#not to hunt achievement on main...

[thundergrace]

I've never seen a better marriage in my life. No exaggeration. Naturally, I had to see if they were trolling us, but....

[blacke-belladonna]

I'm glad Jeremy owned up to this. It's expected that you apologize when called out directly but it takes courage to come forward when left anonymous to take accountability for a hurtful and shameful action.

Gaming was full of toxic gamer 'bro' culture back in RT's early days and that's exactly who it attracted. It's naive to think your favorites didn't fall into that category or were any different. It's certainly disheartening to hear just how bad it was and just how awful the people we've grown to love used to be. This is a cleansing moment. It's a moment of truth. Rooster Teeth has much to reckon with and fans of their various projects have some decisions to make. Their remaining talent has some decisions to make.

No one should be judged for whatever they decide -except Rooster Teeth which needs to be fucking sued a million times over for allowing workplace harassment, not paying employees and emotional damages.

[akimojo]

people love to use ffxiii’s messy development as a reason to completely shit on the game but honestly the fact they managed to sneak in so many little details in the gameplay in a way that reflects the characters and story despite all the miscommunication between the dev sections is just impressive to me

[eclipsed-celestials]

Monkey King, since you look a bit like an animal, I was wondering, do you eat other animals?

".... Check my title, kid." The simian sighed. "Monkeys're omnivores, so yes, I do eat animals.- Or rather, I eat meat. But, I don't eat it if it's been killed specifically for me."

[sytoran]

ARSONIST'S LULLABYE

kinktober day 011 | cheerleader!natasha x player!reader

"don't you ever tame your demons but always keep them on a leash" — arsonist’s lullabye, hozier

summary. natasha gets more attached than expected after a one-night-stand with the college's infamous player, both on the field and with the ladies. however, she's always been good at getting what she wants.

rating 18+ | word count 7438 (shittt)

note. natasha is 18 and y/n is 19, y/n is described to be masc-representing (eg. cropped hair, compression tee + grey sweats, tattoos, piercings)

note ii. please please please please take your time to read it, you don't understand how long i've spent pondering over every intricacy in this fic.

note iii. drinking game: take a shot every time i say 'don't fall for the player'

kinktober masterlist || main masterlist

Don’t fall for the player.

This was a warning, circulating within the hallways of Avengers Institution, whispered under hushed breaths and divine lips.

Students in this renowned college came from all walks of life — from children of billionaires to self-made achievers, from prodigal minds to brilliant brains. One thing stood for certain, though, and that was the infamous Y/N L/N.

It was a rumour, tried and true, that every single girl — regardless of their sexuality, physical appearance, or social status — would all eventually fall under the spell of the school’s “player”. Try as they might, victim after victim fell helplessly for an effortless charisma and unstoppable magnetism.

The chase never lasted long, a one-sided apex predator hunt. Once you had your eyes set on someone, there was simply no escaping the undeniable fact that the following morning, that girl would wake up in bed next to you.

Problem was, you had this rule, written in stone: Never sleep with a girl more than once.

Alas came the cruel and vicious cycle of girls falling under your spell within milliseconds, only to have their heart shattered within the next twenty-four hours. Sometimes even less.

Boys looked on in jealousy, girls looked on in intrigue. (Or maybe jealousy, too.) The wiser ones kept a distance, but either way, one fact stood true, the moment one stepped into Avengers Institution.

Don’t fall for the player.

Little did you know, soon would arrive a thorn in your plans, an unwanted distraction, your ultimate downfall.

All due to an equally irresistible girl by the name of Natasha Romanoff.

***

“You’re fuckin’ impressive for a freshman, Natasha,” Pepper whistles, clapping her on the back. “Consider yourself a member of the Avengers Institution’s cheerleading squad.”

Natasha nods breathlessly, dropping the pom-poms onto the ground. She had just completed a complicated routine for the cheerleading tryouts, a rigorous one with flips and twirls that required pristine balance.

“I guess that’s expected from a girl who was with the Red Room,” Sharon adds, somewhat snidely. She was another freshman trying out for the cheerleading squad, with a snake-like smile that was coated with too much venom to convey any sort of genuineness.

Natasha returns the smile blankly, false emotions overtaking her face like second nature — propriety, expectations, rectitude. She knew what those words meant, when they put emphasis on the Red Room.

The Red Room, in question, was one of the highest-class organisations internationally that trained talented young female cheerleaders. With a near overly-daunting curriculum, payment fees so impossibly high, and only the most renowned instructors, the Red Room was essentially associated with filthy rich wealth and spoiled privileged kids.

And such comes the tragedy of warped views on capitalism and the unfairness of the world. Sharon leans next to Natasha’s ear in the false pretence of picking something up, but her lips move dangerously swiftly and whisper, “Daddy’s money lets you get everything you want, hm?”

It only takes a second, and then the faux-innocent perpetrator briskly moves away as if nothing had occurred. Natasha stands still, the gripe washing over her back like a cold shower. She steels her shoulders, refusing to be provoked. It wasn’t her fault she’d been born with a silver-studded spoon in her mouth.

Shrugging off the strange looks some of the other girls give her, Natasha hides her annoyance by fiddling with her short skirt. Alongside college came the novelty of less-strict clothing etiquette, and that resulted in the most miniscule cheerleading skirts Natasha had ever worn in her life.

“Ready on the count of three,” Carol announces, tapping her clipboard with a ballpoint pen, surveying the expanse of the wide field.

It wasn’t Natasha’s fault she simply got everything she wanted.

“One.”

An invisible force of magnetism pulls Natasha’s gaze to the bleachers above the field, unyielding and unstoppable. There stands a tall and dark figure in a relaxed position, looking directly at her with piercing eyes. A shiver of anticipation sweeps through the air, and Natasha feels goosebumps rise on her skin.

“Two.”

Aloof charisma exudes from the person’s very presence, so compelling and captivating that it takes Natasha a moment to realise that there’s another girl standing next to the enigmatic soul. She’s chatting animatedly, under a false belief that she’s got your attention, but Natasha knows better.

Her eyes travel over the person’s sculpted figure clad in a leather jacket, tacit confidence written in your lazy smirk and composed posture. Electricity erupts in Natasha’s bloodstream, sending shockwaves coursing through her mindwires, forcing her to look back up to your alluring, forsaken eyes.

“Three.”

Natasha’s body moves mechanically, practised and poised. The rhythm thrumming from the portable speaker seeps into her practised muscles without her brain actually registering it, still reeling from the sheer impact of you.

If there was a fracture in her composure, if her routine was ever-so-slightly off, if her legs trembled more than it normally would’ve, Natasha would blame you.

Natasha would blame you and your stupid smirk, your silly leather jacket, your sickeningly magnetic allure. How you made her feel unstoppable with that come-hither gaze, then left her so low when your eyes inevitably left her.

And suddenly, like a golden key slotting into place, the words Natasha had heard whispered in the hallways finally made sense. The coveted prayer that could only be spoken under hushed tones and divine lips.

Don’t fall for the player.

When Natasha finishes the series of tumbles that ignites impressed cheers from the senior cheerleaders, she lifts her lowered eyes back to the bleachers.

Only to find your lips locked with the blonde girl from before, your hands creeping dangerously low on her back. You move like a predator python, the silver piercings in your ears glinting in the light with every of your calculated moves.

A burning feeling courses through Natasha’s veins, like an ugly green monster unfurling gradually, indescribable anger making her jaw tick.

Don’t fall for the player? Well, now that just sounded like a challenge.

***

Natasha makes her way through the crowd of students filing out from the lecture hall. The chatter fades to a background buzz in her ears as she beelines towards a group of more bearable folks.

“No, they’re a sophomore,” Wanda explained, leaning against the locker door.

“Who’re we talking about?” Natasha intercepts with a curious gaze, slinging an arm around Clint lackadaisically. Professor Banner’s lectures were highly educational, but he tended to drone on a little, and she could feel the rising boredom making its slow crescendo into the back of her mind.

Clint raises his eyebrows amusedly, then lowers his voice in humorous dramatisation. “The player.”

Natasha’s face flashes in recognition at your title. Several things flit across her mind in rapid succession — a fetching character, a lofty smirk, and a pretty girl hanging off a forearm.

“So, this uh… What’s her name?” Natasha tries to ask subtly, faking an expression of indifference. Clint, as always, side-eyes her with a playfully accusatory glance. Natasha shrugs with an odd feeling of guilt.

“Well, I’m a sophomore too, so I do have the guilty pleasure of knowing Y/N L/N,” Wanda said with a bit of a grin.

“Knows her in more ways than one!” Sam cackles, ducking as Wanda swipes at him.

Natasha feels that burning feeling rising in her chest again, and perhaps it was due to the knowledge that someone else had experienced being in bed with you — which was arguably silly, because of course you slept with plenty of women, but that didn’t quell her growing unease.

“Was the sex really that good?” Clint asks bluntly, folding his arms as he leans against the locker next to Darcy. Natasha chokes on air.

Wanda only raises an eyebrow, as if to question the poor boy of his doubts of your sexual prowess. Her knowing smirk told a thousand tales, of your sentient being seemingly reincarnated from a Goddess of Sex, of your mighty skillset of lust, the ultimate sapphic enigma.

“You tryna pull a lesbian, birdboy?” Natasha asks dryly, nudging Clint in the rib. The jibe doesn’t even give her that satisfaction. Thinking about you again had unnerved her very skin, causing clammy hands and a dry mouth.

