#it was horrifying quite frankly

[rewritingcanon]

Jegulus is sold as marauders drarry but it's actually marauders hinny (rip off version). ginny is similar to james (hot, popular, jock) and harry resembles regulus (sad emo boy as we see it in fanon).

also there's the whole best friend's younger sibling. I guess it would be impossible to have Lucius x James (like Drarry & Scorbus) because their ages don't match, Lucius is several years older than James. So they decided on Jegulus!

the thing is James is less lenient about the dark arts than Harry. I believe Harry could turn dark and there's drarry fics that explore this side of him and IT WORKS but James has too much black-and-white morals and he would rather date the giant squid than let regulus near him.

this makes the most sense to me. i think they just wanted their own gryffindor x slytherin token mlm ship like how the golden era has drarry. and i used to think the boom of the enemies to lovers appeal gave it motion too, but the jegulus stuff i see nowadays is so grossly fluffy it makes me question what the point of it was.

even the drarry dynamic rarely works because harry (despite me agreeing with how he’s more flexible with the dark arts due to the horcrux in him) is fiercely loyal to the friends that are actively prejudiced against the dark system. but take his support system away i could potentiallyyyyy see it.

but jegulus? nah.

[royalarchivist]

undefined

For those who missed it, here’s Phil slam-dunking Quackity’s face into his birthday cake LMFAO, I love their friendship dynamic

[grey-gravy-art]

This post by @the-cooler-sidestep made has been living rent free in my head for MONTHS so I drew it

[adlibitur]

wait, am i gonna probably feel like this the rest of my life? ahahahahahahah,,,

[shenyaanigans]

in all my years on tumblr, i have never had a viral post, except for now, and despite that it's not that viral, i see now why people turn off reblogs

[ohproserpine]

iv. dolly

see all chapters here tags: fem! reader, reader is a performer in a speakeasy, jealousy, possessiveness, alastor does not know how to interpret love, or maybe he does, in his own twisted way, roadkill used as a symbolism, gorey descriptions of love, murder the song she sings is 'roxie' from chicago

˚୨୧₊♱

"Hey!" Charlie's voice rang out as she spotted Mimzy making her way towards the hotel entrance. The blonde froze, casting a nervous glance behind her to see the demon princess rapidly approaching with a worried look that she mistook for anger.

With practiced ease, the blonde put on a fake frown, pressing her hand over her chest. "Oh, Charlie! I'm so sorry for the trouble last night, sugar! I'll pay—"

"No, no! I'm not here for that," Charlie waved her hands with a smile, seemingly oblivious to the slump of relief on Mimzy's shoulders. "Are you leaving so soon? The hotel wouldn't mind taking you in!"

Caught off guard by Charlie's unexpected offer, Mimzy grimaced. She hesitated, opening her mouth before shutting it as she struggled to find the right words. "Oh! Well…you see…"

A laughing track, sounding like it was filtered through a radio, echoed through the air, and Mimzy turned to the source to find Alastor towering over her with his signature grin.

"I don't think redemption is quite her style," Alastor's chipper voice rang out. His clawed hand reached for Mimzy’s hair, plucking a feather from her headpiece. In his hands, the pink ornament erupted into flames. "Frankly, I have my doubts she could even be redeemed at all!"

Horrified, Mimzy watched as her feather fell to the floor in ashes, her hand instinctively reaching for the charred remnants.

"Alastor," Charlie glared at him before turning her attention back to Mimzy. "We believe in redemption for everyone. It's not about what you were; it's about what you choose to be now. We'll be here to support you every step of the way."

"Thanks, sugar," Mimzy forced a smile, waving her hand around daintily. She glanced at the entrance with a subtle wish for escape, playing up the nice act while Alastor continued to watch the scene unfold with a cryptic smile. "But radio here is right. I don't really think it's my style. Different strokes for different folks. Plus, I've got a business to run!"

Alastor hummed, twirling his microphone cane around in his hand. The crimson glow of his eyes narrowed at her as he chuckled. "You couldn't possibly mean that wooden box of debauchery you call a club, right?"

"My 'wooden box of debauchery' has more character than any joint in that city," Mimzy grit her teeth together in a smile, barely concealing her frustration.

As another argument began to form, a throat clearing interrupted the flow, capturing Mimzy's attention. A pink glove slowly rose from the couch and Angel Dust pushed himself off the furniture, sitting up with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"If I may~" Angel Dust chimed in. "You saying you, ah, got a bar? I'm always up for checking out new places. Mind if I swing by sometime, tits?"

Mimzy beamed and sent Alastor a smug look, making her way toward Angel Dust. She reached into her chest, pulling out a card with a flourish. "Of course, kitten! Here's all our information. You'll find us in the Vee district. Feel free to swing by anytime. And don't forget to bring a friend!"

Angel Dust took the offered card, a grin forming on his face. "Bring a friend, huh? You got it, toots."

˚୨୧₊♱

The Vee district, designated as the entertainment hub of Pride, was dazzled with bright neon lights and tall towering buildings adorned with blazing billboards. The streets pulsed with life, where every ten steps brought you face-to-face with street performers desperately vying for attention, hoping to catch the eyes of industry scouts. The message was clear – fame was the ticket to success. Performers were everywhere, found in rundown bars, neon nightclubs, and costly theaters catering to the insatiable appetites of the elite.

Mimzy's Lounge, nestled down east on one of the city's worse-off streets was no fancy stage. The building, weathered and worn, seemed to barely hold itself together. The exterior bore the scars of years gone by, with cracked windows, peeling paint, and near-rotting wooden walls. While it may not have been on the standards of the elite, to the poor and downtrodden, it was the best piece of entertainment they could afford.

Inside, the dim lighting of the bar did little to conceal the stains and cracks that adorned the floor and ceiling. Tables and chairs, mismatched, were arranged haphazardly. The air hung heavy with the smell of cheap perfume, wrapping around the audience—a motley crew of lost souls. On the stage, a couple of scantily clad showgirls were performing a dance routine, or at least their movements vaguely resembled one. The quality of the performance didn't seem to matter to the audience, who, hungry for any form of entertainment, welcomed the spectacle with open arms.

Seated discreetly in the back booths, Angel and Cherri had drawn their curtains tight, creating a cocoon of privacy amid the bustling buzz and thumping music in the club.

"…And check this out – Alastor is hitched," Angel Dust spat out the last word as if it were poison. His face caught the warm, bright lights spilling into their booth, slipping through the small gap in the middle of the curtains. He sipped from his drink, a glint in his eyes. "And the owner here's got some serious dirt on his missus or somethin' like that."

"That why you dragged me to this hellhole? Knew it," Cherri snorted, taking a sip of her cocktail, the sweet and tangy flavors doing little to mask the less-than-pleasant ambiance. "Couldn't believe you'd even want to step into a place like this."

"You know I can't resist a bit of gossip, and where else can you find more gossip than in a joint run by a gal who's got the goods on Alastor himself?" Angel grinned, his golden tooth flashing as he reclined in his torn red chair. "Hell. I bet anyone else would do what I'm doin'. I mean, who wouldn't be tearin' these walls down just to catch a glimpse of the Radio Demon's wife?"

Cherri Bomb let out a throaty chuckle. "Well, you're bloody right there."

A sudden blast of music echoed through the air, prompting Angel Dust to scramble out of his seat and poke his head out from behind the curtain. The previous performers stepped off the stage, making way for the upcoming act. He caught sight of a familiar pudgy figure sauntering onto the stage and hastily turned his head back to the booth, meeting Cherri's amused face. "It's startin'!"

“Welcome, all you devils and darlings, to the Dollhouse Lounge!” Mimzy's voice boomed, and the lights gracefully dimmed to focus on her. The hum of conversation dwindled, the audience's attention now on the stage. “It's the moment you've all been waiting for! The last act of the night… Dolly, the living doll!"

With Mimzy's spirited introduction, the claps and cheers crackled in the air. In an instant, the lights plunged into darkness, leaving Angel to flit his gaze across the smoke-hazed stage, hungry for a glimpse of what was to come. Suddenly, a surge of stage lights sliced through the lingering smoke, akin to a celestial burst, revealing your silhouette with a large signage that spelled out your name in bold, red letters.

Wearing a lovely smile, you spread your arms wide, catching everyone's attention as you sang the first note, voice sultry and dripping sweet like honey. "The name on everybody's lips is gonna be Dolly."

"That's his wife?" Cherri gawked behind Angel, her jaw dropping in disbelief. "Are you sure we got the right girl?"

"Hell, I'm just as surprised as you are," Angel shot back, an equally dumfounded look on his face.

"The lady raking in the chips Is gonna be Dolly," your voice echoed, the melody carrying through the lounge as you strolled towards the stage's platform. The rhythmic beat of the music vibrated against the soles of your heels while the spotlight dutifully trailed after you, its gentle glow caressing the curves of your glittery dress, casting glimmers of silver and gold that danced across the dimly lit bar.

"I'm gonna be a celebrity. That means somebody everyone knows," you continued, sauntering around the stage. As you swirled and twirled, your silhouette became a blur of sequins and shimmer. The spotlight then intensified its focus on you, highlighting the glint in your eyes. "They're gonna recognize my eyes. My hair, my teeth, my boobs, my nose."

"Fuck," Angel muttered under his breath. As you moved closer to the end of the platform, he could finally get a good look at you.

Shimmery blue eyeshadow graced your lids, while a dark blush adorned the apples of your cheeks, complementing the red lipstick you had on. Your dress, a dazzling ensemble of sequins, was not only radiant but also provocatively low-cut, teasingly revealing a glimpse of your chest before gracefully dropping to your knees. Dark silk stockings, sensually tracing the contours of your legs, were held by garters. At your feet, bedazzled red Mary Janes sparkled like jewels, catching the light with every step you took.

As Angel thought back to his conversation with Mimzy, he found himself agreeing with her earlier comments. You really were a living, breathing doll.

"From just some dumb canni-bal’s wife. I'm gonna be Dolly," you continued, seamlessly weaving your magic, each lyric a spell that bound the audience. "Who says that murder's not an art?"

With a spin, you twirled around the stage, a ditzy grin on your face, the sequins on your gown catching the light like stars. "And who, in case she doesn't hang, can say she started with a bang! Dolly Heart!"

As the final notes of the song echoed through the venue, the room erupted in applause and cheers. But, the curtain wasn't falling yet. Standing backstage, Mimzy let the moment linger, reveling in the prolonged applause. After all, happy customers always tipped generously.

On cue, bills and coins descended like a storm, hitting the floor with a crisp sound that mixed beautifully with the cheers of the delighted audience. There was so much that the shower of currency formed a makeshift carpet beneath your feet.

Angel Dust, still peeking from behind the curtain, wore a smirk of approval. "Not bad, not bad at all," he whispered to Cherri, who nodded in agreement.

Standing on the stage, bathed in the lingering glow of the spotlight, you held your pose, chest heaving up and down. A demure smile graced your lips as soft, appreciative nods and fluttering eyelashes accompanied each gaze you cast toward the audience. Tonight's turnout was impressive, though not unexpected given your agreement to perform one of your most famous songs after a prolonged hiatus.

"Dolly" was a beloved crowd-pleaser and the one song you hated with a passion.

The spotlight continued to shine relentlessly in your eyes, causing a painful burn in your irises. The deafening applause felt like a relentless assault on your senses as each clap echoed loudly in your ears. From the speakers, the music blasted in waves, the volume rattling your bones. Showbusiness, a constant companion in both your living and afterlife, had become an achingly familiar yet tormenting cycle.

In the corner of your eye, you saw Mimzy step up onto the stage to address the crowd. "Thank you, my lovely devils and darlings! Wasn't Dolly simply darling tonight?" she squealed through the mic.

The crowd erupted in cheers and applause once more, the energy in the room reaching a fever pitch. Mimzy basked in the adoration, her grin widening as she soaked in the success and the money. Oh, the money.

"I know you loved that!" she laughed. She leaned into the microphone, her voice turning into a whisper "Of course, you all do. I wrote it."

