prank on you

- his best practical joke (in his opinion) is tickling your nose with his tail while you’re sleeping so you wake up sneezing :)

- he can barely stifle his laughter pls he really thinks he’s funny

- his pranks are lame but he’s cute about it so laugh with him <3

- tldr; i actually don’t remember u gotta read this one

hueningkai

- PENGUIN!!!!!

- idk if this is an uncommon headcanon but he’s definitely a little penguin

- first and foremost he trails you like a lost chick no matter what :((

- holds onto your sleeves and waddles so closely behind you that you can feel his unnatural warmth radiating off of him :((

- clinging to you always

- keeps the temperature very low solely for the purpose of wearing sweaters indoors and snuggling with you

- if you thought yeonjun was too cljngy you have another thing coming with hueningkai

- he’s always either holding your hand inside his sweater paw, snuggled up on your stomach napping, hugging you tightly as you sit on his lap, or following behind you with your pinky securely intwined with his :(((

- i love clingy!kai can you tell

- he loves when you rub his tummy or play with his freakishly soft hair

- mainly because he loves the way you compliment him </3

- tell him how soft his hair is and how much you love his squishy tummy, he’ll melt on the spot

- your sweet little penguin lives for your praise

- hyuka also loves to speak to you in “penguin” just to make you laugh :)

- “peng!! peng peng peng, peng peng!! peng peng peng!! …. that means i love you in penguin :>”

- and no matter how many times he says it, you’ll still laugh fondly at his adorable half smile and rosy cheeks as he tells you for the millionth time

- “peng peng peng peng!! that means i love you more”

- gets pouty if you don’t feed him like a baby

- sure, hyuka is much bigger than you now but he’s still your baby so you should still take care of him!!

- he gets jealous of hybrids who have pretty ears so often asks you to make ears for him out of his hair and decorate them with pretty ribbons :)

- sorry this is getting too damn long i need to end it here

- tldr; i love hybrid!txt

[kisses4kaia]

superbowl tn who loves football !! luke def does .

just imagining loser!luke get soo mad when his favorite team fumbles a touchdown, or when the ball is taken from his fav player and he just needs to calm down. and what a better time than halftime?

so like the sweet girl you are, you make no complaints when luke wordlessly and unexplainedly manhandles you onto your back spreading your legs. he kneels on the ground before you and throws your calves over his shoulders which are clad in a jersey reading his favorite tight end’s name on the back as he pulls your pretty little panties to the side.

usually, he would take his sweet time prepping you, teasing a little cruelly, but right now? right now he just wants to bury his face between your plush thighs, slobber a little mindlessly all over your pretty cunt. god, he’s so messy, too ! he’s paying little to no mind to your squeals and writhes as he just holds a strong arm to your pelvis, restraining you from trying to run away from him any further. “please, luke! slow down, sh-shit!” you moan in a high-pitched tone, the pop singer’s half-time performance on the tv now background static over the disgusting and bestial ways he’s devouring you like a wolf would prey.

everything is so primal and animalistic with the way his tongue fucks into you—because, its not because he’s desperate to drive you to pleasure, but because he’s found a vaguely familiar, warm, place for his worked tongue to dwell. he’s made you cum, what, thrice now? and not once has he stopped or even seemed to notice.

worse for you, he hasn’t resolved his anger yet, and as retribution for when you try to tug at his dark curls to dispel the achy overstimulation he’s caused, he slaps your agonized cunt and utters some filthy degradation before returning to his ministrations.

and when he realizes halftime has come to a conclusion and the game is back on, he simply presses a parting kiss to your sensitive little clit, sits back up onto the couch next to a heaving, crying, you, and glues his eyes back onto the screen in front of him; leaving you to limp off to take care of yourself.

“grab me another beer while you’re up, hm baby?”

[kitorin]

in which, itoshi rin expresses his love for you in, peculiar ways.

itoshi rin is wearily watching his opponent's highlights when you tug on the sleeve of his hoodie.

he almost rips his earbud out by the wire, contrariwise to the soft gaze he gives you, the slight tilt of his head accompanied by a quiet hum asks you what's wrong.

"were you busy? i can ask later."

"'course not." without hesitation he turns his phone off and tosses it somewhere onto his bed. "something wrong?"

you lean against the coffee table, where the two of you were studying; match analysis for rin and unfortunately an infuriating research task for your upcoming exam. your chin rests on both your palms, fingers cupping your own cheek.

"what's your favourite thing about me?"

owlishly, he stares, then blinks. you mimic his actions, waiting for a response.

"i have to pick?"

you nod eagerly. "it feels like a while since i've properly spoken to you. we don't have any classes together and i've been studying during break times. and i keep falling asleep on the bus."

rin nods with understanding. "then my favourite thing about you is that."

"is what?"

"i love watching you sleep."

it takes a lot not to make a stupefied face.

of all answers you expected, it was clearly not that. rin's love languages centred around quality time and physical touch, but he's still fully capable of uttering sweet nothings. which was something you were desperately craving at the moment.

"rin that's so creepy—"

his typical stoicism melts away into bewilderment. "it is?"

oh my god, did your boyfriend have some sort of strange fetish?

"i don't get it." rin frowns. "it's been making me happy recently, why's it so bad?"

"but why's that?"

lithe fingers brush a few strands of hair behind your ears. "you're always so tired recently, it makes me feel at peace seeing you rest. i'm relieved knowing that you're getting a proper break." his aquamarine irises avoid eye contact, pink dusting his cheeks. "i like having you close to me, too."

guilt permeates your gut for having such assumptions. "sorry for assuming the worst, love." your hand cups his, bringing it to your lips for a kiss. "i'm just busy, with exams and stuff, y'know?"

"i know, and i get that. but i don't like the possibility of you collapsing from not sleeping enough, or burning out. and you deserve to sleep and eat properly, they're important for learning and improvement too."

and rin's right, it just feels as though there's not enough time, with so many exams being stuffed into such a little period. there's the fear of failing, falling behind peers and all the efforts you've put in amounting to nothing because of a mistake.

but as he said, rest is important, just as much as working hard. success cannot be attain with one without the other.

you settle yourself onto rin's lap, resting your head on his shoulder, and back against his chest, placing a small kiss on his cheek. "thanks for reminding me, i'm done for today. let's make the most of tonight."

he responds with a small smile, and wraps his arms around your waist, nuzzling his face into your neck.

"i must be really pretty then, if watching me sleep is that enjoyable." you throw out an attempt of teasing him, waiting for his reaction.

"nah. your face kinda squishes up on my shoulder."

"wow. okay. i see—"

"your neck also ends up in the weirdest positions so i usually have to move you around to make sure you don't have too much neck pain later."

"very sweet of you, that's enough though."

"did i mention you drool sometimes too?"

"rin—"

taglist (send ask to be added) : @yuzurins , @pokkomi , @chigirizzz

© kitorin : do not repost, plagiarize, change, or translate

[milkiematcha]

jeno/mark with a spit kink + praise and degrading :ppp

fuckboy!jeno + anon's request<33

"you're so good for me, aren't you? such a good girl." jeno's voice was low, his fingers tangled in your hair. he was so deep down your throat that you half wanted to pull back and catch your breath, but the other half of you was so taken with the way he groaned when your nose touched his pubic bone made you stay. "you looked so pretty when you walked in. you look pretty now, but you don't look like a princess anymore."

a tiny sound of choked confusion left your lips, and he shoved you down farther on his cock. "you look like more of a slut."

he was right. you could feel tears dripping down your cheeks from lack of air and your hands were braced on his thighs, your knees probably already black and blue from the position you were stuck in. and you were so, so desprate that it probably showed on your face.

he'd caught your eye from the moment he'd walked in, smelling vaguely of smoke and having that trademark overconfident glint in his eyes. you'd heard everything, all the rumours of his fuckboy habits, even seen the hickeys scattered on his neck when he showed up to class late. but he was still so alluring, it felt like a gravitational pull surrounded him.

so when he'd handed you a red solo cup, you'd sipped it immediately, expecting beer or at least some mixed drink, but when water touched your tounge you'd recoiled.

