#i really hope this helps someone and that it makes sense

[pixiiipie]

As someone who’s desperately into subby boys I love your stuff. If you find the time would you write something for Rafayel? I love that fishie. 😩

mirror fucking | sub rafayel

includes: dom!reader | gn!reader | strap-on used | blowjob (receiving) | pegging (giving) | handjob (barely mentioned) (giving)

sorry this is so long and it takes a little while to get going!! i’m trying to work on a more to the point writing style but i can’t help waffling TT

i don’t know too much about rafayel atm so i hope i wrote him decently for you | and thank u so much <33! i love writing subby boys so i’m here to deliver to you all

it was common for rafayel to suddenly disappear like this. these long periods of silence usually meant that he was busy working on his next piece but he’d always send you the occasional message when he was thinking about you or felt lonely. with you in his life, it was hard to continue as he used to. he’s so needy.

this time however, his messages were less frequent and when he did message, he seemed uninterested. either he was incredibly focused or his painting wasn’t going well. worrying a little, you decide to drop in on him by surprise to give yourself piece of mind but also because you missed him dearly.

———

walking into his painting room, you admire all the works of art surrounding you but only one was worth looking at. sat at the top of his ladder, rafayel stared at a blank canvas silently muttering to himself. the setting sun’s rays streamed through the windows and made him appear otherworldly. you let out a content sigh full of love. “hey, what are you doing here?” rafayel asks, finally noticing you.

“getting a strong sense of deja vu” you say with a laugh. blocking the canvas from his sight, he turns to you giving you his full attention. “if i fall, do you think you can catch me this time?” he teases. “of course princess.” you retort back. rafayel smiles but it doesn’t feel sincere. he looks distracted.

“come down my love.” you say, holding the ladder for him and extending your hand to him. rafayel sighs and nods slowly making his way down and taking your hand when he reaches you. seeing your expression, he already knows what you’ll ask him.

“i need a new piece for this exhibit i’ve been invited to but… i just can’t think. i’m going to tell them i can’t do it.” rafayel says, avoiding your gaze. bringing a hand to his cheek, you gently move his head to face yours and give him a chaste kiss. you feel his body relax with your touch and as you pull away, he chases your lips desperate for more. rubbing your thumb over his cheek, your heart melts seeing your boy like this. he leans into your hand and holds it there with his, silently begging for you to stay with him.

“the more you force yourself to make something, the less chance you have being successful.” you say but quickly continue before he can cut in with a remark “you’re going to burn yourself out even more and become frustrated. art block is a killer you just need to direct your attention elsewhere.” your other hand wraps around his waist and massages small circles into it.

“i… i really need to make something new. people will get bored.” rafayel quietly says moving his head into your neck and surrounding himself with your scent- comforting him. pressing a quick kiss to his neck, you start shuffling over to his floor length mirror with him still attached. such a baby but you loved how he felt so safe with you. “how about,” you whisper, tapping him to get his attention, “you do a portrait? or even a self portrait you haven’t done one of those in a while.” rafayel slowly lifts his head up, glances at himself in the mirror and goes back to his hiding place. all his motivation had gone and you could tell his self esteem was struggling as a result.

“oh my love.” you say, running a hand through his hair, “i love the cool tone colours you use and the dreamy/underwater look you make so effortlessly.” with your encouragement, he lifts his head again and watches your eyes in the mirror. “those are my favourites. just look at all the colours you could include especially…” you say as you pull him into another kiss “…when i do this.” and gesture at his flushed expression. “that’s my favourite colour.”

his heart couldn’t take it anymore. this was the perfect distraction. oh he’d forgotten just how much he’d missed you and your touch. all he wanted now was to feel you and for you to look at him. “please… oh darling touch me more please.” rafayel begs pressing his forehead against you. with a smile, you snake a hand down to softly squeeze his ass which made him gasp. “woah… getting handsy already.” he tries to say in his usual teasing tone but it comes out more breathless than he’d liked.

“how about, to help you get started, i show you some anatomy references you could use?” you say gesturing to the bag your brought. rafayel could only nod, wondering a little to what that could allude to but letting you go to fetch it. he was left standing breathing heavily and a ‘problem’ forming between his legs which his was quick to attempt to hide. you didn’t reveal what you had brought until you were stood next to him again. “on your knees.” you commanded, motioning with your eyes and taking what you had brought out from behind you. your strap on.

his eyes never left yours as he knelt down infront of you. rafayel patiently held out his hands to help you adjust your harness and kissed your legs all while doing so. “you know what to do now.” you say, playing with his hair with one hand before taking his chin. “of course.” he says with a smile but a little shaky. obediently, kisses the tip before licking long strips up the sides. you loved watching him treat your strap like a real dick. “mm you’re so big” he said with a sly smile. then, inch by inch, he slowly worked his way up your strap so that his nose touched your abdomen. he tried so hard to please you even if you couldn’t strictly feel pleasure from this. he was adorable to watch as he tried every trick in the book to not gag but his teary eyes betrayed him. such a show off.

such a good boy.

“you look so beautiful right now, my love. look” you say and point at the mirror. flicking his eyes to his reflection, rafayel saw just how desperate he was for you. on his knees as if you were his god. he took this opportunity to show off and kissed down the shaft before taking you in the entire way and moving up and down moaning the entire way (which were half fake and half from his attempt of his trousers rubbing against him).

“can you fuck me now? please? it’s been so long.” he begs, rubbing his cheek against your strap. “on all fours sweet boy.” you say, bending over to kiss his forehead. rafayel tried not to appear excited and instead put on a little show of taking off his trousers and bending over for you. “hello pretty boy.” you say as he stretches like a cat to try and tease you. kneeling beside him, you trace your fingers down his body and hook onto his underwear before slowly pulling them down. he shivered at your motion. you reach a hand around for him to coat your fingers while the other flicks his dick causing him to gasp. “d-don’t tease.” he says half confident and half whiny. “sorry but you’re too cute. this won’t take long” you say as you begin to push your fingers into his hole.

rafayel tried to be patient but you’d worked him up too much and it’d been too long. “mmghh that’s enough… i-it’s good.” he moaned weakly grabbing your wrist, “haah- oh goddd please i need youu.”

“okay then if you say so.” you half warn. nothing would be able to change his mind now and to be honest, you wanted this badly too. you really wanted him to feel good. “but one condition baby,” you align yourself with his hole making his try to push his hips back, “you can’t stop looking at yourself.” and with that, you start to slowly push in holding onto his hips. as you did, you grabbed him by the chin with one hand and made him look at himself. “aww what i pretty boy i have hm? you look so beautiful taking my dick like a good boy.”

the praise feels electric but having to look at himself the whole time was embarrassing! he wanted to look at you more. “ohhhhh- mghh-! feels gooddd s’gooodd” rafayel babbles trying to not let his eyes flutter shut. as soon as you bottom out, you start thrusting and aiming for his sweet spot carefully watching him. you bend over his body and leave little kisses on his neck as well as making sure to suck on his ears. they flared red and his moans became whines. “hnng-! c-carefulll sensiti-ivee.” so cute.

“don’t forget to keep your eyes up darling. that’s my pretty boy.” you whisper in his ears which made it increasingly difficult for him to focus on anything you were saying to him. “ohhhh fffuck hnng-!”

“aww look at what a gorgeous boy i have i’m so lucky. not only that but he’s so talented isn’t he?”

his head was so foggy he couldn’t handle it all. he burned at all of your praise and couldn’t stop his noises as you targeted his prostate. “isn’t my handsome boy so talented rafayel?” you ask again. his name sounded so perfect coming out of your mouth. he wished you would keep talking to him your voice was intoxicating. “mmnnn-! yesh y-yesyes.” he whined as he struggled to keep himself upright.

“yes what, my love?” you tease, increasing your pace and biting his ear slightly. “tah-! talent ‘m talente-eddd mmmgghhh gooodd.” rafayel was barely looking at himself now and instead his head hung low as he focused all his strength in holding himself up. it didn’t matter he’d done so well and he was probably weak from shutting himself in for so long. “that’s my hardworking boy. i’m so proud of you, rafayel.” you kissed his cheek, a hand coming round to stroke his dick. the added stimulation was too much!

“clo-oseee c-cum cahnn i?” he slurred, his hips unintentionally started slowly trying to match your thrusts to get him closer. “of course, you’ve worked so hard and done so well. you deserve the world, darling.” you praise him and kiss down his spine. it didn’t take long after your sweet words that he came over the floor and almost lost his balance if you didn’t hold onto him.

rubbing his hips, you slowly pull out and discard your strap on the floor. shuffling around, you sit in front of rafayel and support his upper body against you. “did that help you great artist?” you ask after a little while, moving his hair out of his eyes.

“mmmnn i got quite fuzzy… can’t remember much i might need to look at my references again.” he says teasingly. “oh wait… these clothes… i don’t like the colour they won’t work. maybe you should take them off next time.”

despite his remarks, he nuzzled into your neck, whispered thank you and started whining all over again.

[xxchumanixx]

Can we get Tim and Nolan Reader like you did with Gray Reader

Daisies

Tim Bradford x Nolan!reader

Warnings/Tags: fluff, angst, implied age gap, established relationship

Word count: tba

Authors note: Hello love, thanks for the request! I hope you'll like it! I for sure do. I know it's really short, but I'm a little on edge and restless at the moment, about to get my exam results on Wednesday.

Wish me luck!

Enjoy!

"It's not what it looks like!"

Maybe that wasn't exactly the most clever thing to say, when Tim Bradford - your boyfriend - was standing in front of your father who just opened the front door, bearing daisies.

Your favorite.

There was only one problem: your father didn't know you were having a boyfriend - especially not one of his colleagues, his superior Sargeant.

"Sargeant Bradford!" your father stuttered in surprise, eyes wide, as they went from him to the daisies in his hands and back.

Your cheeks grew beet red, whilst Tim's mouth was agape, eyes as wide as your father's.

He clearly didn't expect him to be home.

"Nolan!" he gave back, desperately searching for the right words. "I didn't- I mean-" His eyes found yours, pleading for some help.

John's eyes followed Tim's, only then realizing what the hell was going on.

"It's not what it looks like?" he repeated your words, eyes widening more in utter disbelieve. "Not what it-" He cut himself off, mouth staying open.