"Now, let's give our star her rest. Dolly, my dear, take a bow!" Mimzy's voice rang out, signaling the end of the performance. Relieved, you bowed before making your way towards the curtains as the heavy fabrics began to descend. After blowing a few more kisses to the audience, you slipped backstage, letting the smile fade from your face. As you vanished from view behind the curtain, Angel caught the look on your face.

It was a look he knew all too well.

"She looks perfectly happy without him," Cherri remarked with a casual shrug. "I mean, look at 'er. She's the star of the show. You think she left on purpose?"

Angel furrowed his brows, deep in thought. It didn't make no sense to him.

Why would you willingly perform under Mimzy's control when Alastor, with his power, could easily get you out of here? Contract or no contract, that radio freak could tear Mimzy apart like a hot knife through butter.

The spider's attention shifted towards the audience, and his gaze locked onto Mimzy, who was engrossed in conversation with some VIPs. The sight of her triggered a scowl to etch itself onto his features.

"I don't think so. There's more to it," Angel's eyes narrowed, the wheels in his head turning, "I've seen that look before."

"What look?" Cherri raised an eyebrow.

"That trapped look," Angel said, his gaze following Mimzy as she continued her animated conversation, oblivious to the scrutiny. "Before the curtains dropped, I saw it on her."

"Shit, Angie," Cherri's gaze followed Angel's, and she pursed her lips. "You think she's playing the part or really stuck?"

Angel Dust stood up straight, now opening the curtains wide as his eyes never left Mimzy. "I don't know, but I'm gonna find out."

Both of them took their time, patiently waiting until Mimzy stepped away. Once the blonde demon finally made her way backstage, they discreetly followed her lead, slipping behind the curtains with her.

The busy backstage corridor welcomed them with an assortment of items – costumes, props, and stage decor – scattered in chaotic disarray. Angel's eyes wandered around, and he spotted Mimzy in a far corner, sitting atop worn cardboard boxes. Nudging Cherri, he gestured for both of them to move closer.

"Hey~ How's it going, blondie?" Angel purred, leaning against a nearby prop, his tone dripping with a sickly sweet tone. Mimzy looked up, confused before she recognized him and flashed a wide grin.

"Hey, you! You're that spider fella from the hotel!" She tapped her chin in thought narrowing her eyes at him. "Uhm, Angle Dust was it?"

"It's Angel Dust," he corrected, a twitch of annoyance in his eye.

"Uh-hah, that's nice," Mimzy seemed unfazed, continuing to count her money, her legs swinging back and forth absentmindedly. "You like the show? Oh, who am I kidding, of course, you did!"

Angel Dust crossed his arms with a chuckle. "Yeah, about that. That girl, Dolly. She's quite a number, ain't she?"

"Oh, yeah. She's my little masterpiece," Mimzy smirked. "Met her before she had any of this."

"Let's cut the fuckin' crap," Cherri rolled her eyes, tired of dancing around the conversation. The cyclops leaned down to Mimzy's height, scowling into her face and driving her finger into the blonde's chest. "I'll say it straight. What's the deal with her? You got some strings attached?"

Mimzy paused and glanced up at Cherri with an arched eyebrow before turning to Angel and laughing tensely. "Your friend here sure is forward, Ankle! Oh, sweethearts, Dolly's here because she wants to be."

Angel Dust shot Cherri a glance, a silent conversation passing between them. "Yeah?"

"The girl signed a contract willingly," Mimzy explained with a casual shrug. "She gets what she wants, and I get what I want. It's a fair exchange."

Angel's eyes narrowed, his skepticism evident. "Contract? What's in it for her, then? Why willingly perform in this dump when she could easily be the star anywhere else?"

The blonde sent Angel a glare for his dig at her lounge but still answered him. "Dolly owes me something. A little debt she's paying off with her charming performances. A contract might sound sinister, but it's just showbusiness, furs." Mimzy leaned back, folding her arms, her expression daring the two of them challenge her further.

"Bull. She sold you her soul to dance and sing?" Cherri scoffed, taking the challenge.

"No, no, there was no soul exchange involved," Mimzy rolled her eyes. "Just a contract. But still binding, magical, and all of that stuff."

"Now, can you two get out of my hair?" Mimzy huffed, shooing them away with a dismissive wave. "I've got a lot of things to run here!" She returned to counting her money, clearly eager to be rid of the unwanted attention.

"Let's go, Cherri," Angel said with a look of defeat, pushing himself off the prop he had been leaning on.

Once the two of them finally stepped out of the establishment, the spider groaned to himself, now finding himself with more questions than answers.

˚୨୧₊♱

You strolled behind the weighty curtains, the backstage area buzzing with the rush of staff, the shouts of managers, and the lingering presence of performers idly awaiting their cues. Navigating through the organized chaos, you directed your steps towards your private dressing room—a sanctuary away from the glaring spotlight.

You threw the door open, entering quickly and slamming it shut behind you, the sudden silence a stark contrast to the clamor and racket outside. Flicking a light switch, the dim glow of a single, flickering bulb hanging from the ceiling revealed the room's worn-out glamour. A vanity cluttered with makeup, costumes haphazardly thrown on a worn-out sofa, and a cracked mirror that had seen better days—all were familiar sights.

"I would kill for a glass of whiskey," you murmured to yourself, the weariness of the performance settling in. Rolling your head and groaning as you heard a satisfying crack, you added, "or maybe a whole bottle of it."

Kicking off your heels, you let the cool floor cradle your skin, leaving the discarded shoes in a dusty corner to rest. Seated at the vanity, the chaotic world beyond the backstage curtains ceased to exist. The gentle glow of the vanity lights exposed the weariness in your eyes as you wiped away your mascara and dusted off the remnants of glitter from your skin. While removing your earrings, the shimmer of your wedding ring caught your eye.

A frown tugged at your lips, the subtle ache of longing surfacing.

You missed your husband.

With a sigh, you continued removing your earrings before tossing them onto your vanity. Seeking to ease the edge, you reached for a whiskey bottle on a nearby dresser, grabbing a glass and pouring yourself a drink. The golden liquid glimmered in the subdued light as you took a sip, the warmth of the alcohol coursing through you.

"C̵h̶e̸r̷?̷"̸

A static rumble of a radio, like thunder, jolted you mid-drink, causing the liquid to catch in your throat. Coughing and sputtering for a while, you scrambled to collect yourself before turning behind you. Your gaze landed on the desk table where your radio sat. The crackling static continued, accompanied by a familiar voice and distorted sounds.

Alastor.

Grabbing a cloth to wipe yourself, you rushed to the desk and grabbed the old radio in your hands. The radio was a faded, worn red with yellowed dials, and its antennas were visibly broken, held up together with scraps of tape. Your contract with Mimzy did not allow you to meet with Alastor or his shadows for as long as you were under her, but that didn't mean you couldn't communicate with Alastor in other ways.

With trembling hands, you carefully adjusted the dials, aligning them to the familiar frequency that bridged the gap between you two. Your heart thrummed in your chest, head almost dizzy from anticipation. The distorted voices began to clear, and Alastor's distinctive voice cut through the static, a lifeline in the abyss.

"Cher, my dear, are you there?" Back in his room at the hotel, Alastor spoke through his mic, awaiting your response. He was sitting by the large windows, bathed in the dim glow of the Ring of Pride's lights. The hues painted a lovely ambiance against his skin, highlighting the contours of his sharp features as he reclined against a plush couch.

Heavy silence lingered for a while as you felt your throat closing up. Without realizing it, you began crying, your sobs echoing through Alastor's microphone.

"Yes, Al," you choked out between sobs, your hands gripping the surface of the radio tightly, nails scratching against the peeling paint. "I'm here. I missed you."

Alastor listened to your tearful voice through the crackling static, his shoulders tense as his claws clenched against his microphone handle. Your vulnerable confession hung heavily in the air, and he felt a storm stirring within him. Unsure of what to do with these emotions, he could only sit there and listen to you weep.

From the busiest street in Pentagram City to the darkest alleyways, Alastor's reputation as a bloodthirsty killer was infamous, and he reveled in it. The idea that an overlord like him could entertain genuine care for someone sounded preposterous. Throughout his human days and beyond, Alastor never felt such sentiments.

Decades ago, he only needed himself. However, ever since you entered his life, he became a man possessed.

The moment he first laid eyes on you, you were a vision of beauty with bright eyes, flushed cheeks, and he couldn't deny that he felt an inkling of fondness for you right from the start. But that was all it ever was—nothing more, nothing less.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, he couldn't help but notice that the glow in your smile was brighter, lovelier. And despite his usual tendency to dismiss such details, Alastor couldn't look away. Not anymore.

You held him captive, like a deer frozen in the blinding glare of oncoming headlights. He was aware the collision was imminent, yet it still caught him off guard; A torrent of emotions crashing into him like a speeding truck, leaving him with twisted limbs and cracking bones, antlers torn from his head, fur matted and bloodied, with his heart exposed, beating vulnerably before you.

In the months that followed, Alastor remembered how foreign the feeling to him was. He didn't want to understand it, refused to, but each attempt to rip those festering emotions out of his chest only left him bleeding.

Looking back, Alastor finds himself incapable of fathoming how life was bearable before you entered it. The mere thought of returning to a time when you weren't present is something he refuses to entertain. The person he used to be, before he stepped into that speakeasy, now feels like a distant stranger, a mere shadow of the man he has become with you in his life.

The static in his thoughts subsided, in tandem with your crying and sobbing dying down. A prolonged pause lingered before Alastor interrupted the silence. "Cher, you know I'd bring you out of that wretched place if you just said the word."

A bitter laugh escaped your lips as you wiped away tears with your trembling fingers. "You tell me that every time we have these calls. Do you not get tired of it?"

"Never," Alastor hummed. The sound of your laughter, even tinged with bitterness, momentarily lifted the heavy burden that his heart carried. "The offer will always be up, darling!"

"You know I can't, Al. Me and her have history together," your voice paused, cracking with emotion. "And I still feel guilty."

Alastor sighed heavily, frustration dancing in his eyes. He always struggled to understand why you felt indebted to Mimzy, why guilt still clung to your decisions like a persistent shadow.

To him, Mimzy deserved the consequences. Despite his constant offers to free you from her grasp, you remained steadfast in your decision to complete your contract

"Very well, dear," Alastor's smooth voice crackled through the radio, weaving a comforting presence into the air as you moved back toward your vanity, taking a seat. "Now, enough of these melancholic talks. Tell me, how was the show tonight?"

"Mimzy had me perform 'Dolly' again," you remarked, a crooked smile playing on your lips. "She's well aware that I despise that song. I mean, really? Have you ever taken a look at the lyrics? It's a bit on the nose, don't you think?"

As your frustrations spilled out, Alastor stood from his seat, staff in hand. Placing it beside his closet, he attentively listened to your words, occasionally responding with chuckles and interjections. He slipped off his monocle, unbuttoned his suit jacket, and then his vest, revealing a well-tailored red undershirt that clung to his lean frame.

"I find the cannibal's wife line rather charming," Alastor smirked, and though he couldn't see it, you rolled your eyes in response.

"Of course you'd enjoy that part," you scoffed, mirroring Alastor's movements on the other side. Shedding the bedazzled dress, you opted for more comfortable attire, draping yourself in a robe.

"What's not to like? It shows the audience that you're my darling wife," Alastor quipped with a smug tone.

"Bushwa. They don't even know it's you. And I don't think anyone thinks highly of some poor fool shackled to a gaudy singer," you snorted. With the radio in tow, you began to pack your belongings into your purse.

"Don't be ridiculous," Alastor's laugh rumbled against the speakers. "My dear, being 'shackled' to you is the most delightful form of imprisonment."

"Such a sap," you scoffed, unable to suppress the smile that spread across your face. Shouldering your purse, you made your way towards the door, ready to leave. However, a sudden memory of a conversation with Mimzy surfaced.