“She leaves all the girls the morning after, though, so don’t get your hopes up,” Wanda sighs wistfully, waving her hand in the air as if she prophesied of a legend. “It’s a one-night-wonder. Kind of like an eclipse. Only happens once, but when it does, it’s really astronomical.”

Natasha flexes her fingers to get her blood flowing. All this talk about your specialised skillset in bed was making her heart flutter, in the best way possible, but maybe that per se was the worst thing possible.

Because she might acknowledge that you were attractive, but that didn’t necessarily mean she wanted to sleep with you, right?

“And that’s why it's a common tongue around here,” Wanda concludes. “Don’t fall for the player. Simple as that.”

On cue, the noise in the hallway comically fades to silence. The gathered crowds of students make way for a quickly striding figure, clad in the same dark clothing Natasha thought about day and night.

Crossing the hallway with an easy purpose and confident composure, you walk past girls who could be seen swooning. Your gaze slides over them casually, sending small smiles here and there but never really quite focusing.

Until your eyes meet Natasha’s, of course. Like a love scene straight out of a drama, your composure cracks fractionally, and your loose confidence is subverted. It only takes a second before your persona snaps back into place.

“Hey, Natasha,” A smooth voice spills out from your angel-crafted lips. Your voice runs over her weak-willed skin, suddenly so vulnerable in your presence, and then you’re gone.

Natasha stills in place, staring after your disappearing figure. Your two words had left such a searing imprint into the front of her mind that it was honestly concerning. The chatter rises again, as if you were never there.

“Looks like you’re Y/N’s next conquest,” Wanda comments, mildly impressed. “Good luck, my friend. Just remember, don’t fall for the player.”

***

Why on earth there was a dorm party on the second day of school was a question that would forever remain unanswered.

Perhaps the adolescent spirit was the root cause of it, free and tameless and reckless, or maybe it was the temptation of alcohol and attractive folks, intoxicating and thrilling.

Either way, Natasha was here for a good time, not a long time.

Her short midnight dress flounces as she makes her way over to the partially occupied couch, the rather risky slit making its way up her thigh to reveal awfully beddable skin.

“Hey, babe!” Wanda calls enthusiastically, waving her over. There’s a Matrix movie playing on the screen, Natasha isn’t clear of which one, and there are students sprawled over the couch, the floor, and on each other.

She ends up playing a game of truth or dare with strangers, driven by warm bodies and the repetitive encouragement to indulge in a little bit of ‘fun’.

“Truth!” Darcy yells drunkenly, almost crushing her red solo cup of cheap alcohol.

“Jeez, woman,” Carol mutters, sighing at the tipsy girl’s antics. “So, truth— ever had a threesome?”

A bunch of ‘ooh’s wave like a ripple through the huddle of students, but Darcy answers with surprisingly quick coherence for a woman on her sixth cup of beer. “Hell yeah,” she drawls. “Y/N and Jane. Best night of my fuckin’ life.”

Natasha feels that wildly uncomfortable feeling of butterflies fluttering — no, thrashing, around in her stomach. It’s absolutely ridiculous that she’s so easily unsettled by you.

Said Jane Foster flushes in her seat, clearly embarrassed at having her sex life exposed. She waves a hand, trying to quiet down the growing hoots and whistles. “I mean, is it really that surprising, guys? I’m definitely not the only one! Okay, jerks, who else has laid with the famed Y/N L/N?”

Immediately, all eleven women in the dorm room have their hands raised. Well, all except Natasha, that is.

“Oh, she’s a free woman!” Valkyrie yells out, pumping her fist, and the crowd of women let out victorious cheers. “Our last standing soldier!”

Natasha smiles awkwardly in the limelight of all these older students, the strangling sensation in her gut growing stronger.

Seriously? ‘The Player’ has already slept with all these pretty girls in her second year? I would never sleep with someone who treats sex so meaninglessly…

Natasha refocuses on the game, dispelling all her thoughts that seemed to constantly circulate around you. In the bleachers, in the hallway, and now in a dorm party…

So why is Y/N L/N a muse in my mind? Why is she so inescapable?

After about six rounds of revealing shameful truths and accepting rather pointless dares, Natasha’s ready to ditch the scene altogether.

She’s barely touched any alcohol, but it was honestly a shame that her imagination was still so lucid. Getting some of that cheap beer into her system would probably help her to relax quicker, and to stop thinking about you.

“Hey, uh,” she whispers to Wanda. The older girl pulls her gaze away from the current life of the party to regard Natasha with a drunken smile.

“What’s up, Nat?” Wanda drawls, sprawling forward a little too close for comfort. Natasha cringes at her beer-tinted breath. Wanda murmurs softly, “Hey, you got a lil somethin’ in your eye. Looks like a little cloud… Oh, that’s just the light. Silly me, silly–”

“Wanda, I’m gonna head back now. Don’t worry about me,” Natasha says, slightly impatiently but affectionate nonetheless, patting Wanda’s head.

“Awh, okay,” Wanda responds drunkenly, breaking off into a little giggle as Natasha gets up. “Hey, Nat?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t fall for the player, yeah?” Wanda asks with an innocent smile, but her eyes are reminiscent of a ghost doing its last haunting. Then Wanda’s gone, gone with the wind, her attention lost to the exhilarating game of truth and dare.

There’s a moment of quiet in Natasha’s mind, save for the explicit Nicki Minaj song playing in the background with lyrics that would make a stripper blush.

She had heard that simple statement all too many times. Almost like she was meant to hear it. Like it was a premonition, a foreshadowing.

With the odd feeling of being defenceless, Natasha makes a beeline for the door. She’s had enough of silly conservations and awful thoughts; conversations that encircled around the subject of The Player, and awful thoughts of hers that always ended up being about you.

However, a shining bottle of cheap alcohol catches Natasha’s attention from the makeshift bartending station, essentially a kitchen counter. “Wouldn’t hurt, I guess,” she mutters under her breath, reaching out to grab a bottle for herself.

“Ah, that beer’s shite. The good one’s in the cupboard.”

Embarrassingly startled by the familiar smooth voice that greets her, Natasha jumps in her own skin. You again, she thinks with such indignation. What kind of sheer audacity did you have to approach her, after you were making out with another girl just the other day–

All coherent thoughts left Natasha’s mind when her eyes rake over your short-sleeve compression shirt that clung to your abdomen and arms like a vacuum-sealed package. Paired with grey sweats, it was such a beguiling mixture of taut muscles and casual wear that had Natasha growing hotter under her skin.

“I guess it’s alright for me to assume I’ve chosen the right attire for today,” you say, folding your arms in a little bit of satisfaction. That has Natasha staring at the black tattoos that decorate your thick forearms, and she’s half-crazed by the alluring sight.

Perhaps you’re showing off a little more than you normally would, but the girl standing before you was one that had invaded your mind for days on end, which was entirely uncharacteristic of your constantly horny brain.

“Can I ask you a question?” Natasha asks snarkily, returning your confidence with her very own crossed arms. Your eyes don’t miss the way her awfully kissable lips form the words on her tongue, and you certainly don’t miss the way her crossed arms push up her cleavage.

You lick your lips imperceptibly, and you notice the way Natasha’s eyes follow the movement with a hawk-like gaze. “Go ahead, sweetheart,” you respond easily, taking a single step closer to the object of your desires.

Natasha scoffs at the pet name, but you can see your close proximity subverts her composure in the slightest. Unable to keep your hands to yourself, you reach out to place your hands on her altar-like hips. She bristles under your touch, but she doesn’t move.

“Why’re you so fucking arrogant?” Natasha finally asks, hating how breathless she sounds, struggling to keep cool as your ring-adorned hands thumb the material of her short dress. You’ve got her entrapped between the kitchen counter and your sinfully sculpted body, with no way of escape. (Not like Natasha was looking for one.)

“Brat.” The dry laugh that sounds from your throat has Natasha’s heart pounding, a choked sound of pleasure caught in the back of her throat. Your big hands have moved to her sides, cradling her waist tenderly but withholding power, as if you’re ready to dig your fingertips into her soft skin at any given moment.

She thinks it’s unfair, the way your eyes are damn near psychedelic. They’re screens of mercury, smouldering and smoking with the way it trails over her body. If you’re a spark of fire, Natasha is a pool of gasoline that feeds your will.

Hot lips slant against Natasha’s ear lobe, taking it between your teeth as she shudders. Natasha’s breathy release of air as she fights to keep silent has you tugging on her earlobe with pure want.

“Can I ask you a question?” you ask, your voice a touch lower than it had been before, your hands tightening its grip on her deadly hips, the metal of your rings cool against her hot skin.

The overwhelming sensation of your big hands, hot lips and sharp teeth is enough to have Natasha’s eyes fluttering shut. She almost loses control of herself, almost lets herself fall victim to your hypnotic touch — But then you pull away, and a desperate little whine nearly falls from Natasha’s lips.

The cheerleader swallows as she stares at your crafted face, your eyes darkened with something far deeper than want, your lips tugged upwards into a devilish smirk.

“My room or yours?”

Natasha would like to say that the rest was a blur, and her alcohol-tainted memories got lost in translation — but it was a shameful and unequivocal statement that she had been entirely sober, and yet recalled every single detail of that night to vivid precision.

***

Natasha remembers you pressing her up against your door, a fervent urgency of lust unlocked within the confines of your dorm.

“So fucking desperate,” you grunt, hips knocking into Natasha’s front as you pin her against the door, lithe legs wrapped around your muscled torso.