"what the fuck?" you'd spat, jerking your head away from the cup. "i thought this was-"

"donghyucks spiked punch?" he finished, smirking in that annoyingly pretty way of his. "no, doll. i want you sober for later."

and now here you were, so needy for him that you would be begging for it if you weren't already choking on him. your thighs were pressed together, pulling a laugh from him when he noticed.

"looks like a whore, acts like a whore..." he was teasing, but his voice was strained and his movements were jerky. "must be a whore."

he pulled back, his fingers digging into your hair to keep you from licking at his cock. you looked so pathetic under him that he couldnt help but caress your cheek, murmuring something that sounded like "good girl" before returning to his harsh movements. his other hand was yanking over his cock, and the hand in your hair just kept pulling tighter and tighter-

"open."

less than a second later he was cumming on your tounge, a strangled moan escaping his lips. you went to swallow, to do what you hoped would make him regard you as a good girl again, but he squeezed at your cheeks, not letting you move even the slightest bit.

he leaned down, just close enough that you could kiss him if you just jerked up a bit, but instead of kissing you like you so badly craved, he spit. it landed on your tounge, and you'd have jerked back if it wasnt for his hand holding your face and his damn satisfied expression.

"swallow, princess. be a good slut." his voice was low and gravelly, so you did it. and you when you opened your mouth after, you got your treasured response.

"good girl."

I WROTE THIS IN MY NOTES APP BECAUSE MY LAPTOP IS UPDATING SO IF ITS NOT VERY GOOD PLEASE FEEL FREE TO REQUEST SOMETHING ELSE/SOMETHING LONGER.

also i didnt know if this meant mark+jeno threesome or mark or jeno so i did just one, but if you meant threesome just send another ask lol. i hope you enjoyed and thank you for the request<33

[path777]

다른 생각 말고 (don’t think of anything else): from fantasy - iiso. as i said nipple piercing jeonghan needy whimpering desperate mewling all of that okay strap in 1.2k

-

“thank you for your hard work!” jeonghan is glowing as always, a professional smile hung on his lips. but it’s late, he’s tired, and you can tell. this variety show has just wrapped up taping, and your eyes follow him as he bows to the staff he passes by, ducking into the dressing rooms to get ready to leave. 

you stand outside, waiting. the evening is cold but you welcome the chill—it’s a nice difference from the stuffy, crowded warmth inside. 

[윤정한]

9:38 PM jeonghan-ssi 

9:38 PM the car is outside whenever you’re ready

9:51 PM it’s cold ㅠ

thirteen minutes isn’t a lot, all things considered. but knowing jeonghan…he’s usually in a hurry to go home, you think. so what was taking him so long? you check your phone one last time, just to make sure—still nothing. you apologize quickly to the staff driving, walking inside at a speed which can only be called brisk, making a beeline for the dressing room that he had been using. 

thirteen minutes wasn’t a lot—you should’ve waited longer. you should’ve come in sooner. or maybe you should’ve knocked. either way, you catch him putting on his jacket over a thin, white undershirt; as his…something, you swallow, unsure where to put your gaze. as his manager, you ask, “are those piercings?” 

you walk towards him, platform boots thumping loud on the floor with every step. you grab the front of his jacket, tugging it open. just as you thought—on either side of the faint outline of his nipples, two little bumps. 

“yoon jeonghan. what-” you start, his full name slipping out of your mouth, though you had really only been working for him for a couple of months. regardless you shouldn’t anyway, whether it be six months for six years, boundaries are important, and so are manners—

you notice that he’s been strangely silent. looking up at him finally, you sense something different about him; you decide to hold off on the piercing question. “what’s wrong?”

“hm?” he says, staring at you. he doesn’t seem to be looking though; it’s just a place to land his eyes. you feel overly aware of the rise and fall of his chest, virtually silent but crashingly loud to your ears, and his hands, all of a sudden, on your hips. “nothing.”

jeonghan doesn’t notice. he gets like this when he’s tired, a little softer, and more suggestible. easy might be another word for it. you try not to pay too much attention to his hands, hot over your clothed skin. “when did you get them done?” you ask, tilting your head in inspection. you don’t recall seeing them before, but then again, you can’t say you’ve paid much attention to his chest. that would change after today, of course. “also, what are you still doing here? don’t you want to go home? how about let’s talk about this in the car,” you turn away and start to head for the door, the tension in the air too heavy for you to breathe comfortably. 

jeonghan grabs your wrist; you turn back.

“like them?”

“sorry?”

his hand tightens around your wrist, just barely. “do you like them—the piercings,” he says. he drops his hand to his side, and for a second you breathe out a sigh of relief. but it’s too soon; he takes the hem of his shirt and pulls it upwards over his head. 

“jeonghan-ssi, what are you doing—” you say, your voice jumping an octave without meaning to. the shirt is in his hand, at his side. the first thing you notice is that he’s pale; the second thing you notice is that he’s thin. your gaze trails down, from the lines of his collarbones down to the angles of his hipbones, disappearing into his pants. finally, your eyes land on what he wanted to show you in the first place. 

his nipples are pale, like the rest of him, the areolas faintly pink, and the center just slightly darker. on either side of them, two simple, plain silver studs. how new are these, you find yourself thinking, without meaning to. how new are these and can i put my mouth around them. 

“yes,” he breathes out, and shit, i didn’t mean to say that out loud, but before you know it your hands are wrapped around his upper arms, leaning in to wrap your lips around a nipple. the metal is cold on your tongue, and experimentally you swirl it around with your tongue, feeling it slide down and against the wet muscle. jeonghan makes a noise then, somewhere between a moan and a whimper. it makes you pull away from his chest. his face is flushed, uncharacteristically so, and was his hair always this mussed? he looks down at his chest and so do you, cheeks heating at the sight of his nipple, shiny with your spit. 

“don’t stop,” he says, voice raspy, laden with desperation, “please.”

jeonghan looks so easy it borders on lewdness. the metal of his piercings glint around his nipples, the cold air making them harden into tight little buds. you bring your lips to his other nipple, licking at it with the tip of your tongue. kitten licks, small and teasing. “please,” he whispers again, and he sounds so needy that you can’t help but scrape your teeth against the skin, just lightly. the moan that escapes him is unlike anything you’ve heard from him so far, a whimpering and mewling little thing that has your head spinning, even though you were the one giving, not taking. 