"By the way, did you know Mimzy was planning to have me perform on some talk show?" you shared with Alastor while locking the door to your dressing room. A furrow appeared on your brow as the backstage lights played with shadows, casting a pensive expression on your face. "What was it again… Oh! Yes! Box-2-Nite."

A sudden screech from the radio erupted, its harsh sound reverberating in the hallway. Luckily, no one was around at this hour, and you cringed at the unexpected disturbance. Glaring at the box, you raised your brow. "You scared the living daylights outta me."

Alastor stayed silent for a while, claws digging into the cloth of his coat, ripping the fabric. With a snap of his head to the side, he dropped it to the floor and moved toward his staff, his shadows playing on the intricate patterns of the carpet beneath his feet.

"Do you perhaps mean… Vox-2-Nite?" His voice, usually smooth, carried an edge.

"Is that the name? I thought you hated telev—Oh. Ohhh..." As you ascended to the higher floors of the building, a realization swept over you.

Alastor's relationship with Vox was complicated. It didn't take a genius to see that. If the ceaseless back-and-forths on broadcasts, the turf wars that had casualties matching mass-extinction events, and the hushed gossip circulating among the other performers were anything to go by.

“Small world,” you chuckled, strolling down the hallway that led to the performers' rooms, the echo of your footsteps blending with the distant murmur of conversation. “I’m guessing I shouldn't take her up on the offer?”

"Absolutely not," Alastor practically snarled out, venom dripping from his tongue. The radio in your hand crackled and buffered, a faint golden glow emanating from the dials. "That pompous piece of shit television is nothing but a clout-chasing, mediocre host flitting between this fad and another on his little picture show podcasts."

“I know, love.” With a swift turn of a doorknob, you opened the door to your flat. "I wasn’t… planning… to…”

Your words trailed off, lingering in the air, as you entered the room. Your eyes widened in awe, captivated by the sight of a bouquet of white roses gracefully adorning your bed.

"Alastor," you spoke into the radio, your voice filled with genuine warmth. "Did you send me roses?"

Back in the hotel, Alastor, settled back into his plush couch. The fiery embers of his anger melting away like a fleeting shadow, replaced by the realization that you had discovered his gift.

A soft chuckle came from the radio, "Guilty as charged, cher. "

Your heart fluttered, and you sank onto the bed, dropping the radio on your mattress and taking the bouquet into your hands. The delicate petals felt soft against your fingers as you admired their beauty. White roses, unlike red ones, were so scarce it was difficult to get a hold of.

"Alastor, this is… wonderful," you spoke into the radio, smile so wide your cheeks almost hurt. "Why—How did you even—How did you even manage to find these?"

"Oh, I pulled a few strings," your husband grinned before chuckling, "and a few limbs too."

Your laughter intertwined with his and Alastor listened fondly, finding solace in the melody of your delight.

The day you inked that deal with Mimzy marked the onset of an agonizing pain he had never experienced before. The thought of leaving your sorrowful self under the wretched contract of that avaricious woman had incited a frenzied rage within him, leading to weeks of unbridled slaughters on the streets of hell.

The blood he spilled onto the sidewalks left a stain on the concrete that lasted months.

Fortunately for you and him, the ordeal was nearing its end. Just one more year remained until Alastor could finally reunite with you. After enduring decades of this agony, an additional year seemed like mercy.

"You like it, cher?" Alastor's voice dropped an octave lower, the satisfaction evident in his tone, pleased to bring happiness to your moment.

"Yes," you laugh, cradling the bouquet in your hands. "I like it very much."

˚୨୧₊♱

[obsessivevoidkitten]

That Time You Got Yeeted Into Another World, Mistaken as a God-Sent Gift, and Used as a Prize in an Arena

Yandere Bear-Man Dilf x Gender Neutral Reader

CW: Noncon, framed for a crime, language barrier, eaten out like it's groceries, biting, scent marking, musk, combat, general yandere behavior

Word Count: 765

(Speed written out of nowhere because I had the idea suddenly, not beta read so please forgive any mistakes. I hope you guys like this ficlet. Also forgive the title, in a game I was playing there was a crossover with "That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime" and I liked the vibe of the title.)

You were framed for a crime you didn't commit and in your village the punishment for that crime was immediate exile via being shoved down a steep crater in the center of which is a one-way portal to what is thought to be Hell.

What no one on your side of the portal knew was that on the other side was just another world. A world that celebrated with a great holiday anytime a human came through the portal. It was also a world populated entirely, with the exception of humans who crossed over, by human-like beast hybrids.

Driders, lion hybrids, nagas, aqrabuamelu (scorpion-men), harpies, dog people, centaurs, minotaurs, gnolls, and many other races that seemed to be part human. 

They have a connecting portal in their universe, but any who try to go into it are spat back out. The current went only in one direction.

Every few years, a human would be flung forth from the portal, a gift from the gods! But only the worthy can keep such a gift. So whenever a human comes to the realm from the watcher of the portal will ring the bells and all the warriors assemble and a grand tournament is held at the arena. Whoever wins gets to keep the human and gains enough wealth to care for them properly.

Things are no different when you arrive, you are immediately ushered away, examined, and pampered like a prize doll with no agency. Despite your objections. It seems like only the keeper of the portal has any rudimentary undestanding of your language, not that it helped you. He didn't explain much and his speech wasn't that great. Something about... a big game?

You were naturally frightened beyond all reason, seeing all these beast-men, but it didn't seem like you were being harmed. It really wasn't what you thought hell was going to be like. 

On the day of the big tournament, you were dressed in the finest silks, given a tiny crown of silver, and taken to the best seat in the arena. One where everyone could see you. A cushioned throne was provided for you to sit upon. You figured that this must be a ceremony to welcome people from the portal.

You watched as all the combatants sparred. At first you were horrified, but it became evident that people could yield and death was, almost always, avoided. There were combatants of every variety. 

Even from the start the best seemed to be a naga woman named Eeris and a bear-man named Brakwen. As they advanced through the fights they both finally made it to the finals where they'd clash. Eeris favored twin daggers and fangs while Brakwen used claws and brute strength. He had a sword but had not resorted to using it. 

It was a mighty battle but Brakwen the bear-man managed to win. You still did not yet realize you were the prize. Not until you were escorted down to him and were carried bridal style out of the arena with the crowd cheering. Brakwen had won the god's favor!

From close up he looked even more imposing. He seemed to be in his late 30s to early 40s. He mostly looked like a hairy man from far away though up close his massive size, sharp teeth, claws, thick fur covering his arms and quite frankly adorable bear ears, gave him away. He was rugged but admittedly rather handsome. You knew there was nothing you could do so you let him carry you away. 

Despite the language barrier, Brakwen did his best to please his god-given prize. He could tell you feared him. Especially since you tried to run off a few times. But Brakwen didn't get angry. You never even managed to get past the door. Even if you did there were two gates outside the house. You were far too valuable to let wander off. 

Eventually when you had stopped running off, and when his rut demanded he wait no longer, he began acting a bot more aggressove and sexual towards you. 

Though you tried to stop him it ended with him stretching out your hole with his powerful tongue, lubing you up with his copious amounts of drool, and sliding into you with his massive musky cock.

That's what your life was now. Being treated like a fragile precious gem most of the time and then for one week out of every month you were fucked full of hot bear cum in every possible position, bitten possessively, and scent marked by being forced to wear his oversized clothing. 

[loaksky]

I don't know if you've done this yet but can we have mean ellie is FWB with the reader but she's jealous when the reader is into someone else 👀

i have not + you know what anon i could kiss your brain rn ! i definitely view this pairing as separate from this fwb!ellie x reader, but this could also technically fit in their early timeline since nothing else has really been established about them...

content warnings: language, ellie being an asshole (very on brand for me to write ig lmao), reader actually sticks up for herself in this one, but eventually folds (i would too for ellie ngl) 18+ content that includes; brief mentions of strap-on sex, fingering (r!receiving), oral (r!receiving).

author’s note: i’ve been so unmotivated to write, but this request awoke something in me idk...also, if you’ve sent in a tlou request (yes even from june), i’m still cooking i promise! (and not in the way that ellie keeps promises in this fic lmfaoo).

main masterlist | tlou masterlist

You didn’t want to say anything at first, couldn’t be too sure under the lowlights of the party with bass-y music that makes both the house and your chest throb with every beat, but you see it clear as day on the drive home and a passing streetpost illuminates the purpling flesh on Ellie’s carotid.

She nearly jumps out of her skin when your fingertips brush over the blooming bruise, obviously fresh and warm to the touch.

“What the fuck?” she huffs, pulling the drawstrings on her hoodie to scrunch to fabric around her neck.

“Who gave you that?” you ask softly, expression on your face enough to devastate, but Ellie’s always been different, an anomaly of sorts when it came to the matters of her stony heart.

“Why does it matter?” she scoffs.

“Ellie,” you sigh. “You know why it matters.”

She’s swinging a right at the intersection, nearing the residential you live in.

“It doesn’t,” she grunts. “Because at the end of the night, it’s you I’m fucking, isn’t it?”

And you don’t know why the way she puts it stings so much this time around when she frequently reminds you both directly and indirectly that while you may be her most recurrent hookup, you’re definitely not her only one, but it does. Does so much that you’re turning your face towards the window to hide the tears that are pooling.

Because all you wanted was Ellie. Wanted her in ways she wasn’t willing to give you. Wanted to learn and grow with her, but she wasn’t budging and lately, you’ve been feeling stupid.

When she turns into your neighborhood, you speak.

“Just drop me off, please.”

Ellie’s slowing down, palm finding purchase on your thigh.

“Babe, c’mon,” she practically whines, kneading the skin there. “Don’t be like that.”

You shift away from her, gather your purse from your feet as she continues through the different apartment buildings.

“Babe,” she calls again when you barely wait for her to stop and you’re pushing the car door open.

And maybe it’s childish, but you’re wounded and quite frankly done with the back and forth.

“She’s probably waiting for you,” you add petulantly.

“Babe, seriously. You’re being annoying,” she warns.

“And you’re being a dick,” you bite back. “First, you drag me out to a shitty party where I don’t know a single soul even though you promised we could just chill and smoke while watching that stupid fucking space exploration documentary, then when we get there, you’re leaving me with a bunch of sleazy assholes while you do god knows what with the same girl you’ve been telling me not to worry about for the last five weeks.”

And of things Ellie’s looks horrified at, it’s the fact that you’d been observant enough to recognize the girl she’d thought she whisked away before your prying eyes could catch on.

“I’m not fucking stupid, Ellie,” you say with resignation. “I tried to turn the other cheek because I really fucking like you, but you treat me like shit and I deserve better than that.”

Of course you don’t know it, but those fucking words bite. They’re an automatic trigger because unbeknownst to you, both of your friend groups think the same thing. Aren’t afraid to let her know otherwise. And she’s obviously well aware that, Christ, yes, you absolutely deserve better. Is actually really insecure on the low because she doesn’t know why you stick around with a piece of shit like her when you could have so much better.

So she does what she does best when she feels like a kicked puppy and lashes out.

“Of course Little Miss Princess deserves better,” she mocks. “What fucking ever. I don’t know why I flaked on a ten for such a stuck up bitch.”

And you see right through her, know that she’s all bark and no bite, but it hurts regardless, when you step off to the side and she’s leaning over the center console to shut the passenger side door herself.

She’s revving off without another word, and to add insult to injury, your phone’s pinging obnoxiously once you get out of your well-needed shower.

els <3 sent a video.

It’s the blonde from the party. Of course those dumb LEDs pulse red in the background, making Ellie and her flavor of the night look a thousand times more seductive. Ellie’s kissing her sloppily, whispering things against her mouth that you can’t quite pick out.

els <3 sent a video.

The next video’s grainy, but you can hear the tell-tale squelch, the girl’s shaky moans and Ellie egging her on. Your cheeks are on fire and you feel like you’re about to throw up.

els <3 sent a photo.

You wonder if the girl knows, that Ellie’s sending you the most compromising footage of her. If she knows how grimy the green-eyed girl truly is, sending someone else pictures of her stuffed hilt-deep with the same strap Ellie’d used on you.

els <3: still think u deserve better ?