“Shut the fuck up,” she spits, throwing her head back as your sharp teeth sink into the softness of her porcelain neck. The edge of your canines are hard and unforgiving, just how Natasha likes it, just how you scatter dark hickeys across her pale skin.

You smirk at her brattiness, finding it an exceptionally arousing trait of hers. “Pretty girl, you’re not the one in charge,” you tease, with your words and with your hands, dragging your fingertips up and under her short dress.

Natasha remembers her fingers twisting into your hair as you play her like a fiddle, teasing and edging and so blatantly talented like a prodigal concertmaster.

She whines as the cool metal of your rings nudges her nipples, her sensitivity skyrocketing with the shock. “More,” she tries to demand, but it ends up sounding like a helpless whimper and your hands move with such purpose.

You don’t help her cause by taking a hardened bud between two fingers and tugging, cries and whimpers following your fingers. Heaven is the way her breasts look all marked up by your mouth, hardened nipples and raw skin dancing in your vision.

Natasha’s nails dig into your hardened abdomen, scraping at your every muscle for all it was worth. It was something about you, something about the look in your eye, something about the way you commandeered her body with such precision and control like it was meant to be.

Natasha remembers her complete relinquishment of power, giving herself up for you, with a sick urge to be fucked within an inch of her life and then some.

Your right hand slides across her damp inner thigh to brush at her demesnes, and the sheer wetness that awaits your fingers makes you growl against her skin. “So fucking wet,” you grunt, peeling apart the thin material of her panties that cling to her sodden pussy with strings of slick.

Natasha wails, face completely flushed and so utterly gorgeous, and you can’t help but meet her lips with clashing tongue and teeth. She moans as your pierced tongue explores her mouth, and you drink up her cries of pleasure.

“Wanna fuck you silly,” you pant against her ear, fingers tracing the outline of her pretty pussy, dragging arousal along with it. Your knee keeps her legs spread nicely apart for the taking, and the vulnerability you bring out of Natasha is perhaps also the hottest thing.

Humiliation is the way Natasha agrees so quickly, nodding dumbly in acquiescence, thinking it would be nice to feel her brain melt to mush with your thick fingers and prodding tongue.

Natasha remembers the earth-shattering pleasure that wracks her body, as you divulge in providing, by leaps and bounds, the best sex she’s ever had.

Three fingers slide in and out of her dripping cunt at a phenomenal pace, and Natasha’s panting like a dog, tight velvet walls clenching around the thickness of your fingers for all it’s worth.

Finger-fucking her against the door like a heaven-descent, you bask in Natasha’s cries of pleasure. It’s never been like this, never been this heated. With Natasha, you felt like you were ascending.

“You’re gonna make a mess on the fucking floor,” you bite, a low gasp caught in the back of your throat. Natasha’s head lolls to the side, high-pitched whimpers making themselves known as she drips down your wrist and her thighs.

Natasha remembers the unravelling, the way her body seizes up out of its own accord, electricity erupting behind her half-lidded eyes.

Your hands dig into the plush of her thighs as you bring Natasha to a stupendous climax. Your fingers curl harshly, hitting her sweet spot and drawing out obscene noises from her.

“Fuck–” Natasha chokes out, high-pitched and breathy and absolutely delightful. Her hips jerk in your hands as your fingers move inside her.

“Another,” you grunt, not a request, and before Natasha can get ahold of her senses your fingers are thrusting again. She wails as your wrist jackhammers into her wet cunt, slick sounds echoing around the four walls of your room.

The second orgasm arrives even more harshly than the first, and Natasha clings onto the broad muscles of your back as you pin her against the door, toes curling and eyes squeezing shut.

She thinks she could find solace in the way your arms entrap her in a certain type of warmth, almost as if you don’t want to let her go.

But that would just be a hopeless fantasy, wouldn’t it?

Natasha remembers waking up the next morning to an empty bed.

The morning air is too cold on her bare skin. Your side of the bed isn’t even warm anymore. You must’ve left ages ago, in the dark of the night, and that thought in itself has Natasha choking on emotions she’d rather not feel.

Her clothes are still strewn on the floor and the furniture is a mess, a mockery of how far she’d let you go last night, driven by an inescapable high.

This is the game you play. Toying with girls' hearts like it was child’s play, making them feel like they were one in a million for one night only. All that alluring charisma was ugly and falsified, viewed through rose-tinted glasses.

This is the game you play, and Natasha Romanoff had fallen victim to it.

Don’t fall for the player.

Now, it was just another warning sign that she’d overlooked, and she was just like those other girls, stumbling into your open arms and cocky smirk.

Vehement fury slugs inside the cheerleader, as she forcefully picks up her strewn clothes.

Then she looks around the dorm room, your room, and time stills for a moment.

She’d expected it to be somewhat furnished, like all other dorm rooms were, maybe a cactus in the corner or a poster of a rockstar. Instead, your walls are blank and there isn’t a trophy or an award in sight.

You’re the captain of the football team, above average in academics, yet there isn’t a trace of the mark you’ve left as a student at Avengers Institution. There isn’t a trace that you’re a living, breathing human, with emotions that craft your very humanity.

Scarily enough, she feels like she’s laid in the bed of a complete stranger.

And suddenly, Natasha understands.

Don’t fall for the player.

Suddenly, everything feels a little too real, and Natasha comprehends that the statement holds far more depth than what your reputation suggested.

You were just fucking scared.

Scared of commitment, scared of growing attached, scared of being abandoned. You feared getting your heart broken, and thus you feared the longevity of relationships that involved love and romance.

As Natasha picks up her strewn clothes from the floor, with aching limbs and dishevelled hair, only one statement rings in her mind.

Don’t fall for the player.

“Maybe I will,” Natasha whispers to the ghost of your handsome, misunderstood self in the room. “But haven’t you heard I always get what I want?”

***

You couldn’t fall asleep.

You watch the empty sky as you sit on the empty rooftop of the school at four in the morning, a cigarette hanging limp between your lips. There’s an underlying anger bubbling beneath your skin, an itch that you can’t find, simply stewing there to your frustration.

Romance was bullshit.

It was plainly obvious from the way girls approached you. Flirty eyes and feather-light touches meant only one thing. And they were all so pretty, so who were you to complain, right?

All those girls always ended up in your dorm bed, sweaty and short of breath. Your heart would pound, and your mind would go wild with endless possibilities of what could happen if they just stayed.

“You can stay if you want,” you muttered off-handedly to one of your first few hookups in college. The look that the girl returned was so unimpressed that you never asked that question again.

But it was okay, because sex was something that you were good at, and those girls had their fun. It was okay, even if there was something missing. It was okay that your reputation preceded your identity. Even if those expectations spiralled far beyond your control.

With every passing girl you brought to bed, the gnawing hole in your chest only grew bigger. You craved something that you couldn’t obtain. Even if your heart was crawling out of its ribcage every time a girl breathed your name, every time she laid a hand on your chest.

Last night, Natasha Romanoff took that gaping hole in your chest and ripped it right open.

“Please, Y/N,” Natasha had whined, and there was reverent devotion in the way you held her hips, in the way you pulled her close.

“Stay,” you had wanted to whisper, so badly, so many times, but her hands were streaking red marks down your back and her body was shuddering under yours.

So you kept your forbidden mouth shut and continued to do what you did best. All the ‘what-ifs’ were just hopeless dreams. You couldn’t stay, you couldn’t commit. You weren’t allowed to, not after the expectations that had been set for you.

Romance was bullshit, after all.

“You seem troubled,” a female voice announces from behind you, but you don’t bother to turn back. Taking your silence as consent, the girl sits next to you.

“Give me a light,” the girl says, leaning closer to you, and only then do you turn to look her over. Blonde girl, 5’8, blue eyes. Freshman.

“Sharon Carter, right?” you ask indifferently, and the girl lets out a bemused huff as she makes her comfortable next to you.

“Wow, so you do know every girl in this school,” Sharon comments, and there’s a teasing lilt in her voice that hints at how this is going to end up.

You pull out a cigarette, passing it over to the blonde girl, noting how her fingertips brush over yours for a second too long. “Maybe I do,” you respond with false cockiness, the smirk overtaking your face almost unconsciously.

This is the right thing to do, you convince yourself, as Sharon’s hand creeps to your thigh. One girl after the other. You couldn’t get attached.

“Impressive. Put away your light. It’s healthier to destress in another way,” Sharon whispers, tossing her cigarette to the rough concrete.

What a waste, you think, but then the same could be said about a lot of other things in your life.

For a fraction of a second, you contemplate your existence. You wonder why you’ve ended up this way. What you’ve done to deserve girls throwing themselves at you when you began to despise all of them.

When Sharon brings her lips closer to yours, and you find yourself meeting her halfway, because you’ve done it so many times.

There’s this tugging of your heart that almost feels like guilt, but you shove it down and drag your tongue between a set of lips. All too easily, your hands draw patterns across her chest and her thighs, a mastered craft that came mechanically.

Even if it is the right thing to do, it doesn’t feel right.

Your head is swimming with unbearable thoughts of Natasha Romanoff, and you try to erase her on the tongue of another girl who could never compare.

It doesn’t feel right, but it’s the easy way out, and it’s what’s expected of you.

Always has been.

***

“Fuck, Y/N—” is the first thing Natasha hears when she meanders into the bathroom the morning after.

She had wanted to get an early start on the new morning, but alas, fate had it out for her.

For a while, Natasha is surprised that she isn’t surprised. You’ve got a pretty blonde girl on the bathroom counter, one hand up her skirt and the other twisted in her hair.

