#lava slot

[bog-witch-blair]

I finally worked up the nerves to beat Grym without using the forge hammer. All the posts we've seen are not exaggerating about it. But he lay slain and we shall wear his head as a trophy. And never do it again ever.

[royal-bubble-tea]

Stray Kıds - Bang Chan - Imagine

Have you seen the Clip of Bang Chan working out and lifting 140kg!!! Like what the hell?! This man is soooooo fine! He is bias wrecking me so hard lately, I can barely handle it.

Breathing, working, moving

Bang Chan x gn! Reader (smut🔥)

Imagine Bang Chan invited you to work out with him. Nothing to serious just working up a healthy sweat and spending some quality time together.

Bang Chan was already working out when you entered to gym. He looks up to to greet you but his mind imediatly goes into overdrive. There you are in tight sports wear, the curves of your body for everyone to see. Not that your clothes are very revealing but as someone who prevers wider and more baggy clothes on a daily basis Bang Chan is over the moon to be able to admire you so freely.

As you walk over to him with a big smile on your face, happy to see your ray of sunshine and spend some time with him, he has to remind himself to stay calm and not alert you to his current struggle to not make the heat in his stomach spread. While hugging you in greeting he might hold you a little bit longer, squeeze you closer and making sure as many body parts of yours as possible are touching. The two of you start with a light warm up and while you are enjoying yourself Bang Chan is to busy to watch your body move. The movement of your thighs as you work out is hypnotising to him. As you move on to some more strenous exercises Bang Chan has a a hard time controlling himself. Seeing you work up a sweat has images occupying his mind. His eyes trace a pearl of sweat starting at you temple trailing down your neck and finally dissapearing underneath you shirt. He wants nothing more than to trace those sweet pearls with his tongue. He wants to taste you, feel the veins in your neck move underneath you skin as he traces it with his tongue. Hear you stuttering breaths.

You are oblivious to Chan's internal struggle as you are fighting your own demons. Seeing him lift those weights as if its nothing, still being able to smile at you and make you to laugh has heat spreading trough your stomach. With every bang of those weights against the floor more and more butterflies flutter inside you. But it's him winking at you as if he knows what you are thinking causes those butterflies to turn into something hotter. Something that spreads like lava through your core. Images of pushing him to the floor and straddling his thick thighs start flooding your mind but a particular one sticks with you, causes your cheeks to turn pink and making you want to press you legs together to give you some well deserved friction. It is about him walking up to you, grabbing you underneath your thighs and lifting you up like you weigh nothing. Him smirking at you before bringing your lips together into a searing kiss.

Chan still faced with his internal struggle almost groans out loud when you walk over to the bench press. There he is standing in front of you, between your spread legs thinking dark and dirty toughts while he is supposed to spot you, to support you but he is barely able to hold it together. Finally Chan snaps when he hears you take a deep breath and exhaling shakily. He pulls the bar up and away from you. Now without anything in his way he looks down at you. Your body drenched in sweat, breathing heavily and splayed out for him.

You are confused as to what is going on with Chan but before you can ask him why he put the bar away he is aleady lowring himself. Slotting himself between you spread legs and slowly making his way up your body. His warm breath is hitting you and you search his face for an answer, which you find quickly. He is breathing hard and his pupils are blown. You notice that his eyes are moving between yours and your lips and before he can ask you if this is okay with you, the tension between you two snaps. You lean up, bring your arms around his broad shoulders and slot your mouths together. This is what you have been thinking about for the past 30 minutes. This is what you both were craving. You start by nipping at his bottom lip. Catching it between your teeth, pulling it back a little bit and hearing him whimper is exactly what you want. Chan is putty in your hands. He is loving the feeling of your lips against his, your hands running trough his hair and pulling slightly, making him exhale into your mouth. You use this chance to swipe your tongue into his mouth. Tracing his with yours, he moans breathlessly into your mouth. While he is distracted chasing your mouth and your tongue, you move your hands down his body and underneath his shirt. You feel the muscles in his back move, from him holding himself up to not crush you. But this is exactly what you want. You trace your hands down his back again, nails scratching him and hearing him whimper again, gives you the confidence you need for your next move. You grab his hips and pull him down on you, your legs coming up to squeeze him between your thighs and rolling your pelvis into his. He stopps kissing you, buries his head into your neck and moans out loud. You repeat the same move over and over again and Chan is at a loss for words. He continues to moan into your neck, to overrun by emotions and sensations to do much else. You can feel him getting hard and pressing into you, the friction making you moan and whimper as well. Hearing your sweet noises pulls Chan out of his own head. He traces one hand down your body, he squeezes your chest, loving the moan that leaves your lips. His hand moves to your hips, he grabs you tightly and pushes you even closer to him. You both can feel each others body heat and the sweat clinging to you. Chan starts rolling his hips into you causing you to throw you head back and he finally leans in to lick the sweat of your neck. You can feel is tongue tracing your neck, sucking and biting at your skin. Your hands claw their way up his back again, hips moving into his more passionatly. You can feel the heat in your lower stomach spreading. Chan is no different than you. His hips move more irregular, his moans getting louder and more out of control. He grips your hips tighter and grinds down with more purpose, just wanting to make you both feel good. The heat inside your lower stomach is boderline painful. What finally pushes you over the edge, is hearing his deep moans right into your ear. The heavy inhales and shaky exhales are music for you. You come with white blotches in the corner of your vision. The heat in your stomach explodes and you breathily moan his name.

Hearing his name falling from your lips. Your head thrown back in ecstasy has him stumbling over the edge as well. He throws his head back, brockenly moaning your name.

You both are trying to catch you breath, coming down from you highs. Chan is leaning back up again and you follow him. You both look at each other and start laughing. Realising the situation you both are in, being incredibly lucky that you were alone at this time of day in JYP's own company gym. "I think that was one of the most intense work-outs I have done in a while", Chan says while looking at you and smiling cutely, dimples full on display. "If this is your definition of a work-out I might join you more often", you reply with a wink.

He helps you stand up and you both make your way towards the showers. This had to be the fastest shower each of you had ever taken as you both are to exited to go back to his dorm, continuing were you left of.