“you have to go home,” you say, vision swirling. “you have an early schedule tomorrow.” what a hypocrite, you think to yourself as jeonghan wordlessly places a hand at the back of your head, pressing your face back towards his chest, meeting no resistance. 

inconspicuously, or so he thinks, he starts to palm at his cock through the fabric of his pants. “let me,” you say, turning him so that he faces himself in the mirror. tugging his pants off, your hand reaches around him to wrap around his cock, grabbing him at the base and jerking him off with the precum that he had been leaking. “look at yourself in the mirror.” your other hand comes up to his chest, pinching hard at a nipple. jeonghan cries out then, chest jolting under your touch. he’s practically naked now, with his pants and underwear pooled around his ankles, his shirt forgotten on the back of some chair. his hair smells like vanilla and you press your nose into the nape of his neck, your hand wrapping even tighter around his cock. he’s leaking almost excessively onto your hand, the sticky substance hot on your skin. you’re so close to him that you can hear every noise that he’s making, every noise he’s trying to hold back and every noise he lets escape. 

it’s only when you hear a small sniffle that you look up at him; his eyes are watery, rims brimming with unfallen tears. “i’m sorry,” you say, though you don’t know what for. “i’m sorry. you look beautiful.” your hand slows around his cock, and your other hand comes to a rest on his waist, instead. the tear falls, landing on his cheek delicately. “no, i’m sorry, it’s just—it’s just a lot,” he exhales shakily, sniffing again. “keep—please touch me.” he says, turning his head to look at you. “please.” 

your hand starts moving again, but this time it’s tender, almost, every touch like a confession falling from your lips. you are confessing—you are repenting. you savour every sensation, the slide of his wet skin against yours, his moans shaky and gasping near your ear. 

“come for me,” your thumb brushes over the head of his cock, “watch yourself come for me.” you say after a pause, “jeonghan-ssi.” he spills, all of a sudden, over your hand. you watch as he throws his head back, eyes closing as he moans, soft and quiet, lips falling open with the sound. 

[maegalkarven]

Empty prayers

Logical continuation of the AU where everything flies off the rails at the Moonrise Towers:

https://www.tumblr.com/maegalkarven/731364247822598144/au-where-dark-urge-didnt-loose-memories-and-the?source=share

Following the derail of all of his plans by his own hands, Lord Enver Gortash contemplates the future. Luckily, he doesn't have to do it alone.

m!Dark Urge x Enver Gortash, Karlach.

"I don't think he will answer."

Enver doesn't turn around to look at the bhaalspawn. He hears the crunching of dead leaves and sticks under the man's boots and feels a familiar presence close to his shoulder.

Regardless of that, he does not turn.

There's a small, carefully constructed altar in front of him. Perfect, it looks like, perfect with the offering and the incense burning.

Yet his god is silent.

"Enver, really, I don't think Bane will-"

"He has to," comes out a little bit harshly, a little bit forcefully. There's a bitter taste of desperation on his tongue. He pushes it back. "I am his Chosen-"

"I don't think you are anymore."

"I am," he insists as his voice rings louder, pitching to a high, urgent note. "I am the Chosen of Bane, I am his Hand, I am his Voice, I am his Will; and he will answer me."

He feels Nemo's piercing stare burn into the side of his face, but does not look up. Does not meet the familiar honey of the gaze he thought he has lost.

Does not think of all the implications this gaze brings.

Nemo is alive, here, next to him; so close Enver can touch him.

Yet somehow everything is ruined.

A pair of firm hands lay on his shoulders gently and he almost flinches at the touch.

But it's just Nemo.

"No," his bhaalspawn whispers softly. "No, he will not. You have failed him, my dear, just the way I've failed father. You chose wrong," Enver tries to move away from the touch, but the man's fingers only dig in deeper.

"You should have pushed me into the pool. You should have taken Orin's side in the conflict or did not intervene at all. But you," a deep, heavy sigh and a weight of Nemo's body pressing against Gortash's back.

"You chose me. Consciously or not, but you put my survival above everything else; above our plan, above your alliance, above your god. And gods like your and mine do not tolerate disobedience."

"You created this plan with me," Enver tries. "We were brilliant together. Orin has ruined everything; she could not control herself. She was a liability-"

"She was the Chosen of Bhaal," Nemo whispers right into his ear, the breath coming out hot. "It was not your place to decide if she was liability or not. And anyway, I don't think this is why you did what you did."

"It was her own fault," he tries again and feels like a child trying to avoid the punishment. He remembers, long time ago, in a house he prefers to not think about, in a cell what was his home, he used to plead the same way.

Raphael never listened.

"And Ketheric's; they compromised the plan, they put everything in danger, I was just trying to fix it, to put things right-"

Nemo hums.

"Have you tried telling Bane that?" As the matter of fact, he did. "I doubt he'd take this as an excuse." He didn't. "Bhaal beneath, Ketheric was right, wasn't he? Gods only answer when they have something to say. I guess Bane has nothing to say to you anymore."

"He will answer me," Enver insists with the persistence of the damned. "He needs me."

"He really, really doesn't," Nemo presses himself closer and Gortash allows himself a moment to lean back into the touch, to seep out any comfort it provides and feed to his weary soul.

Nemo. Nemo. Alive.

And it only took everything to go to the hells for that to happen.

"I know he hears me," Enver tries again.

"Oh, I have no doubt he does. But Enver, darling, don't you think this whole...fiasco would look bad for Bane? Don't you think the most sensible thing he could do would be to wash his hands clean of this?"

Enver hates to admit Nemo is right; it would be the sensible thing to do. It would be what Gortash himself would do in Bane's place: abandon the lost cause and move on. Find another, better Chosen.

Only there's no better Chosen than him.

"I am the only one who can realize all of his plans," he tries not to think about it. About his Steel Watch, unstable with one of the stones in control of the Brain. Of the cult of Murder under the foot of a thrall of the said thing, of the prodigal murderer as a meat puppet of the entity beyond their comprehension. Of Ravengard, untadpoled, no doubt giving a speech at the inn right now.

Everything went to complete and utter shit. But he can fix it; he can. Surely Bane knows that.

Surely Nemo does.

Nemo lets out a dark, unkind type of a laugh.

"You just destroyed all of his plans," he murmurs almost lovingly. "All and every single one of them. There's no recovering from that, only moving forward."

Enver hates what Nemo is right. And he hates what he knows what Nemo is right. And he hates Bane, and he hates Orin, and stupid Ketheric with his stupid sacrifice for a bitch of a daughter who did not deserve it, and he hates Raphael - honestly, fuck Raphael; and he hates his parents, he hopes they'll die, and he hates Karlach and her big open heart what was ripped out yet is still somehow inside her ribcage-

And he hates Nemo for how much he cares for Nemo, and really, all of this is actually his fault, if not for him, then-

"Are you done with your pity party?" And speak of the devil. Oh, well, a tiefling with infernal engine for a heart. "Duke Ravengard is holding a council," typical. "And your presence is required."

His old friend gives him a short, bitter look.

"This is not a pity party," Nemo argues and the woman snorts.

"Sure looks like one. Gods, it truly is a sign, isn't it?" She whistles. "I used to think I want to see you dead, but seeing you like this, fallen from grace, demoted to what you have always been - that feels even better."

A bubbling, bitter anger raises in him and Enver moves to stand-

"Oh, cut out with this," Nemo interrupts, his hands still firmly on Enver's shoulders. "He saved my life."

"And this is what I still don't understand," Karlach argues. "But it doesn't really matter; this is me actually playing nice. Trust me, if I've decided to give him back the treatment he gave me, he would not be standing right here. Or, well, sitting right here."

"We are all in the same boat now," Nemo tries placidly. "Dealing with the consequences of-"

"-Enver Gortash's actions."

"Our actions. I was involved, remember?"

"You didn't have a choice," she argues. "Bhaal made you; cut from his very own flesh. You have known no life but what your evil father showed you. You were not acting on your own accord. He," an angry gesture at Gortash. "Acted on his own accord. And sold me to Zariel. So she could rip off my heart and make me an unwilling soldier in her war."

"Oh, stop playing the victim," Enver snarls. "I gave you a chance to be something greater than you were. I gave you a chance to be stronger, better, invincible. With this engine no one could touch you, no one could hurt you. It was practically a dream come true and you threw it away, the ungrateful brat you have always been."