The girl throws her head back in a bout of pleasure, and Natasha’s thinking that maybe she looks a little familiar. It’s her cheekbones, strung high like a haughty prick. “Daddy’s money always gets what you want, hm?” rings in her head.

A spark of fire burns any ounce of indifference Natasha has to ashes. Sharon Fucking Carter.

Sharon’s painted nails were digging into the expanse of your shoulder blades, and it looked downright painful. Your dexterous fingers were plunging into her sodden cunt, rendering her barely coherent.

It all looks so wrong, and Natasha wants to crawl out of her skin before the jealousy eats her alive.

“Fucking hypocrite, aren’t you?” Natasha spits venomously, hands clenched into fists of fury, making her presence known.

When Sharon jumps away from you like she’s been burned, Natasha can’t help but let evil glee surge through her stomach. Serves you right, she thinks, staring at your dishevelled hair that somehow only made you look more handsome.

It’s different, this time, with your eyes darting as if you were unsure of yourself. (Astonishing, considering your mean streak of being cold as ice.) There’s resentment in the way your face sets, and a type of hurt that causes Natasha to falter.

“Daddy’s little bitch,” Sharon scoffs, fixing her skirt with no attempt to hide her disdain. “Why don’t you fuck off, huh?”

Natasha scoffs, eyes widening in fractional aggression. “I-”

“You should go, Carter,” you say monotonously, almost defeated but wavering on the edge of frustration.

The blonde girl whips her head around to stare at you with incredulousness written in her wide eyes. She lets out a dry laugh of betrayal. “Fuck, look at the two of you. Match made in hell.”

The bathroom door slams shut with a piercing thud. Both you and Natasha don’t flinch.

“You didn’t have to call Sharon a hypocrite,” you mumble, flicking your head back to look in the mirror.

There’s something off about you that no one else has ever had the privilege of seeing. It makes Natasha’s heart soar and her blood boil simultaneously.

“She wasn’t the one I was calling a hypocrite.”

A moment passes between the two of you where you flick an invisible switch.

“I’m the hypocrite, Romanoff?” you ask, evidently provoked. A crazed look in your eyes draws Natasha’s attention, because you’re putting on a false facade all over again.

“Am I the hypocrite for fucking another girl? It’s all I do, isn’t it? That’s what I’m known for. You don’t get to be so butthurt because you were just a one-night.”

A sickly sourness lines your mouth as you spew words that aren’t true, because your heart was fighting every battle to get to Natasha Romanoff.

“What you’re failing to realise,” Natasha begins stately. “Is that this isn’t about me. Fuck it if I’m just another girl on your ever-growing fuck list. Because maybe I am. But you’re lying to yourself if you think you’re happy.”

“Oh, so now you’re determining my emotions for me,” you retort with as much snark as you can muster. “You weren’t acting this high and mighty last night in my bed.”

“Quit the act,” Natasha scoffs, then letting a bittersweet smile cross her face. “You’re hiding behind weak retorts because you’re scared. Scared of being alone. But you don’t have to be anymore.”

Lost, your hands twitch, and you allow yourself to believe that maybe Natasha is your salvation. Defense mechanisms kick in, but you know you’re fighting a losing battle.

“Sorry to disappoint, Romanoff, but don’t try to play therapist. I’m not some kind of victim you’re going to diagnose,” you sneer. “I’m free to do whatever the fuck I want without your judgment.”

“Free?” Natasha asks, an incredulous look in her eyes. She laughs in mockery with an unwavering gaze. “You’re not free. You can’t go a day without fucking a girl. You’re a prisoner, and you’re shackled by your own desires and wants. Except this time, that luxury has become an addictive coping mechanism.”

Dark eyes flash with a glimmer of danger, and you’re so much like a trapped animal gone hostile that Natasha’s heart breaks a little.

“You’re wrong,” you answer, but your hands are shaking so violently that you hardly seem like the person she once thought you were.

Where complete equilibrium once was, a desperate frenzy of unease is what exudes from you now. Natasha feels a twinge in her heart when you whisper “You’re wrong,” again, this time substantially more quiet and resigned.

“Prove it, then,” Natasha challenges, bringing a hand up to cup the side of your face. Her eyes search yours so desperately, and you’ve stripped naked in front of a hundred girls, but you’ve never felt more vulnerable. “Prove that you’re more than whatever they say about you.”

With the strange urge of tears pricking at your eyes, you stare at Natasha with all the hopelessness any broken heart could muster, and for a moment you can see the doubt in her eyes. Like you’ve disappointed her, just like all the girls who’s hearts you’ve broken.

But when you first kissed Natasha Romanoff, it was never going to be just another one-night, was it?

With the final semblance of humanity in your burden-stricken mortality, you drag a shaky thumb along Natasha’s cheekbones like it’s the most delicate thing in the world, and the deeply-rooted self-loathing inside you fades away, just a little bit.

Your parted lips meet Natasha’s in a prologue to an unfinished symphony. You delve in like she’s your last lifeline, and maybe Natasha is, from the way she rests her fingers on your hips with a gentleness you’ve never experienced.

A carnal urge washes over you, because this time you’re not afraid to admit that you want Natasha Romanoff. You spread your hands, feeling up as much of her as you can, running it down her back then squeezing at her rounded ass—

And then Natasha’s pulling away, and only then do you hear the cluster of footsteps approaching the washroom.

“Tonight,” she whispers with a hint of smirk. Natasha goes on her tippy-toes to press a kiss on the tip of your nose, and then she’s gone.

You stand there with wide eyes, in the washroom where students filter in, lingering with the ghost of Natasha Romanoff’s lips and a piece of your heart melted onto the floor.

***

You were positive you were going to start ripping off your skin if you didn’t start fucking Natasha Romanoff in this exact moment.

But that would be a bad idea, because you were in the middle of a psychology lecture, and Professor Harkness probably wouldn’t appreciate that.

After a torturous hour of you shifting in your seat, you sprint out the lecture hall. Thanking the heavens that it was your last lesson of the day, you dodge and weave through the crowd of students in the hallway.

“Hey, Y/N,” A small group of sophomore girls call out, checking you out like a piece of meat. Normally, their flirtatious winks and little skirts would have you folded in an instant, but you couldn’t wait a moment longer.

You send them a polite smile and continue on your hasteful journey, missing the comical way their faces fall.

Upon your dutiful research, you knew where Natasha’s dorm was located, but you planned to stop by your own dorm to pick up a little something. (Okay, maybe the something wasn’t that little.) You yank open your door with purpose—

Only to find Natasha already sprawled out on your dorm bed, dressed in one of your shirts and nothing else. You almost pass out. Almost.

“Nat,” you groan, locking the door behind you. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Not before I come, I’m afraid,” Natasha sighs with a pleased smile. She beckons you over with a come-hither motion, spreading her legs in invitation.

You bite back an affected noise in the back of your throat, pushing Natasha back down on to the bed with fervour. With a crushing sense of urgency, you slide your hand between her pretty thighs, not waiting a single moment.

“Slow down,” Natasha instructs, tilting your head up to stare at her blown pupils. “Take your time. Don’t just fuck me. Do it like you mean it.”

Upon hearing those words, a rush of pride washes over you and then you’re so eager to please, desperate to somehow prove yourself.

Your fingers find the hem of her shirt and tug it over her head, revealing the bare mounds that are Natasha’s tits. A shaky exhale leaves your lips as your fingertips experimentally brush over her hardened buds.

“God, you’re built,” Natasha moans, running her hands over the edges and curves of your muscle. It’s tight and taut under her touch, so defined and carved.

You shudder under her explorative touch, returning your attention back to the beautiful girl in front of you.

You were so used to hot, fast, explosive sex that turning back time was such a jarring awakening of everything that you were missing out on.

It put things into perspective, that you had never actually made love. And since this was your first time, you were determined to do it right, especially for Natasha.

You trail open-mouthed kisses down her sternum and stomach, savouring the taste of her skin. Your hands grasp at her tits, enjoying the feel of it in your hands.

You’re experiencing things you never got to experience, like the rise and fall of Natasha’s pale chest, the way her eyelids flutter gently.

Temporarily avoiding where she needed you most, you hear Natasha let out a whine. You tease her hole with your tongue, smearing her slick messily.

“Fuck,” Natasha curses, winding her fingers into your hair. “Please, I need it,” she whines, as you lick at her clit.

“M’kay, baby,” you mumble against her wet folds, because you could never deny Natasha of anything, could you?

You slide your tongue in her twitching pussy, and begin one of the most passionate love-making sessions

You listen out for when Natasha hitches her breath, when her hips stutter, when she mewls out. You learn the instrument of her body, understand and test out the different reactions you can draw out.

After minutes of what seem like pure bliss with erratic breaths and pleading keening, you speed up and the reaction is immaculate.

“Y/N,” Natasha cries, as your tongue goes in and out of her dripping cunt. Her slick goes down her thighs and your chin, making the most obscene noises.

It’s wet and squelching, and you proceed to devour Natasha’s pussy for everything it’s worth.

For a millisecond, Natasha wonders if anyone has ever died from being eaten out too passionately. Erotic Oral Overdrive, maybe.

Her first orgasm comes in a gradual crescendo, her hips rocking in waves as you dutifully match her unwinding.

Natasha lets her eyes flutter shut as the moment overwhelms her senses. Until the silence is finally broken by you.

“Got a little something for you,” you say with a quirked brow, sliding your hand into the bedside cabinet to retrieve that little something.

“Oh, fuck,” Natasha whines, upon seeing the biggest strap-on toy she’s ever had her eyes upon in her life.