"Are you- Do I need to have the talk? I mean-"

"What? Dad, no!" you screeched, jumping forward with your cheeks darkening in sheer embarrassment.

Tim flinched, knowing you were well informed about the things-

Shaking himself, he steadied his hand holding the daisies, as it started to hurt from holding them up all the while.

It wouldn't do him any good to think about that now - not with your father standing between you.

It went silent for a moment, your father's eyes staring a hole between your eyes, trying to make sense of this situation, all the while telling himself it's not what it looks like.

Even though it clearly was.

Even a blind one would have seen.

It was like his whole world came crushing down on him, doubting himself for not noticing you were dating someone - especially someone that was a few years older than you.

Maybe a few more.

When he suddenly moved, walking over towards the kitchen island and taking a seat on one of the barstools, you gulped.

He was quiet - never a good sign.

Looking back at Tim, your eyes found his, and his mouth opened and closed like a fish, trying to find the words to apologize.

He stuttered a few incoherent words, the daisies in his hand shaking the slightest bit.

You didn't know what to say either, not having him expected to show up at your front door this evening.

"I thought he wasn't home!" Tim whisper-yelled, eyes wide. "I thought-" he wanted to continue, but you cut him off. "Next week!" you hissed, glancing back at your father.

"I said next week!"

He was sitting with his head in his hands, shaking his head repeatedly.

Rubbing your forehead, wiping a few strands of hair out of your face, you motioned for Tim to come in, who's eyes widened even more in return.

Giving him the look, you silently told him not to argue - not now.

He obeyed with a pained sigh, stepping over the threshold, so you could close the door.

"Dad?" you called out, walking over to where he was sitting. "I wanted to tell you, really-" you cut yourself off, when his head shot up, Tim's sharply turning towards you in your peripheral.

You winced, slightly shrugging with your head tilted.

"I mean, Henry didn't tell you he's engaged, before you even met his fiance." you tried to lighten the mood, forcing out a chuckle, but he only stared at you like you were an alien.

Groaning, your shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Tim and I are dating." you dropped the bomb, even though he already knew. He flinched involuntarily, face contorted, even though he tried to hide it.

Failing miserably.

"Since when?" he pressed out, swallowing. "A few months?" you returned hesitantly, shrinking involuntarily.

"Maybe a bit more?"

He breathed out a chuckle, a pained and surprised one.

Closing his eyes, his head turned away from you, landing back in his hands.

Then he nodded, rubbing his eyes, before standing back up, facing you. "Okay." he spoke, biting his cheek. He nodded again, before shaking his head.

Tim stood beside you helplessly, fearing he'd worsen the situation if he just so much dared as making a sound.

Taking the daisies from his hands, you walked towards a shelf, taking a vase from it and filling it with water, before you put the daisies inside, placing them on the isle for your father to see.

"Your favorite." he muttered, fingers ghosting over the delicate petals. You nodded, smiling at him. "Yes, he gets me some every week."

"How old are you again?" he asked Tim, who's mouth opened to answer, before you interrupted him, knowing exactly where your dad was going with this.

"I'm old enough, dad."

He nodded again, swallowing.

"Oh, and I'm pregnant."

His eyes widened, fear filling them to the brim. You laughed, not having him expected to fall for it a third time.

Rolling his eyes, he huffed.

"Are you happy?" he wanted to know, tilting his head at you.

"I am."

He nodded again, as you walked towards Tim, taking his hand in yours. "And it's not just a fling. I-" You wanted to say that you loved him, but you weren't sure if it wasn't to early.

"Nolan, I assure you I won't harm your daughter in any way." Tim spoke up, taking a step towards your father. "I love her and I will do my best to treat her in the best way."

Eyes widening, you looked at him with your mouth agape.

Screw anything about it being too early.

"I love you too." you whispered, tears gathering in your eyes. He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze, sending you a smile.

Your father nodded, still overwhelmed but somewhat relieved.

"And I'm not pregnant."

"I better hope you're not!"

Tag List

@newobsessionweekly @laheysfilm

@dhunhdchrih @rookietrek @augustvandyne

@nachofriess @dtftheavengers

[sseniita]

your mom

please read!!!

The villain’s first thought took him by surprise. 

Those are her eyes. 

The child must have been one or two years away from high school, and yet her round cheeks and the way she played with the hem of her sleeves could have said otherwise. The villain didn’t recognize where the young girl’s dark brown hair or freckles came from- surely the hero didn’t have freckles? Did she? A surge of panic ran through the villain as the features of the hero’s face became warped and foggy in his mind.

“Absolutely not.” He said. The child pouted in response, flashing him a weak and pathetic mockery of the hero’s puppy eyes. 

That’s her face, you faker. 

“This isn’t fair.” 

“Nothing is fair. Go home.” 

The villain had noticed someone was tailing him recently, he had assumed some amateur journalist or paparazzi (no difference, really) was the culprit before she made herself known by sneaking in with his cleaning crew into his office. Hero’s daughter was kept as a strict secret, as far as he knew only himself and the child’s late grandmother knew about her.  

“You have to help me.”

“And why’s that?” It was getting harder and harder to be civil with the trespassing child. 

“Mom said you’d help me!” 

The villain’s neck was beginning to strain looking down at her. 

“The hero was an optimist. She saw and felt things that were never there. Any sense of camaraderie you think we had didn’t ever exist.” He didn’t mean to sneer, it simply came out that way.  

The child laughed, a sarcastic, exhausted thing. She sounded like her too. 

“You would have never known about me if that were true.” 

“She could never keep a secret. Always jumpy. It took less than lazy observation to know.” 

The villain, in fact, knew from the moment she was born. He was there. The hero had been conveniently taken hostage by the villain for five months right when she started showing and three months after for recovery, he hadn’t seen the child since. The villain wouldn’t ever admit it, but they were eight months of pure bliss. The hero’s pregnancy was pleasant, she handled it very well up until her last month when she needed the villain for every menial task. After abandoning her abusive diet and workout schedule she finally gained some healthy weight (although lost most of it a month into heroism) and began to sleep a much needed eight hours a night. For the first time since they met, she went back to being a shiny and sparkling thing, all smiles and rosy cheeks, pure indulgence and excitement. 

The villain almost caught himself smiling at the memories before his gaze focussed back on the tiny monster in his office.

“Go home.”

“I can’t.” She said, copying his own demanding tone; slight pauses between words, emphasis on the important parts. “I have nowhere to go, the house was taken over by some people wanting to make it some messed up Hero museum. Grandma passed away, no one even knows I exist, and there is no way in hell I’m going back to the orphanage” She rummaged through the duffle at her side, the villain assumed it contained everything she owned. She pulled out a beige card with the hero’s writing in blue ink. 

As the villain read, the child blabbered. 

“You guys were friends, and I don’t believe you killed her like the news says. Mom talked about you all the time! She mentioned that she trusted you over and over again. You have to help me!” 

The villain couldn’t tell who the card was addressed to. It wasn’t signed to anyone and spoke ambiguously about love and trust and other disgusting things, the girl had assumed the card was supposed to be for him. The villain, albeit embarrassingly, wanted to believe that. 

“This isn’t for me.” 

“Of course it was!” 

“She’d never speak like this. Especially to me.” 

“Well I certainly have no use for it. My mom loved me. I don’t need a lousy card to know it. She knew that too. But I don’t think she was brave enough to ever tell you-”

“You shouldn’t speak about things you know nothing about.” This, he hoped, was laced with venom. 

“I dunno Mr. Doom and Gloom, you didn’t have to hear her go on and on about a secret crush she had rooftop fights with.” 

Dear lord, Hero. I don’t know whether to be angry at you for not saying something, or at myself for never noticing. 

He recognized how immature and childish his hope was. The only woman he’d ever loved was dead, and hearing now they had the illusion of a chance from her very own daughter was a worse heartbreak than if she just rejected him outright. 

They always had a weird relationship. A complex, fluttering thing that consisted of fistfights (regardless of powers; the villain considered it intimate, the hero considered it sexy), partnerships of planning and scheming, and being public representations of compliance and deviancy, the good and the dirty, love and hate. 

Somewhere along the line it had become late nights at diners, comfort in close proximity, a head on a shoulder, a hand on the back. The flirting, the teasing, the stares. The all-holy casual hookups.

The villain knew he was screwed when she came to his apartment late at night, drenched by the rain, mascara running down her cheeks. 

Villain, I need your help. I’m pregnant. 

The timing revealed Hero’s fling, it had been months after a fight that led them to ‘strict fighting terms’ it all broke down as fast as hero did in the villain’s arms. 

But she was gone now, buried in a government cemetery surrounded by hundreds of now wilting bouquets and dusty gifts. And yet, the innocent joy of reciprocation flushed through his body. He allowed himself one more denial. Just to be safe. 

“Perhaps it was for your father.” The child laughed at this, more genuine amusement than it was self deprecating, the villain didn’t blame her. He knew from the second he said it how stupid it sounded. 

“Good one. Anyways. Help me kill Supervillain.” 

Dejectedly, the villain plopped down at his desk chair, signalling the young girl to do the same on the chair across the desk. The girl happily obliged. “Here’s what I’m thinking, we disguise ourselves as post office men-”

“Wait wait wait. Be quiet for five seconds.” The villain found himself massaging his temples. “Your mother wanted one thing for you. And that explicitly included staying out of the business. I’ll get you a room with someone I trust. Lie low for now, I’ll send you off to a boarding school or something until you turn eighteen.” 

“What? No! I want to help you bring down the supervillain.” 

“Trust me, I can do that myself. You need to go back to the orphanage.” 

“I hate it there! I have things to do! I need to avenge my mom and that means killing the supervillain myself.” 

The villain was beginning to wonder if the child was a clone rather than a daughter. Perhaps the brown hair was just box dye. She had an edge she’d only seen in his hero, a bright star deep in the colour of her eyes, an unmatched amount of life inside her. The hero had passed away a little over two months ago and her daughter was immediately on the run. She must have known how important it was to stay hidden. When was the last time she had a full sleep? 

“Look, Lily, I get it. But your mother will rise from her grave if she knew I got you hurt.” The villain ignored the shock on the girl’s face at the mention of her name. 

Your mom wouldn’t stop talking about me, well I guess we were on the same boat then. 

"Even better, I think." She joked. Of course only your daughter would joke at a time like this.