Fire erupts from her engine, wrapping itself against Karlach's entire body. Her eyes blaze as she steps forward, and for a moment Enver almost feels...That can't be it, he is still wearing his coat.

He scrambles to his feet, reaching for the crossbow. Bane is silent, he will always be silent from now on, but Gortash doesn't really need him, he doesn't need anyone-

"I'll make you choke on these words," Karlach threatens and damn it, why does it take so long to fix up his damn crossbow, is it broken-

Then a small, thin figure moves to stand between them.

Nemo looks...so insignificant compared to Karlach; he has no fire engine running in his chest, he has no muscles to rival hers, he has no claws and no horns.

Just plain looking half-elf with a crooked dagger in his hand.

"No," he says firmly. "You will not kill each other. Either you two calm the fuck down or you'll have to kill me first. And," a quick glance behind. "I really don't think this is what either of you wants."

"Nemo," Karlach frowns. "Step away. He had it coming-"

"No."

"Nemo-"

"No," the bhaalspawn snarls and something sparks in his eyes, deep, dark and deadly. Bhaal is here. Bhaal has gone nowhere.

Orin was wrong.

"You are not killing him, you're not as much as harming him, Enver Gortash is mine."

Karlach actually looks taken aback at that.

"Yours to do what?"

"Mine to keep, and mine to torture and, if it comes to it, mine to kill. But he is mine and he will stay that way. Bane is finally out of the way, so don't think I'll let you interfere."

"Nemo, this is- You're not exactly-"

"He is the only fucking person who has ever got it," there's a bleeding desperation oozing from the spawn's voice.

"The only man to be my equal. The only true partner I had ever had. I went to the Moonrise Towers with the dreadful knowledge I'd die here, with the belief this man would stick a dagger so deep into my back it'll protrude from my chest. And instead," he is breathing heavily, his broken, pathetic mess of the murderer. Perfect.

"He saved me. He took my side in a fight what had nothing to do with him. He chose me when it was an an obviously stupid thing to do, he has forsaken everything by letting me live. You cannot have him."

They stand like that for a while in a complete silence.

Karlach, double axe in her hands and shock mixed with pity in her gaze.

Nemo, breathing heavily, hands trembling, his own blade digging deep into the flesh of his palm, a thin red string of blood trailing down into the dirt.

Enver, mesmerized, taking in every breath, every shift of his unlucky, broken, forsaken mistake of a lover. Elevated by the sheer force of his devotion.

They need no gods but the ones they create. They need no gods but themselves.

Finally Karlach sighs and lowers the axe.

"For you," she drops down, turning away. "Only for you, for everything you've done for me and the friendship we have. But make no mistake, I am watching him," a rude gesture Enver reciprocates. "And if he does one wrong step, his messy fucking head will come flying off."

"I'd like to see you try," Enver starts and immediately gets kicked into the ribs with Nemo's elbow. Brat.

"Alright," the bhaalspawn smiles. "Thank you. You said something about the council?"

And somehow the end of the world gets delayed for just one more day.

[laudsimogen]

Resurrection

Imogen shook as she knelt at Laudna’s head in front of the Sun Tree. She’d been shaking for damn near a week now, as if every part of her body had become unstable without Laudna to keep it still, but now it seemed almost worse. Now would be the defining moment of whether she would ever stop shaking again, whether she would ever feel whole or happy again. Whether Laudna would get another chance at the life she deserved.

Her friends had gone first, taking turns kneeling by Laudna’s side and telling her how they love her, how they miss her, how they want her back. Their words resonated with Imogen, and she felt them amplified in her chest as she stepped up to take her turn.

What to say? What did she have time to say? She’d been thinking it nonstop since she watched Laudna fall, the words swirling in her head in an infinite loop, too much to say out loud. How could she possibly sum up in a few moments the horrible, crushing ache she felt, the ache that would destroy her if it lasted much longer? How could she explain that this world was pointless without Laudna’s light in it? How could she find words for the gaping hole in her heart that could only be filled by hearing Laudna’s voice again?

Imogen reached down to cup Laudna’s cheek in her hand, tears already brimming in her eyes, and bowed her head to rest her forehead against Laudna’s. She could do this. She had to do this. And it had to work.

“Laudna,” Imogen said, choking the name out around the hard lump in her throat. “I don’t know where you are right now. I hope it’s nice. I hope you’re not…in pain.” She paused and managed to hold back a sob, but her tears still fell onto Laudna’s face. “But I—I need you to come back to me. Please. I can’t do this—I can’t do anything without you. I’m lost. And I can’t…”

The shaking was unbearable now. She couldn’t hold her own weight, and she collapsed against Laudna’s still form, tucking her head into the crook of her neck and curling her fists into the fabric of her shirt. All she felt she could do was lie there, sobbing, but she had to keep going. There was still more to say. She couldn't break yet.

“I never told you,” she started. “Or—I didn’t make it clear enough. I don’t know. Laudna, I love you. I know you know that, but I love you so much it hurts. You’re my heart. You’re everything. Everything. And I know it’s selfish. I know it is. But I can’t live without you. All I could ever do is wait to join you. So please, please—for both of us—come back.”

There was a long, heavy silence as Imogen finished her plea. Was it good enough? Was anything good enough? She thought again to nobody and to everybody, I’ll do anything. I’ll do anything. Anything. Just let her come back. Take me instead if it’ll help. I don’t care. Just bring her back.

Her heart pounded so heavily in her ears and her silent bargain filled her head so completely that at first, she didn’t hear the music. She didn’t hear a thing until she felt a cool, gentle touch on her arm, and suddenly it flooded in: the warm tones of Laudna’s mind, the peace of it, like dust motes caught in a ray of sunshine, and Imogen’s breath stopped.

“Imogen?”

Laudna’s voice broke the floodgates in Imogen, and she clutched Laudna tighter, sobbing again, but this time with relief.

“Darling,” Laudna said, her voice tinged with concern now. “I’m here. It’s all right. I’m here.”

Imogen nodded and pried herself off of Laudna until she could see her face, her beautiful face. It was a bit drawn with exhaustion, but it was her. She was back. She was there. She was alive.

She helped Laudna sit up, deaf to the cheers and relief of their friends. All she could do was stare at Laudna, her heart melting as a bashful smile crept across Laudna’s face.

“My,” Laudna said with a short laugh as she glanced around. “Is all of this ruckus for me?” Her eyes fell back to Imogen’s, and her expression softened further. She reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Imogen’s ear, then gently wiped the tears from her cheek. “Thank you.”

Imogen let out a breathy laugh. “You know I couldn’t leave you,” she said. “You’d’ve done the same for me.”

"Of course," Laudna said, and she paused for a moment as if she didn't know what to say. Imogen couldn't tell through the haze of her tears, but she almost thought she saw just the barest hint of color to Laudna's cheeks as she said, so quietly, "I love you, too, Imogen. Just as much. I will, as long as I can, always come back to you. I promise."

[lobster-risotto]

Dynamic Analysis of SilverFlint and the Parallels with Take Me To Church by Hozier

(Also could be titled as: Flint needs a hug and therapy)

I associate this song with silverflint—especially Flint—not through a religious turmoil or religious trauma sense (shocking, honestly, considering I’ve spent every English class in college exploring religious trauma and the appearances of religion in media). I’d argue, in fact, that both of their stances on religion are left extremely ambiguous for a reason. Audiences assume through canon-period education and beliefs that they were both almost definitely some type of religious, but I believe it to be entirely unrelated to Flint’s shame.