You ease in the cock with no amount of trouble, through Natasha’s already slick cunt. You start with a gentle pace, because you’re trying to be slow.

Apparently, Natasha has different plans this time around.

“Harder,” Natasha growls, digging her nails into your muscled back. You let out a low gasp, because you’re already so deep inside her divine pussy, and you didn’t think you could go any deeper.

Gripping her thighs and spreading it as far apart as you can, you thrust impossibly deeper and your hips slap against Natasha’s.

Her eyes roll back, and she arches off the bed as you continue to thrust and make a nest for yourself inside her.

“Y/N, ungh– please, fuck—” Curled toes wrap around your back as she writhes against the bed.

With the way your cock bulges against her skin, you’re quite sure you could actually split Natasha in half. She’s clawing at your back, calling out your name to the ceiling.

When you pull out, Natasha whines, velvet walls clenching tighter around to keep you deep inside. But then you thrust all the way in again and a scream rings around your dorm room.

You don’t give a flying fuck about the noise level as you pound into Natasha, splitting open her pretty little pussy. “So fucking tight and wet,” you moan into her ear. “All for me, baby?”

It’s fucking possesive, the way you manhandle her to look at her rolled-back eyes and slack jaw.

“Mhm– yes! Oh God, yes, please, Y/N!” Natasha shrieks, clenching so tight you swear you can feel her wet pulse through the huge strap-on.

But it isn’t just any strap-on, and Natasha realises this with a breathy gasp, because it’s a squirting strap-on, and then you’re unloading into her ruined cunt with a deep growl.

Natasha wails, legs in the air, as you pump your seed into her pussy. It’s thick and flows out in pumps, and she milks your cock dry.

“Good girl, Nat,” you breathe, rocking in slow motions so she can recover from her high.

Finally, you collapse on top of Natasha as she lets out a breathy laugh. “What happened to not fucking the same girl twice?”

“You’re infuriating,” you grunt, rolling your hips once in retaliation. You delight the small victory of Natasha whimpering under you.

Natasha rolls her eyes at your impertinence, leaning up to press a small kiss on your forehead. “Infuriating? More like irresistible.”

It’s your turn to laugh, grasping her hips and pulling her impossibly closer. “You’re right,” you whisper truthfully. You think you could stay like this forever.

“Stay if you dare,” Natasha whispers, letting her hand trace over the curvature of your angled face. As you lay above her, you turn your head so that your lips brush against her palm.

Your warm lips are so delicate that Natasha could almost weep, and that’s all the response she needs before breathing a gentle sigh, hence letting sleep drift her consciousness away.

For the first night amongst many, a quiet calm settles in your dorm room ‘til the sun rises again.

***

Don’t fall for the player.

Once upon a time, that used to be a warning, circulating within the hallways of Avengers Institution, whispered under hushed breaths and divine lips.

Tried and true, was the rumour that every single girl in this school would eventually fall victim to The Player’s effortless charisma and unstoppable magnetism.

And this might be true, because whenever you strolled the hallways or scored a touchdown, you were bound to have admirers cheering your name or flirty winks thrown in your way — However, there was a catalyst. A change, if you would.

Boys looked on in jealousy, girls looked on in intrigue. (Or maybe jealousy, too.) What used to be a smooth mouth and wandering hands became a delicate kind of control, saved for only one particular student.

Gone was your blatant charisma and swagger in treating other girls, because now there was only one on your mind — Natasha Romanoff. Be it in on the bleachers, in the hallways, or during dorm parties, never were you seen without the girl who always got what she wanted.

And that included the very subject of the mantra that defined Avengers Institution:

Don’t fall for the player.

so... this was one full month of work. i've never been this dedicated to a singular project. wow. uh, please reblog. it's the only true way of supporting your little creators on this app, so help me out here. thanks for reading. out of curiosity, which part did you like the most?

kinktober masterlist || main masterlist

[hrokkall]

So far I've been attacked by the GIANT ENEMY SPIDER and my building's fire alarm went off irl but that won't stop me staying up to complete this game

8.5/10 (Points knocked off for clown jumpscare crimes)

-🥊

Hell yeah! I don’t actually know which clown jumpscare you’re referring to, there’s… several, actually, especially if you’re achievement hunting. Glad you’re having fun so far though :]

[gunsandspaceships]

Tony Stark’s achievements

Childhood:

“Brilliant and unique mind”

At age 4 built his first circuit board

At age 6 built his first engine

Cracked the Pentagon’s firewall in high school on a dare

Went to college at 14

Built cool smart robots (Dum-E and U) when he was a teen

At 17 graduated summa cum laude from MIT

Polyglot

Before Afghanistan:

“Da Vinci of our time”

Became an owner and CEO of Stark Industries at 21

Successfully ran the company for decades

Advanced the world of technology, not only in weaponry and robotics but also:

created advanced AI J.A.R.V.I.S.

created holographic interface technology

created repulsor technology

Participated in charity

In and after Afghanistan:

“I’m sorry, I’m not Tony Stark”

Survived an open-heart surgery in a cave, without general anesthesia

Lived with, in fact, a debilitating wound, shrapnel, and a huge and dangerous technological device in his body for years and was willing and capable of doing not only his usual work but also being a superhero and doing all these next things...

Did not give up under torture and fought with his captors

Invented and built a miniaturized Arc Reactor, in a cave, with a box of scraps

Invented and built Iron Man armor, in the same cave, with the same box of scraps

Escaped from captivity by himself (with help from Yinsen, but without any armed assistance)

Became an expert in piloting and driving

Saved people in Gulmira

Saved a USAF pilot

Probably the best hacker in the world, was able to easily hack networks of the Pentagon, US government, AIM, and SHIELD

Fought with Iron Monger after nearly died. Defeated him and saved many lives. Was ready to die for that

Built many more different Iron Man armors

Fought terrorists between IM and IM2 (IM2 tie-in comics)

Saved a submarine crew (IM2 - newspapers in Vanko’s home)

Saved a woman from a fire (IM2 - newspapers in Vanko’s home)

“Stabilized East-West relations” (IM2 - newspapers in Vanko’s home), so the world was “enjoying its longest period of uninterrupted peace in years”

Organized Stark Expo

Was able to keep Iron Man armor in his safe hands despite the government’s and HYDRA’s attempts to take it for themselves

Defeated Ivan Vanko in Monaco

(Re)Discovered a new element

 Synthesized it, by building a particle accelerator, at home

Revolutionized energy industry and science. Gave clean energy to the world

Defeated Vanko in New York with Rhodey, Natasha, and Pepper and saved many lives again

Saved Peter Parker (IM2)

Made it so that the Abomination would not leave prison and join the Avengers

Built Stark/Avengers Tower powered by Arc Reactor technology

Saved Steve Rogers and many civilians in Germany from Loki

Was able to fight with Thor on equal terms

Biggest brain on Earth, arguably - in the Universe:

best scientist on the team, in SHIELD, on Earth, in the Universe

expert in nuclear, particle, and quantum physics

was able to learn very quickly – became an expert in thermonuclear astrophysics in one night

Successfully tracked Tesseract by its gamma radiation with Bruce

Saved Helicarrier with the Avengers and SHIELD agents on board, almost died

Saved Rogers from a merc right after that

Fought with Chitauri, killed many of them, saved a lot of people

Was able to blow up a Leviathan by himself

Saved New York City by redirecting a nuke to the wormhole

Saved the world by destroying Thanos’ Chitauri army, almost died again

Founded The United States Department of Damage Control to clean up after battles

Rebuilt Stark Tower into Avengers Tower and gave each team member their own quarters

One of the best biologists and biomedical engineers on Earth, even if it’s not his main area of expertise:

helped Maya with Extremis back in 1999, because knew more in her own field, and even didn’t remember that

was head hunted by Aldrich Killian to work on Extremis with/instead of Maya, who was the leading expert in tissue regeneration

improved and stabilized Extremis, so it became safe regenerative technology, and with it…

cured Pepper

healed extensive injuries in his chest

invented and implanted devices for remote control of his suits (into his forearm in IM3, and most probably into his brain for Mark L armor in Infinity War)

invented build-in diagnostic system in his suits

Invented many devices for protection purposes (ex. bomb disposal)

A capable detective. Figured out the cause of explosions in IM3 on his own

Saved Pepper instead of himself by putting Mark 42 on her during the attack on his Malibu mansion

Survived the attack with a barely working prototype suit. Shot down a helicopter with a piano

Was able to fight with enhanced fire-breathing regenerating terrorists without armor and weapons in Rose Hill. In handcuffs

Knowledgeable and skilled in medicine:

saved a kid with his arc reactor in a deleted scene from IM3, selflessly pulling it out of his chest and performing defibrillation under electric shocks

knew how to recognize hyperglycemia when Harley was eating 3rd bawl of candies

closed his wound in Infinity War with nanoparticles

performed first-aid on Bruce after his snap

Built a lot of stuff from random things he bought in a store for the assault on the Mandarin's mansion. In a motel

Successfully stormed the Mandarin's mansion full of armed and huge security guys with dogs. Alone. Without his armor

Successfully escaped captivity in the Mandarin's mansion with just a few pieces of armor on

Saved all the people who fell from the Air Force One

Stormed Roxxon Norco ship with Rhodey, without a suit. With one handgun

Saved the US president

Defeated Killian and his Extremis-enhanced terrorists, saved many lives

Built quinjets

Created Iron Legion

Became the benefactor of the Avengers, provided them with everything, was a combatant, and also the team’s pilot, hacker, engineer, medic, and scientist

As an Avenger saved many lives on missions, including destroying the rest of HYDRA in AoU

With Bruce’s help created Veronica and Hulkbuster suit

Defeated a rogue Iron Legionnaire with a fork

In contrast to other team members was able to function after Wanda played with his mind

Defeated mad Hulk. Saved a lot of lives in Johannesburg

Easily hacked nuclear codes in Nexus and found J.A.R.V.I.S. “in the world’s biggest haystack”

Created advanced AI F.R.I.D.A.Y.