Phew, that was a lot. After this I am really craving some Matcha Latte with Taro Boba. My bestie makes the best I ever had🤤🥺

[cobrakaisb]

what was i made for?

summary: everybody hates you, but luke could never see you that way; luke hates himself, but he’s always going to be the center of your galaxy.

word count: 2.3k

featuring: angst, reader and luke share a vape (sue me🙈), but also friend dynamics, and official godly parent reveal 🙌, reader and luke are basically together (without the labels).  

series masterlist ||| previous ||| next 

“i hate it here,” you announce, taking a seat at the hermes table for breakfast. 

chris, luke, and katrina all exchange glances. you can sense their nerves from a mile away, and their unease only seems to heighten when you slam your plate and goblet on the table. chris opens his mouth, ready to comment on your behavior, but he decides not to when you throw a nasty glare his way. 

“wow, you’re hera’s daughter,” katrina teases, nudging your shin with her own from across the table. 

“no shit, really?” you reply, stabbing a lone strawberry on your plate.

“no seriously, your glare is exactly like hers. i can see her staring at me in disapproval and everything,” katrina continues with a wide smile on her face.

you flash a tight-lipped smile in response, but don’t take the bait that’s dangling in front of you. over the past few months, you’ve established quite the reputation at camp half-blood. aside from being something akin to a forbidden child -- because it was always assumed that hera would never have children -- your nasty temper, smart mouth, and enormous ego have led to a number of fights. all of them were petty, with campers making claims about you that were so far into leftfield you were surprised they even caught on. 

“what happened this time?” luke asks, his shoulder brushing against yours when he leans forward to rest his elbows on the table. 

“that stupid fucking lava wall,” you grumble, taking a bite of your pancakes. 

“okay…” katrina prompts, waving her hand in a continue motion. 

you swallow your food before answering, “i love the lava wall, it’s such a good workout, but i hate that my time slot is the same as the ares kids.” 

“nothing new, but what’d they do now?” katrina asks. 

“annoy me,” you answer.

luke says your name in the same tone he uses when travis and connor get caught pulling some master prank. you can hear the disappointment in his tone, and that elicits an eye roll from you. he doesn’t even know the full story, and he’s already picking a side other than yours, typical. 

“sorry, that we can’t all be the golden child like you,” you sneer, getting up from the table to throw the rest of your food in the burning fire pit.

everybody knows you prayed to your mother when the flames flash a deep purple before flickering back to their normal orange. 

“i’ll talk to her,” katrina says, standing up from her seat. 

luke lifts up his hand, shakes his head no, and replies, “i got it.” 

he follows you out of the dining pavilion and into the woods. you know he’s there because you can hear the cracks of twigs and rustling of bushes as he matches your step. only two people are crazy enough to follow you, but only one of them knows when to walk in silence.

“go back to camp luke,” you demand, pushing a branch out of the way. 

“not until you tell me what the fuck happened at the lava wall,” he answers, dodging the branch before it makes contact with his nose. 

you stop short, looking at long island sound through a small gap in the trees. luke knows the spot; you two come here frequently. he waits for a moment, admiring your straight back. even when you’re feeling your worst, you still muster up the courage to walk with the confidence of a princess. 

“the same old shit. you know the story,” you mumble, eyes squinting from the glare of the sun. 

luke sighs. he doesn’t understand why you put up this mask with him. why do you feel the need to continue being the strong, confident, arrogant, and put-together, daughter of hera when it’s just the two of you? he steps closer to you, standing directly behind you so his arms can wrap around your waist. you lean back into his chest, shoulders sagging in defeat. 

“i never used to care what people thought of me, now it’s all i can think about. this was supposed to be different, luke,” you whisper. 

luke doesn’t say anything in return. he drops his forehead against the back of your head, and squeezes your hips just a bit tighter. camp was supposed to be different. you were meant to feel wanted and seen; he was meant to become a hero with ultimate glory. from the looks of it, neither of you are anywhere close to getting what you deserve. 

—

some days were harder than others, luke knew this. yet, it didn’t make it any easier when one of those hard days came around. each and every time he feels utterly dead to the world, wanting nothing more than to rot away in the comfort of his bottom bunk in the hermes cabin. being head counselor doesn’t afford that luxury. so, he takes a deep breath, musters up every ounce of courage his body could possibly possess, and walks out the door. 

usually, the training arena is quiet in the mornings. nobody, not even the most dedicated warriors, is willing to get up earlier than they need to. sleep is a hot commodity at camp half-blood. and so is privacy. so, luke relishes in the quiet mornings where he’s surrounded by the soft tweets of birds, the slash of his sword, and his heavy breathing. he trains and trains, searching for a way to be good enough again. he used to pray, but after years of going unheard and unanswered, he gave up on connecting with his father.

he thinks of his mother, alone in their house in suburban connecticut. she never doubted hermes, even when he left them for worse; her faith kept her loyal. luke wishes that he had her loyalty, but he doesn’t. instead, all he feels is anger and resentment towards his father. he swings his sword again, cutting through the outer layer of the dummy, and watches as the stuffing falls gracefully to the ground.  

“that’s a lot of slashes,” you comment, and your voice draws him out of his own head.

he ignores you, continuing on with his practice session. 

“you know you can take a break, right?” you ask, coming to stand behind him. 

luke’s arm falls to his side, his sword resting against his thigh. his head falls forehead, and he takes in a deep breath, letting the clean air fill his lungs. your hand sneaks between the strap of his bronze breastplate and his bright orange t-shirt. he takes another breath, and your chin digs into his shoulder before you drop a kiss on the exposed skin by the collar of his shirt. 

you don’t say anything, and luke appreciates that about you. ever since your arrival at camp, he’s tried to pinpoint what exactly draws him to you. every time he comes up empty handed, but at this moment he knows it’s your willingness to just let him be. you never force him to be happy or content with the gods’ and their behavior. you embrace the darkness slowly rising inside of him, even when he tries to suppress it. 

“i just want to be good enough,” luke whispers, finally allowing himself to be vulnerable. 

your arms tighten around him, and you reply, “you are good enough.” 

“not for him,” he mumbles. 

“he’s not good enough for you,” you say assertively. 

luke doesn’t comment on your words. the conviction in your voice is enough to inform him that there’s no changing your mind. he wishes he believed you, but he doesn’t. 

“you’re not the one who failed their quest,” luke mumbles. 

you openly scoff at his words, letting go of him. he waits patiently for your next move and stumbles when you pull him towards your face by the strap of his armor. your eyes met, and luke swear he’s never seen such fury brewing in them.

“don’t ever use that as a determinant of your worth. that quest was impossible luke, and he knew that,” you seethe. 

luke blinks, letting your words sink in. he can’t believe them; he doesn’t believe them. 