In fact, it was never meant to be about anything but Flint’s relationship with his own self-actualization and self-image. Thomas existed as a direct challenge to that, by redefining what it means to be a man—or, rather, to be masculine—and to also be true to himself.

Silver, on the other hand, existed as a challenge to the man he became once he had fully internalized that shame and unbalanced the perfectly crafted idea Flint had of himself. Silver was always intended to make Flint reconsider who he was trying to prove himself to, and if that person was actually himself.

Now, to get into the actual point of this. Throughout, I choose to connect “She” to two different people: Miranda and Silver, and I also connect Heaven to England and the Navy, or even in a broader sense, society and civilization as a whole.

My lover's got humor / She's the giggle at a funeral / Knows everybody's disapproval / I should've worshiped her sooner / If the Heavens ever did speak / She's the last true mouthpiece

In this portion, “She” is Miranda, and we will see a swap from her to Silver later through the song. In the flashbacks to when he and Miranda were first becoming involved, she told him to exist without fear of the consequence of a rumor. In part, it heavily motivated his shame early on, at least, with Miranda and her being a married noblewoman. She lived without a care for the danger involved and would stare consequence in the face before hiding from it. “She’s the giggle at a funeral / I should’ve worshipped her sooner” is her death, though the funeral, I’d say, is the death of who they were before leaving England. She’s the final source of joy for Flint, and his final lifeline to Thomas and what Flint used to be. However, she is the “last true mouth piece” and carries the final reminder for Flint that they are not, and have never been, home in Nassau. It’s the remaining grasp of England and of what he used to be.

Every Sunday's getting more bleak / A fresh poison each week / "We were born sick", you heard them say it

This is Flint’s final descent into piracy, and choosing to let shame consume him in a way that functioned as a motivator for vengeance. The “poison” being the ideology and back-and-forth nature of England’s interests being the abolition of piracy, but will refuse to stand on the shores of Nassau and understand why pirates exist. Their sickness is the refusal to become part of England, and how the sins of men committing acts of piracy were simply part of them and it was unavoidable, predetermined and in their nature, and the good men and women of England would never dare to be so horrific. Hence why Flint was always a major threat, because he was a good man of England. This is why Peter Ashe needed to use a literal smear campaign against him, by him, and spoken from him to abolish piracy. Because, then, no man would choose piracy, as the strongest of them all was still just a sinful man who dared to love another man. But if they hid it, if they just told people that they would pardon pirates, and Flint, well, not a single person could accept that because they had been told of the monsters of Nassau and the terrifying Captain Flint.

My church offers no absolutes / She tells me, "Worship in the bedroom"

This is simple: Miranda is the church (his home) and this is when she tells him they will leave instead of fight to free Thomas. In this, she reinstates his shame and directly contradicts everything he believed of her.

The only Heaven I'll be sent to / Is when I'm alone with you / I was born sick, but I love it / Command me to be well / A-, Amen, Amen, Amen

This is where Silver enters the dynamic, but just a little. I think this encompasses all of their relationship. First, when Flint falls in love: “The only Heaven I’ll be sent to / Is when I’m alone with you” with “you” being Silver (also his shame, by the way, since the unbearably exist as a whole to Flint) and “heaven” being his realization that Thomas is never coming back, and that Nassau and Miranda were never going to be a replacement for the way he feels when he loves a man. Silver reteaches him why shame stopped mattering, but he brings with him the understanding that the shame have never once went away entirely. He learned with Thomas how to exist with love and shame at the same time, and that it was okay to be afraid of how he felt, but that it wasn’t an excuse to suffer without the thing he needs most. “I was born sick, but I love it” is Flint knowing that what he feels about his love for men, Thomas and Silver, particularly, is always going to be shadowed by what he was taught to feel about it, and also what he has done because of it. Finally, “Command me to be well” is Silver standing in the forest with him, begging him to leave there with him and to leave the war behind. Quite literally, Flint needed to be commanded to stop, but he always managed to find himself being the commander. Flint, in my opinion, had always wanted to be forced to end the war or his life in some way, and Silver eventually gives him that.

If I'm a pagan of the good times / My lover's the sunlight

I think this is Flint’s description of his love for Thomas. But I’m still on the fence about this, too, as it could be his description of Silver. However, later verse works better, imo.  

To keep the Goddess on my side / She demands a sacrifice / Drain the whole sea / Get something shiny / Something meaty for the main course / That's a fine looking high horse / What you got in the stable? / We've a lot of starving faithful

There are two meanings to “To keep the Goddess on my side / She demands a sacrifice” and both gut me, so I will share them both.

Firstly, it could be construed as a direct reference to Miranda finding Thomas’ father and having Flint kill him, and how he felt as though without the sacrifice, it would have been a betrayal to her, Thomas, and himself.

Secondly, this (and the rest of the verse, really) is Silver’s point of view of Flint’s (the “Goddess”) war. I think it drains him in a way he was never able to describe until he’s got Flint at gunpoint. Everything with Flint was more than he had bargained for, and he watched the crew give up every ounce of themselves for the cause, people died for the cause, homes burned for the cause, and yet, it wasn’t enough. It’s his realization that Flint, even if he won Nassau would find that (to use Flint’s words) “her comfort will grow stale”, and would never truly rest until he saw everything burn.

That looks tasty / That looks plenty / This is hungry work

If Flint could put into words what the “the darkness” he and Silver possess would say and sound like, this is what it would say. He looks out upon Nassau, and England, and Charles Town, and realizes to himself that nothing would ever burn hot enough to satisfy the rage inside of him.

Take me to church / I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies / I'll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife / Offer me my deathless death / Good God, let me give you my life

The moment where Flint, in the cages, chooses to sacrifice himself for the cause and for the lives of his crew and Silver, he’s accepted it. He’s accepted death, he’s accepted Silver, and he’s accepted shame. I think this is also how he felt when he had first agreed to Peter Ashe’s offer to smear his name to bring Thomas’ vision to reality and free himself from being trapped in this never ending loop of rage and turmoil. I think, this, is Flint in his weakest moments, wishing his sacrifice could be enough to end it all. That, maybe, his death would end it all, once and for all, and he could rest without being tormented by it all. By England, by shame, by sacrifice.

No masters or kings when the ritual begins / There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin

So, this one hurts. This is Flint’s love. In every single way, this is his love. Every part of it, tainted with shame, but knowing that if it is love, then, it must also be right. “No masters or kings when the ritual begins” with the “masters or kings” being first, England, and second, the worst parts of himself, and the “ritual” is the involvement with Silver. I would even argue that Flint’s acceptance of shame is that which completely removes it’s power over him, and it took Thomas’ death and his words inscribed into a book for Flint to realize that there is nothing more beautiful than their love, and his and Silver’s love. I think, also, this is his ode to the man he once was, and understanding that the only place that person exists at all is when he is alone with the man he loves.

In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene / Only then I am human / Only then I am clean / Oh, oh, Amen, Amen, Amen

And finally, I would, to my own dismay, connect this to the idea that Flint is dead. Alternatively, Captain Flint is dead, he’s forced out of piracy, and learns to love without fighting with England for the loves he had already lost. Either he is with Silver, or he finds someone else, but in it’s totality and conclusiveness, Flint is gone.