Many advanced AIs

Created Vision

With the Avengers defeated Ultron and his army

Evacuated people who were left in Sokovia

Saved a falling evacuation shuttle with people on it

Together with Thor saved Earth by destroying the falling Sokovia

Rebuilt Stark Compound into Avengers Compound for the team in Upstate New York

Invented several medical devices, including leg braces, blood toxicity detector

Sponsored the development of technology for psychotherapy (B.A.R.F.). Prevented it from being used for harm

Funded all the students’ projects at MIT

Did everything possible to legally, politically, and physically protect the team before, during, and after the Civil War

Was able to disarm Winter Soldier without a suit, with only one armored glove

Figured out Spider-Man’s identity

Created Spider-Man’s suits

Mentored, sponsored, and looked after Peter Parker

Saved Peter Parker (SMH). Twice

Saved the ferry from sinking

Invented nanoparticles

 “Earth’s best defender”

Went to space to save Peter, Strange and bring back Time Stone

Saved Peter Parker (IW)

Saved Strange on the Donut spaceship. Killed Ebony Maw

Cloak of Levitation chose him as his second favorite (deleted scene with Tony wearing Levi and Strange in Mark L)

Was respected by Thanos himself

Withstood when Thanos hit him with a moon

Fought Thanos, made him bleed, kept fighting even without armor

Survived a severe injury thanks to his own invention

Was able to function, tried to fix Benatar, and return home while injured and ill with an infected wound

Built a lab for Bruce and helped him to become one with Hulk (combine the best of both worlds)

Became an amazing dad

Became an expert in time travel physics

Discovered/invented (controlled) Time travel

Built a time machine

Went on Time Heist and stole Tesseract from a guarded military base

Created his own Infinity Gauntlet

Thus brought half of the universe back to existence (Bruce snapped and partially sacrificed his health, but nothing would be possible without Tony)

Saved Bruce’s arm by providing emergency medical care

Fought with Thanos again and…

Saved the whole Universe

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

To Hunt a Silver Stag (II)

AU MASTERLIST || PART III

PAIRING: Knight!Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Fae Princess!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 5.6k

WARNINGS: Arranged marriage, talks of childbirth, traditional views of women & men in medieval times, talks of war, death, heavy religious imagery/symbolism, blood, gore, sword wounds, stitches, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The wedding was fast approaching. 

Your nightly conversations had now taken the tone of urgency—a newfound anxiety that perpetuated every inch of the courtyard. Discussion of all manner of flight; boats and horses, magic, and the simple act of dashing away in the small hours. Gaz would not be able to come with you, but he would give you all the time and distraction you would need when the time was right. The best option right now was the horses in the stable—cloak yourself as your knight made a commotion about an intruder on the opposite end of the castle. It was coming together, day after day. Until tonight. 

Until you’d been summoned to have supper with the King and his court. 

You sit now at the very opposite of the table from your betrothed, many eyes darting from the sides of sockets for even a glance at your face. Your crown is still present, along with your belt; your dress is of your collection, and you had seen the looks of disdain when you proudly wore it in—Gaz trailing behind through the main doors of the dining hall.

No one has called in the food yet. Now is the time for talk.

“I imagine you’ve had time to settle in, My Lady?” The King smiles like a snake, and your silver eyes miss nothing as the lines of his face contort; harsh leather and the dunes of sand. “Has my castle become a home to you?” In the corner of your vision, Gaz stands with his hands behind his back at the side of the room along with many other knights. A show of strength? Maybe. 

But you don’t feel nervous about your confidant, though. The time for hesitation between the two of you has passed—it was all or nothing. 

You speak slowly and clearly, face the picture of calm.

“It is a great thing to be able to see the works of mortal hands. It is an achievement, to be sure.” Your lashes move in a slow blink. “Yet, nothing can be a home such as the one I came from.”

“Ah,” Michael takes it in stride, nodding as the men at the sides of the table glance at one another, sneering. As if saying that you were homesick was a sin of some sort. Brown eyes continue to be locked on your measured body—sitting straight and your hands in your lap. “Yes. I understand. Many have heard of the splendor of your homeland.” 

The sconces on the walls flicker. This feels like more of an interrogation than a supper. 

“It is a place very few see,” you speak slowly, thinking what this game might entail. “Those that do are left changed. Such is how it has always been.”

“My children will have equal claim, then?” Michael smiles, and the court’s eyes glint. “To the lands?”

Your body stills, gaze unwavering as your piercing orbs level across the table. The very air shifts in an instant.

“Repeat yourself,” you order slowly. 

The court blinks quickly, some even straighten in their chairs. Gaz’s feet shift near the window—his lips flattening on his face as he takes a low breath down his nose. Your tone made the hairs on his arms raise by themselves, something primal in the way you articulate. 

Yet, the King seems to not know that there’s a line not to be crossed with you. He can’t understand the nearly inextinguishable loyalty to your own—to your people. No rat-like mortal man would ever amount. No kingdom made of stone and iron. 

Your fingers tighten under the table, sharpness breeding in your skin.

Any further insinuation on his part was suddenly very detrimental to his survival rate. Your magic flows through you, and the sparse, and nearly dead, potted plants near the corners of the room quiver. Gaz notices immediately, his jaw subtly clenching. 

Not here, he wants to tell you, his feet shifting with anticipation. Fucking hell, not here, Stag.

But he served a King that he could never love—you served a kingdom that you would give your immortal life for in an instant. 

His Highness tilts his head, eyes glinting as your silver hue sparks up like a candle’s flames. 

“It’s an honest question, is it not?” Michael huffs, moving one of his hands to call the servants to bring in supper. Your senses go into overdrive as the large doors open, blinking quickly at the humming in the air that only increases as the staff moves closer. 

Your mouth opens and closes for a moment, eyes lightly flinching as a headache begins to form. You can’t even answer the King, and your magic halts itself immediately as your head snaps to the side in horror. 

Iron. 

You can’t see the King’s slow smirk as the iron platters are carried in, placed on the table in great heaps of glorious spoils. Large pigs and birds stuffed with vegetables—on the very material that makes your hands begin to shake as the tops are taken off with great showmanship. As if this was an achievement. 

A platter is dropped ahead of you with a clink of metal to wood, but your eyes only stare at the dead ones that smugly look right back as your heart constricts. 

Gaz’s wide expression is frozen on his face, body immobile at the cruel display so openly perpetuated by the court. His hands tighten into fists, eyes darting back and forth from you to the iron and the death on the table. He can see the way your muscles tense, the way your fingers twitch and flinch. 

“So,” the King motions again. “I ask, will my Heir have a claim to the Fae thrown?”

“Not in a million years,” you say slowly at first, your mind addled and skin beginning to sweat. The King stills—just like everyone else in the room. A shiver of rage filters behind those rat eyes as you continue. “Not in the seasons of the Mothers, not in an hour of contemplation, a day of rage, or even the seconds it would take for a Basilisk to devour your wretched corpse.”

It was a wonder you kept your composure as your hands rose from under the table—heart palpitating as a low growl raised from the table. Yet, everyone is shocked at what you do next. 

Your hands grasp the ironware and Gaz has already set a firm step forward in a mute panic of wide eyes and a sucked-in breath—but he’s too late.

You ignore the burn; the agony that rips through your hands and your bones, killing your soul and making your skin itch like it was on fire. Maybe it was. The iron is heavy in your hands as you glare at the King with every ounce of hate a creature as old as you can hold. 

You stab at a piece of food, hold the fork aloft, and hiss on a tight, strained breath. 

“Not even if the cold iron in my palm turns to pure gold will I see any child of yours growing in my womb.” Your hand moves forward, and with a slow bite, you take down a piece of the greasy and roasted corpse; holding back a gag as your skin boils and blisters under the iron’s hold. 

The food slams into your stomach as if a rock.

It’s a curse you level with no magic besides your hatred, and that in and of itself is far more potent. 

The King’s shocked nature turns to confusion, and then to a swift and all-consuming rage.

“Chain her,” he whispers at first, a quiet murmur above the horror of the faces of the court. Then he screams and stands up, slamming his hands to the table with actions half his age. A petulant child. A greedy little boy. “Chain her!”

A hand grasps yours and rips the fork from your grasp, hurling it halfway up the table by the time you can register above your blackening gaze that Gaz is forcing a ripped strip of his cape into the weeping flesh. 

“Christ,” he gasps, quickly glancing at your face as your crown dips and moves as your head does. Everything is buzzing—even being close to this much iron leaves you weak. 

You suck down large breaths, but there’s no time for this.

“Chain her!” King Michael screeches. “I want her in the dungeons!”

Your arm is taken up, your feet sliding over the floor as Gaz drags you up, shoving you behind him. The sound of a sword being drawn is enough to momentarily snap you out of your agony, your hand shaking violently as you breathe hard and bend your spine forward slightly. 

You blink wildly, gasping at the scene ahead of you.

Your knight stands firm ahead of you, his back wide and shielding you from the risen court and the King. The other knights in the room watch with wide eyes, hands on their weapons in utter confusion. 