“it was my chance, my one chance to show him that i’m worthy,” luke whispers, leaning his forehead against yours. 

you let out a shaky breath and luke can feel the anger and frustration radiating off you in waves. he knows that if he wasn’t holding you in his arms, olympus would fall. he blinks, and you’re standing there, in the middle of crumbled temples and the debris of ancient ruins with the fiercest look in your eyes. you’re hera’s daughter, and you’re loyal to a fault, he thinks.

“i just don’t know how much longer i can do this,” he confesses, kissing your earlobe. 

“me too,” you answer, squeezing him tighter. 

—

the two of you are sitting on the dock, feet dangling over the edge as your toes barely graze the surface of the water. you always meet here after all the campers in the hermes cabin settled into bed. when he was able to sneak out and away from their curious eyes.

“i hate it here,” you whisper, leaning further back into luke’s chest.

“you don’t hate it here,” he mumbles, fumbling around in the pocket of his cargo pants. 

“i do,” you answer with certainty. “everybody here hates me. except maybe you and katrina,” you continue. 

luke doesn’t accept or deny your statement. instead, he just hands you the orange stick. you scoff at him, but take the vape from his hands anyways. one thing about luke, he feeds your addictions; every single one of them. instead of thanking him, like you normally would, you bring the vape to your mouth, inhaling deeply. you wait a second, letting the toxins fill your lungs, and then release the smoke in one puff. there’s nothing sexy or hot about the action, but luke squeezes your side, pulling you a bit closer. 

“i can’t believe my plug is my boyfriend,” you joke, but there’s no happiness in your tone. 

luke pokes your side. you switch the vape to your left hand, holding it out to him. you wait patiently for him to take it, but he doesn’t. that confuses you. you turn to face him, forehead bumping against his chin. it hurts, but you just grit your teeth instead of saying anything. luke grimaces, leaning down to plant a kiss on your forehead. 

“there are other people here who like you,” luke says.

“name them,” you demand, taking another hit. 

luke takes the item from you, uses it, and then answers, “chris.” 

“is your friend not mine,” you reply. 

luke rolls his eyes. “connor and travis,” he continues. 

“enjoy torturing me, not my company. besides, they’re like ten,” you say. 

“okay then, what about clarisse?” luke asks.

now it’s your turn to roll your eyes, “clarisse tolerates me.” 

“that’s more than i can say,” luke answers, and you snort at his response. 

luke smiles softly at you, and you feel your cheeks heat up. you hate when he does that. when he looks at you like you’re the only person he could possibly dream about. there are days where there's such deep admiration for you in his eyes, you wonder if he leaves burnt offerings in your name instead of the gods.

you turn his face in the opposite direction and whisper, “don’t do that.” 

“do what?” he asks nonchalantly.  

“you know what,” you answer, shooting him a pointed look. 

luke grins. it’s proud and cocky, telling you that he knows exactly what he’s doing. his brown eyes crinkle at the corners, and his scar bunches up with the upturn of his lips. you think he looks the prettiest in this moment; in the dark of the night, with messy curls, grimy skin, and a vibrant smile. you turn again, so that your legs are draped across his lap, and wrap your left arm around the back of his neck. luke’s left hand, the one previously resting against your side, lands on your right thigh, and he squeezes the flesh there as he kisses your temple. 

“do you think we moved too fast?” you ask, taking the vape from his right hand. 

luke waits, expecting you to take a hit, but you just look at him with eager eyes.

“i think we’re doing everything right,” he explains. 

his words hold a deeper meaning that you refuse to acknowledge at the moment. you know what’s going on, but you don’t want to think about it. what would mother say?, you wonder. you lean your head against luke’s shoulder, nose brushing against the crook of his neck, and close your eyes.

“do you think icarus knew he was falling to his death?” luke asks, breaking the silence.

it takes you a moment, but you respond, “maybe. i’m not sure.”

“i mean he was flying the whole time, and then suddenly, he’s plummeting into the mediterranean,” luke continues, taking the vape from your hand.  

“maybe he wanted to die,” you reply, tilting your head to meet his brown eyes. 

a confused expression overcomes luke’s face, propelling you to continue on: “he must have known that the sun would melt the wax, and then his wings would break. i think icarus meant to die, trying to send a message to daedalus or even maybe the gods.”

luke ponders your words for a minute. the gears in his head turning as he contemplates the truth behind your theory. is that what we’re doing?, he wonders. the brewing plans between the two of you linger over his head like a dark cloud, but he can’t bring himself to regret anything.

“so icarus had a greater purpose…like us,” luke observes, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

“exactly,” you answer, leaning into his side. 

luke hands the vape back to you, and you pocket it for good this time. he exhales deeply, engulfing you in a cloud of mango-scented smoke. it burns your lungs, but at least you feel something, which is more than you can say as of lately. 

“i just want to be happy,” luke announces. 

“happy and free,” you decide, kissing his cheek delicately.

taglist: @percabethlvr @iwantahockeyhimbo @hottiewifeyyyy @loveryoushouldcomeoverr @used2beee @harrysnovia @cami-is-reading @mxtokko @cxcillia @obxstiles @maraschinocherry3

[comatosebunny09]

you're good at this—playing all coy and social as if you aren't a clump of nerves ready to burst.

like your legs aren't bouncing beneath the table, and you haven't knocked your knees against its underside a few times, almost spilling your wine.

like you haven't bitten your lips to hell, and your teeth aren't stained with the pretty rouge of your lipstick because of it.

no one's the wiser to your plight. to the quiet war waging in your head and the anxiety spilling like lava into your extremities.

you'll never get used to this things, no matter how many you attend—these parties, these galas, these socialites, this acting.

none of it is you.

not the form-fitting gowns, the kohl clumped to your lashes, the facsimile of a smile you've worn all evening until your cheeks ached.

but through the chaos, one thing remains a constant: him.

him and the hand he has clasped around your thigh to tether you. anchor you back to earth. all big and warm and reassuring, and he's angling himself a little closer until your nostrils fill with the scent of cured leather and peeled mandarin. and, fuck all, he’s warm even from this proximity. so hot, you feel the pressure of his body slowly seeping into your own.

his eyes gleam like the sunset in your peripheral. silently, they ask if you're alright beneath a slightly raised brow, above a customary smirk—a mask he dons during these gatherings if only to make the time fly by. not meant to tease you, he promises. he reserves something genuine for you.

he knows you're not alright, which is why he rubs all gently at the notch of your knee—an attempt to bring you back when you feel your mind slowly disconnecting from your body.