After all, I think that’s what he wanted and had no way to accept it. He couldn’t accept doing nothing, because that would have left him giving up on the idea and memory of every death and sacrifice. Silver sees it, too, with his line of “It must be awful being you,” and he knows, truly, that Flint is literally suffering at the hands of his own war, his own cause. Because there was simply nothing else to do, and to sit, alone, with his feelings? Process Thomas being gone and accept it instead of exacting revenge? He couldn’t reconcile the fact that grief never stops existing, and that love persists in the person who lives when the other is dead. Flint remained a servant to his grief and patched it with rage because if he had a reason to fight or to steal or to kill, then he had a reason to never accept that the people he loves are dead. Flint never had to accept that his love killed everyone he cared about.

[wraithlafitte]

in case my like 2 fans are wondering, the reason i haven’t posted series parts/requests (bitchin pt 2, perfect stranger, etc) in a while is because i’m taking my sweet time and putting effort into my work instead of word vomiting and posting without reading it back or editing 😇

[shamrockqueen]

I’m really getting into this idea of fae king Loki and frost fairies 🩵🩵🩵🩵

[kisses4kaia]

thinking about ghost fucking you with his gun..

his gloved hand wrapped around the handle of the glock, carefully pumping the barrel in and out of you with intensive caution, ensuring your safety and making you feel so good.

so good to know he was the one pressing soft kisses to your temple and he was the one pulling beautiful, little, choked, whimpers from your throat.

“shh, baby. that feel good? yeah? mhm, yeah, so tight f’me,” he’d coo, making you grind your hips down onto the gun. you are getting desperate and close. so, so, so, close.

“c’mon, baby. you wanna come for me? go on, make a mess all over my fuckin’ gun, yeah love, just like that,” his accent wasn’t doing anything to hold you off of your impending orgasm, if anything it was just spewing you closer and closer until you break, coming loose all over his glock and gloves.

and of course, he praises you extensively. going on and on about how good you were for him, kissing you everywhere, making you cum again and again on his cock, tongue, and fingers.

[virtue-and-beneviolence]

okay so, we talked about shuji reacting to a tattoo you got before but what about tattoo artist! shuji, ink and piercings decorating his skin

you come in for your session the first time to see him pull on his gloves, thin-rimmed glasses perched on his nose and amber eyes glinting as he pats the couch he’s sitting in front of; “get comfortable, doll, we’ll be here for a while,” he says, rolling up his sleeves

you can’t really see him as he puts the stencil on your back but you already notice then how hard it’ll be to keep your cool, with his long fingers pressing down along your spine and his low whispers of how good you’re doing for him in the quiet room

by the end of the session, you’re exhausted enough as is when shuji can’t stop himself from sending you a wink coupled with a playful smirk as he hands you his number “you know, if you have any questions you wanna ask before our next date~”

[don’t ask me where this is coming from, but I felt compelled to bother you with it <3]

Tattoo artist shuji is so ungodly sexy you're evil for this holly I'm in public, at a party and I can't indulge properly rn

imagine kicking yourself so! hard! for picking THIS artist of all the guys in the shop for this big backpiece. like, he does great work and you found him from his ART but why did it have to be Hanma motherfuckin Shuji that you had to take your shirt off for? he walks out of the private booth (probably resisting the urge to wink, but the twitch of the corner of his mouth makes the feeling clear anyway).

imagine having to call that attractive tall ass man back in his booth, laying on your shirt, extremely conscious of the side boob you're serving as you wait for him to wipe you down and place the stencil.

just imagine his little half chuckled, "yeahhhh, that's it" when he peels it away because he's proud of the design and it compliments you so well. and your dumb ass is laying there, arms to your ears, head resting on your forearms, trying desperately to hide your incredibly obvious blush and dreading the reminder to stand and check the design in the mirror because it means shyly holding your top to your chest with one arm and the hand mirror in the other while he brushes your ponytail over your shoulder (and then offers a cheeky, "as much as I love playing with your hair, doll, you might want to tie that up in a bun.")

and his hands! those long fingers moving steadily and confidently over your skin, stretching it at times, pressing at others, even rubbing calming circles without thinking much about it when he's made several passes over an obviously tender area to fill it with color. He's mumbling praise, obviously, and stifles a giggle at how tense you get whenever he calls you doll. he avoids that name for a while because as much as he loves to tease, the quality of his work and your experience come first.

at long last he's asking if you've got adhesive allergies and bandaging you up and letting you take a peek. to no one's shock it looks incredible. You reach for the rest of your clothes and he wags his finger and raises an eyebrow at you, "ah-ah, no bra. no friction on that back for at least week, alright?" and when you blush you lie to yourself that it's not about the thought of being on your back at his mercy.

He congratulates you on one long session down and how to contact him for questions and then you realize you get the joy of reliving this lovely (yet embarrassing) experience at least 3 more sessions. oh and on your way out of the booth, loose top on, bra shoved in your bag, he send you off with a "and if you need help taking that bandage off, you can always come back to the shop. after care is on the house."

[kitorin]

2:59 am - Isagi Yoichi

kind of a part two to this, but can be read as a standalone!

Horror movies are cool.

The plots were fascinating, the acting and CGI were equally captivating. The problem was that they were scary.

It's obvious that they would be, that's the whole point; to evoke thrill and to trigger chemical reactions to simulate what it'd be like to be in danger. But Yoichi can't handle that well. Barely.

He loved all movies nights with you regardless of the genre, wrapped up together with a thick blanket, hours spent staring at the laptop with intrigue. Horror movies were no different since he was with you.

Even if it's a situation that physically cannot happen, like ghost stories or tales of the supernatural, for some reason he now suddenly believes that they exist.

Yoichi knows better than anyone else that he's always been a crybaby, bursting out into tears at the mere change in weather, or whenever his dad changed the channel to anything that wasn't soccer. He even started crying when he was watching his friend play Minecraft, and an Enderman teleported out of nowhere while screeching. Roblox horror games terrified him as a child, and his parents couldn't 'boo!' him because it'd always result in inconsolable bawling. It was obvious that jump scares was never his cup of tea.

But to be this affected, was almost embarrassing.

The clock's about to strike 3 am, the time that's dubbed as devil's hour. Yoichi doesn't even know why it's labelled as that, yet he's still paranoid something will happen, in the middle of your hallway.

There's a light on, for the sake of your younger siblings to feel a bit safer. Yoichi can't believe he's taking comfort in something that was implemented for a literal child to overcome their fear of the dark.

Just don't look left and right, focus on wherever's got light.

If he was thirsty he always could've waited for morning to come, but using the bathroom was a completely different story.

It's not his fault the premise of so many horror movies involved a dark corridor, and a grotesque entity emerging out of nowhere from the shadows. It's a miracle how you're able to sleep peacefully after a whole night of watching horror movie after horror movie.

Yoichi takes a deep breath, quickly striding from the restroom to yours. With a sigh of relief he gently closes the door, ready to join you to sleep again.

"Yocchan?" A groggy voice calls out to him.

He shrieks, loudly, it's so out of character considering his level headed and confident demeanor on field.

An awkward silence fills the room, as he realizes, it was just you.

God please kill me now, is the first thing that comes to mind.

You owlishly blink, still dazed from just awaking from your slumber. "Calm down, you'll wake up my siblings." You groan and yawn. "Did something happen?"

"No, you just surprised me there. Thought you were sleeping." Good, now please pass out so he'll never have to think of this moment again.

"Liar."

"It's true."

"You're a professional soccer player, you've been able to beat that German dude who's the best striker in your age group, and you're scared of me speaking?"

At this point he was praying you'd pass out right at this moment and forget about this by the time morning comes.

"I'm just madly in love with you to the point than anything you do makes me want to scream." It's an embarrassing truth, but far from a lie. "C'mon, you need to sleep, we stayed up really late."

You jokingly scoff. "Fine."