You delete the thread and her phone number.

Ellie expects you to crack first, you always do. Because even if she isn’t shit, she’s your biggest weakness and she knows it. Can say so with confidence, because maybe the same can be said about her.

She hasn’t fucked you in nearly two weeks and not a single body she touches can elicit the same feeling that you do. And in the back of her brain, she knows why, but Ellie’s prideful. Won’t dare admit it out loud.

So she cracks first. Texts you between classes.

me: i have a few joints + a coupon to tino’s if you’ll let me come over… :(

my #1 girl: Who’s this?

Ellie throws her head back and groans.

me: cmon baby, dont b like that. im srry i was mean, ill make it up to u

my #1 girl: I think you have the wrong number…

me: babe stopppp

Her text bubbles turn green after that message.

You forget that Ellie has a copy of your key because she’s never used it in the five months that the two of you have been in this precarious situation, and your heart falls square to your ass when you emerge from the shower to find her setting up a box of pizza on your coffee table.

“Ellie, what in the fuck?”

She feigns nonchalance, pulls a few joints from her jacket pocket. But the aroma of weed or the grease of the pizza isn’t what makes you wrinkle your nose.

It’s the smell of flowers that waft from a pretty vase sitting on the cut away of the kitchen counter.

Your gaze fixes on the girl who settles on your couch.

“You need to leave,” you say stonily.

“But I just got here,” Ellie says. “And I brought you pizza…and flowers.”

“I’m sorry, did you think that a five dollar pizza and a bouquet of flowers from Saver’s was going to fix the fact that you’ve been so fucking awful to me for the past half year?”

Ellie shrinks.

“Well, no…but—”

“You practically sent me a homemade porno of you and some other girl you fucked to get back at me for setting a boundary, Ellie,” you say sharply. “What, did it not work out? Did you—”

“I’m trying to be the bigger person here,” Ellie sighs. “I am sorry. I just—”

“You what?”

“I don’t fucking know, okay?” Ellie snips. “God, you’re talking down to me like you’re a fucking therapist or my fucking mom and—”

You’re shaking your head, crossing the room and picking up the pizza from the coffee table to shove in her arms.

“I don’t have time for this,” you mutter. “Kenzie’s going to be here any minute now—”

“Who the fuck is Kenzie?” Ellie balks, caught like a deer in the headlights.

“Ellie, don’t,” you warn.

“Don’t what?” she practically seethes. “You think I’m just gonna be okay that you’re spending time with some other stupid bitch? Maybe you’ve forgotten, but you’re mine.”

And she shouldn’t have glanced down at your cleavage as you cross your arms over your chest, but Ellie’s weak and you look too fucking pretty for your own good.

“Yours?” you ask incredulously. “Do you hear yourself?”

“Yes, mine,” Ellie affirms. “All fucking mine and no one else’s.”

“God, you’re so full of shit, Ellie,” you scoff. “I’m supposed to be loyal to you and be okay with you having a roster, but I can’t go on a date with someone I genuinely like because it fucks with your brain to have a legitimate interest in somebody?”

“You like her?” Ellie asks in disbelief. “Like, like her, like her?”

“Yes,” you reply without hesitation.

And that makes Ellie’s jaw set, makes her narrow her eyes at you.

“You like her more than me?” she taunts.

And maybe she has you there, but you refuse to give her the upper hand.

“I could learn to,” you answer honestly. “Because Kenzie is kind to me. She doesn’t treat me like an option, doesn’t act like she’s God’s gift to the fucking world and that I should kiss her feet for giving me the time of day. And I get it, you don’t like me the way I like you—”

“You think I don’t like you?” Ellie asks like the thought is unfathomable.

“I don’t think, Ellie, I know. We went into this without any strings attached, we established that it’d just be fucking, but I was honest in telling you that I caught feelings and you used that to your advantage. You lied to me on multiple occasions, you make me look stupid, like I’m fucking crazy.”

And you wish you’d gotten through your spiel without choking up, but Ellie’s the first girl you’d liked in a while even if she was bad news. And when you thought that maybe you could shake her, she’d come barreling back.

“Baby,” she murmurs, face softening as she’s crossing the space between you two to cup your face in her hands.

“Don’t call me that,” you hiccup, trying to push her touch away.

“Babe, stop,” she says firmly. “I’m serious. You think I don’t like you?”

“Well, you don’t fucking act like it,” you mutter. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter anyways because whatever this was is done. You’re free to do what you want, who you want, whether you like me or not.”

God, do you unwittingly light a fire under Ellie’s ass when she thinks of what this Kenzie girl could do to you if she lets you walk out the door. Absolutely loathes the thought of anyone else knowing what you look like in any state of indecency, that you fucking cry watching children’s movies, that you snore like a freight train if you’re tired enough and have a weird ass penchant for pickle chips when you’re high.

“You’re not going on that fucking date,” Ellie says with finality, palms sliding from your shoulders to skim down the length of your arms and situate over the swell of your hips.

“Who says?”

“Me,” she huffs. “Because I’m going to make it up to you and we’re going to smoke these blunts and eat this fucking pizza and I’m going to make you cum so fucking hard, you won’t even remember that you were thinking of leaving me for someone else.”

“You’re not my girlfriend, Ellie,” you reiterate. “You can’t just–”

“Maybe not then, and maybe not in this moment, but I will be,” she says, and the words catch you completely off guard.

She’s catching your bottom lip between hers to further disorient you, kissing you like this could very well be her last.

“Just give me some time,” she whispers, walking you back towards your bedroom. “I’ll get my shit together for you. Promise.”

And you know deep down that you shouldn’t believe her. She’s just feeling territorial and grasping at straws to keep you leashed, but Ellie’s always been such a good kisser and she’s devouring you like she really is sorry.

She’s tossing your against your unmade bed, caging you between lithe limbs as she leans back on her haunches to take you in. Your blouse rides up to reveal the flimsy bands of your lacy little thong and Ellie’s lacking decency as she flips your skirt up to reveal a growing patch of wetness.

“Were you planning on getting fucked or do you always go out like this?” Ellie ponders, fingers rough as she pulls the tiny scrap of fabric down your legs and nearly salivates when a string of your arousal leaves with it.

Your lips part to answer, but her thumb’s dipping between your folds, pad collecting some of your slick from your drooling slit to smear over your achey little bud.

“I asked you a question,” Ellie says gently. “You just gotta be honest with me, baby.”

“S’hot out,” you whimper, fingers closing around her wrist when your body jerks against a particularly delicious stroke of her thumb.

“Yeah?” she clarifies. “You wouldn’t let any else touch you, would you? Not when I take good care of you like this?”

Her other hand comes to toy with your entrance, doesn’t give you any warning before her middle and ring finger are sinking inside slowly.

“Oh, fuck,” you whine.

“You’re my girl, you hear me?” Ellie murmurs, leaning down to catch your clit between her lips. “You’ll be my number one, always.”

She’s teasing at first, tongue languid against your fluttering pussy, but you’re quiet, back of your wrist caught between your teeth to muffle your moans.

One of her hands reach up to yank it away.

“Say it,” she barks, pulling away from your needy heat.

“Ellie,” you whimper.

“Say it,” she repeats firmly.

“M’your girl,” you moan shakily, thighs quivering as she smoothes her palms over the underside of your thighs to push them up to your chest.

“Yeah, you are,” she whispers, spitting harshly on your heat. “My favorite fucking pussy.”

She’s eating you out like she’s missed you, like she’ll only be satisfied when you finally cum. And maybe it’s true.

Maybe not.

Especially when she draws nearly three orgasms from you and practically knocks you out.

You don’t know how long you doze off for, but when you finally wake up, the sun has almost completely set, bathing your room in a burnt orange glow that leaves your dewy skin warm and sticky. And perhaps it’s wishful thinking when you call Ellie’s name, met only with the echo of your raspy voice. After all, you’re tucked on the wrong side of bed, elusive girl nowhere to be found.

As you dress and search for your phone, you can’t even find it in yourself to be surprised.

neng ©️2023

[planariaareneat]

How The Nocturnal Bottleneck and Nipples Make Us Human

Almost every post here considers what humans do have, really. It’s a little tiring; realistically every world has its harsh environments and vicious species and a sophont to match. We probably wouldn’t be unique for our adaptability or our persistence or even adrenaline

But our evolution is fucked up as hell, to put it lightly.

Mammals went through what’s been dubbed the nocturnal bottleneck essentially since the start of the mesozoic right up until the Cretaceous ended the archosaur’s exclusive hold over the daylight. We lost a lot of things from every mammal spending most of its time in either a cramped, suffocating burrow or scrounging around in the faint hours of nighttime. Our blood cells lost their nuclei to hold more oxygen while we spent time deep underground, we lost protections against ultraviolet rays in our skin and eyes, we can’t even repair our own DNA using the light of the sun. Most aliens probably wouldn’t have such traits unless their evolution followed a very similar path to ours. They’d be able to see ultraviolet and wouldn’t have to worry about sunburn and all the wonderful privileges essentially all fish, birds, amphibians, and reptiles enjoy as we speak. 

There’s also what we gained from spending so much time in the dark.

Brown fat is only found in mammals, it’s a special type of fat which bear cells with several oil droplets and are utterly jammed with mitochondria. This lets it make heat, a lot of it, fast. We don’t even need to shiver to induce this heat generation from brown adipose tissue - factor in our downright hyperactive mitochondria, and we can warm up quickly. Sure, it doesn’t have too much use in adult humans, but it keeps our infants warm and still provides a little boost the whole run we have in this universe.

Unless aliens also went through a time where their small ancestors had to face cold nights, they’d have to produce heat the old fashioned way when chilled. Aliens might have to shiver the whole time they’re in a cold room while the human watches in confusion, quite literally unshaken, and wonders if the room is a lot colder than the thermostat set to 60 says. The aliens stare at their companion in confusion, it’s just a normal temperature to shiver at after all, how is the human sitting so still?

Our small ancestors spending all their time out foraging at night is also why we have such a good sense of touch, smell, and hearing. They were more important senses than vision (we’re lucky to have even redeveloped basic color vision, frankly) at the time and place and simply ended up continuing to serve us well. Birds and reptiles rarely have acute senses of smell and the latter especially are lucky to have acute hearing, and birds rarely have impeccable hearing themselves either. Our skin is free of scales and honed to sensitivity, and our external ears and complicated ear bones provide an immense range of hearing (from 20 all the way to 17,000 hertz!).

Aliens might not be able to pin down the chirp of a cricket or the light click of a lock being picked. The human might be the only one on board a ship that can pick out the finer sounds of the engine’s constant thrum and know the critical difference between when everything is fine and when something is wrong. The human could probably pick out the sounds of an approaching enemy’s careless footsteps - they’re only as light enough for *them* to stop hearing them, after all - and be the one to see the horrified expression (well, more on that later) on their face when we get the drop on them in spite of their perceived stealth. 

But perhaps the most versatile, convoluted, amazing, and utterly unique trait we have is right on your face this instant. Lips.

Lips in most animals are a simple seal to hold in the mouth’s moisture and protect the teeth, even if they’re supple they’re NEVER muscular except in mammals, and we have only one thing to thank for it; milk and nipples. Lips evolved exclusively to allow babies to suckle, it required a vacuum to be created in the mouth, and with no other animal having anything like a nipple it never happened in other animals. Many animals make milk, to be frank, but no other animal has nipples.

Your cheeks and lips are a marvel among tetrapods, no other animal can suck like mammals can. Aliens wouldn’t have straws or even be able to sip from the edge of a glass, they’d have to have a proboscis or simply tilt the whole thing back. Aliens likely won’t have woodwind instruments or balloons you can blow into. We take so much about our lips for granted. Hell, our muscular faces are vital for expressions, we’re probably absolute facial contortionists among a cast of creatures with mandibles and beaks and expressionless scaly maws. Aliens might find us ridiculously easy to read, if anything, compared to their own kind (all the better to deceive them) - or perhaps they’d find us hard to decipher anyways, with our lack of color-changing skin or erectable crests of bright feathers. Baring teeth might not be seen as a sign of aggression in most of the universe, smiling would be all too distinctly human. 