- at an event with sylus. you're clearly nervous. you always are. so the pair of you bid an irish goodbye, and he'll murder anyone who has the gall to stop you.

- watching him sneer at the partygoers blocking your exit is low-key a turn on.

- the night concludes with you both settled on your couch in your living room.

- and, of course, kissing ensues. because why wouldn't it?

- and he's a little handsy, so deft fingers creep up the expanse of your thigh because, of course, the slit of your dress would beckon such actions.

- and sure, yeah. you're into it as he gently pushes you back against the sofa. slots himself between your split legs as your fingers rake through the riot of his hair.

- and he hums all nice and low into your mouth, very much enjoying the sticky grind of your lips together.

- this is sylus. he's always gentle. always takes care of you, treating you like aged porcelain preserved in a museum.

- so why the fuck are you so nervous?

- you’ve made out a thousand times before.

- sex, however.

- well, fuck.

[slowd1ving]

BOTH AIN'T SHIT ゜・BLADE, DAN HENG NSFW

"he lying to me and i'm lying to him, fuck it, guess we both ain't shit." - B.A.S continuation of roommate au see here for some basic designs for them male reader warnings: nsfw, amab!reader, voyeurism, mentions of masturbation, blade's lowkey toxic on blade's end (he a lil crazy)?? still band au too, porn with some plot wc: 1.2k

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

A unique kind of fresh hell has manifested itself into existence inside the apartment. It’s lacking, if you were to compare it to the traditional brimstone and lava; but what it doesn’t have in material quality, it makes up for in psychological torment. 

Aggravated, you plug in your headphones to your guitar at max volume. Decibels upon decibels of harsh chords crash against your eardrums—just enough that you can tune out the sound of skin-against-skin and pitched moans from next door. Seriously, you seethe: with how cold Blade constantly acts towards everyone, you were expecting him to get as much action as a cloistered monk. You stopped counting after the fifth girl—shuddering at his libido. 

Why did it start? You don’t know. When you first moved in two months ago, there’d been no indication he’d make your life living hell like this. Maybe if you hadn’t gotten into that argument with him—some trivial misplacement of his beloved construction manuals—it might not have led to this, but you’ve been getting the cold shoulder for the past fortnight, and the assault on your ears every other day is beginning to chip steadily away at your spirit. 

Is it too late to take Dan Heng up on his offer to move in?

Blade doesn’t know why it starts either. On the day where it’s much too hot for work, you’re lounging on the couch with your sweatpants hung low on your hips and nothing else save a chain dipping past your collarbone. There’s sweat trickling down your body from the heatwave, and his eyes follow the motion before the heat gets to him and he’s interrogating you about the whereabouts of his textbook. 

Maybe it’s the season finally getting to him, but he can’t seem to get himself off that night—the constant white noise seems too quiet when he’s depleting his energy and jerking himself off.

Perhaps he’s just angry with you. Routinely, when his irritation with himself and the world around him reaches a boiling point, it’s then that he chooses to finally pay heed to the eyes ogling at his figure. He’s not stupid: knowing fully that they want to take him to bed, and he won’t refuse when he wants to get out of his head for a while. 

There’s something satisfying about your reaction—eyelid just about twitching, a tight grip on your Earl Grey as he waltzes into the kitchen with pyjama pants and not much else—that evokes a grim smirk from him. But these girls just aren’t satisfying him anymore. Soiled, tied-off condoms litter the waste bin in the corner of his room—not proof of his enjoyment, but rather the persistence of the people he’s with to get him off.

You’re just some guy Kafka stuck him with—so why the hell is he thinking of how your body glistened in that heatwave?

There’s something wrong with him. 

You notice it too, watching how he brings someone new almost daily with him now—seriously, is this guy trying to get with half the city? He’s lucky it’s summer, but you certainly aren’t. 

Of course, you complain at your next gathering with the Trailblazers—drunken condemnations of the man who’s just a prick. You get so frustrated that Stelle practically shoves Dan Heng into you to take you home; he only really loses the reluctant air when you assure him Blade won’t be back until later. 

And maybe it’s the whiskey you both consumed—or maybe it’s the lingering memories of the last time he kissed you right after a successful concert, warm and sloppy and dizzying—that slots your lips together once more. He’s pressed beneath you on your bed: back arched as you gently stretch him out with your fingers. Like this, with tears leaking down his eyes and a wobbly smile across his face as the seams of your joined lips gather salt and faint pricks of blood—you can’t help but disregard the door you forgot to close properly. 

It could also be the adrenaline—Dan Heng feels so utterly breathless as you pump his weeping cock, getting off to the fact that he’s the one you’re fucking in Blade’s own apartment. 

“Don’t—ngh—stop.” Blade freezes when he hears the distinct sound come from your room: hard, fast sounds of tacky skin-against-skin; a wooden bed frame squeaking ever so slightly; and the familiar sound of fucked-out whimpers. 

He can’t bring himself to move from where he’s stone-still in the small corridor leading directly from the front door. While breathy and high-pitched, it’s definitely a guy—and that’s not you he’s hearing. His senses are sharp, so he does manage to pick up groans that sound much more like you; and for some reason, the back of his neck prickles with a burning sensation. 

His grip on his keys is harsh enough to draw blood—faint, pungent copper wafts up from his palm as he walks past your door to get to his room.

Except, the door’s been left slightly ajar and he takes the opportunity to see exactly who is coaxing your song out from you. 

His breath hitches and his red eyes widen at the sight. A lean, muscular back faces him—busy being split apart on your dick. From what he can see, you’re leaning back on the bed: cradling a mop of wavy black hair while his mouth is latched on your chest. He’s bouncing slightly, while your pelvis angles up to meet the plush flesh of his ass with a sickening squelch. 

The man pulls back with a pop, and it’s then that Blade glimpses from the side the face he most despises. 

Dan Heng. 

And…you. 

You’re fucking a guy. You’re fucking Dan Heng, of all people, with that half-lidded look of what isn’t exasperation (when directed at him, at least)—but what is unmistakably lust.

He grinds his teeth as he spots the slight bruising on your neck and collarbones, and now the bite mark placed directly around your nipple. 

He’s definitely bleeding from his hands now—as Dan Heng shyly lowers his lips towards yours with eyelids that flutter closed, you open your own to meet Blade’s widened ones. Then, you mirror his gesture from about a week ago.