“You need time. You need to rest. I can offer you safety. I can promise you that when the time comes to kill Supervillain, it’ll be done as far away from you as possible. Your mother would never forgive you if you ever even touched the handle of a gun. Please, at least give her that.” 

Lily was her mother’s spitting image. Her curls didn’t hold without product, her big brown eyes hid underneath long lashes. Her cheeks would stay round well into adulthood, and they both picked nervously at their nails. But when she finally lifted her head and her eyes met the villain’s eyes, he swore he saw a glimpse of himself in them. 

“Make it slow.” 

The villain smiled. 

“Naturally.”

[norman-fucking-reedus]

HE ATE MY HEART (I LOVE THAT GIRL)

gif by @corvidcrossbow

IM SO FUCKING EXCITED TO FINALLY HAVE SOMETHING TO POST ON HERE AND ALSO TO POST SOMETHING TO THIS SONG

Vamp!Daryl has rotted not only my brain but the community. I am not sorry at all for the plague I'm spreading and I hope that it only gets worse.

So I've been doing some research on it, and I really like the idea of mixing the Blade universe w TWD, I did some more research on the different types of vampires (its kind of a lot so if you want you can go read abt them here!) To basically summarize, there's people, daywalkers (half vamp-people), walkers, full vampires, and then Revenants (half-walker half vampire, basically just another way to die)

This also makes it easier for whenever Scud becomes my next vampy victim

AUUUGH I NEED MY HOT SEXY NEEDY VAMPIRE MAN WHO JUST WANTS TO DRINK ALL MY BLOOD SOMEONE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE FUCKING PLEASE

also I am working on reqs yes I am, I have one scud fic that is dirty and nasty and should be getting posted soon. also I may not be on tumblr as much as I used to be because GUYS I am now employed yes that's right I got off my computer, went outside, interacted with people, and got a job #gangshit

It had been over a week since Daryl had eaten, and over two since he had left to go out on the community's monthly supply run.

As he stumbled through the opening gates, he felt like he had been through a war. His body was wracked with exhaustion, weakness, and hunger. The air was thick with the strong scent of blood, and he couldn't keep himself from groaning painfully when he was bombarded by Carol and Rick asking where he had been, what had taken so long, and if he was alright.

“No! M’not alright dammit” He barked at them in frustration after being asked for the third time if he was alright, his voice laced with irritation and discomfort. Carol couldn't help but notice his pale and clammy appearance.

Her forehead creased into a frown as she tightly pursed her lips, giving Daryl a scolding look that made him uneasy. With a tone of concern, she asked, "I'm worried. When was the last you fed?"

The man's face twisted in discomfort as Rick and Carol stood in his space. He scoffed and muttered, "Not recently, m'fuckin' starvin'" The longer he stayed, the more his head spun and his vision blurred, causing the corners of his eyes to fade into a deep red color. His stomach churned uncomfortably, and he could feel his teeth starting to ache.

Rick observed Daryl's malnourished skin, staring at how he was almost transparent. His eyes were screwed shut as the sun harshly burned his sensitive orbs, and he was gripping the strap of his crossbow so hard that his fingers were starting to turn red.

"You should go see Y/n," Rick said, eyes fixed on his friend. "She should be back home and she's been asking about you. I think she misses you." Daryl's body tensed at the sound of your name, and a sudden chill ran down his spine, causing goosebumps to rise on his arms. He tried to hide his reaction, but Rick's sharp eyes didn't miss a thing.

Daryl's head drooped weakly as he could only manage a feeble nod. Rick and Carol had stepped off to the side for him, offering their silent support. Carol placed her hand gently on his shoulder, her grey hair falling across her face as she did so. Rick, with his stern expression, gave Daryl a look that he knew meant there was no room for argument.

His senses were already heightened to an extreme level, almost at an overload as the sun was abnormally bright, almost blinding him, and the heat was scorching his skin. The texture of his vest was becoming increasingly uncomfortable, causing his already aching teeth to grind against each other. He could feel his razor-sharp fangs digging into the tender skin of his bottom lip, further adding to his discomfort.

His senses were already heightened to an extreme level, almost at an overload as the sun was abnormally bright, blazing down on him with a blinding intensity, making it difficult for him to even keep his eyes open. He could feel the heat searing his skin, causing beads of sweat to form on his forehead and trickle down his face. He noticed the way that his vest rubbed uncomfortably against him, the fabric clinging to his skin and making him feel sticky and irritable. His already aching teeth began to grind down against each other, and he could feel his razor-sharp fangs digging into the tender skin of his bottom lip, further fueling his pure discomfort.

Each step he took in the direction of your house was tiring and heavy, his dirty, muddy boots slapping against the ground as he dragged himself through the streets, promptly ignoring any strangle or judgy looks that were thrown his way. He didn't have the time, let alone the strength to even bother paying them any mind. His stomach churned as his overwhelmed nose couldn't help but pick up the sickeningly sweet smell of blood.

It forced him to quicken his pace, trying to get just as far away from the public eye as he possible could. He didn't want to be looked at, didn't want to be stared at. He just wanted to get inside as soon as fucking possible and just tear off all his goddamn clothes. A ping of hope struck through him when he could see your familiar house only a short distance down the road, having to hold himself back from flat-out sprinting the rest of the way there.

Though it was only about a thirty-second walk, it had been the longest in his whole entire life, and walking up the small steps of your porch was like something out of a nightmare. He could disgustingly feel the material change in flooring when he stepped off the pavement and onto the creaky wood, the sound grating against his now way too-sensitive ears. Dear god, would someone fucking help him already?

Of course, as if on cue, the red front door to your house swung open, but instead of being met with a friendly face, he was met with the barrel of your gun.

"Daryl?" You questioned as you lowered the weapon slightly, a smile stretching across your lips once you had confirmed who was standing and dicking around on your porch. "Daryl!" You fully dropped your defensive position, stuffing the weapon in the band of your pants as you prepared to throw yourself at the man, halting when you finally took in his ruined appearance.

His breathing was labored, and it was hard to keep himself upright on his own two legs, forcing him to lean against the wall by the door. "Hey doll"

You scoffed at him in disbelief, "Don't you dare even "hey doll" me, mister! What the hell happened to you? Get in here right now" Grabbing the front of his vest and pulling his heavy body inside, Daryl groaning as each movement caused pain to his body, slumping against the door when you slammed it shut.

He couldn't be happier when he felt you prying the buttons of his stupidly itchy vest off, him shrugging it off as well as his crossbow, clattering down on the floor and probably chipping the metal further.

"Jesus Daryl, you look fucking terrible. Did you feed on anything at all out there?" You purse your lips as you analyze and checked his unnaturally pale chest, letting out a surprised hiss at the burn lingering on your fingers tips from where you had brushed them against the skin of his shoulder

Daryl groaned as you directed him to sit on the couch, the short steps from the front door already leaving him utterly winded, almost dripping in sweat as he wheezed each breath of air.

“‘Wasn’t much… ‘wasn’t much out there” He spoke breathlessly, head spinning and his stomach loudly churning when you stood in fromt of him.

When you extended a hand out to cup his face, he tightly gripped your wrist with a shaky hand. “Don’. Please don’” He didn’t want to feed from you, not like this, not in a state where he couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t absolutely drain you.

“Daryl” You whispered softly, frowning slightly as you started taking your shirt off, and he wanted to scream at your stubbornness.

You straddled his lap and gently brushed the hair sticking to his forehead off, his blue eyes starting to tint red as the smell of your blood was strong, right in his face. “I don’ wanna”

“I know you don’t sweetheart, but you’ll die. What am I gonna do if you die?” You cupped his face, forcing his gaze onto yours. He whimpered slightly at your touch, his whole body sensitive and reactive.

Daryl shivered when you combed fingers through his hair, hands curling around your hips when you directed his head to your neck. “I trust you, more than I even trust myself” You whispered soothingly into his ear, and he almost wanted to cry.

He could smell the blood coursing through you like it was a burning candle, and his mouth was uncontrollably watering. His fangs were sharp and heavy, aching with the need to sink into your skin, which is exactly what he did, groaning against you at the first drops of blood, not wasting against another second before he was greedily taking mouthfuls.

It was so good, so warm and fresh, sweet and bitter. Daryl had drank lots of blood before, and yours was easily his favorite. He craved it during his time out there, not just because there was a serious lack in wild animals, but because it was addictive.

He squeezed your hips, soft and pillowy in his buzzing palms as he could feel himself starting to get hard in his pants, the more blood he swallowed the more drunk he got.

It made you feel good to watch his natural tan color fade back, his scarred back no longer a ghastly pale. You ran your fingers through his hair, occasionally curling your fingers and gripping the dark locks to grind down against his now-straining cock.

Daryl made soft, small sounds as he fed, each roll of your hips making each gulp of your blood taste so much better. His senses were at an all-time high, overwhelmed and at an absolute edge. He couldn’t help the way his hands pressed you down on his cock, hips desperately jerking against you as he could feel himself getting closer and closer, his head spinning in a blood lust haze.

He was so close, so very fucking close. His sharp claws had made themselves known, and you jolted when they painfully curled into your flesh, hips sputtering and slightly faltering in their movements. Daryl had no problem picking up the slack, almost fucking you right through his pants from how hard he was rutting up into you.

It was just all so much, his whole body on fire with pure arousal as he sighed around a final mouthful of crimson, trembling from his core as his orgasm washed over him, pressing your clothed cunt against him as hard as he could, making his already fuzzy mind draw a complete blank, a loud groan tearing from his throat that caused his fangs to slip out from where he had punctured the skin and drop his head against your shoulder, whimpering softly as he held you down.

You scratched his scalp comfortingly, feeling a little woozy from the amount of blood he had taken. He hummed against you as he started to come down from not only the high of his orgasm but bubbly buzz from his feast.

“Feel better?” You asked in a quiet, sleepy voice when Daryl’s tongue cleaned the drops of blood that had leaked from the small wounds, coating the area in his saliva so that it could heal.