Perhaps with how infectious we are sometimes, that’s what we’d contribute to the universe; others might have to make do with opening their mouths just enough to show their teeth or splaying their innumerable mouthparts with just the right curve, but perhaps we’d teach the galaxy to smile, one ally at a time. 

Wouldn’t that be amazing?

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hello! Would you be willing to write about someone who finds out that their roommate and childhood best friend is actually some kind of supernatural creature? Preferably m/m but its okay if you’d like to change the genders.

Have a nice day!!!

"You're...uh...wow."

Maybe Holden should be horrified, but all he could really do was stare, dumbly entranced. The staring wasn't that different to normal, if he was going to be really horribly honest with himself.

But Atlas also wasn't normally crouched near stark-bollocks naked in the middle of their dorm room. He didn’t normally have dark, gorgeous wings unfurling from his back. He didn’t normally stare at Holden with eyes that had gone from blue to literally black too. Hungry. Heated.

Holden hastily shut the door behind him before someone else on the floor saw.

"Are you, uh, okay, man?"

His best friend was, very clearly, not okay. His gaze tracked every small movement that Holden made.

"You," Atlas growled through his teeth. "Are not supposed to be here."

"Right. Yeah. Uh. My class was—" Holden lost his trail of thought as he continued to stare. "God,” he said, a little dizzy, “you look incredible."

Five-year old Atlas had been funny and brave. Nineteen-year old Atlas also had the absolute gall to be stunning on top of that. It was, frankly, terrible on a night out. On his own, Holden did okay. When he was standing next to Atlas though, more and more as the years passed by, he may as well have been a potato. He couldn't even hold it against anyone. He did enough trying not to stare himself.

But...he definitely hadn't noticed the wings before. He would have noticed wings, right? Even with that smile and those cheekbones to distract.

He realised, dazedly, that he'd drifted closer. One step, two step, three, until he was standing right over Atlas. Close enough to touch.

"Get out." Atlas sounded strained. "Now." His fingers – his claws – dug into the threadbare carpet.

Holden wanted to run his fingers through Atlas's blond hair. He wanted to kiss his parted lips, the line of his jaw, the beautiful curve of his throat. He wanted to touch every inch of Atlas that he could. He wanted Atlas's hands on him, sure and just as smitten as Holden had been for years, and he'd do anything, offer anything if—

"Holden."

The sharp snap of his name cleared Holden's mind a little. He shook his head and backed up. "Sorry. I—"

What the hell was he doing? Heat rose to his cheeks, mortified.

There were a lot of reactions one could have to seeing their best friend suddenly sprout wings, but Holden was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to just drool over his roommate like some kind of neanderthal. He'd done such a good job of not letting his stupid feelings impact their stupid friendship until stupid now too.

It wasn't like he'd never caught a glimpse of Atlas without his clothes before. It had never made him like – he would never have – but would it be so bad if he just—?

No. Something was definitely wrong.

Holden whirled around, heading back for the door. He'd opened it only a crack when Atlas's hand slammed down on it, shutting it again. The lock clicked as Atlas bracketed him with an arm on either side. They weren’t quite touching, but they were close enough that he could feel the heat of Atlas against his back.

He hadn't even heard Atlas move. His breath hitched.

Atlas groaned. He let his head thunk against the door, above Holden's left shoulder, as he drew in ragged gasps.

Holden heard him swearing and muttering under his breaths. He caught a few words that’s sounded suspiciously like ‘bloody scheming bastard vampires’ and a much more familiar ‘shitshitshit’.

Up close, Atlas’s new cologne was…was it cologne? Holden’s head felt cloudy again. He dug his nails into his palms, desperately shoving down the truly ridiculous urge to turn around and kiss Atlas immediately.

“What the hell is happening?” He squeezed his eyes shut. “You have wings. You have – I feel –”

“You’re supposed to be in class for the next three hours!”

“My class was cancelled,” Holden said. “Some last minute—”

Atlas caught hold of his hips, spinning him as if it was absolutely nothing, pressing him back against the door.

The bit of Holden’s brain that wasn’t too busy with oh, yes please reminded him that Atlas was not that bloody strong. He should not be able to do that. He always skipped the gym when Holden went, despite looking like that.

“What are you?” The obvious question finally penetrated the fog.

Atlas’s attention lingered on his lips, seeming…distracted.

“Incubus,” he murmured. He’d always had a nice voice, but in that moment, that word, it was like caramel. Sweet on Holden’s senses. “God, you’re pretty. Sharing a room was a terrible idea.”

It took a second for the actual response to register, let alone the rest.

Incubus.

“What?” Holden yelped.

It was all some elaborate joke.

(Atlas didn’t do pranks.)

It was impossible.

(Those wings looked very real, no matter how impossible they were.)

How had it taken 14 years for him to notice his best friend was an incubus?

(Did that mean he didn’t really have a crush on his best friend? It was just – what he was?)

Atlas’s fingers grazed just slightly beneath Holden’s jumper, blazing hot against the skin above his hips.

Holden asked no coherent questions whatsoever. He didn’t even manage an incoherent word. Every reasonable thing he should have been considering vanished in a haze.

His best friend was an incubus? Sure! Whatever. Nothing mattered except the fact that there was really far too much distance between them. Atlas’s mouth was right there and – Holden couldn’t have said which of them initiated the kiss, but it was ravenous and he was putty against the door. Head empty. All need and greed and wanting. He finally got to tangle his fingers into Atlas’s always annoyingly perfect hair and –

The lock clicked.

Faster than Holden could fully comprehend, the door was open and Atlas had bodily shoved him into the corridor. He landed sprawling and ungraceful on his butt.

He had a second to peer up, bewildered, at the look of absolute raw desire on Atlas’s face before the door slammed shut. The lock clicked again.

The texts pinged on his phone a moment later.

Don’t come back until I say so.

Will explain later.

Sorry.

Well, crap.

Holden pressed a hand to his mouth, catching his breath and his sanity with Atlas out of view. Then he went to the uni library to research everything he could about incubi.

By the time Atlas texted him that evening, he was ready.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for banning a child from my house?

It's not my child, btw- it's my cousin, an 8 y/o autistic boy. I am 15 and it's technically not my house.

For context, my cousin has EXTREMELY severe autism, to the point where he quite literally cannot form any connections with people and does not sit down at all. He is always running around, yelling in garbled speech, and doesn't understand words, sentences, or commands. He only responds to his name when his mother calls it. He isn't intelligent mentally, either. I do love him a lot in spite of how he has never paid attention to me or treats both me and everyone else around him as though they don't exist.

I have (had?) a cat. I have raised this cat for 3 years and I got this little furball when he was only 2 weeks old. I gave him milk and cared for him so, so much. He was a Persian-British mix and was, frankly, pretty dumb and sleepy all the time. Like a little doll.

My cousin also, apparently, decided that my cat, Velvet, was doll-like, because he grabbed Velvet and refused to let the cat go. I was in the bathroom at the time and only heard the cat's mewing. Nobody else was home. My cousin thought it would be nice to throw Velvet out of the window. Our 4th-story window. Velvet was a spoilt little thing and had never really lived outside of a house, and consequently, died. My cousin? Didn't care. Just went away from the open window and went back to running around the house.

I came out only a few seconds later and was very confused as to just WHERE was the previously mewing cat, and obviously I couldn't just ask my cousin, since he can't talk and wouldn't be able to think of it either. My mom found the fucking CORPSE when she came back home. I was horrified and, while I don't think this was the proper thing to do to a little boy who has absolutely ZERO awareness of his surroundings, I proceeded to absolutely scream my head off at my cousin while grabbing his arm, which resulted in an absolute meltdown from him and my aunt (who had also just arrived) having to physically pry me off him as I was crying. I don't think I can be really blamed for being upset over my cousin KILLING my BELOVED PET just because he was born wrong. I also sort of yelled at my aunt to never come here or bring her son here ever again. My mother has severely chastised me for that and had ME grounded. What the fuck. Mental illnesses aren't all sunshine and rainbows, y'all. Ugh. I feel like I AM the asshole, but honestly. Consider the circumstances. I hate it here and I miss my fucking cat.

[evilminji]

I got distracted, BUT I REMEMBERED!

The Dr.'s Fenton? Would ABSOLUTELY fight a child.

Specifically, Hatsume Mei. Future CEO of Hatsume Industries! And ENGINEERING RIVAL of their's! They may be new to this whole "support industy" business, but they are SEASONED weaponry makers! And that brilliant little upstart is good! Audacious! A THREAT!!!

COME GET SOME!!! D:<

See, they needed to Move. Things were getting a bit... spicy. They may have made so unfortunate choices, back before they knew the truth about their Son and Ghosts in general.

Ignorance, bigotry, and academic bias are curses in their house for a REASON, after all. They never thought... after all the DECADES of facing it themselves...

Well...

Needless to say, they were, are, and will always BE horrified by how they acted. There may have be a whole host of reasons behind WHY they acted that way. But those WHYs aren't good enough. They should have been better. Done better. They don't offer any excuses, but but they can give an explanation, if it's wanted.

And, together, as a family, they got through Maddie n Jack's horrifying mistakes.

God they don't deserve those kids. Love them to pieces. The things they don't warn ya about parenthood, you know? The mistakes you might make. You think you're ready. Think everything's alright. Then your life's work KILLS your son and brings him back.

And you don't notice.

......what sort of parents DONT NOTICE?

They still have nightmares. Feel sick. God, if they were working in ANY other field. With ANY other materials! If it wasn't SPECIFICALLY ectoplasm? He... he wouldn't have come back. Oh god.

........

So.... so, yeah.

They're working on some things! As a family! Seeing a therapist from the Zone. Lovely... Them? They're a tree person. Neither Jack or Maddie is quite certain what gender pronouns, if ANY, they are supposed to use. They've been defaulting to They/Them just to be safe. Still! Alien therapist! Neat!

But, of COURSE. The BABIES in White throw a FIT. "Wah, wah, wah you've been compromised blah blah blah" oh PLEASE! Just because they've had a little personal growth! And stopped shooting at Phantom in public! And in general! You shoot ONE little Goverment agent for trying to shoot your baby and suddenly YOUR the bad guy!

He didn't even die!

So, yeah, BIT spicy.

Honestly? Feels like a long time coming. They were never very popular. This ultimately just feels like the ends of a road that began in college. Them, the two "crazies" with their backs to the wall, as the government closes in, trying to tear them down for knowing the TRUTH and refusing to shut up about it. Their reputations so deep in the mud, they're tasting bedrock.

At least they are together.

And thank god they've had years to plan for the inevitable.

So? They have the kids grab their go bags and head off too stay with Danny's new celebrity friend from another dimension, Mr Wayne. Nice man, little dim, but since he's willing to open his home to the kids in case of emergency? Perfect. And frankly, as long as Mr. Pennyworth is there, everything will be fine.

Besides! Lil Damian is a very respectful and responsible young man. Tim and Danny may get up to mischief, but they can trust the youngest to put his foot down.

THEM on the other hand?

Not so lucky. THEY have to stay with the house. It's not exactky like they can move the portal after all, it's built in. And this is where the kids grew up! Where Jack and her scrimped and saved, lived out of cars and off nickle noodles, to afford! This is their HOME! And no jack booted THUG is going to take that.

So the kids go first. They go to the command center. Jack takes pot shots while she fires up... THAT machine. The one they wired into the house itself, right along with the Ectoplasmic Shielding. It was all theoretical, once. But not anymore.

Now they have The Zone.

It's been collecting energy runoff from the open gate ever since it opened. Siphoning them into the sub-basment mega batteries. Enough to run two-thirds the planet for the next half a millennia. If only the damn patent office would LET THEM PATENT THEIR WORK-!