“I’d stay back if you knew what was best for you,” Gaz eases out, casual in his delivery but you can hear the rapid pound of his heart. He’s nervous. Incredibly so—adrenaline striking through his veins just as it does yours. 

This wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t right; he wasn’t supposed to be involved. 

“Gaz,” you stutter, so strange to hear yourself in a state of anxiety after so many years of calm and elegance. There’s nothing elegant about you now. “Do not.”

He was throwing away everything he’d worked for. 

“Stay behind me,” the knight mutters, his dark eyes searching the room for anyone to move forward and attack—none do. “Don’t move until I tell you to, yeah?” He had a reputation for being a skilled swordsman; no one here would risk rushing without more weapons at the ready.

Gaz’s sword rests easily in his right hand, the left going to unsheathe his dagger and let it rest at his side, fingers twitching around the hilt as he takes a slow breath, eyes traveling the room.

They land on the King, face contorted into the picture of wrath, wrinkled, and old body shaking. 

“Step aside, boy,” Michael says lowly. “And I’ll let you walk with your head.”

“Wouldn’t be much good to me if I allowed this to happen, would it,” Gaz tilts his skull, a flicker of a smirk on his lips. Seriousness slips back in on the backs of knife edges. “Cut your losses. Let her leave, she doesn’t want this.” 

“I don’t care what this creature wants,” the King shouts, moving out from the table and taking firm steps forward, his knight flanking him as the court goers, back up quickly; panic in their eyes. “It’s going to give me power.” 

A greedy gaze finds yours behind the swell of Gaz’s back—hearing your Knight’s growl at the next words to enter the tense dining hall. 

“Whether she agrees to it or not.”

Your face twists, a sliver of fear making your legs back up a step. Magic, you needed your magic. But the iron—there’s so much of it here; it’s infecting your mind like a bug in the back of your brain. Buzzing, buzzing, buzzing. 

You shake your head, uninjured hand coming up to dig your fingers into your temple.

Gaz spits, “Not fucking happening, you old bastard.” His silver sword raises, and with a twirl of his wrist, sending the blade in an arch, the tip is leveled into the air. “You’ll have to get through me first, won’t you?”

“I will not—!” The King stumbles for a moment, body shaking and legs loose. One of his hands snaps to his chest and he blinks to himself, cape dragging across the floor. A ragged cough moves out of his mouth. 

You move forward sluggishly, hand resting itself on the back of Gaz’s armored spine as he startles and looks over his shoulder at you. 

“Stag,” he warns in an accented mutter, but your eyes are not gazing at him. They’re on the King.

On his failing heart and its broken beating. 

The man’s breath is in a gasp, his orbs snapping to and fro like a rabbit as he reaches out a hand, a swift cry from the other men making the knights dash. They grab at him just before he slams to the ground, but one of the court’s men shouts out fearfully, “It’s her—she’s done something!”

“Grab her!”

“Cast her into the irons!”

“She’s killing out King!”

Gaz dashes on his heels, hooking an arm around your waist as you pant, unbelieving as to what is happening. Killing? No, you hadn’t even done anything—this wasn’t your fault!

“Run,” the knight barks, shoving you out of the door and into the hallway. “Damnit, Stag, you need to bloody go. Now!” His browns lock with your silver eyes, stiff until they soften at your blatant shocked fear. A beat of nothingness comes back to the both of you—memories of a courtyard and a cape around your shoulders. You stare, fingers shaking and blood pooling into the makeshift bandage of your palm.

“No, no! What about you?” He shakes his head, and in a swift moment, his gaze goes back to the clamor of commotion—of horrible cries of ‘the King is dead! The King is dead!’

A thin smirk makes your face burn with panic.

“I need to give you an exit, remember?” A tiny wink. “Thank me later, Princess, when you’re safe. Go home.”

He nods pushing on your shoulder delicately. Backing up and twirling his sword again as he licks his lips. You watch, crown more heavy than it had ever been before.  

Gaz looks at you as if you’re the only person to ever exist—just as he had when you’d restored the courtyard to glory he’d never seen it in before. He glances down your face, down your body, in all of the time those few seconds were before the yells from the other knights start up—angry, furious, from behind.

He calls firmly, bluntly, but the words are more layered than even you can know. Gaz whispers, his eyes so light and open it leaves you breathless like all of the air has turned to water. You’re drowning in it. 

“You don’t belong here.”

You try to step forward, desperate in a way you’d never been to grapple for this mortal man, but the door has already shut right in your face with a heavy boom. An iron bolt is locked in place.

—

The trees try to pull their branches aside as you rush through them, but your fast feet are too quick. Sharp wood slaps your cheeks, pulling at the long strands of your dress and the broken straps of your corset. 

You run over rocks, and feel the earth guide you along deep in your soul, not once do you stumble, not once do you falter besides once—to turn and glance. To cast your wide eyes on the fading fire-light of the castle; the sounds of bells ringing out.

Gaz.

He was still back there—fighting. When you had to rip yourself away from the door and rush down the stone corridors, you’d heard the clash of iron and silver against one another; shouts. Like battling wolves, all rabid teeth and a flurry of slitted eyes. Such violence here—such baseless malice. 

A King was going to put you in chains, and by whatever deity is truly out there, his heart had given out just in time. And your knight. Your sacrificial knight was left behind. 

He can take care of himself, you try to ease, bare feet jumping a stream as your injured palm burns with a thousand suns. I have to place my trust in him. I have to.

He had told you to go home—flee. Back to your castle that touches the sky, back to magic and trees older than any man, woman, or child. Sliding along the ground, you halt. 

Atop your head, your crown is crooked, and some of the gems have fallen off, glinting behind you in the upturned earth. Panting, you twist on your feet, moving them like a deer and unable to properly think. This had never happened to you before—this…this pain. Not just the one in your hand but the one that emanates from your heart. 

Gaz. 

In such a short time, day, weeks, he’d grabbed your immortality and made it stop. You had become mortal with him, and a part of you is mortal yet. He’d touched you—he’d grappled into the place between your ribs and made you care about him. His wonder; his awe for no other reason than he was kind. Hand coming up to grasp at your neck, you fight the burn in your eyes, something that had not happened in decades, trying to drag you back into tears. 

You cover your mouth, eyes shut tight. 

No, no.

“This cannot be happening,” you gasp in a whisper that moves the trees; eyes watch from bushes. “No, no this isn’t true, do not speak of it,” you whimper to the branches, to their hidden words that pierce your heaving lungs. “I need to go home, I must see the ages pass with no bias—I can not grow attached to a knight. Not to one that death can touch so easily! Do you not understand?!”

Shouts ring into the trees, and your head snaps up, face tight. 

Why can’t you go any farther? No curse holds you here! No spell, no enchantment! You are a God to them! You make the world grow with only a word, you carry life and death as if it is a suggestion! This is not probable—it isn't logical. 

And then you think about the man who had freely given up everything for you in chains, and your sob echoes over the woods like a brand.

Fleeing once more, you go not in the direction of home, a place so very far away, but in the direction of a large mound of stone—speaking to them through bitter tears and making you lick at the sides of your mouth. Torchlight moves through the trunks of silent sentinels as the rock itself splinters and breaks, your body slipping inside a cage of your own making before you collapse. 

The stone groans and breaks and it is like you were never there as the ground shifts—moving the tracks you’d left behind in newly tilled earth. Countless horses rush past, their knight riders with iron bindings swinging from their fists, oblivious. 

But the stone you panic inside of is no worthy prison. Even you knew: there was no greater cage for a Fae than love.

—

Gaz stumbled through the woods, his right leg dragging behind as he gritted his teeth harder, panting through the drops of blood that slipped over his lips. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, collapsing against one of the tree’s trunks and resting the side of his head against it. “Fuck.”

He’d barely made it out. 

The castle was overrun with knights, guards, the people, and the court—all of them. The King was dead. Dead, and they were blaming it on you.

“Serves him right,” Gaz pushes on, eyes fluttering shut as blood slides over his armor. He doesn’t know where the wounds start and where they end, but he does know that he has to keep walking. There’s a trail to follow, and the earth is showing it to him.

The man can’t stop until he knows you’re alright.

Panting, the gems on the ground are one by one plucked and pocketed, kept safe in the same pouch that once held his sigil ring; an achievement he’d been proud of himself for. 

A knight, he’d told his family—his friends. It was a station of the highest honor.

Look what that had gotten him. Serving a bastard who called himself a God. Who pushed judgments and demanded utter loyalty to them. 

Gaz would rather hang. 

Coughing, blood splatters to the ground, and on the bank of a small river, his dragging feet fail him. Falling forward, the tattered remains of Gaz’s cape fluttered around him as his hands splattered through the water. A chilled breeze rushes through the trees, waking them.

He restrains himself from crying out, eyes clenched shut as his forehead skates the water. The clear liquid goes crimson with every wave, like the remnants of a fresh kill. 

Body too weak to move, Gaz growls in defiance, slamming a fist into the mud and shoving forward.

He had to find you. He had to make sure you were making your way back home safely—he…he had to fix the wrongs that he hadn’t even been a part of. Even by association, the knight was layered with a horrible guilt. Gaz can’t forget your eyes—your silver tint and the way your head moved; the way you spoke. 

A stag. A deer. A hart. A creature that needed to be set free from the confines of stone and iron. He’d do it all over, but that was just his nature. Gaz was just—he was good. Kind. 

Even the trees knew that. 

Raising his head, vision blurry, brown eyes lock onto the tiny body of a white dove. 