He nodded as peppered you in appreciative and apologetic kisses, pulling you flush against his bare chest by wrapping his arms around your back, claws retracted and replaced with blunt nails. “M’sorry fer hurtin’, ya”

“Instead, you should be sorry for not feeding yourself, mister” You said as you shook your head, pinching his side as you got a bit upset again. “You know it scares me shitless when you do that”

“I know, I know. M’sorry for tha’ too” Daryl grumbled, feeling fatigued as well now that his tummy was full and satiated. His body was still weak and needed rest, now yours did as well considering he had taken a lot more than usual. “I’ll make it up to ya’” He said as he pushed himself up off the couch, grunting as it was a lot harder with tired muscles and one hand keeping his woman wrapped around him, adding a second once he was finally standing.

You giggled at that, arms hooked around his neck. “And just how will you do that?”

“Got a real good idea” Daryl smirked, hoisting you up as he ascended up the stairs to your shared bedroom, hungry for something else that was much better than blood.

I started writing this a few days ago I think this is the quickest I've written something

Vamp!Daryl is an absolute need. I'm loving every single post I see of him and I love watching the disease spread faster than fucking covid I jump for joy when I see someone I don't even know talking abt him is this what fame feels like is this what its like to be famous am I fucking famous

yes you do want more of this so go read more

Bloodthirsty @dixons-sunshine

Bite me @mydearestdaryl

[x-liv25-jamieswife]

Javery fight headcanons because we both know those two are going to have a major major fight at some point

averyjameson fight head canons

of course <3. i apologize if this sucks, i haven't really slept in days T-T. this one will be shorter than my other posts cause the topic isn't as broad (and wont just be about one major fight but just a fights in general too), but i hope you still enjoy them <3. @ariscats helped with some of these <3. she's amazing.

i've mentioned this before, but i think that their codeword, tahiti, was created as a result of one of their bigger fights in order to avoid them.

jameson is the one that created the code word.

i think a lot of their fights would be related to each of them keeping secrets. avery's mentioned not liking being vulnerable before which, i think, would cause issues in their relationship. she'd keep secrets in order to keep herself from being vulnerable and jamie would hate it and confront her about it. she'd be very defensive and wouldn't admit to keeping secrets which would make things worse.

i think jamie would also have trouble opening up which is smth that would annoy avery a lot. unlike avery, though, it's not because he doesn't want to talk to her, it's bc he's afraid of what she would think of him/not wanting her to see him differently. she'd confront him about it, but he'd deny it and tell her that he has no reason to want to lie to her (lies).

they're the type of people that, even when they're mad at each other, have to sleep in each others arms bc its the only thing that keeps the nightmares away.

i feel like they're also the type of people who would try their best to not raise their voices bc they know its not healthy but would end up doing it anyways.

most of their fights ends with someone crying (not because they hurt each other's feelings, but bc they end up becoming vulnerable with each other and that makes one (or both of them) cry)

i think that whenever they have a major fight, avery would do smth like not eat. she'd get so mad she'd forget to/she wouldn't head to the kitchen to get smth in order to not see jameson by chance. jameson would make sure to make/get her smth and leave it by the door or give it to oren.

they'd definitely have fights about how careless jamie is with his life. i imagine that whatever happened in prague caused a screaming match between them.

they'd try to resolve their fights before bedtime bc they hate going to bed mad.

jamie would get really afraid whenever avery is mad at him bc he'd get the idea in his head that she was going to leave him. that's why, now, whenever they fight, avery makes sure to tell him that she's not leaving him before hand.

i also think a lot of their fights would be caused by avery overworking herself/not taking care of herself, and jamie would get worried/mad and say smth about it (avery disagrees with him thinking its unhealthy bc she thinks its her duty).

speaking of overworking, avery would work so often she'd start neglecting jamie (there are fics about this). this would obviously also cause fights.

i also think that, near the beginning of their relationship, jamie would have a really hard time expressing his emotions properly and would try to hide them by acting careless/happy, enough to hurt avery's feelings multiple times.

when fighting, avery would get so mad and anxious she'd start digging her nails into her palms really hard (its something i've noticed she does in the books too so this is less of a head canon). even though they're fighting, jamie doesn't like seeing this and will grab onto her hands and hold them or will give her smth to hold if she doesn't want to touch him.

they're the type of people to take breaks from their fights cause they hate having disagreements. they'll have a screaming match and then one will go 'break?' and they'll pretend as if nothing happened and come back to the fight later.

ok so idk if this will make sense but ill try my best to explain it properly. avery reads the hate comments she receives and starts believing them, smth she'd never admit. instead of admitting it to herself, she'd sort of project onto jamie and convince herself that he thinks the same/believes the comments. their fights would revolve a lot around that, i think. avery would go 'so many people call my ugly and unworthy of you, why would you not think the same?'

speaking of those fights that i mentioned in the hc right before this one, these ones tend to not become screaming matches. jamie would try to comfort her calmly bc he knows screaming won't do them any well.

as their relationship moves forward, their fights get rarer, and when they do, they don't scream (if they do, very very rare)

idk if this is even possible but it happens to me so im guessing it is. i mentioned earlier that jamie gets scared when they fight bc he's convinced himself avery will leave him. well when he gets scared, he also gets cold so they always have a blanket on hand for jameson to use if this happens.

avery would get jealous of jamie's ex's at the beginning of their relationship bc she has shown hints of being insecure about her looks in the books. this would also cause issues with jamie.

at the beginning of their relationship, avery, like mentioned earlier, would get really insecure about her looks, enough that she would compare herself to girls online and people jameson followed (he only follows them cause they're family friends/extended family members, etc). the fact that jameson used to see her as a game and her own insecurities really messed with her head, but she never talked about it with jameson because she hated being vulnerable. this would cause fights until jamie realized what was going and then he created the code-word.

whenever they're done fighting, they always have these huge love confessions planned bc, like i said a million times before, they hate fighting and like to end it on a good note.

whenever they're done fighting, they give each other a little kiss and cuddle cause they hate being mad at each other.

[galvanizedfriend]

Klaroline WIP Wednesday

This is my humble contribution to this wip Weds! It's a tiny little snippert from the next chapter of Speed Dating, which has been sitting untouched for way too long. Genuinely hoping this might give me the will to keep going because I am this 🤏 close to the finish line (before editing starts and the finish line gets away from me again but shhhh, we're not going there yet).

--

She doesn't see Elijah again for the next two days. Whatever he's in town for, he either glides around the apartment like a ghost or their schedules are totally at odds. If not for the extravagantly fancy woolen overcoat by the door and what she has quickly learned is a very particular brand of moodiness for Klaus, she would've thought he'd already left.

It's probably for the best, considering the horror of that first meeting, but curiosity is an unscratchable itch. Elijah has intrigued her for years, more so than any of Klaus’ other siblings. Putting a face - well, a little more than a face, really - to the person is a given, but she can't help the desire to dig deeper. It’s in her nature to be nosy. About him, about Klaus, about the whole family. 

Despite the fact she's lived with one and been friends with another for years, the Mikaelsons remain a mystery to her. The more she knows, the more confusing it gets. Nothing about them seems to make much sense, and Caroline hasn't even decided if that's a super-rich, children of the 1% thing, or if the Mikaelsons are especially wacky even among their peers.

After two days, though, she's just about lost hope of bumping into Elijah again. She doubts he'll be staying for much longer, especially with Klaus' cordial show of hospitality. Not that Elijah seemed bothered - being rude to siblings for no apparent reason seems to be one of those things that are normal by Mikaelson standard. It's just how they operate.

She's just back from a shift at the hospital, idly scrolling through her Instagram while she waits for the microwave to deliver her sad leftover dinner. Bitterly, she realizes it has been months since she last updated her feed. Her last photo is with Tyler, for crying out loud. Should she even keep it there? What's the etiquette for when you break up with someone for no earth-shattering reasons, the relationship just fizzling out and running its course? Is it rude to delete all evidence of him from her social media records? Is it expected? Will he be upset? Has he deleted her from his social media? 

In fact, now that she thinks about it... Is Tyler even seeing anyone?

"Huh," she mumbles to herself, fully internalizing in that second how truly messy her life has become that she hasn't even cyber-stalked her ex to know what he's been up to since they broke up. That's a whole new level of rock bottom unlocked, right there.

"Miss Forbes?"

Caroline nearly drops her phone when she looks up to find Elijah standing by the kitchen door. She swears to God the man is unnaturally feline; she didn't even hear him approach.

Unlike in their first encounter, he's now fully clothed and, unsurprisingly, he looks just as good as he did without a stitch on. Maybe better. His suit looks as though it was sewn directly onto his body by an Italian master tailor. The range of that man.

"Hey!" She cringes at her high pitch, standing up straight. 

His smile is affable as he steps further into the kitchen. "Do I interrupt?"

"What? No. I was just scrolling."

Caroline feels suddenly very self-conscious of just how crazy frumpy she must look standing in front of Elijah. The man is a poster boy for wellness and prosperity, while she is... Well. Not.

Suffice to say she's wearing a Timberwolves t-shirt from her long-gone cheerleading days in high school with at least five visible holes on it.

"I've been meaning to apologize for that horrid incident the other day," he starts. Caroline wouldn’t have brought the incident up, assuming he would rather forget it ever happened, but if it causes him any measure of discomfort to have been butt naked in front of a complete stranger, he does not show, which - now that she thinks about, is something else that feels very Mikaelson-esque. They do all seem to be incredibly comfy in their own skins. "Niklaus warned me that you would be home soon, but my despair for a proper shower was stronger than caution. I should've been more careful."

"You don't have to apologize. It's fine. It was nothing." That would've been a good place to stop. A very mature and dignified let's leave it at that and never mention it again. But her stupid mouth just keeps going. "I see naked people all the time at the hospital. It's totally unremarkable." Elijah's eyebrows inch upwards into a mildly curious expression. "I don't mean that you are unremarkable!" she corrects, and then, getting immediately horrified at the implications, adds, "You're not - I mean, you're ok, you're - obviously. Not that I was looking, I wasn’t - I just mean - You know what? I'm just gonna shut up now." She snaps her lips sealed, half-wishing that a hole would open underneath her feet and suck her into the magma of the earth.

[sherlock-is-ace]

Just some thoughts about DID Holmes in Sherlock & Co.

I need to preface this by saying I don't have DID, all I know about it is from reading and hearing people who do have DID talk about their experience. I can be wrong, I don't mean any harm by it and I encourage people to correct me (just please be kind).