You smirk, tightly gripping Dan Heng’s thighs as you force him deeper onto you. He’s mewling your name down, scratching down the flesh of your back. 

Payback, you mouth when that bastard’s lips slide to your jaw—and suddenly Blade can’t watch any more of this disgusting display. 

A heavy pulse is felt thrumming across his head; lightheaded, he sits heavily onto his bed with shaking hands and a murderous spiral of thoughts in his mind. He hates Dan Heng. He abhors his very existence, but somehow his brain isn’t preoccupied with ways of making his life hell. 

Rather, his mind keeps picturing the look of your naked body. The faint shine of your lips. The swell of your cock pressed deep in his ass. That insufferable look in your eyes as you glanced at him like he wasn’t even worth your time. 

Swallowing thickly, he can feel himself stiffen at the thought of seeing the dips and valleys of your body sprawled beneath him. And as he finishes for the first time with it actually working to block out the static for once, there’s only one thought left in his mind. 

Aeons—he can’t let you move out. 

[sorcerous-caress]

Giving them a hug

[ Bg3, fluff, nb!reader, several characters ]

[ Omeluum, The Emperor, Nere, Nym, Sorn, Minthara, Raphael ]

Omeluum

"Child, you have returned. Has your search been completed?" Floating just above the moss covered ground, the mindflayer you've grown quite accustomed to seeing as of lately, was in his usual spot.

Without saying a word, you saw the curiosity in Omeluum's eyes as you approached him.

He didn't make a move as he observed you move even closer, wrapping your hands around him and burying your face in the front of his robe.

You can feel the tentacles floating above your head, unsure of where to go and awkwardly moving away to give your body the proper space.

Pressing yourself closer into his embrace, you took a deep breath as you felt his long arms pat your back.

"It seems you have been in quite the stressful state."

You didn't let go. You didn't want to. Omeluum understood that in his own way, finding your specie's need for physical contact very fascinating.

More so that you chose him as your stress relief, he feels deeply honoured.

The Emperor

"Very well." A familiar voice spoke inside your mind. And just like that, a portal to the asteral plane opened up to you

Stepping inside, you were met with the person of your dreams. Every detail of their being moulded to your taste and liking.

"There you are." A honeyed voice called out to you from their soft lips. They approached you with the enthusiasm of an overseas lover finally coming home to their partner.

"No." You took a step back from their offered embrace, inviting you into their warmth. "Not this, I want the real you."

The most beautiful eyes you've ever seen in your life stared at you with a worried expression. That faux worry barely lasted a second before their face became neutral again.

"As you say." Dispelling the illusion, The Emperor stood above you with his towering figure. Cold tendrills and the same haunting purple eyes.

Making the first move, you took a couple of steps forward. The tentacles parted and made a space for you to slot your body against his.

Cold to the touch with a very unfamiliar texture, it was smooth yet hard in certain places. Still, you wrapped your arms around him in a resemblance of a hug.

His tentacles slowly curled around your body parts. Twirling itself around each part and bringing you even closer.

He didn't have a heartbeat. He head three instead, each of them drumming to their own rhythm.

The tentacles kept caressing you, his arms stayed at his sides.

Nere

"You should've left to deliver my important message to general Thorm." Nere's voice didn't hide his annoyance and neither did his look of disdain, "just what are you waiting around for?"

You shrugged, "a hug."

Preparing yourself to receive even more mocking and complaining, you were pleasantly met with a tired sigh instead.

"First that...filthy drider creature's bursts of insanity and now your perversion, why do I always get the defective ones." Nere impatiently made his way into your personal space.

Just as you started to explain how you truly just wanted a simple hug and didn't have ulterior intentions, you were rudly hushed and pulled against his body.

He smelled...like burned powder and rubble, of course he did. But below it, you could catch a faint scent of lavender.

His arms were firm as they held you in place, squeezing just enough to make you feel a comfortable pressure.

And when you wrapped your arms around him gently, hugging him back, you swore you saw his pointy ears droop just slightly.

This was...really nice actually. You never expected to even get a hug, let alone one this comforting.

And then you were unceremoniously pushed away from his body, almost losing your balance and falling into the pits of lava behind you.

He didn't show any signs of caring, "I've indulged your degenerate fantasies enough, now go and do your job."

Nym

"Of course, anything you want." She smiled so sweetly as she said it, "would you prefer we get comfortable on the bed? I'd be able to hold you much longer then."

Her body was so soft, holding you closer to her chest. Drawing soothing circles on yout back with her expert fingers.

The atmosphere was very peaceful, her touches very gentle and she smelled even better.

You had no doubt that she genuinely wanted you to have a great experience, no matter how insignificant one hug might seem in the grand scheme of things.

To you, it was clearly important at this moment, and that's more than enough reason for her to go the extra mile.

Occasionally, she'd hum a tone, soft spoken words in drow language slipping past her lips. Slowly and carefully pronouncing each syllable like a lullaby.

Sorn

"A hug? Really?" Confusion clear on his face, he crossed his arms against his exposed chest, "you know, you could've just asked for my sister instead. This is her domian more."

You shook your head, "I know, but I wanted you."

Sorn's eyes narrowed at you in suspension, "Just to be fully clear with each other, is it really just a hug? This isn't some niche fetish or form of foreplay?"

"Just a hug."

Seemingl convinced with you not having ulterior intentions, much to his displeasure, Sorn stepped closer to you with opened arms.

Lean muscles enveloped you, awkward at first before easing into a more protective hug. Sorn was clearly taking inspiration from his only other source of hugs.

You felt safe in his arms, like you had someone to relay on.

"It will be okay, you're safe." His words of comfort came shortly. And despite his earlier reluctants, it felt like he genuinely meant them.

He held you tightly.

You hugged back, feeling his body shiver at the soft, non-intrusive touches.

After it ended, he stepped back. His body clearly more relaxed and at ease.

"I have to admit, that wasn't as bad as I expected."

Minthara

You swore you could see her judging you as she appeased your request in her mind.

You hoped that the trust you've built between the two of you so far would assure her that you weren't trying to backstab her or trick her.

"Come." She finally gave her permission.

Her blood ran hot, you realised as you were met with the warmth of her embrace.

Still, her body remained stiff as you held her. This was clearly a very unfamiliar territory to her.

"Try to relax, i promise you'll be safe." You whispered against her ear.

She took a deep breath, taking what felt like was a leap of faith to her, she let her body melt against yours.

Holding onto your waist, her firm grip kept you in place against her body.