He slowly walks over to your bed, tightly wrapping his lean arms around you, hiding from his irrational frights. When you turn off the night light he's paranoid again, grip around you strengthening.

"Yocchan."

"Yes love?"

"You're clinging onto me, really tightly."

He gulps a bit, weakening his arms. "Sorry." He buries his face into your neck instead, still scared of his own thoughts. Only a few more hours til the sun rises and the day starts, he only has to endure this for a bit more, all he has to do is pass out and he'll be okay.

"You're trembling." You mumble as you're about to doze off. "Are you cold? I'll get you a hoodie and another blanket just in case-" You barely get up before Yoichi pulls you back into bed.

"No, tonight was just scary." No point in hiding it now. "Just stay. Please. I keep thinking that stupid doll from that one movie will appear."

"Idiot." You locked him into your embrace again. " You should've told me, I don't even like horror that much, I just didn't want to watch them alone." Your fingers reach towards his face to give his cheeks a firm yet gentle pinch.

"First you pretend you're good with chili at the noodle place now this?" His mouth almost burns at the mention and thought of the memory. Sure he couldn't handle it and was turning red, but they still tasted amazing and it was worth seeing you enjoy yours.

"Yes yes, I know I'm stupid. Stupidly in love with you." It's cheesy yet it still makes you grin. "I wanna sleep now. G'night. I love you."

He knows he shouldn't go overboard and do the things he doesn't synergise with well just because you like them. But anything's worth it if it's with you, he'll eventually recover from having too much chili and one day he'll be able to sit through a jump scare without his soul leaving his body.

"I love you too." You mumble in response, smile tugging at your lips and feeling the warmth of his proximity.

With the comfort of you and your words, and how the blanket engulfed you two, any intrusive thoughts remaining in Yoichi's mind dissipated that night; though your siblings still can't comprehend why and how that scream happened last night; and who did it.

Tagging : @kiyumiya

[grapeautumn]

François can be in the Moulin Rouge or otherwise stumbling down the Quartier Pigalle with this covetuous slip of a dress. She's a rake and roué, and it's the stretch after the turn of the century where she gets to play a bohemian again, perhaps in worser times. There's a cigarette holder he's turning between her fingers. Down her bared back are the gouges from all the trenches mud-choked after the war to end all wars. It's not the same here as it is in Berlin because Paris is the centre of the world. he made it so

I think he's very good with his can-can. Think he's an Elle. When he picks his dresses they're always flared or pleated because he has thin hips and it flatters her. I think françois could care less about anything besides her next cig and the next war she'll stake her claim into, gender is a performance and she's an artiste just as much as she's chevalier, soldier. Spearing fish in New France. Backhanding Vietnam's finest cup from her table because she tells him his own God turns from him in shame. He's a complex character that can hold many, many multitudes and she can be queer just as much as he is cruel.

OTL hope this clarifies things anon. Not posting ur thing since you were pretty rude

[iavenjqasdf]

Roach

A roach crawls into her coffee cup, still for a moment before skittering away on its own from the noxious fumes. A cigarette soon joins it, a good length of clean white paper and perfectly usable material sogged by the sludgy liquid. So much potential, or at least, so much more left to consume if it hadn’t been discarded prematurely…

Whatever, Mary thinks. My job here is done. I’m not the one who gets to clean all this shit up.

She leaves the smoke and coffee on the little table by the kitchen window, overlooking the square. Wallpaper droops sadly in the kitchen. In the bathroom, the last few drops of red are swirling down the drain, torn bloodstained curtain stuck haphazardly somewhere down the garbage chute.

She closes the door behind her, making sure it locks securely, tucks her scraggly hair back into a ponytail, and makes her way down the stairs, efficiently exiting the building into the quiet warm fall morning air

[maegalkarven]

So look in my mercy mirror.

m!Dark Urge x Gortash, m!Dark Urge x Astarion.

Redeemed!Durge (but not morally), good run.

The team confronts Lord Gortash in his keep.

Karlach wants to kill the man; June has another idea.

TW: tadpoling (not graphic), June refers to Gortash solely by his name.

What are you doing?

Emperor’s voice rings in his ears - in his mind - slightly tinted with suspicion. Funny, for how much the mindflayer insists June can trust it, it doesn’t seem to trust June at all.

You said I need to gather my allies, he replies absentmindedly, hands working on taking this damn cork off and opening the bottle. Such a small thing it is, and how much it contains.

Enver was personally responsible for the creation of this new, nether-touched illithid parasite.

Enver and him; the details are hazy, but June can easily see himself fit into the narrative the lordling painted for him. He can see himself, on top of the world, with crown of Karsus in his hands, ready to conquer the entire Toriel for his father.

What a fool he was.

It’s changed now. He is a changed man.

“June?” Karlach looks uncertain and that hurts.

Hadn’t she learned by now to trust his judgment, had he not proved himself to be a good, loyal friend? The mere fact what she doubts him still is simply unacceptable.

She’ll see, June knows. Once he puts his plan in action, she will see the brilliance of it.

What use Enver’s death would be to her? It would not turn back the time, it would not give her back her heart or ten years of her life.

But this? This can turn the tide.

“It’s alright,” he smiles, but for some reason she doesn’t smile back. Damn it, did the smile come out wrong again? “Just hold him firm.”

She complies, but looks even more unsettled.

“This is...Not what I’ve expected,” Karlach admits. “You...What are you going to do with this thing?”

June smiles; this time the smile comes out right.

“I am going to fix it.”

Enver lets out a deep, throaty chuckle.

“And there I was, concerned they’ve somehow ruined you,” for a man beaten bloody and pressed down the cold tile floor he looks surprisingly content. “Worried Orin damaged your brain too much and somehow turned you into...” he trails off. “But I was a fool to fear that. No, you’re just as you’ve always been.” Another annoyingly long pause and then- “You’re going to tadpole me.”

“Yes,” June smiles.

Of course Enver of all people would understand.

He pulls the specimen out of its glass cage and holds between his fingers. Gently, ever so gently.

Enver’s eyes trail the movement.

“We worked so hard on these curious little things; you’ve worked so hard on them. It would be a shame for you to not test out your own creation, would it not?”

“June,” Wyll calls out and June doesn’t need to turn around to know his friend looks downright horrified.

Why can’t they see?

This is the right thing to do. Death is too simple, too easy. This? This will give Enver a chance to atone for his crimes. No, it will downright force him to cooperate.

And cooperation is exactly what June needs.

He is in your head, comes out an echo of a conversation long passed. Gortash, Gortash, Gortash – this damned lordling is all you can speak of these days! I doubt father approves of that, brother dear.

But June doesn’t care if father approves anymore. June doesn’t do his father’s bidding.

He is a free man, a free and a good man. And if he can change like that, who knows how Enver could?

“This is a chance,” he thinks and realizes he’s spoken aloud. “To work together. To fix the mess we’ve started. To make things right.”

“This is wrong,” Wyll argues. “You know this is wrong, June-“

“Juniper,” Enver speaks. There’s a strange glint in his eyes and it takes June some time to decipher it. There’s dread, of course, but also...Satisfaction? Like this is expected outcome. Like this aligns with Enver Gortash’s image of the world.

June frowns.

“You look entirely too pleased, my dear,” he comments lightly, crouching down to Enver’s level. The parasite dangles from his fingers, sharp jaws opening and closing in a rather rhythmical manner. As if it senses the prey nearby.

Enver manages a weak shrug, still pressed firmly down; Karlach looks distressed but her hold does not waver.

“No sense to panic over something I can’t change, is there?” True, but that does not explain the smugness. “And it’s a relief.”