Ok so in the Sherlock & Co. canon, Holmes has DID, amongst a variety of other things, which is a new and interesting thing to explore with this character. I'm not sure if we'll ever see it explored in the show, or if it'll just stay a part of a long list of what makes Sherlock neurodiverse. But I've been thinking about it and I'd like to dump my thoughts here.

I think it makes absolutely perfect sense for Sherlock Holmes to have DID. Even in the ACD canon, Holmes isn't known to have had a good childhood and a good relationship with his parents. Jeremy Brett liked to think Holmes didn't see his mother until he was like eight years old. Lots of neglect, coupled with the struggles of being a "difficult child" because of his perticular cocktail of disorders (ADHD, ASD, SPD, DMDD and ODD), is just the perfect recipe for repetitive childhood trauma that could very well develop into DID. There's no question in my mind that it was a good decision (at least an interesting one) to give Sherlock DID in this adaptation. And that got me thinking about how much he probably struggled with it.

I chose to believe that Sherlock achieved final fusion years before he met John. That's what makes the most sense to me. We know he's got official diagnoses for these things, so it would make sense to me that he got professional help for his DID as well. And based on his personality, and his need to be in control and know all the information available to him, I think final fusion would be the result he would have seeked, as opposed to functional multiplicity.

Now of course one can't logic their way out of neurodiversity, and one can't just logic their way into final fusion. But what works and doesn't work has to have some connection to the way someone is, and I think Sherlock Holmes would have worked his ass out in therapy to achieve final fusion because I think it would have been a horrible time for a man like him.

I'm thinking about how he would handle the amnesia (we know his views in memory and identity), the loss of control when a different alter fronted, the confusion of "waking up" in a completely different part of town, disassociating in the middle of important (or interesting) tasks, etc. etc. I also think that perhaps, his addiction could have been a result of a persecutor alter.

As someone who struggles with communication because of his autism, I think perhaps that could also affect Holmes' communication with his alters. I genuinely don't know if that could be a thing or not, I've never met anyone who had DID and autism so I'm not sure how correct that assumption is. But if that communication was also a struggle, it would explain why functional multiplicity wouldn't work as well.

And I don't know, perhaps we'll have more glimpses into Sherlock's past in the podcast, and we'll learn more about his DID diagnosis, perhaps he hasn't achieved final fusion, perhaps he very much still struggles with switches and memory loss. We don't know, but I do hope we get to explore it more! It ads a new layer of complexity to the character that we haven't seen in other adaptations, and I really love that!

We know that Sherlock Holmes is always neurodivergent, whether that is explicitly diagnosed in canon or not. The whole point of Sherlock Holmes as a character, from ACD canon to any modern version, is that he doesn't think like everyone else. That is literally the definition of neurodiversity. To take that away from Holmes is to destroy the character. But what this adaptation did, by giving a name to each and every trait of Holmes is very interesting and I hope they can handle it well! So far I've been very pleasently surprised by the way they have handled Sherlock's autism. It is very much a part of him and it informs his actions, but it is not all that he is. And maybe it's because Joel Emery's daughter is autistic so he has more knowledge about it than the other disorders, but I still hope we get to see more of that as well, especially Sherlock's DID.

Alright that's all kdjfhg

As I said, I don't have DID so take everything I said with a grain of salt. But if anyone has thoughts they'd like to share please come talk to me! :D And if anyone has DID and wants to share their thoughts about Sherlock & Co. thought the lense of someone with the disorder please do! I'd be very happy to read about it. (Also my ask is always open if anon is more comfy)

[vampiricgf]

☆ LUCKY GIRL SYNDROME

ᝰ you were the luckiest girl in that tavern, and he just had to have you, hold you, hope it could rub off enough to get him through.

f!reader, dead dove do not eat, pre game setting, mention of suicide, kidnapping, confinement, alcohol consumption, stockholm syndrome ish, physical violence, noncon, oral, fingering, restraint, underwear gag, pls mind the warnings don't like don't read!

It started when he heard your laugh, a sound that reminded him simultaneously of silver bells and the audible glint of steel glancing off steel.

It had cracked apart his hunters haze inside Elfsong, enraptured by the way you threw your head back and laughed. Laughed so hard he watched you nearly double over, grip the edge of the bartop like it was all that could hold you up in the world.

He decided then he hated you. Hated you and didn't even know you. Never would, so who cares?

Almost unconsciously his senses attune to you, not far enough away that it takes any straining so he's able to sip his glass of red swill and soak up every word.

But good gods above if every word wasn't smacking of naivety, listening to you blather on about how you'd just decided to head out as some do gooder adventurer, some already self mythologized hero. With a roll of his eyes he took another mouthful of the gastly, now lukewarm wine. Tapped a fingernails edge against the glass in a lazy rhythm.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

You chattered on to anyone who would spare their ear for even a moment, bursting with excitement and youth yet saddened apparently by having to leave younger siblings and your parents behind. A brother, mother, father. What a lucky girl.

Something nearly surfaced the ravaged black tar of his insides then, something just barely glimpsed from the surface and making his upper lip curl in disgust for a moment.

You don't even know what you have. Don't even know how goddamn lucky you really are. And you'd throw it away for what, a life of curling up in dirt and most likely dying in some abandoned backwater? Your bones moldering in some hovel while you leave people behind selfishly to grieve? Not any kind of life at all.

And he would know something about those kinds of lives.

He decides then, that you're perfect. It'll be so easy, painfully almost, because he can tell just by looking at you that you're already much too inebriated and much too thrilled by the feeling of any pair of eyes on you. Young and inexperienced.

Already so eager to throw it all away.

After two hundred years there was no more feeling in the action of taking someone by the hand, taking them into bed, turning them into phantoms. It was a disconnect blur as he set down the smudged glass to saunter up to you, parrot the best lines and he's glad he can't see your eyes clearly or hear your voice over the roaring blood rush as you slip your hand into his.

In record time the two of you are no more than shadows receding from the comforting glow of street lanterns.

~

When you wake it's to the prickling, tightening feeling of your scalp. Hide and seek feeling. Some distant instinct that tells you you're the prey being observed by the predator.

It's hazy in the room, the sort of darkness that usually accompanies fog if you're standing outside.

Your head pounds with the effort of memory recall and even through the dreamlike gleam you're aware you came here with someone. A man. An incredibly handsome one, one who made you feel suddenly shy and fiddle with the hair behind your ears.

Something breaks your already slippery grasp on it all, and you gasp as it comes into focus through the dark. Glinting eyes, reflective in a way that makes you think of wolves laying in wait. You pull the rumpled sheets up to your neck, fingers twisting in the fabric as your body tenses so rigidly you can't help but wince.

"Who are you? Where am I?" It doesn't take you long to find your voice, a horribly jumpy thing. Like trying to clasp your hands around a wriggling frog, erratic at it's capture.

A sharp tch, catch of tongue against the roof of a mouth. It makes you flinch.

"How insulting. I thought I gave you quite the memorable performance." The words dripped with something you struggled to place, contempt perhaps.

Another deluge of memories makes your skin run hot, as if seared by an iron. That same man's hand on you, his mouth warm and damp against your skin, the way he had you clawing at his back. Unconsciously your thighs rub together at the memory of it.

"Is it... still night?" You ask, voice finally feeling a little more corporeal though the fact that he had yet to step into your direct sight still unnerved you. Speaking only to a pair of reflective eyes wasn't something you were used to doing.

Suddenly something else occupied your mind and you aren't sure where it's come from or why but the credo of the rack stricken lord whispers against the boundaries of your brain, bringing the scalp tingling feeling back full force.

You do not trust this man.

Rather than answer he finally sets foot into view, but what should being relief instead only makes your synapses fire off in panic. The glint in his eye is hard, the set of his steps too coiled. He's waiting for you to bolt.

~

There was no luck in "surviving" the attack that left him on deaths door. There was no luck in who his savior happened to be. Well over one hundred years of torturous slog and his so called luck seemed to be preordained by god's that couldn't give less of shit. Screaming and wailing that fell on deaf, unfeeling ears. He can't even kill himself.

He despises the word luck.

He watches your sleeping form from the chair across from the bed. Eyes narrow, never missing even the barest twitch of a finger.

And then there's ones like you. Sweet as sugar syrup, just as cloying and tacky against the tongue. Ready to toss away whatever good you have in your life, ungrateful, and ignorant of what suffering could find you. Of what suffering really is.

It makes his jaw clench so hard he can hear the hinges clicking, straining.

Lucky.

Internally he's kicking himself already, but it's not like this was planned so the smaller voice inside is keeping up a give yourself a break refrain. If he had the stomach for it he would've made sure you were truly inebriated.

The halfcocked idea was already sideways, he should throw in the towel, take you back like he's supposed to. Be a good boy. Immediately the thought creates a white hot flash of anger and he resolidifies that no, he's not wasting the opportunity. Not wasting you.

A good thing the lower city has more than enough abandoned property.

It's hardly comfortable accommodations and you'll realize it soon enough but again, he was in a rush. Giddy as a child over the thought of having something to himself for once. Something to savor. Something to come back to.

Because you see part of the problem being locked inside that gaudy mansion isn't only the decor that's about five centuries behind, not even the so called kennel master overseeing his whimpering charges, it's the fact that they're allowed next to nothing for themselves.

Any scrap of ownership is ferreted away and protected with snarling teeth and the threat of violence. Too bad it never lasts long, and most give up after once or twice being thrown down to get strung up. Flesh flayed. Bones snapping like soft timber. The pain so constant you forget what it was like to live without it, it disappears into the background as if it always existed. Maybe it did. It's impossible to recall anything else.

So you see, how could anyone blame him. How could you blame him? Like a glittering necklace dangling off a branch for a crow, do you fault the beast for it's instinct to hoard it for itself? Of course not.

In an instant he's on you, pinning those arms before they can flail and shoving his fingers into your mouth before you can start making a fuss, teeth bared to display enough animosity to shut you up. All you do is squeak around his fingers like a mouse caught in oil and it satisfies him, for the moment.

He wasn't always this way. Couldn't have been. Refuses to believe that steadfastly, if anything prior to his year of confined torment in a coffin he could've even said he was almost sweet. But something shifted after that year. More apt to say something died in the way he wished he could've.

~

Angelic slumber.

He'd nicked a few of them from crates awaiting the sticky fingers of the thieves guild by the docks in grey harbor over the course of many nights, and as much as he'd like to use them for himself they're much better put to use with you.