She didn't let go when you attempted to pull away.

"If we are to stop this, it will be on my own terms." She said as she kept holding you close. You've willingly walked into her web, and there was no escaping now.

Raphael

"Why, of course, anything for my favourite client." His pride was clear in his stance even as he extended an arm to you, "come to me, little mouse."

Listening to the devil on your shoulder, you did.

You were met with burning heat, flinching away the second you touched him.

A low chuckle came from his lips, clear amusement at toying with you. "Oh is it too much for you to handle? My my, and here I thought you knew what you were getting into."

With a snap of his fingers, a soft glow envelops your body from head to toe. It made you feel lighter and left a hint of a sweet taste at the back of your throat.

"Here, something to keep that deary skin of yours from melting off. We wouldn't want to tarnish your beauty now, would we?" Cupping your face in his hands, you felt absolutely none of the previous heat as he rubbed your cheek with his thumb.

"Enough games, my hug, now." You said sternly as he laughed at your impatience.

But no teasing came. Instead, you were completely wrapped into his embrace. His wings enveloping you and caging you more into his body.

The expensive materials of his clothes did wonders to cover all the ridges and sharp angles underneath them that adorned his body.

For a moment in time, you managed to find rest and comfort in a devil's embrace. Willingly surrendering yourself to him as he pressed his nose against the pule point at your throat, inhaling deeply.

[remidyal]

I keep seeing posts that there's no tension or stress in this fight and it mostly just reminds me that there's a large percentage of the crowd who haven't played DnD - even WITH Ice Feast, this is a very difficult encounter where they're actually pretty on the edge even now, and Brennan clearly designed it with the stun immunity in mind (it was the lava not being a threat that he accidentally got himself with, not the stun). They need to get these Jaces out of here, and finish off the remaining ratgrinders, stat - the action economy at present is looking ROUGH, and that's with three ratgrinders down, plus Kristen and K2 act right AFTER Fig and Fabian who are low and thus likely to be making saves on their turns instead of taking them. The spell slot situation is getting bad, Gorgug just lost a full turn to the haste downside, and at the moment there's still a full four counterspells a turn to worry about on the other side.

[newcaptainofsquad9]

My Sweet Girl~Rhaenyra Targaryen x fem! Velaryon! reader

Pairing: Rhaenyra x  velaryon wife reader

Genre: Hurt and Comfort, Romance, Smut

Warnings: 18 + only ,smut, dirty talk,  mommy kink, slight queen kink 

Word Count: 2.5k

Summary: You’ve been distant from your wife, Rhaenyra ever since she was crowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, going back and forth from Driftmark to Kings Landing all while growing quiet at small council meetings. Rhaenyra decides to take matters into her own hands, flying you to Dragonstone with her to give  of you the space you deserve while pleading with you to tell her what the issue is. 

Writer’s note: This was going to be a short one shot but it got out of hand (as usual) but I hope ya’ll enjoy more Rhaenyra! There’s not enough fics of her on this site so, hope I could deliver. Please comment and tell me how I did! It would mean a lot, thank you.

 The painted table of Dragonstone never ceased to astound you: Seven Kingdoms of Westeros perfectly accounted beautifully on a table, whether lit by the hyper orange plums of lava, or stark in the gloomy gray the island was known for. House Targaryen’s ancestral seat intrigued you. It wasn’t as grand as the stories you heard of old Valyria, yet it’s presence remained in it’s stony walls. 

Just standing around the table Aegon the conqueror and his sister-wives cultivated radiated an ancient energy in the room, as if you could still feel them standing there, discussing their plans of overtaking Westeros. 

It made you reflect of your own house, not as regarded as the Targaryens but still powerful; the Velaryon fleet was the greatest strength to the crown, something your father Corlys often raved about. Was that your strength? What made the Queen love you as much as she did to marry you and in turn caused so much chaos within the realm? 

“If you wanted to stare at the painted table all day, you could have asked,” a voice said.

You hesitated. Rhaenyra’s voice was easygoing as it often was, yet you couldn’t help but feel shameful, leaving her in the dark for over a month, not confiding nor speaking with her except when it came to goodbye kisses and your occasional thoughts during council meetings. Rhaenyra was queen now. Her troubles within the realm were far more important than you, well, at least that’s what you believed until your lady wife coaxed you into going to Dragonstone with you. Syrax was always eager for rides, especially with her owner and the woman who made her rider the happiest--you. No chances of distractions on the Targaryen’s ancestral seat either: Rhaenyra’s children remained in Kings Landing and the guards you fared the journey too are outside, leaving you both alone to resolve whatever issue you had.

“My love, your mind is still in Kings Landing, maybe even at Driftmark,” Rhaenyra said. She stepped from the hallway and circled around the painted table, making it to your side. “I am here without distraction, not as Queen of the seven kingdoms but as your wife. What’s on your mind?”

Concern played at Rhaenyra’s face as she finally joined you at your side, slotting herself next to you while your eyes traced over the craved part of Dorne on the map.

“If I were ever a distraction to you or the governance of the kingdom, would you tell me?” you said. The grooves of the map felt bold in your fingers, tracing over it and your attention heavy on in instead of your wife. “If you wanted to make this marriage less restrictive, like you did with Laenor, would you?”

Rhaenyra’s hand found yours among the table, trapping the piece of Dorne thanks to both of your palms.

“You know I would, but the thought never crossed my mind,” she said. Her tone was low, yet sad, almost making you apologize then and there. “There is so restriction with you, my dear. Where is this coming from?”

Your attention remained drawn to the table. It was difficult being honest when your wife was this soft, tender and unfurled with brows up, you knew purple eyes smoldered deep to convey enough emotion to break you down.  She had no clue of your emotions, it worried her to death, that was evident. Yet you couldn’t speak it. Your feelings shouldn’t get in the way; Rhaenyra was Queen, needed in Kings Landing not here trying to coax a whirlwind of insecurities out of you.         

“Can you look at me, my love?” Rhaenyra said. She clasped her hand around yours, gave it a squeeze as she continued. “I need you here. Dorne is important, but not as important as what’s kept your mind occupied.”

You attempted to stray from her undivided attention on yourself; your eyes swept the map thrice over, but Rhaenyra tugged you until you were flush against her. Targaryen heat radiated from her, a feeling you knew too well.

“Please?” she whispered. She held your face, gently, finally guiding your attention on her soft, lilac eyes. “Whatever it is, I’ll stand steady and by your side as always but I need you to talk to me.”