But that doesn't matter anymore. No, what matters is checking how full the battery banks are. Decently. It HAS been a while since they've done a controlled drain. Good, that means they have more then enough.

So, with no kids to witness things getting nasty? She pulls out her keys and unlocks the parental commands, flips the the shields to "strobe-kill". Let's see you crowd us NOW fuckers. With Jack freed up to help aim the house? They set to work.

It's... not EXACTLY an exact science, as much as they'd prefer it to be. More of a controlled jump. Set preferences, power jump, hop sideways an unknown distance. Land. Look around.

Is it what you want?

Habitable?

A zombie apocalypse?

Jump again. And again. And again. Until the battery runs out. Then sit... or float...or drift, there, until the batteries refill. You have to be mindful, of course, that you don't lose Shield coverage. Because it keeps the House air tight and together. If you jump and immediately lose power to the shields because you misjudged the energy left in the batteries?

Better HOPE you land somewhere with a breathable atmosphere and no zombies!

And Fentons don't rely on HOPE! They rely on good ol firepower and hutzpa!

Also advanced ectoplasmic scientific engineering! But that was a given.

It... takes a while. They run out of canned peaches. Have to stop TWICE to help cure a zombie plague, since they are the only ones with a still working lab. They were actually sort of joking with the kids about the zombies. Oof. Good thing Ectoplasm eats EVERYTHING. One specialized ecto shot and that disease is TOAST.

Granted, the surviors are all limnal now. But they don't seem to care in the slightest.

Then there was the whole "oop! Planet's gone." Couple of worlds. The one with the crabs. The ocean one. The ice age. The robots. The cartoon horses. The inappropriately dressed high-schoolers with weapons fighting God. The boring one. The one with ninjas...

I mean, they are just NOT having any LUCK!

Okay, next moderately stable world, they are doing a groceries run! A Man can not live off freeze dried meals forever! Well, you CAN. But it's making Jack sad, and frankly that's a war crime. Plus she's run out of tea! AND coffee! A life of no caffeine? She can't endure that.

She's started to eye her son's God awful energy abominations in a can, for God sake! Desperate time's and all that...

Zyeyooom!

Thunk!

Which? Is how? The ENTIRE class of 1-H? Turns to stare in ABSOLUTE HORROR at the cackling, head thrown back, hands clawed, mad scientist "it's alive! It's aliiiiiiive" type insanity that is Hatsume Mei and her "this green goo I found from some guys Quirk" powered teleport anchor.

It MADE A HOUSE.

On SCHOOL FUCKING GROUNDS. An ENTIRE house! Is... is that a blimp? That's English right? What's it say?! What the FUCK is that sh- OH MY GOD ARE THOSE PEOPLE!? MEI!!!!!

So begins... the Fentons Beef With A Child™.

Because! Mei will forever more claim! That SHE brought them to this universe with HER magnificent machine! But Maddie and Jack? At first, trying to be nice about it, helpfully point out, actually? No. THEIR house can and does reality jump. THEY brought themselves.

Mei ignores them.

Crows about her magnificent machine. Scoffs about them thinks they haspd anything to do with it.

Oh... oh it is ON, you tiny pink haired little shit!

Does the Japanese Government want to take control of the situation? Of course they do. They want these scientists and they want that house. Local Nedzu's say? "It's nice to want things" :) *sips tea mockingly*

They landed on HIS school's grounds. Finders keepers!

You may say "threat to national security" but HE says "free support gear for the students and security for the school"! Not to MENTION all this delightful FREE clean energy! They are a delightful couple. With a portal to the fabric between realities in their basement!

Not found of the laboratory, but that's a personal issue. The ZONE however? Oooohohohohoho~☆

It? Would DRIVE THE HPSC and Japanese government BATSHIT INSANE that they can't get at the portal? That threats and stealth Heros and every other method? Just... hits a brick wall. A big ol "lol nope!" Meanwhile Nedzu and occasionally random teachers or students are popping in and out of this house they can get into?

Nedzu especially standing just on the other side of the shields going >:3 neener~ neener~ neener~ Ha ha! I could be mature about this but am CHOOSING NOT TO BE!

@legitimatesatanspawn @mutable-manifestation @hdgnj @hypewinter @babbling-babull

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Astarion Very Happy Ending

So full disclosure, my Tav was a Selunite, and I can't stop thinking well if Bhaal can have a mortal chosen one, why can't Selune?

Also, spoiler warning, stop reading here if you don't want, but like damn girl I freaking turn a Shar priestess away from her god back to you, free a man from his devil's contact, high-key save the world, kill bhaals chocen, convince my vampiric lover to not sacrifice thousands of people, stop an entire goblin army from murdering Tieflings and druids alike, and literally free your daughter. A reward is in order!

This is that reward:

Astarion was slowly getting used to living in the shadows again, as loathe as he was to admit it. It was quite the transition, despite the fact that his time in the sun had amounted to less than a year. But what a lovely year it was. Nearly a perfect one in comparison to the rest of his life. And the promise of more of the same was a suitable balm to being cursed back into the darkness.

It was difficult, but with the love of his life by his side it was more than tolerable. Borderline beautiful in fact, to be able to live his life so freely despite the infuriating complications.

The money also certainly helped.

That was one thing Astarion always had over his brothers and sisters, his fantasies of a better life had always surrounded around Cazador's murder. Not his approval. He may have been completely unaware of the horrifying dungeon beneath their feet, but he did know where the deed to his estate and other properties were kept. And now had enough connections with the higher up's of Baldur's gate for some frankly exquisite forgeries. It had been a particularly satisfying feeling to sell all of his former master's possessions off, even more so when it came to the land. Almost like he was tearing apart his legacy and handing it off to the highest bitter, piece by piece.

Though, being there with you to find and settle in your own little corner of paradise was an even better feeling. Maybe it didn't quite reach his past dreams of grandeur, but it turned out settling in a quaint and poorly lit townhouse in the upper city was more than enough for him to be satisfied.

It was a good charming life, one that Astarion was sure he didn't deserve. But that certainly wasn't going to stop him from enjoying it. Though as much as he adored where he ended up, he'd be lying if he said it was perfect.

No, perfect would have been finding a way for him to ascend without becoming a monster, living in a world where he could be with you fully, completely, out in the sun like the kind of lover you deserved. It made him feel... startlingly inadequate. Everything you did had to be in accordance to his schedule. His lack of capabilities. And just because you always insisted it didn't matter didn't fix the feeling of inadequacy. He hated it, hated the fact that there were so many hours of the day that you couldn't share. He didn't regret his choice, not for a moment, but that didn't mean he was fully satisfied with the consequences.

But in his own defense, he did make up for it in other ways. Mildly frustrating and draining ways, if not a bit rewarding. It had been his own fault, falling so utterly and completely for such a goody two-shoes. A zealot to Selune, as fierce as she was compassionate, always trying to do what was fair and just. Always dragging Astarion on for the ride of her cleric duties.

But he couldn't blame you for all of his new do-gooder ways. Not when he was nearly the leader of a bizarre cult of repentant vampire spawn.

It was just the slightest bit exhausting to so often be playing the part of their heroic leader, fighting all of his murderous instincts to work for a better future for himself and the brethren he had personally damned. Though he'd be lying if he said he didn't get any satisfaction from it. It felt... good to teach them new ways to live. To give them the chance at the beautiful life he had managed to secure for himself.

He wouldn't do it forever, just until he was confident enough to be sure that his departure wouldn't lead to a massacre on either side. Then the two of you would be off to explore the lands, working to do your goddesses work with just a touch of hedonistic activities on the way.

Astarion was looking forward to it. He hadn't done all that work to be selfless forever. No, he was going to be forced to insist on a few years of having you all to himself, with only the occasional bits of volunteer work for the temple as interruption. Then the two of you could go back to galivanting about the lands being local heroes. But he had earned an extended vacation.

One that, luckily, he hadn't had to fight you on too much. That was just one other thing he loved about you, your complete understanding that Astarion would always be a little selfish, especially when it came to you. The one person who had ever really been his, who loved him, who understood him, who believed in him. Could he be blamed for wanting to have you all to himself?

And admittedly, he did have you more often then not. Even if on occasion he did have to share with your beloved goddess.

Astarion sighed as he watched you pray in the moonlight, completely absorbed in your quiet, mystical chants. Despite his distaste for the length of your prayer sessions, Astarion did like seeing your more ritualistic side. Just... maybe not for the morally correct reasons.

He was well aware that being so involved with a vampire was clearly against your religious doctrine. But it didn't matter. You still choose him, despite how the knowledge nearly made you an outcast amongst your own kind. But he mattered more than your reputation, more than the lessons you had been taught your entire life regarding love and evil.

You still had your faith, but you never let it shake the faith you had in him, something that he valued more than he could ever express. It was perhaps a sick thought, but it also made him feel exceedingly powerful, to know the true extent of your feelings. Even more connected. It was almost... like he was defiling you, corrupting a beautiful flower to turn away from the sun to something even brighter. A love that Astarion doubted most could ever hope to feel.

Perhaps that was not the best outlook on your religion, but oh well. He'd keep those thoughts to himself. What you didn't know wouldn't kill you. Besides... if anyone had been corrupted it was him, plagued with a new sense of loyalty and gods, justice. All from the beautifully strange woman kneeling in the moonlight.

Though, you sure were taking awhile tonight. Nearly twice as long as your usual nightly prayer. He hated to interrupt your worship but this was starting to cut into his time a bit here.

"My dear," Astarion called out, swinging his legs over your shared bed to stand, "Don't you think that you've been kneeling there for a touch too long?"

But you didn't respond, still muttering under your breath, even faster than before.

Astarion narrowed his eyes as he walked closer towards you, confused by your lack of response, "Darling-Tav?"

Astarion stopped, eyes wide as he got a solid look at your first. Your eyes were wide open, body rim rod straight as your irises glowed a vibrant blue light.

What in the nine hells was happening? Astarion kneeled next to you, his heart in his throat as he shook your shoulders, "Tav, love, can you hear me? What is this?"

You didn't answer, you didn't even acknowledge his presence. But you did start floating in the god damn air. Astarion stared, helpless as he watched you levitate, words that he didn't understand spilling from your lips.

Then just as suddenly as it started, it stopped. You fell unceremoniously to the floor. Astarion scrambled towards you, his heart in his throat as you started to come to. He settled your head in his lap, his hands shaking as he touched your face, lost on what he should be doing.

You blinked your eyes open slowly, that angelic glow still radiating from your irises. But you didn't look frightened, more... excited.

You grinned up at him, your voice slightly cracking when you murmured, "We've been blessed."

Astarion stared at you, brow furrowed. He was happy you were alive and speaking but...

"That's lovely?" Astarion tried, "But severely lacking in terms of an explanation. Are you okay?"

You nodded eagerly, suddenly sitting up with an unexpected amount of energy, "I'll explain later, we don't have much time."

What was it that compelled you religious types to be so cryptic? But you didn't give him anytime to question. Instead you wrapping your arms around his neck and smashing your lips together, kissing him hard enough to take his breath away.

He wrapped strong arms around your back, pulling you in closer, always helpless but to return your affection. But something about this was different. He could feel it, holy magic spreading through him through your lips, down throughout his veins, changing something inside of him. It wasn't unpleasant per say, but it certainly was startling. Startling enough for him to almost push you away, if it wasn't for the fact that he trusted you with everything inside of himself.

Neither of you pulled away until the blue fire in your eyes had died out, and Astarion was left with the intense sensation that something had changed, irrevocably inside of him.

You stared at each other, Astarion in confusion while you looked nothing short of gleeful, "Do you feel it?"

He felt... strange. A warmth still spreading through him that was settling. Astarion raised a brow at you, exceedingly impatient when he asked, "First, how about you explain to me what in the hells that was?"

But you didn't answer. Instead you stood with an adorable hop, lending a hand out to help him up, "Do you trust me?"

Astarion almost rolled his eyes as he took your hand, annoyed that he fell for someone that had just as much of a flair for the dramatic as he did, "You know I do."