It was good you were compliant, he could honestly say he held distaste for certain flavors of violence and didn't want to have to use any of them on you if it could be avoided.

The only bad part of it was the pity on your face. It made him feel a strange sort of irritation, bordering on rage. He didn't need your fucking pity. Better for you to be knocked unconscious so at the very least he didn't have to see the way your mouth would set in a half frown, eyes full of both anger and sadness.

The only other problem was that he didn't know where to go from here. What would he do, keep you knocked out until you died? Not viable and not really what he wanted, but he also wasn't sure what it was exactly he wanted from you.

To care about him? To know him? Gods, to love him? The thought makes him recoil as if caught in sunlight. No way that would ever, could ever, happen.

Unwillingly thoughts of the first night batter his brain like waves against rocks: how it felt to have your legs wrapped around his hips, the bite of your nails against his shoulder blades, the feeling of your lips against his clavicle.

His fingers creep against your ankle, feeling the bone and the knob of the joint as his wide eyes remain glued on you. Maybe this is part of it, after all no encounter over the last hundred years has been memorable. Only yours.

What would it make you feel to know he'd made sure to be on his best behavior at the mansion, not crossing his master or jeopardizing you by getting himself locked in the kennels. Would you even be able to understand it, to appreciate it?

He wishes you could. Maybe if you were stuck there instead you could form an appreciation for this.

Again, thinking softly about you makes him raise his lip in revulsion and his hand curls harshly around your ankle. Yanking you down, unconscious dead weight as you sleep soundly.

Do you even know how vulnerable you are?

Do you know how lucky you are he's not like most others who prowl the city streets after dark, who knows where else you would've ended up if he hadn't... intervened.

~

That first month of nights were hideous and inconvenient, no matter what he did or how kindly he approached you were belligerent. But soon enough you learned being good meant no potions and he would give you little bits of normalcy.

Such as the one in your hands now, behaving meant you could read. Not that he could offer anything you asked for specifically, it was only things he could steal when the opportunity arose but he was relieved they seemed to hold you over regardless. He'd also brought you a copy of Baldurs Mouth that he'd found discarded in the park, and as his eyes lazily scanned over it now he stopped.

There was no way he could give this to you.

There in print was all the information he really hadn't cared to know: your name, your age, where you were from. It looks like a concerned relative had badgered the Fists enough for a report to appear in the paper. Which isn't too much cause for panic, they've always been more concerned with roughing up the people for money than doing any of the faux chivalrous horse shit they preach.

He just didn't want it to renew any kind of fight in you, that would be a true irritation and there'd be no way he could talk you into a potion of angelic slumber to sedate you either. Not in a state like that. He'd have to resort to violence as he's sure you would do the same to start, like a desperate clawing thing trying to spring it's trap.

Too lost in thought he doesn't notice at first the way you drape yourself against his leg but it makes him nauseous as hes immediately snapped back to the present. With a little more malice than he realized he batted you off, kicking his leg out to keep you away solidly.

And gods be damned you actually pouted.

It makes him bark out a harsh laugh, making you skitter backwards across the floor even more until you hit the dusty plaster of the wall glaring like a petulant child. It was puzzling, he wasn't sure if he wanted you scared or pliant. Wasn't sure either one was entirely the point.

Quickly he remembers the paper now neglected by his feet, better to get rid of it before your eyes land on it.

"I thought you said I could read. I was good." Your eyes never leave him as you hold your hands close against your chest.

If he were more prone to violence he'd probably smack you across the face for the snarky tone of voice. Instead he settles for a glare as he balls the paper up in his hands, deforming and destroying it as your eyes widened.

Clearly you didn't appreciate the sudden change in the rules.

"That's not fair!"

Immediately something shifts internally, and suddenly it's like he's viewing the world through a thick layer of ice. Muted and incomplete, dreamlike.

Before your voice can go any higher he's got you by a fistful of hair, dragging you back towards the center of the room. You kick, legs jerking with no clear intentions as your fingers dig into his wrist. It doesn't feel like anything, like he's watching this occur with other people, a voyeur peeking in windows and coming across a truly regrettable scene.

You wail as he shoves you against the groaning floorboards, straddling your hips to keep you pinned down and holding your arms beside your head with so much force your features morph with the pain. An adorable little divot between your brows he'd gladly smooth away but quickly the thought is replaced by more anger that it had even occurred.

"Did you forget?" His own voice sounds foreign, a strained hiss.

Tearfully you shake your head, much too fast, but he's pleased. "Do what you say and it'll be fine."

Gods you sound so meek. A far cry from the giggling airhead in the tavern, good. Although he hates the way you say it, blankly parroting it back and for a moment he wonders if maybe he's damaged you too much by knocking you around even just that little bit.

Quickly the thought is dismissed. No, you'd be far worse off out there and besides, you're his.

It disgusts him but through the mental haze he thinks back to your earlier action, how you'd been attempting closeness. So maybe that was the real secret, he just needed to give you something that felt real enough to keep you docile. Well, it's no greater ask than what he does every time he leaves here each night. Appearances to keep up, a master to placate. Still, his stomach practically heaves but it's second nature to embrace fully the feeling of cleaving himself in half.

The part that can go through with the motions and the part that would rather be anywhere else. Rotting in the ground.

Stiffly he yanked the ties out from the neck of the flowy undershirt he wore, wrapped them around your wrists quickly. Your breathing picked up in short gulping bursts and all he felt was agitation, he wasn't indulging in this pathetic display. Roughly a hand clamps over your mouth as he looked around for something to stick in there, at least to lower the volume of your simpering.

As you slick up the palm of his hand he gets an idea, withdrawing to place a kiss against your spit soaked lips that makes you squeak in shock. Before you can question him his fingers were dipping into the waistband of your trousers, your underwear.

You didn't do much to resist so he took it as confirmation that this was what you were attempting to communicate a need for, and kept sliding them down your legs until he'd gotten them past your ankles. With another kiss, a perfectly crafted grin, he shoved the panties deep in your mouth and ignored the gag you let out.

Your upper half twisted, awkward half movements since his own body prevented you from thrashing in earnest and he watched, oddly fascinated. It was no good that you were still so willful even after a month, and he couldn't keep stealing potions eventually he'd get caught out. But it was somewhat satisfying to see you squirming, to be the one in control.

It was strange how calmly he shushed you, how gently he petted your head. Even stranger was how easily you relaxed into it, craving some form of affection after being isolated for so long. He wasn't sure you remembered your own name.

It was easy to let go and lean into it, which made him breathe a silent breath of satisfaction that he was right and that maybe this would keep you sated for a while.

Quickly his lips trail down your throat, skip over to your stomach and down your abdomen until he's got your legs spread listening to you whine as you wiggle your hips. It's easy enough to hold you down by the hips since your hands are incapacitated.

With that same dreamlike quality he finds himself licking a stripe up your soaked cunt, parting your puffy folds and being pleasantly surprised at how you groan so deeply even through the makeshift underwear gag. His every touch has your body jerking and it's strangely endearing how sensitive you must be.

In a rare moment of softness he plants a kiss to your clit, prodding the little nub with his tongue just to hear your muffled squealing. It was cute, in a weird way. Maybe this would actually be enjoyable.

The thought reinvigorated him as he slid two fingers inside you, watching with a perverted intensity at the way you suck them in and clench around them. The sound your cunt made was beyond obscene and it made him eyes blow even wider as it mingled with the broken unintelligible noises coming from your gagged mouth.

He moans in response despite himself, could angelic slumber change a person's taste or were you just naturally musky sweet? Either way it hardly mattered as his tongue worked circles against your clit, alternating between sucking on it just to hear you yelp and feel you grind against his face.

This was different, he was enjoying himself.

That alone makes his movements mirror those of a starving man at a feast table. His lucky girl, his good girl. He'll have to reward you extra after this but he doesn't mind. This is the most fun he's had in over a century.

[666writingcafe]

An Army of Two

Belphie

I gently knock on MC's bedroom door, hoping that they're still awake--or, at the very least, not too deep in their sleep. After all, it is pushing two in the morning; the likelihood of them being up is pretty low.

To my pleasant surprise, they open their door moments later.

"Is everything okay?" they ask, stifling a yawn.

"There's an emergency," I tell them, making sure I sound serious. "I'll explain everything when we get outside, but we have to leave, and quickly."

"O-Okay. Can I at least change out of my pjs first?"

"Of course." MC shuts the door so that they have some privacy, but then they step out of their room a few minutes later. Together, we quietly head downstairs and into the garage. Opening a nearby toy chest, I begin fishing out various weapons and sticking them in various pockets. I don't know if what we're dealing with is human or not, and I don't want to take any chances, especially where Diavolo is concerned.

"Still got your knife?" I ask MC, glancing up at them. In response, they pull their jacket off to the side, revealing a sheath clipped onto their pants.

"Good. You might need it." I pull out a few small, human-safe blades and hand them to MC, who mimics what I've done with mine. It's a little strange that they haven't bombarded me with questions. They may be too tired to think straight, or perhaps they're extremely trusting, but either way it's a bit unsettling.

Once I've ensured that we're both armed, I grab the keys to the least grandiose car we have--a simple black four-door sedan--off its hook and hit the unlock button. I get in the driver's seat, and MC on the passenger's side. Soon, we're out on the road.

"Am I finally allowed to know what exactly is going on, or am I to remain oblivious?" MC asks me, clearly irritated. Making sure most of my focus is on the road, I reply,

"Someone's taken Diavolo. He left me a note."

"What did it say?"

"To the untrained eye, it was him trying to make amends with me. But we already had that talk several months ago, so I immediately knew something was wrong. As it turns out, he hid the actual message by making some of the letters bolder than others. He knew that I'd be able to decode it quickly once I figured it out."

"And he addressed it to you because...?"

"I'm able to keep a level head in crises. Everyone else either freaks out or shuts down completely, so they aren't able to be very helpful."

"Is that why you chose me to accompany you?"

"Partially. I was fully prepared to do this on my own, but I really didn't want to. It's always nice to have an extra set of hands. Plus, you've been able to remain calm in similar situations in the past, so I figured you could handle something like this."

"Well, I'm glad you trust me enough to do this." I find myself smiling slightly.

"I am, too." Things are silent for a few minutes before MC speaks up again.