Being fully immersed in the comfort and attention of your wife forced you to crumble instantly. Your hands slide up Rhaenyra’s body to play with the golden dragon lapels of her cloak, slightly rubbing against the curve of her breasts, something the Targaryen noticed then chuckled over. 

“No distractions, remember, love?” she said. “At least until I hear your voice.”

“Fine,” you said. “Sometimes I wonder if I can offer more to you as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and as a Targaryen.”

Rhaenyra traced your cheeks with the pads of her thumb; she carefully trailed her hands down to your waist in order to hold you close.

“What do you mean, my dearest? You’ve offered so much to me,” Rhaenyra said. 

“I know,” you whined. “But compared to your past loves: Harwin, and Daemon, even a different kind of love like Laenor. They were strong, powerful in a way like you, whether with a sword and shield or with dragon, they seemed most worthy of being at your side. While I--”

Rheanyra ceased the words from you, sealing them away with a kiss. A gasp bubbled its way through you before urging you to follow through to return the favor. Your wife’s arms wounded around you, tight enough to make you jump as her nails dug your skin through the fabric of your own cloak.

“I will not have any of that,” Rhaenyra whispered, nearly ghosting your lips with another kiss. “You may not have a dragon, that is true but you are still capable my sweet girl. Even still, you are of valyrian blood, dearest, I’m willing to try anything with you once Syrax lays another clutch of eggs.”

The way her lilac eyes shined showed you that she would hunt this idea to the ends of the realm for you. You didn’t want her to do that however, not for you. It felt as if you were still unworthy of her, her love or even the next clutch Syrax would or wouldn’t produce. 

“Y/N,” Rhaenyra said. Her voice firm and low, mimicking how she sounded as Queen among-st her small council and subjects. “You’re still so far away. Do you not believe me?”

You tried to answer, words stuck again as if Rhaenyra kissed you once more but she remained motionless; the silence grew astronomical, granting you permission to actually take in the beauty of your wife. Her silver hair radiated a bit darker in the low, shallow atmosphere of Dragonstone, akin to ash--poetic for that of a Targaryen. Your eyes traced the outline of her face, deep cheekbones and--

“Well, are you going to answer or are you going to keep staring,” she said. Your wife spoke slow, deliberate and cocky with an arched brow up to her ashen locks. “It’s OK if you don’t want to tell me, I’d always like to show you. What do you think?” 

There it was. The implication that hung between you both throughout the air of distant you’ve created. It’s been awhile since you’ve both been honest with each other, let alone get carried away by your intimacies. You wanted Rhaenya, always did. But did she truly want you as she did prior to her change in position. Would Queen Rhaenyra still love you as much as she did? Before the suitors and lords claiming to be a true husband for her.

“I need words, something, anything,” Rhaenyra grumbled. She tipped your  head up with her fingers, forcing you to look her directly in the eye. “Did someone put these ridiculous notions in your mind? Who was it? I’ll have them fed to Syrax.”

Rhaenyra’s words stirred you. Instead of words, actions took over instead, you kissed Rhaenyra. Your wife kissed back immediately as her hands flew to cup your face, yours traveled to the dragon lapels of her cloak, sloppily unclasping them all. The cloak dropped to the smoky stone floor. In it’s place was a double breasted coat embellished with dragon-like scales; yours fingers moved to open that as well while your mouth continued to move against Rhaenyra’s.

“W-Wait, Y/N,” Rhaenyra whispered against your lips prior to pulling back. You froze at her voice, a bit jarred yet she laid a soft hand against your cheek for reassurance. “D-Don’t fret, I-I want you too. So bad, but I-I need you to be honest with me.”

There she was again. The Rhaenyra you loved, fell in love with: the tenderness that exuded from her that you enjoyed just as much as the fierceness that every Targaryen embodied. (That part you couldn’t help but be drawn too, her threatening to feed some to Syrax literally almost made you fuck her then and there.)

“I-I was clouded of those notions on my own,” you said, finally reclaiming your voice. “Some many lords and a few ladies claimed to be such a better match for you after you were crowned. It did make me feel inadequate. Just some Queen consort, lowly daughter of an overtly proud lord and not enough for Rhaenyra Targaryen. It’s a foolish thought yes, but it’s kept me up nights.”

Rhaenyra nodded through each and every word, lilac eyes never leaving you.

“My sweet girl, I-I’ve been foolish not to notice more than I did,” she whispered. “Tell me what to do. What should I do to fix this? Whatever you want.”

Whatever you wanted was simple enough. You answered before your mind could take over yet again.

“I want you, Rhaenyra,” you said. You rested your hands on her chest, caressing the dragon lapels that adorned her coat. “I-I need you. Make me forget these ridiculous notions. I want us to forget all of the time that’s been lost because of me.” 

“And that also means you undressing me, yeah?” Rhaenyra said. She giggled before leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek, jaw, then to the corner of your lips. “Can I undress you too? I need to make sure you understand that I love every. Inch. Of. You.”

With every word Rhaenyra pressed kisses down your neck. Her hands traveled too, squeezing your sides and then to your ass, doing the same, producing a moan from you. 

“Rhaenyra, yes, I-I just need you. Right now.”

Rhaenyra kissed you again, harder and more sure than she did before. Her hands moved expertly against you to remove your own cloak; your wife didn’t care much for the fabric of your nightgown, ripping it just enough to expose your chest.

“I’m sorry, my love, there are plenty more gowns. I just need to feel you now,” she growled. “Come here.”

Your wife lifted you up, placing you on the painted table. Breath almost left you. The gesture forced your chest to flare, legs to squirm as they closed.

“Mmmh, no, no, my love,” Rhaenyra purred. She slotted hands between your legs. “Let me feel that, let get between. You must know by now that being between your legs is one of my favorite places to be.”

You scoffed as you allowed the Targaryen access. 

“Does that even beat being on the back of Syrax? Ah!”

You arched up into Rhaenyra’s lips as they attacked your neck, growing rougher, teeth scrapping against your pulse point. 

“Dearest, I love Syrax, but you? And these gorgeous legs?” Rhaenyra paused to groan and pressed against your center, pushing a knee there while gripping the middle of your right leg tight. “And this succulent cunt, I couldn’t trade it for a life time of dragon flying, my girl.”  

The slight press of her knee sent a current to your pussy--a jerk of your hips amused Rhaenyra; she pressed a kiss on the underside jaw and slowly, agonizingly, lifted her knee from where you needed her most.