You helped him to his feet before you started to mumble again, a startlingly familiar incantation seeping from your lips. It was the spell for daylight, the very same that you had used to help defeat Cazador. The kind that could now kill Astarion in mere moments.

He was too shocked at your audacity to even protest, believing for a split, terrifying second that he was about to die a fiery death. Sunlight suddenly filled the room, bright enough for Astarion to tightly shut his eyes.

Then...nothing. No burning, no pain, nothing but the sounds of you both breathing.

That didn't-how was he-what did you just do?

Astarion stared at you, absolutely flabbergasted with his mouth hanging open, staring at the borrowed daylight like a simpleton, "But how?"

You were still grinning ear to ear, looking happier than Astarion had ever seen you before. You grasped his hands in yours, your smile gentle as you explained, "I told you. We were blessed. Our Lady of Silver gave me one gift, and this is what I choose."

If sunlight wasn't already staring him in the face, Astarion would never believe it. But here he was, alive and standing under it's warmth. A gift from a goddess, spent on him of all creatures.

"It can't fix everything," You clarified with the slightest frown, "But it can fix this."

He could feel the truth in your words. He was still... wrong. A creature born of something awful, doomed to eternity and a life of bloodlust. But part of that wrongness had been culled, curling up and dying from Selune's holy magic, from your enduring love.

It was a dream he never thought possible. One that he had accepted never having. But here he was, here you were, continuing to give him the impossible.

It was enough to bring tears to his eyes. Astarion reached up, cupping your face before confessing the truth he couldn't quell.

"I don't deserve you," He whispered, voice hoarse, "I'll never deserve you. Words can't express my thanks. You have given me everything, while I have nothing but myself to give in return. But it's always yours. Everything inside of me."

He meant every word, he always would. Until his last breath.

You shook your head, gentling cooing at him, "This is a time for celebration my love, not for doubt. You've earned this."

He hadn't. And he doubted you'd ever be able to convince him he had. But he'd still take it. Gladly.

"I love you," Astarion murmured, helpless to say anything else. He pressed his lips against yours, the gravity of his new life just starting to settle in his mind.

He was free, as free as he could ever hope for. You had achieved what Cazador could not, all without a hint of malice or horrifying sacrifice. But through kindness, love, and perseverance. You had already freed him once from his own mental shackles, his last remaining ties to the tyrant that made him.

And now you've done it again, saving him from at least a portion of the taint on his soul.

It was beautiful, wonderful, and Astarion would never waste a moment of it.

[galacticgraffiti]

❁ Sugar (I've developed a taste for you) ❁

!!! NSFW ⋆ 18+ ⋆ Minors DNI !!!

Summary: Astarion asks for a favour and ends up getting more than what he bargained for (or: I'm a lesbian but this fictional little vampire twink can get it)

Rating: Explicit (for eventual smut) Wordcount: 2.4k Descriptors: I try to keep my reader-inserts fairly neutral, but let me know if anything slips through the cracks! Astarion is his usual self, pathetic and awful yet somehow also lovable as fuck. CW: bad flirting, friends with benefits (and the benefit is bloodsucking lol), blood, blood drinking, biting, hint of praise kink, eventual proper smut, nicknames, so much innuendo

✦⋆ Main Masterlist ⋆✦⋆ If you prefer AO3 ⋆✦

༻────• ༻❁༺ •────༺

Chapter 1: My my, those eyes like fire

He could be lovely if he wasn’t so self-involved.

That is the first thought you have when you meet Astarion. He is not downright mean, but something about him just bugs you. He flirts with every creature on two legs (sometimes even those with more), but that’s not it.

Something about all his honeyed words just feels so… insincere. 

You think Astarion has something to hide, and you desperately want to know what it is. So far, he has shown no signs of weakness, and he is as much as self-entitled twat as when you first met him. And this continues to be your opinion of him… up until today.

The day has been hard. Your feet hurt, your hands have blisters, and you are smeared with blood pretty much all over. Your shirt has been ripped and frankly, you don’t know when you might find the time to mend it. There is a giant bloodstain on the thigh of your trousers, and you are pretty sure your hair has become completely encrusted in blood quite some time ago.

But you have made it back to camp and that is all that counts.

As you shake out your bedroll and try to ignore the fact that this is the seventh night in a row that you’ll have had bland stew for dinner, you catch Astarion’s eyes across the fire.

His gaze is… odd.

You have seen him in the heat of battle, you’ve seen the glint in his eye when he comes up with another of his devious plans. You’ve even seen him amused, shaking with laughter when Gale recited an - admittedly very ambiguous - poem to you.

But you have never seen him like this. It’s not affection, nor is it desire that lights up his delicate features. He almost looks… desperate. Like he is starving for something, and you can’t place your finger on what it is.

As soon as Astarion notices that you have caught him, his eyes flick away. He saunters off, way too casual to not be obvious about it.

You stare after him, vaguely confused. But then, Karlach makes her way over to ask for more stew, and you forget all about it. For the moment.

Her smile makes your belly flutter, and you wish you knew more about her, and so you do your best to make conversation, joking and asking shallow questions.

Astarion’s eyes haunt you through dinner.

Even though the day was exhausting, the nights in your little camp are starting to grow on you. Gale is funny in his own, book-wormish way. You have learned that Karlach is downright hilarious in her joy about the world outside of Avernus, and Wyll is always scandalised by her, which is admittedly quite fun to watch. Lae’zel and Shadowheart keep to themselves a bit more, but even they share the meals with the rest of you.

You laugh when Karlach imitates Wyll’s horrified expression, but in spite of yourself. your eyes keep wandering to the silver hair of your elven companion who is sitting across from you.

Astarion is staring at you again, his eyes focused on some point below your jaw. He is watching you intently, seemingly unaware you have caught him. He doesn’t blink, doesn’t look away - he just stares at you as your spoon scrapes along the bottom of your bowl.

Only when you get up to wash off before you go to bed does he move again.

Sometimes, Astarion reminds you of a scared animal in the way he moves, his eyes flicking back and forth, his hands trembling slightly whenever he is not in battle. He hides right out in the open, behind his swagger and his dirty jokes and innuendos, behind his beautiful face and his beautiful body.

Tonight, though, even in all his desperation, Astarion is not prey. He is a predator. And like any talented predator, he has managed to get his prey away from the protection of the group.

You are kneeling in the small stream that runs by the camp, washing your bowl, your clothes, yourself - everything is dirty and soaked in mud, sweat and blood. You are barely wearing anything, but your companions have seen you in much more precarious situations at this point.

Astarion approaches quietly, sneaking up on you in that manner where you can never tell whether it is intentional or not. He is just… there, suddenly, shedding his clothes next to you, blood still smeared on his pale skin.

He stops short of the water, watching you from the riverbank. You try not to gawk as he undresses, but something about him seems unusually anxious. The way he pushes hit foot forward so slowly, testing the water, makes you wonder if he might not know how to swim.

Astarion smiles suddenly, taking a step into the stream and towards you, then another, his smile growing the deeper he wades into the water. Dark red streaks appear in the water where the blood is washed from his pale skin.

He clears his throat and raises a sharp brow.

“And how are you feeling tonight, sweet thing?” he inquires. His eyes flick over your body, focusing on a point below your ear for a moment before he rips his gaze away again.

“‘M alright,” you answer, brow furrowed as you scrub your shirt a little harder than you actually need to. Why he has to be so infuriating with his nicknames, you’ll never know. “Today was… a lot. I wanted to have a quiet moment.”

“Ah.”

He doesn’t seem to get the hint. He merely wades further into the stream, shimmering pearls of water running down his back. When you don’t say anything else, he turns to face you once again.

“Are you not going to ask me how I am, darling?”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” you mumble, throwing your shirt to the side, Clearly, you’re not getting anywhere with it tonight.

“Tsk, so rude. Somebody should really teach you some manners.” He clicks his tongue at you like you are an insubordinate child, shaking his head until droplets hit you.

You press your lips together. If he wasn’t so beautiful, he wouldn’t get away with half the things he does, and it frustrates you to no end. You catch yourself forgiving him on occasions where you don’t mean to, simply because his face is the prettiest things you have ever seen, and you hate it.

Astarion watches you carefully, gauging your mood. You stare back at him defiantly. What the hell could he want from you, anyway?

The hunger in his eyes is back, you notice - that desperation that you can’t quite place. There is a pained expression around his mouth, and despite all his cockiness, he is clearly not doing entirely well - his skin even paler than usual, his hands shaking a little when he crosses his arms.

Astarion yawns, his gaze raking over you in a way that makes you shiver. You tell yourself it’s just the cold of the water.

“Well, I was going to ask you for your help, but you are in a terrible mood.” He inspects his fingernails, and even though you know exactly that he is baiting you, you can’t help yourself.

“You? Need my help? Never thought the day would come.” Your voice is biting, but you can’t hide the note of curiosity that sneaks in.

“Don’t make me out to be such a horrible companion.” Astarion takes a step closer to you through the water. You take a step back. He laughs, but his eyes catch on your neck again. “I’m not that bad, am I?”

You shrug.

“Sometimes you are.”

“Hm.” He raises his brows, and takes another step towards you. This time, you don’t step back. “Well, I suppose that can’t be helped, my love. We all have good and bad days, don’t we?” He cocks his head. “And today has been quite hard for me.”

You make a non-committal noise, staring him down. What in the hells is he trying to do? Seduce you?

Your body likes that thought much more than your mind does.

Astarion is watching you intently. He stretches out his hand to take yours, and in your surprise, you don’t even pull back. His thumb rests right against the delicate inside of your wrist, and he closes his eyes.

You wait for him to drone on about how he carried your group on the battlefield, to gloat that you now owe him your life seven times over, but he doesn’t. Astarion stays eerily still, breathing deeply as his thumb strokes your wrist, pressing against your pulse point.

You can’t keep quiet any longer, not with the odd way he is behaving. Maybe he got hit by a spell, or…

“Any reason today was particularly hard for you?” You meant to sound sarcastic, but the question comes out sounding sincere. You scold yourself for caring so much.

Your skin burns like fire where he is touching you. Astarion’s eyes open, and he looks at you like he was a million miles away. He is so close now - much closer than you realised. You can see the fiery ring around his irises.

“I…” To your surprise, his voice is hesitant and quiet. “It’s easier to just… show you. You see, I need something from you, my darling.”

You frown.

“Why ask me? You could ask any of us, and most of them would be more inclined to help than I am. I’ve seen the way that Gale watches you at the fire-”

“Gale?” Astarion sounds genuinely amused. “Darling, do you think I’m asking you for sexual favours right now?”

“I- yes?” Your voice is full of uncertainty. “I mean… is that not what you were going to say?”

Astarion smiles, small and sharp.

“No.” He is even closer to you now, his thumb still caressing the skin of your wrist. “Even though I would not be disinclined if you offered… you are quite beautiful, you know?”

“Mh. Thank you?” You wish your heart would not beat faster at the way he looks at you. It’s a look that doesn’t fit the words that fall from his lips, a look that betrays the desperation with which he needs this favour. “What-”

“What I am asking for is simple.” He is so close now he could kiss you if you leaned in. “All I want is… a taste.”

“I- what?”

His lips are on your neck, his hand in your hair. You are not quite sure when that happened.

“Say yes, sweet thing,” he breathes. “Just a taste of your blood and-”

“My blood?” You sound more distraught than you actually feel. You are… oddly resigned. You should have seen this coming - you knew something was up with him, you knew he wasn’t telling you the whole truth.

And now, here you are. With a fucking vampire. His lips graze your pulse point, and your heart beats faster. You can feel the heat of his breath when he utters a single word.

“Please.”

It’s that one word that changes everything. Just like that, he has you. All the arrogance, all the superiority is gone from his voice, and what is left is just hunger and the fear that you might reject him. For a moment, you are sure you must have imagined it, but then, Astarion repeats himself.

“Please.” His hand tightens around your wrist, though he is trembling more than you are. “Just a taste, no more.”