"So, where are we going?"

"An amusement park."

"That's a strange place to take someone you've kidnapped."

"Depends. Whoever's behind this could need the space."

"For what?"

"Dark magic." MC doesn't respond. I wonder if I've scared them. I mean, I don't know what all Solomon has taught them so far. I hope that he's at least breached the subject with them, but it's hard telling with him sometimes. I can never get a good sense of his priorities.

At a stoplight, I turn my head to take a proper look at MC and freeze. The look on their face is downright terrifying, like they're seconds away from murdering someone.

"MC?" They take a deep breath.

"Listen, I don't know how helpful I'm going to be, but I'm not about to let some fucking lunatics hurt Diavolo. Not without a fight."

Taglist: @lost-in-time-wanderer, @fuzztacular, @dianedancer18, @sweetbrier2908, @flare-love, @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf, @thunderlightning351, @anxious-chick

[clemblog]

Caine’s Lesson - Part 10

•

Pomni was in the ranch kitchen, helping Ma Gator with the next meal for the day, as Gummigoo, Max and Chad messed around outside whilst sorting through the supplies they'd found.

“You know Poms, I am glad my son found you.” She spoke softly.

“O-Oh, really?”

“Indeed. I think you’ll be good for him. You remind me of my late husband, you know.”

“I-I do?”

“Mhm, he was a sweetheart, just like yourself. A little timid but dived right into the adventures once he found his feet. It’s why I fell for him in the first place, he was so caring but also so hard working.”

“That sounds nice-“

“Indeed. It’s why I have hopes for you and my son! You compliment him rather well!”

Pomni didn’t know what to say to this, Justine nodding along as she cut up fruits and vegetables. Her face was a little flustered but she wasn’t going to acknowledge that-

“You know Gummigoo, you’re real buddy buddy with Poms~” Mused Max.

“She’s cool, why I wouldn’t I be?” Hummed Gummigoo, softly with a smile.

Max and Chad just looked at each other at this.

You ever look at your friend and you know they have it bad for someone? But they don’t even realise it themselves? That’s what was happening right now.

…

They sure weren’t going to tell him-

This would be hilarious.

“Hey… uh Lou? Where are you?” Hummed Pomni, sheepishly, looking around the barn for Lou.

“I’m over here Poms!” Smiled Lou, waving her over. She was currently knitting some blankets, like she’d learnt so from Ma Croc!

“Hi- Can I talk to you?” Said Pomni, softly. “I uh- need to see if I’m reading a situation correctly-“

“Oh! Right! What’s up? What’s the gossip?” She grinned, gently. Pomni sat down across from her, taking the yarn Lou was making to straighten it out for her ease. She then began to retell Lou the interaction she’d had with Ma.

“Well, how does it make you feel?”

“I’m not sure- If I think she’s insinuating what I think she is- I’m not- against it- But I don’t think I’m ready for it yet- But I will be eventually- J-Just not yet- Does that make sense?”

“Oh totally! It does, especially since all the stuff that’s happened since you arrived here, you know? And it’s weird to say but I think I know the feeling?”

“Y-You do?”

“Yeah, you know those knights I was talking about? Well- I don’t remember her face- But she was so sweet- And so genuine that I can’t help but think of her sometimes- Do you think one day she’ll come back?”

“Oh- I don’t know- Maybe..? We’ll just have to wait and see I suppose-“

•

The circus group had long since headed to bed since their little meet up! Opting to reconvene in the morning.

Everyone was sat back in a little circle, just chatting or doing their own thing.

Then Caine appeared.

“Hello everyone!” He exclaimed, popping into existence. “I am here to collect Gangle for her solo adventure!”

“W-Wait- What..?” Eeked Gangle.

“That is not happening-“ Frowned Zooble, putting an arm firmly on Gangle’s shoulder.

“Yeah, wet blanket here would never get out of a solo adventure if it’s anything like the one I went on.” Hummed Jax.

Gangle didn’t know whether to thank Jax and be annoyed with him at that-

“Yeah Caine! Nobody here wants to go on solo adventures! If we’re going on an adventure it’s one to get back Pomni!” Huffed Ragatha.

Caine’s upbeat attitude seemed to be fading at these claims.

“I-I see. Well. I… was going to keep most of you here.. in hopes someone would abstract and then you’d all need me again-! Pomni would come back- And I’d be your lovable ring master again! …But I see that’s not going to be the case.. Is it? So, I guess it’s time for a clean slate…”

“Wait- What?!” Eeked Ragatha.

A portal wrapped around the group and swallowed them whole.

It was time for a new adventure.

“A-Are you sure this is a good idea Caine?”

“…Never. But I can’t do much else. They’ll need me but I won’t come. They’ll abstract and I can start over.”

“…oh..”

•

Pomni was happily tucked in bed now after a long day. They were set for another day of adventures tomorrow with Gummigoo, Max and Chad. They would never have too many supplies! Especially since some members of the surviving candy kingdom were talking about repopulation, already excited at the premise of a new start with a new kingdom. It was why Lou had got so crafty, she wanted her current citizens and any new citizens that’d arrive in the future to be as comfortable as possible!

If they wanted to be efficient at work, they needed to be well rested, comfy, fed and happy! So, that was the current plan of action for everyone at ranch, which had slowly expanded into a little makeshift village from residents expanding out of the barn into their own bigger makeshift spaces.

It was finally becoming a sustainable and safe area to live and thrive.

•

Ragatha, Jax, Kinger, Zooble and Gangle fell into a familiar chocolate goop.

Oh dear.

Oh god.

This wasn’t good. Was it?

Something was happening.

A deep rumble struck from the void, felt by all humans and NPC’s alike in the form of many apparitions.

Some had nightmares.

Some had stomach aches.

Some felt an overwhelming sense of dread.

Others just slept on undisturbed.

Things were changing in this world.

And it felt like for the worst.

Caine’s AI had changed. And it was Pomni’s fault. Wasn’t it? Was it?

•

A little note from me to you.

CHAPTER TEN!!!

Woo, look at me go! So many words, so many things to write next.

Thank you to everyone who's read this far and has showed support!

I know their are a lot of people making their own

TADC stories and universes, but to know that a collective of people enjoy mine in my own little corner of the internet with silly little comments means so much to me.

So thank you so much for reading!! I'll see you in Chapter 11. <3

[gotstabbedbyapen]

To compensate for my emotional damage from episode 3, BOZ gave me what I want (then ruin me again)

Spoiler Alert!!! (y'all should really stay away from my blog if you don't want spoilers)

First off, the show has finally given me what I want: Hyacinthus.

My BabyTM.

My flower boi.

My menace prince.

I love you for trying to race against the god of speed himself. You lost the match obviously but you still won my heart in the few seconds you appeared 💜💜💜

You're spoiling me with your pecs and gritting teeth, BUT YOUR LITTLE EARRING TOO???

I'm not unwell. I'm dead.

I hope you stayed out of the arena during the discus game because we don't want your boyfriend to have a panic attack again (AND APOLLO'S SCENE WITH THE DISC TOO, SUNNY BOI GOT TRAUMA)

Speaking of sunny boi, it's nice that BOZ has a nod to Apollo being a champion in boxing.

He beat Dionysus bloody. Look at him!

Then there's... Ares.

*sigh*

What happened to him?

The only time I like Ares is when he helps Aphrodite get off the chariot, but the moment he speaks I have to fight the urge to box him myself.

They said he's being a jerk to Heron because the lost of his parents affected him but I see NO SENSE OF MOURNING IN HIM. He's only being mean for the sake of being a mean bully.

Everyone who are mad at Ares in SS2 like me, you should read The Ungilded Version, it's a continuation fanfic of season 1 on AO3. Ares didn't get along with Heron in this fic, but how he shows his grudges is more reasonable and in-character. AND HE HAS HIS GOLDEN MOMENTS WITH HIS FAMILY AND FOLLOWERS TO BALANCE OUT HIS AGRESSIVE SIDE TOO!!!

The BOZ producer WISH they can write a complex Ares like that.

Also, don't think I forget Demeter. Her cameo may be brief but I'm still sour at what they made her into.

And Hera too, but I guess in a lesser extend because Zeus' death have really impacted her. Still miss her ruthless side tho.

Oh, and Heron is going on a suicide mission. He knows he's gonna die so he wants to die both like a dumbass and badass. But I do have critique with his fight with Ares. THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN HE CAN PUNCH ARES BLEEDING???

Diomedes managed to cut Ares and Aphrodite in the Iliad because he's a seasoned warrior with Athena on his side. Heron got powered up once and somehow he can box Ares??? A demigod against a god???

And when I thought the producer is finally realistic and didn't make him beat Ares, the Gary Stu nonsense came back with Zeus giving him the ring.

"But he saved the world he deserves the prize--" DID ZEUS' OTHER CHILDREN NOT AID THE DEFEAT OF THE GIANTS??? HERON JUMPED IN AND MAKE THE FINAL SHOW DOWN AND HE'S GOING TO DIE ANYWAYS!!!

Zeus' final speech. Finally he has some end-of-life remorse. I'll let someone else talk about it because my brain isn't programed to analyze something like that.

BUT WE WERE ROBBED OF A CHARIOT RACE!!! THERE'S A CUT DRAFT OF WHEN THE SIBLINGS WHERE RACING AGAINST EACH OTHER AND IT'S SOOO COOL??? WISH WE COULD HAVE SEEN IT BUT ALAS :((((

[bleue-flora]

Well, now I feel challenged /lh /j.

I think that cDream being autistic make sense quite a lot BUT I definitely think that it is not a root of all / most misunderstandings - at least at the beginning, he was being absolutely challenged by cWilbur and cTommy and I think that he did the only logical thing, trying to protect his server and friends. His friends later turning their backs on him bc he was unable/unwilling to explain his reasons and feelings adds to the autistic theory but as a toxic cDream apologist I can not help but blame them for just abandoning him without really trying to understand him - like, even if he could explain himself better, I really don't think that would change that much - the root of all problem here would be more other people being unable to understand HIM, not the other way around (although cDream definitely made some wild assumptions(or didn't understand how some people think at all) regarding certain people (*cough* Sam) that backfired spectacularly)

(again, this is meant to be completely light-hearted, I like your hot take, just wanted to challenged it. This is also my first time trying to analyse dsmp outside of my brains so sorry if it's weird 😅

Nah not weird, welcome to the fun! Glad you’ve decided to share. (Hopefully this won’t deter you from pitching in in the future. <3) Don’t worry it’s all light hearted around here, as far as I’m concerned this blog isn’t about arguing it’s about discussion. Agree, disagree, further add, I just have a good time talking about my obsession. :) Generally speaking, to me I don’t think it’s about right or wrong (though to be clear I am always right/jk lol XD) because I think there is typically a bit of both mixed in and there is always something to take away.