“N-Nyra,” you moaned. “P-Please.”

“Aww, baby, I hear you,” Rhaenyra cooed. “I need to take care of you, of this don’t I?” 

Her fingers found the silt of your pussy, sliding a digit carefully there to gauge your reaction: a hiss passed through your opened mouth instantly. Rhaenyra kissed you once your mouth opened, tongues clashed in a mess of passion and heat that was produced from the both of you. Your yanked your wife closer, quickly unclasping and removing her coat, then nearly ripping her own dress. 

You palmed her breast through the thin fabric; the queen gasped, catching her breath quick after with a giggle.

“Shit, look at them perking up just for you,” she said. “Lets just go on and free them, yeah?”

You nodded swiftly, eagerly and waiting with wet lips and a wetter pussy. 

Rhaenyra bite her lip as she pulled down the top of her dress revealing her stunning body aligned with the stretch marks you often kissed and her wonderful breasts. Your hands cupped them both once they popped up. Shame burned your chest, yet soon withered while you tweaked at your wife’s nipples, along with the melodic sounds that poured from her. 

“Gods, and I’m supposed to be taking care of you,” she groaned, fingers lost in your long, silver hair. 

“Yes, but is it OK if I indulge a little, your grace?” you whispered, dipping your mouth down to her neck, chest, then ghosting across her left breast. Rhaenyra jolted. you didn’t know if it was from your matter of royal title or the sensation of your lips. “Do you like it when I call you, your grace?”

Rhaenyra pulled gently at your hair, nodding.

“Yes, but I think you can do better than that, yeah?” she suggested. “Try again, my love.”

Heat swelled through you yet again, however it wasn’t just lust and the Targaryen’s passion that consumed you; real shame bottled within you at that moment. The pet name you called Rhaenyra nearly fortnights ago slipped from your mouth when you were under her during a night of love making. 

Rhaenyra caught your sheepishness with a tiny smile then brought your lips back to hers. 

“Don’t be shy, it’s only me,” she whispered against your lips. “I love it when you call me that. Besides, it’ll get me close while I get you off and touch this amazing cunt of yours.”

With each word Rhaenyra’s fingers inched closer and closer; her hand slipped inside your underwear, touching then curling at your center.

“Nyra, shit! M-mommy!” you moaned. 

Rhaenyra grinned, nipped your neck once, then twice while her fingers started a smooth rhythm. Heat built up, bubbling in your chest all the while your pussy stretched around Rhaenyra’s fingers--your walls squeezed her to perfection--forcing you to throw your head back and rock your hips to meet her movements. 

“G-Gods, so tight and warm, all for mommy,” she purred, pressing a kiss to your ear. “Do you like it when I’m so deep like this? Mmmh, why were you so worried? You and this pussy are the only things I think about.”

You could only nod, clutching onto her arms, riding out the feeling only Rhaenyra could give you. 

“No, dearest, I need you to say it,” Rhaenyra said. “Tell me. Tell me who’s pussy, who’s beauty makes the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms this mad? Who she loves plunging her fingers into? Hmm?”

Her fingers curled at the perfect spot; your back arched and eyes rolled at the excellent contact. 

“N-Nyra! Fuck! I-It’s me! It’s my beauty! My pussy! G-Gods! Right there I-I’m close.”

Rhaenyra pressed her forehead to yours, lilac eyes bore to your own while her speed increased.

“Yeah? Then come for me. Come for your Queen. Come for me!” she all but growled. 

The room grew hazy, adding to the already dull atmosphere of Dragonstone; the painted table below you rocked with your movements while the slick sounds and your moans stuffed the space. 

You came soon after. Rhaenyra rewarded you with a deep kiss in order to soothe pulling her fingers from you. 

“I got you,” she whispered. She took you down from the table as you held onto her with wobbly legs. “How do you feel, my love?”

“Better, so much better, thank you,” you said. “I-I loved how rough, yet tender you were.”

This seemed to boost the Queen’s ego to the skies of the Eyrie. 

“Well, there will be more in store for you, sweet girl. Now let me get you away from this table and somewhere comfortable,” Rhaenyra suggested as she led you away from the painted table. 

[lifesteal-headcanons]

Every Lifestealer values the space in their inventory — with all the slots for potions, gapples, cobwebs, and building supplies, there aren’t many empty slots. But tucked among all the necessary resources, every Lifestealer has an object of sentimental value or a unique accessory. And it's an unspoken rule to never take it from them when they die.

After Parrot ascended to the sky and left Lifesteal, he left his green eye chest plate on the ground. It is the same one Spoke keeps in his inventory in S5; a remnant of the friendship he broke and a reminder to make amends. Occasionally, Spoke takes it out to look at it, wondering if Parrot is watching and would forgive him.

Princezam keeps a little box of neon markers to go with his signs. Even though they aren’t normally accessible on Lifesteal, Parrot approved a mod to make them available to him. Even after the paranoia surrounding imported items after the Wormhole, even after a new admin replaced Parrot, an exception was always made for him. Princezam is oblivious to this.

When Vitalasy was banned from Lifesteal, Jumper made a purple ribbon from the scraps of his cloak. When she weaves it through her space-buns, it feels like he’s by her side once again. Even if she’s the only one left of amethyst duo, their memory remains fluttering in the wind, tied firmly to Jumper.

Branzy doesn’t know this, but Clownpierce still remembers the time they mined for coal together to finish the giant clown head of their casino (S2). He saved a few pieces and put them into two gold heart-shaped lockets; symbols of their enduring partnership and a promise of more to come. He was going to reveal them to Branzy at the casino’s opening but got cold feet. Nonetheless, he still wears both beneath his jester costume, a memento of how their relationship first began.

— 🌀 anon

Extra part that kinda went off topic:

After Eclipse Federation disbanded, Vitalasy seriously considered destroying his eclipse fed shield, the one made to match Zam’s and Subz’s. But as it dangled above lava, his resolve wavered. He couldn’t bring himself to burn the last remnant of happiness and unity the trio shared. So after Subz banned himself and Vitalasy was left wandering the lonely End Base, he stashed his shield there. It might not be in his inventory now, but on occasion, he accidentally leaves a slot open for it there. Muscle memory. And his eyes continuously skip over the empty spot, as if anticipating its return. He’s not sure whether to be angry or sad at the fact, that his wounded heart betrays him as much as Zam did.

PS: The part about Jumper is true! Jumper confirmed it on her Twitter.

.