Your lips are numb when you answer, your mind screaming at you not to let him- this is dangerous, this is stupid- you have already lost so much blood in the fight today and-

“Yes.” Your hands are on his shoulders, then in his silver hair. He smells so good; even after this horrid day. Your voice is softer than you intend for it to be, but his desperation makes you weak. “If you need it, it’s yours.”

Astarion makes a sound that shatters you, and before you can think too much about your own colossal stupidity, his fangs sink into your neck. 

It’s not painful.

It’s uncomfortable, but the fear that bites into your heart ebbs after mere seconds. Astarion’s hands are surprisingly warm against you, keeping you upright. Your head falls to the side, granting him easier access and - oh.

Why does it feel so good?

You become acutely aware of your blood flowing from the small puncture wounds in your neck, and for a moment, you panic, stiffening in Astarion’s arms.

“There, there, sweet thing.” His lips don’t raise an inch from your neck. “It’s alright, just trust me. Just a taste, all I want is a taste…”

Your head is swimming.

“You have tasted me,” you whisper, trying to pull away. When you look into Astarion’s eyes, there is a red glint in them - and a sadness that overwhelms you.

“No taste of you will ever be enough.” Astarion looks up at you from beneath long lashes. “You are divine, my love.”

The tip of his tongue wets his lips, licking up the small droplets of blood that linger.

You stare at him, trying with all your might to focus.

“You said… just a taste. No more than you need.”

His finger traces your jaw, down your neck, and your whole body is on fire.

“If it were up to me, I would need all of you,” Astarion sighs, his lips on your neck again, his tongue lapping at the blood that flows from the wound he has given you. “I would take and take, and give you so much in return. I would have you in ways you did not even know you wanted. Taste everything you have to offer.”

You shiver when he raises your wrist to his mouth, soft lips pressing to delicate skin.

“I would cherish you, keep you. My little pet, so perfect, so beautiful in every way. So eager to give what I need. Would you give me more if I asked?”

“Of course,” your lips say even though those were not the words you were planning to utter. But how could you ever say no to him? “If that’s what you need.”

Astarion’s sigh is one of rapture and delight.

“So obedient for me… You know, all these days I thought you hated me.” He chuckles to himself. “I suppose even I can be wrong sometimes.”

His teeth sink back into your neck, and the world goes dark.

༻────• ༻❁༺ •────༺

>> Next Chapter

HELLO MY DOVES i finally found time to format this for tumblr so here you go, for those who are not in love with the bear, you can get the twink, as a treat.

@deewithani @ficsbynight @kote-wan @ariadnes-red-thread @rescuethewretched @twistedstitcher27 @kakashibabe02 @writingbylee @purgetrooperfox @basilbumble @witchklng @lackofhonor @ashotofspotchka @sailor-blossom @misogirl828 @amyroswell @darkjedipoptarts @pinkiemme @sleepingsun501 @fett-djarin @samanthacookieone @tortor-mcgee @corrabell @queen--kenobi @elegantduckturtle @felinaone @palpipeen @wild-karrde @obeydontstray @nomercyforthewarrior @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @thefact0rygirl @everythingyouwanted @equalityforcats @cagrame @ladykatakuri @snakerune @shadesofshatteredblue @100lxtters @damerondala @tachyon-girl @rintheemolion @pickleprickle @mando-amando @certified-anakinfucker @baba-fett @ulchabhangorm

[becquerel]

i do think there is a lot to say on why homestuck’s fanbase is (to put it bluntly) so transgender in such a specific and interesting way. and i think its mostly to do with homestuck’s treatment of femininity vs masculinity in a way that is not typically done

femininity is presented as both something to save the world (space players and echidna, working with frogs, maids/sylphs presented as The Most Feminine classes and about creation/healing, despite it being said later on class gendering doesn’t matter, because it was written to matter at the beginning), while also being vicious enough to cause longtime and horrifying pain (kanaya and jade wield chainsaws and shotguns. the peixes line being as they are. its implied female trolls are culturally thought to be more cruel/violent on alternia due to condy’s influence via flarp being “for girls” as tavros is told. vriska. aranea’s help hurting everyone she tries it on.)

masculinity in homestuck is... frankly not aggrandized at all. it’s a reverse from the norm. every hypermasculine character we may have had a chance to look at has it ripped away in the end. bro strider dies to a little girl’s dog. lord english is first presented as a hypermasculine musclebound giant, then we meet caliborn and see the farce for what it is, LE is a little boy wearing an adult man’s clothes and screaming for people to take him seriously. and we do. until we notice that the clothes don’t fit quite right, and everything falls apart. grandpa harley was never alive. equius is the most masculine presented of any of the players, and... well. we’ve all seen equius. dad egbert is the only genuine show of masculinity in a truly positive light for john - and by extension the reader - to look up to, and he’s based around loving his own so much he makes cakes daily and tries to bond with him in any way he can, albeit often in ways that don’t really work. 

i don’t know. i think homestuck’s use of gendering is a fascinating aspect of the story. i think it helped me with my own personal experience of gender and the different aspects people can see gender through :] its cool to me

[gay-dorito-dust]

❛ c’mon, we’d look cute together. ❜ promt with Aegon! I feel like he would be a little shit even to the ones he likes.

Summary: Aegon has been on your ass for a while now, so you barricade yourself within the library for a moment of reprieve.

Aegon Targaryen, second of his name, bane of your existence and a pain in your fucking backside. The twerp was like a thorn lodged in your side, too fickle to be removed by traditional means. For as long as you could remember Aegon had been your shadow, following you wherever you went whether that be the gardens, courtyard, library, kitchen, even to your own fucking chambers, Aegon was there with a smug smirk that you’d love nothing more then to wipe off by the means of your first to his face. His entire existence annoyed you to the point that you intentionally hide from him in whatever room was within the closest vicinity.

Once you hid in the library for an entire day knowing for certain that Aegon wouldn’t ever dare step foot in there; Especially when Aemond was known to occupy the library as though it were his chamber. The younger brother was made more then aware of Aegon’s incessant pursuit towards you by how often he would see you rush into the room; Slamming the door shut behind you whilst looking as though you had just set one of the dragons loose within the castle. “I have never, not once, ever seen my brother so determined about something before.” He said as he quickly finished reading a passage out of his book. “You haven’t slipped anything into his drink by any chance.” You only gave the prince a glare, “ha ha, very funny Aemond, don’t you think I would’ve done that just if it meant getting him off my arse for a fucking second?”

“Considering that this is Aegon we are talking about, I’m certain he’d rather be in your arse then on it.” Aemond put it bluntly, his lips graced with a small smirk when you groaned in annoyance, “all joking aside, I have never seen him this determined in perusing someone. It’s quite frankly horrifying to see him up so early.” Aegon was known to be a heavy sleeper, more so during his ventures out to the streets of silk; So seeing his brother get up anytime other then midday brought a lot into question for Aemond. The answer to all of his inquiries was currently attempting to blockade the door with a chair. “Well tell him to quit it or find another, less invasive method in perusing me before I end up hitting him where his future kids will most definitely feel it.” You replied, stepping back to view your work before turning your attention to Aemond who’s eye was gleaming in amusement.

“So your telling me there’s an slight window of opportunity for you to accept my brothers advances?” He hummed, his chin resting within the palm of hand as he caught onto the look of realisation that flash across your face as you recollected the phrasing of your prior words. “No I didn’t.” You curtly answered. “I’m afraid you did, sweet y/n.” Aemond taunted, thoroughly enjoying what he was now learning, “your putting words in my mouth.” You hissed as you turned to addresses the prince who looked about as smug as a cat in his chair. “Am I? Or are you in denial of the possibility that you do, in fact, like the attention my brother has been giving you recently?” You knew what Aemond was doing but you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of getting under your skin, edging you to the point of an accidental confession; Mind games have always been his forte.

So you did what you could’ve done in that situation, change the subject and put him in the hot seat. “Why are you so invested in your brothers love life all of a sudden Aemond? Normally you wouldn’t give two shits with whom he fucks but right now your acting as though you were a gossiping lady of the court.” Aemond scoffs, fully aware of what you were doing. He didn’t blame you, forcing to admit favouritism towards his brother’s company was damming to one’s pride indeed. Even he has a hard time finding anything remotely favourable out of his brother’s company, especially ones that didn’t involve chasing him down the streets of silk and flea bottom whenever he were to allude his duties. “Oh please why would you-“ just as Aemond was about to finish his sentence, a voice from the other side of the door belonging to that of Ser Criston Cole.

“Prince Aemond, the Queen Alicent requests your audience.” You knew that Alicent didn’t liked to be kept waiting, so you walked over to the door and dislodged the chair from underneath the handle before suspicions were raised. “You wouldn’t want to keep the Queen waiting.” You told him, you see his eye linger on the stack of books on the table he was occupying and you sighed, “I’ll clear away your books, just get going.” Aemond wordlessly got up and crossed the room to the door, though not before casting you a thankful gaze before leaving the library with Ser Criston hot on his heels. With nothing else to do and no one else to talk with, you began clearing up and putting away books to their proper shelves which took you a substantial amount of time, and before you knew it afternoon had already fallen upon KingsLanding.

“I think I’ll head down to the gardens for a bit, just to stretch my legs and get some fresh air.” You told yourself for no other reason then verbal confirmation of what you were planning on doing as you stepped out of the Library, making sure to shut the door behind yourself before you were greeted with a pair of mischievously beautiful lilac eyes and a head of short platinum locks. “Aegon.” You breathed out, “what do I owe the pleasure of your company on this fine afternoon.” You continued through gritted teeth when the prince only smirked in response as he proceeded to grab a hold of your arm, linking it with his own before leading you both down the hallway. “No need to act so cordial towards me, I merely wanted to spend time with you today but couldn’t seem to find you anywhere. Little did I know you were tucked away in the library with my brother.”

The way Aegon’s voice seemed uncharacteristic towards the end made you look at him properly, just in time to see his lilac eyes darken with insecurity as his jaw subtly clenched whilst his grip on your hand tightened over yours absentmindedly. You almost completely forgot that underneath the facade was a boy born into a loveless family and crippling expectations; You almost felt upset for ignoring him, only to be rudely remembered that this was the same boy that tripped you over into a mud puddle and faked innocence along with the time he stole your clothes while you were bathing. How he had gotten in without you hearing his heavy ass breathing still alludes you and frightens you simultaneously. “Apologise my prince, I didn’t know my absence would affect you as much.” You replied, squeezing his hand.

“You can make it up to me by walking through the garden with me.” Aegon quickly suggested and when you didn’t reply fast enough for his liking, he began to whine and lean his weight into you. “C’mon, we’d look cute together, strolling through the gardens, hand in hand, arm in arm. Don’t you think?” Aegon at this point was on the brink of desperation. He hadn’t been lying when he said that he had been trying to find you, almost turned the red keep upside down in the process throughout the duration of his search for you. All he wished for is that he got to have your company even if it was for a short period of time. Aegon just wanted to let his guard down and the only way he could do that was whenever he was with you. So when you sighed and agreed to accompany him, the prince was practically dragging you do the hall with his long strides as you struggled to keep up.

Despite regretting your easy acceptance towards his offer, you found yourself looking upon Aegon’s face to see that the shadows of doubt and regret have retreated from his features and the worry lines usually seen across his forehead had subsided for far happier ones. If Aemond’s words from earlier were to be believed and that Aegon had been determined in being within your presence and how your body receipted to his…peculiar advances. Then yes, you might’ve favoured Aegon’s undivided attention being on you and solely you. The mere thought of being desired and sought after to the point it drives that person into desperation because of how sorely sought after you were. It made you feel things. It made you feel wanted. “You’re a brat you know.” You said softly as you rested your head against his shoulder, feeling the muscles within his body tense at your words, “however I’d rather you be my brat then anyone else’s. I’d want you to be my problem to deal with for the rest of my life.”

“As long as you be mine in return,” Aegon replied softer then usual, pressing a kiss to your head, “for now and for always.”