Anyways… yea so challenge accepted lol. (just as fyi I did write this and the essay kinda simultaneously so umm whatever I don't cover here is probably in that... somewhere....). Now, I did pick my wording very specifically and it’s ok to kinda miss exactly what I was saying. So just to clarify, I did say ‘a’ root because while I believe it is a huge factor at play I do recognize that it is by no means the only factor at play. Along the same lines, you are exactly right, it is not just about him failing to understand or communicate but also largely about them misunderstanding him. It is very much a failure on both sides and assumptions made that cause this miscommunication. When I mean misunderstanding and miscommunication I mean all around. Though I also agree. As an autistic person (and a c!Dream apologist) I do tend to see it more as a failure to understand c!Dream and a lack of willingness to try on the part of the others. Because as an autistic person I am often the one without the information to realize that something has gone wrong. I may not recognize when I’ve broken an unspoken rule or when I’ve failed to communicate properly. But even if I did the other people have to be willing to hear me out in the first place and understand my actual intention.

With that in mind, it does go back to the very beginning. I challenge you to watch the early streams (especially when c!Wilbur gets involved) and see c!Dream struggle to be heard and get his viewpoint across. The founding of L’manberg? Make no mistake it was in large part due to declaring c!Dream the unfair tyrant and villain. And it was easy for them to do so because a) c!Dream is at a disadvantage to communicate the latter. - And it’s not for a lack of trying. Because he does try, he pulls out dictionaries, he pulls out former events, he tries so hard to get them to hear him, but time and time again they miss it. And make no mistake that is on them, as you said they are to blame here. -

And, b) because c!Dream is different that spurs people to think he is wrong, often more subconsciously. (I’m not going to get into too much more detail on this point as this is already so long and I meant for it to be shorter…. oops. So I am aware this is overly simplified and likely poorly worded, but I'll try and cover it more in the essay.) But yes not only is miscommunication and the misunderstanding at play but also misunderstanding in relation to their perception of each other. Both their misconceptions about c!Dream - taking c!Tommy and c!Wilbur’s words at face value, making poor assumptions about him, and fearing/hating what they don’t quite understand - and his poor assumptions about them (don’t even get me started on c!Sam…), often stemming from their brains being literally different.

[arrowsperpetualcringe]

Ohoho

OHOHOHOHO

YOU MOTHERFUCKERS DIDN'T THINK I'D DO IT DID YA?

GUESS WHAT BITCH

I FUCKING DID IT

I MADE MY DREAM TRAINWRECK SETTING

WITH MY OWN TWO HANDS.

AHAHAHA

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

(help I spent a whole ass month working up to this.)

So anyway, here are the fruits of my labor.

First, a general floor plan of the train I’ve created.

Very elaborate, I know. Please, save your applause.

Anyway, next up, the train station I created!

it’s supposed to look all over grown and kinda reclaimed by nature, but idk how well i captured that.

ALSO there were supposed to be butterflies absolutely everywhere to sell that fact, but I some how managed to capture ONE (1) singular ass butterfly when I used the max butterfly effect on ALL of the- you know what it don’t matter, NEXT IMAGES.

going in order from front to back, first up, we’ve got the coach car.

Wow...

You can certainly....

sit there.

anyway

NEXT UP IS THE SLEEPER CAR

That’s the hallway. Mind you, this is animal crossing, and I can’t recreate everything perfectly, so I had to use a little bit of creativity. Incase you can’t tell what’s going on (which you probably can’t, it’s okay---) the shits on the side are supposed to be sliding doors, with curtains blocking the windows for privacy (I FAILED, I KNOW, BUT I TRIED DSFSG)

this is the interior to the sleeper car cabins (bathroom included)

NEXT UP, the  diner car

yep. you eat here. I lowkey highkey want them muffins and now im mad i don’t have any.

Next, the LOUNGE CAR which is my FAVORITE ONE that I made bc I LIKE IT

LOOK AT IT. OUGH. O U G H. this looks so COZY I wouldn’t even be sitting in any of the chairs my ass would be ON THE FLOOR with a BLANKET, SLEEP.

Anyway...

Last, but certainly not least, we have the Observation car.

I like this one a lot as well because lets be real, the best part of long train rides is looking out the window, and this car is all window.

HOUGH....

and that my friend...

is my offical... trainwreck train.

made especially for Mirror Image in particular.

Good god.

[ozymoron]

reading posts that come across my dash and sitting for a minute to debate with my mental disorder if not reblogging this will mean a hell portal will open beneath my feet and i will suffer for eternity for my lack of action or if its all good and i can just scroll on by (its usually the hell portal thing)

[mcybree]

Ok ok ok I'm not Tryna start discourse but bluestars prophecy was my first ever warriors book and bluestar will always be my favourite so I'm gonna make some counterpoints to you about her being a Smajor character

bluestar has always been led by an intense loyalty and dedication to those she loves and cares for - this includes her mum, her sister, her clan, eventually Firepaw when he joins the clan, and she has a VERY strong moral compass when it comes to doing the right thing - when she sees thistleclaw teaching tigerpaw to hurt a then baby scourge she very much discourages it and is against it

Afaik scott is Not like that, he doesn't have an emotional or love-driven moral code, he does things because they're smart decisions in the long term or because he wants to. Granted I havent seen a ton of his stuff but I have seen his limited life and 3rd life perspectives and he is very much a singular team player there, there to look after himself and well if people align with him that's great he's got allies (jimmy and Martyn) but he won't go out of his way to care for them

Bluestars defiance of starclan in the first series is BECAUSE she gave herself to them and what the warrior code demanded so much - yes she broke clan rules by having kids with crookedstar but she did everything in her power to make sure they'd have a happy life and felt terrible that thrushpelt was willing to say they were his to save her reputation. She didn't do it out of a selfish want, she only ever wanted to help her clan and those she loved, and her becoming clan leader is emblematic of that want. When she rejects starclan so wholeheartedly in the first series it's because THINGS KEEP GOING WRONG WHEN SHES TRIED SO HARD TO STOP THEM FROM DOING THAT - starclan has never cared about the sacrifices she made to keep her loved ones and clan safe, she lost her mother, her sister, her kits, her mate, literally everything, and things STILL KEEP GETTING WORSE. it's not a demand that she deserves to have everything good, it's a cry for help that shouldn't something go right after she's tried so hard???

C!Scott isn't like that. He puts himself above others and inherently believes he will get the best if he just plays his cards right, and he is good at it, he's very competent at lasting a long time in life series and getting what he wants - the ruthlessness of gem driven by desperation kills him in secret life, Martyn's complete fucking about face kills him in limited life, and I'm pretty sure it's etho who gets him out in 3rd life by luck. He doesn't plan to look after the ones he cares about, because he cares about himself first and foremost. Yeah you can argue when he doesn't get what he wants he gets annoyed, but his is less of a 'why don't I get this don't I deserve it' and more of a 'oh fuck this didn't work. Ok new plan double down on getting what I want by appeasing to people cos they're easy to read and therefore account for'

I don't doubt Scott would make a bluestar adjacent character if he made a warrior cats oc BUT his character would honestly be closer to darktail or ashfur than bluestar and that's that on that.

(sorry you activated 13 year old me's unskippable cutscene sjdjsjsjja this isnt meant to be a serious argument I just love bluestar a lot and love talking about her)

OKAY 1. this is fucking awesome thank you 2. i am going to do something new and exciting (advocate for scott instead of beating him to death with sticks) because unfortunately this bluestar info has only made me believe she is a smajor character even more.

As a general note when I talk about smajor characters as a collective here I’m referring to characters more in the realm of esmp/traffic/rats/pirates/etc, less vampire scott or necromancer scott who are intended to be villainous.

Scott characters tend to operate under a “If I am not a Good Person I may as well die” rule, and consequently abide by a strict moral code to keep themselves feeling clean. For instance: traffic Scott will never go back on his word, he will avoid dishonesty, and he won’t take from others unless he is sure that he can repay them. He will never betray his seasonal primary ally (even when they betray him first), and will often give people things just because they asked him nicely. He stakes a lot of his own identity on this, because it is through being a “good person” that he justifies his superiority (and, by extension, his own existence); in his mind he deserves the best and *is* the best because he is such a good person. When things don’t go his way, he thinks he doesn’t deserve it because he has been nothing but good, so he tries to place a reason. He often assumes that somebody must “have a vendetta” against him, even if this somebody is the world (see: him asking if limlife episode 1 boogeyman is some kind of joke played on him for not giving in to the boogey curse in Last Life.) which is very Bluestar to me, convinced that her misfortunes are a divine punishment.

This is all to say that Scott does have a strict moral code and deep sense of loyalty. Being a “good person” and devoted partner in the ways he understands it are so ingrained into what he is that I think he definitely has the capacity to be a Bluestar if he were raised being taught clan values, even if his internal systems are often built around never letting gross emotions be fully felt rather than what those emotions compel him to do.

[tricksterlatte]

The Online Fandom 7 Deadly Sins

sloth: complaining about how no one writes the tropes or pairings you like and bashing what's already out there, while refusing to create anything you desire yourself

greed: zine and other finance-related scandals with zero remorse for those negatively affected

gluttony: spending rent money on merch, experiencing buyer's remorse, then repeating the same process next month

wrath: anon hate over literally everything under the sun, even harassing official writers and threatening them if they don't make your ship canon

pride: devaluing other's characterizations and ships to praise yours as better, whether through a canon perspective or a moral perspective, when neither matter in the long run when it comes to your own enjoyment

envy: trash talking others' fandom creations or saying you won't bother creating anything because it'll never be as good as them

lust: fighting over who tops or bottoms because of your personal preferences when one, both, or neither could happen, especially when most of these characters never even kiss canonically nor have most people fighting done any of these things irl themselves