“A relief?” June slowly reaches out, hand getting closer and closer to Enver’s face. Did he caress this face before? Were they that close?

The deep, annoying longing inside insists they were.

Close. Closer than Bhaal would permit, perhaps. Was he the reason for June’s little rebellion?

If so, it’s only right to repay for that.

“This thing with Selûne,” Enver frowns. “It was entirely...anticlimactic. I am glad you’re as ruthless as I recall you to be.”

June frowns right back.

“You’re delusional,” he replies. “I was ruthless once, but no more. This is mercy. I am sparing you, sparing your life. Enver, I am your savior.”

That makes the lordling look even more smug.

“Of course you are,” he smiles as if he knows something June does not. Annoying. “Now, shouldn’t you cut this ‘will he, won’t he’ business and finally-“

His voice cuts short as June drops the parasite on his face, as close to the eyes as he manages.

The creature crawls up and immediately buries itself into the depths of Enver’s skull. Clever little thing.

June watches, fascinated, as the man struggles while parasite takes a hold on him.

Then he raises an artifact.

Emperor? He calls out. Will you do the honors?

Of course.

A wave of pcionic power washes over them and Enver’s mind clears. He blinks; once, twice, brushes the uncalled tears away. Then looks up, straight at June.

“Not too bad,” comments plainly, asshole. Like June didn’t just turn his life upside down. “I assume you’ll force me to comply with your clever plans now?”

“Of course,” June thought it was rather obvious. “Now we’re going to save the day like the true heroes we are,” he smiles. “We don’t need any gods for that, we don’t need any cults. Bhaal and Bane can fight over the rubbish all they want, but we know better. We are going to have Baldur’s Gate eating from our palms. But first,” he feels his smile turn slightly malicious. “We’ll visit an old acquaintance. Halsik has everything prepared and stands at the ready.”

At that Enver perks up.

“You’re dragging me to Hell,” he comments rather cheerfully. “Again. If I didn’t know better, I’d think a trip to Hell is your idea of a date.”

June snorts, and Karlach snorts, and even Astarion, who was mostly silent through the entire encounter, snorts, though his snort is more unkind than the others'.

“No, silly,” June drags his hands up Enver’s torso until they lay placidly on his chest. Warm, he notices absentmindedly. Warm and familiar. Selûne’s Grace, am I in love with this man?

That would be...unfortunate, all things considered. But not entirely unexpected.

“We are going to break into the House of Hope,” he feels Enver stil underneath the touch. “I assume you’re more than familiar with the place, are you not?”

The lordling wets his lips, then grasps June and uses him as a leverage to stand up. Karlach almost doesn’t let him, but June waves her off and she, rather begrudgingly, lets go of the man.

There’s still a sense of unease about her, unease and...A hint of distrust? Of him, of June?  But he is fixing things, surely she knows that!

“And what exactly are you planning to get there?”

Enver is close, gods, he is so close and his breath is warm on June’s forehead and it’s hard to think- Fuck, they definitely were lovers and June is definitely not over it. Astarion is going to kill him. Or worse, going to be hurt by him, by that. Stop, stop, stop, he needs to stop-

Two things happen at once.

Enver’s hand finds its place on June’s waist and takes a sure, firm hold of it.

Astarion’s mind, gentle in a way a mind of a man intimately familiar with all the ways personal boundaries can be broken, making damn sure he is not breaking and entering into the depths of June’s mind unwelcome, brushes past him.

June lets him in.

Stop fucking fidgeting, his glorious lover complains immediately. You’re giving the bastard a leverage over yourself.

I’m sorry, June immediately blurts and does it with such a force he is sure both Karlach and Wyll heard him. He avoids thinking of Gortash being linked to them the same way now. I’m sorry, I didn’t know, or maybe I did, but didn’t want to acknowledge it, but he’s here and he is so close and I- I am sorry, I am so, so-

Do you take me for an idiot? Comes out a huff and how did Astarion manage to huff through a mental link? You might have emotional intelligence of a redcap, but I’ve been aware you two knew each other on a level what’s far beyond any niceties the moment Gortash stopped his own coronation to gape at you.

He didn’t gape at me, June argues, thought he isn’t so sure now. Was Enver gaping at him? He sure looked friendly, much friendlier than Ketheric and Orin combined. But gaping?

He stopped his coronation, Astarion repeats. To come down from his high horse and chat with you. To welcome you back. He took control over one of his steelwatchers simply to invite you to the damn thing. And you- now there’s an actual, visible huff coming from his lover.

June catches Enver watching Astarion closely; a loose, entirely self-satisfied smile on his lips, hand still on June’s waist, head leaning on his. Enver invades June’s personal space like it’s his life goal, like instilling his presence in June’s life is something he has at his top priority.

This is...flattering.

“No, the fuck, it isn’t,” Karlach says aloud, and it’s a cue for June to realize he might have been thinking too loudly. “This is disgusting is what it is, I can’t believe you would-“

“My sweet June has his strong suits and his weak ones,” Astarion speaks, giving Gortash the smile so sharp it should’ve splinted the man in half. “His awful taste in men is, admittedly, one of the later. Not me, of course,” he chuckles, but June hears the underlying self-degrading tone noneless. They should’ve made Cazador Szarr suffer more. “But other,”  vampire spawn gestures at Gortash. “Lesser men.”

“Lesser, you say?” And of fucking course Enver would take the bait. “I would-“

“Enough,” Wyll all but barks and for once they all comply. “We have bigger things to worry about but you two fighting over June’s affections,” June catches Karlach make a gagging face at that and Enver sending her a rude gesture in response.

Children, he is surrounded by literal children. Worst of all, these children are the ones saving the world with him. Ridiculous.

“Right, right,” he sends a grateful smile Wyll’s way and is relieved to see the man smile back just as warmly. At least someone is in his corner. Someone other than Astarion, but that’s given; June and Astarion are bound for life now, for as long as both of them live.

Admittedly, said life might include Astarion murdering June’s former, current – who could tell? – tyrannical lover in a cold blood. Or hot blood. In a pool of blood, definitely.

June isn’t even sure he would be very angry about it, mostly just...sad? He does seem to care for the said tyrant a lot. Oh, bother.

“We are going to break into the House of Hope,” he reminds these literal children who now are making faces at each other. If anything, seeing Karlach and Enver flip each other off would work for an evening entertainment. June will have to work on this destrusting undertone of her; talk her through it, explain things.

Karlach is a good person, she will understand. June is sure of it.

They’re doing this for the greater good.

“For what?” Enver cuts the chase off. “I assume not to make a deal with Raphael, he usually comes to his victims himself.”

“No,” June agrees. “Not for that, though he tried to strike a deal. He needs the Crown of Karsus, you see? And has something we need. But luckily, Raphael was kind enough to let us know he has it.”

“And why would we strike a deal with him,” Astarion hums. “When we can simply take what we need?”

“Exactly.”

Enver smiles.

“You are planning to steal from him.”

“No,” June leans into him almost involuntarily. He smells...good. He smells familiar. He smells like home. “We are going to steal from him. You,” a sharp nail hits Enver in the chest. The hand is immediately grabbed and held firm. “Are going with us. Care for some heist, my dear lord? Not Mephopheles’ vault, I’m afraid, but just enough for an evening entertainment.”

Enver smiles, wide and sharp and entirely wicked. An evil smile, people would call it. How he managed to convince people of the Baldurs Gate he is not villainous villain is beyond June’s comprehension. By brainwashing them, most likely.

“When let’s rob the devil,” the lordling speaks.

Then he kisses June.

And June can finally breathe.