Staring, Gaz’s face slackens, blinking through the water and the blood until the image in front of him becomes clearer. 

“L,” he stutters, voice failing before he clears his throat and forces himself further upwards as his arms scream at him. “Lysander?” 

The bird has its head cocked to the side, a black obsidian orb stuck on him. It doesn't coo or flap its wings—it watches. Waits. Without anything, it takes to the air and flutters over to a large stump, body hopping until it rests once more with tapping feet.

Again, it stares.

Gaz gapes at it, moonlight over his armor, making it glint and shine even with the dents and long cuts. A flicker of hope beats in his breast, and with a deep breath and a broken groan of pain, his failing body is once more on its two feet. 

“Take me to her,” he pleads in a breathy exhale.

Gaz may not be able to stalk like a wolf, or even walk like a human now, but if there was a sliver of a chance that a Fae princess was waiting for him, he’d follow even if he had to drag himself there on busted legs.

Lysander’s beak clicks and the bird flies from one landmark to another, following the trail of gems and leading the broken knight behind him. 

On and on Gaz walks, not able to stop for fear he may not be able to get back up again. His pouch becomes heavy, his body likely to give out any second, when Lysander flutters atop a large stone face and finally stops. Collapsing to the ground, the knight coughs up blood to the ground, body a heap on the ground earth as he rests his head and pants like an animal. 

“Christ,” he gasps, eyes fluttering as darkness begins to swallow him; a maw of a dragon right over his form, waiting to chomp down. “Where…” Gaz begins to ask, flesh shivering even through all of the layers of sweat he carries.

Where are you?

Brown eyes move from the bird to the trees, through the gaps between the trunks and the spilling moonlight. You were nowhere—nothing to be seen except the eyes of animals and the wind moving the branches of the silent watchers of this place. The trees here move, trying to tell him something. Ever since he’d met you, everything had taken on new meaning.

Gaz tried to focus on breathing, but it was getting harder and harder to keep conscious. 

Lysander was doing something at the rock face—tapping his beak against the surface in steady intervals, only pausing to look down at him and tilt his head as if to ask, ‘Still alive down there?”

The knight glares at the bird, body losing strength until his chest connects down to the ground, eyes gazing off into the trees as the wind caresses his cheeks.

It was calm here. Gaz’s ears twitched at the sound of rock and stone, but the rapid hands on his cheeks captured his attention more than anything. His body is forced onto his back, a wide, terrified face blurred in front of him. 

But that voice…

“Gaz!”

Oh, he could fall into this abyss happily if the last words he heard were you calling his name.

—

You rip the last of the hem of your dress to use as bandages and see your hands quiver in all of their blood-stained glory. Along the cuts in Gaz’s skin, you had threaded through the gold that had once belonged to your antlered crown—the needle, a fragment of the very same bone you had broken along a rock. You’d raced to the river and asked the water for help, and it had followed swiftly with the help of the wind to clean wounds and aches. 

Now, you were wrapping what was left, the night beginning to slink back into the morning as you kept the break in the cliff face open to the air. The grass was awash with blood. 

You both can’t stay here if you want to live by tomorrow.

Lysander had brought Gaz to you, and now, he lays on the ground with his cape under his head—your hands healing him the best you can. You poured your magic tirelessly, hour after hour, but you had to focus on the worst wounds first. 

The slit on his stomach, namely—from an axe or some larger weapon, you know not, but it had left most of the carnage that needed to be attended to. If you were anything less than Fae, Gaz would be dead.

The thought ravaged your mind like a boar through undergrowth.

“You were not supposed to do that,” you mutter, fingers running the length of his tunic and grasping it, pulling the article down to hide the large scar that now moves up his stomach. Your head is light from the power it took. Plants and animals were so much easier; less to work with than human flesh. “Damn you, Knight. I would damn your name as well if I had the horrific pleasure of knowing it. Damn you.” 

Such words were below you, but you can’t help how they come out.

You stare at his face, the light of morning barely giving it illumination. He breathes softly, and it is your only relief to watch his chest rise and fall—broken armor discarded to the side by your panicked fingers. His heartbeat.

Bump-bump, bump-bump, bump-bump.

Your eyes flutter to it, trying to ease yourself as you take a deep breath and think.

You’re still too close to the castle for your liking. But he’s far too broken to move so soon.

Finger reaching out, your tips trail the raised skin of your glinting stitches, gold stuck between the flesh, peeling it back together along the forearm. All of it will scar. Violently so.

Your chest constricts, and you glare at his face.

“Why would you do that,” you hiss, growling in a tone that is foreign to you even if it still sounds elegant. A Fae’s wrath is one to behold. “Why? You owe me nothing, do you not understand that? You’re supposed to be a beast—a little man who…who…” you trail, teeth snapping as your head raises and whips away, nose to the air.

Yet, your crown had been broken just to save this human’s life. Willingly.

Mortals were supposed to be selfish. They were supposed to be like King Michael—that was what you’d been taught; that was what you knew. 

But everything Gaz did was the opposite of that. 

Love is a cage, you tell yourself again, and keep your face to the side. Unwilling to look down at the body that had been so eager to defend you.

You don’t like the wild feeling it makes breed like rodents in your heart, little claws moving up your throat and scratching at your teeth. 

“...Gonna finish that sentence, Love?” 

Your body startles, head snapping down to meet half-closed browns in an instant—you hiss. “Don’t speak, fool.” 

“Fool?” A weak chuckle wafts out, a hoarse voice as a head tries to shift on numb bone. “That’s not very nice, then.”

“I should make your lungs turn to dirt,” your sentence makes his brow flinch upwards, amused despite it all. “Change the very fabric of your muscle into oak wood.”

“Moody, are you?” 

Your eyes flash, and the grass around you shudders in answer as Lysander cleans his feathers a short distance away. Gaz tries a low smirk, softening his voice as his mind tries to focus above the noise in his head. “Joking.” 

Your face is troubled, jaw clenching. You can’t admit to yourself how much at ease his open eyes put you. You sigh, blinking away the sharp edge of your expression—it shifts back to the perfect calm it always wears. 

Gaz watches, your clothes torn and your palm still hidden away behind his cape’s cloth. He grunts suddenly, and the pain comes back in sharp pins as his face tightens. 

You can only watch, mind trying to come up with a solution that you know you don’t have. Magic can only do so much...but you have to try. He’s earned that much from you, at the very least. Your hand goes and hovers over the man’s cheek, pulling back only once before it captures the swell of it. 

Gaz swallows hard, and his eyes shift back through the haze of his shaking agony.

A kiss is leveled on his forehead, and it’s like the wounds cease to exist. He sags back onto the ground after a moment, skin tingling as magic runs its course through him like a stream of fire. It burns away the bad bits—keeping only the sensation of a princess pushing away his ails with a willing gift of her lips. 

A small noise is made in the back of his throat before Gaz takes a long and steady breath. His eyelids flutter. 

You pull back and place a hand on your head, grunting as the strength drains from you one wisp of magic at a time. Your skull pulses, and you know you’ve reached your limit. There was nothing more you could do. 

A calloused hand runs up to grasp at your wrist, and you let Gaz pull it back, his fingers twitching with healing nerves as he takes the limb and levels it at his lips. He holds it there until you open your eyes and look at him, a line of sweat running your temple. The knight watches it fall, skin hot.

“Thank you,” he whispers into your hand, only letting it move away when he knows you understand his words. Gaz whispers even as his eyes fight sleep. “Are you hurt, My Lady?”

“Right now,” your injured hand still burns—it always will. You restrain a flinch because of it. “You must focus on yourself, Knight. Such concerns are not needed. You almost gave your life for me.”

The last sentence is uttered no more than a squeak of a mouse in an open field. The thought…troubles you. It…it makes you want to run. 

Gaz smiles slowly, body mostly still. 

“Well, I can’t let a beauty like you get hurt now, can I? That would just be bloody wrong of me.” A pause. You don’t seem to find his jokes very funny. Gaz’s heart skips beats when you look at him like that. He softens, and your hand once more runs the length of his bandages, making him shiver. It was addicting: touching him. Feeling the heat of his flesh. 

“I’d do it again,” Gaz mutters. “I took an oath.”

“An oath to a King that was worth less than a rock on the bottom of the ocean,” you whisper. “It means nothing now.”

“It was never nothing to me.” Gaz’s eyes don’t leave yours. “Fighting for you will never be nothing.” 

You shake slightly, face heating up. All of this is wrong to you—foreign. But why does it make you feel like everything will be okay?

“I didn’t ask for your protection, Gaz,” you try once more. One final attempt to keep your slipping self-control. Weak fingers skate your chin, usually such a high and mighty thing, now stooped low and bent just to gaze upon the feeble body of a broken mortal man.

A man who will die in a blink. A man that should never have made a dent in your unbreakable mind; your knowledge of lives innumerable. A man that you can’t look away from as he smiles at you like that. Softy. Openly. 

Kindly.

Love is a cage.

“You never had to ask me, Stag…I would give my name to you, even if it was the last thing I had left of me.” 

Your eyes widen; your breath hitches as if you’d been stabbed in the heart. You nearly reel back, horror and something more trapped in every vein in your body. Ludicrous. That…that was absurd. Laughable!

His name? No, no never. That was a lie; a trick. Something so powerful, just to be uttered away like that by a bloodless mind. No. 

But not a single part of him is lying. Your jaw is slack in pure wonder. Struck dumb.

He wasn’t lying.

A low breeze goes through the trees—it slips past tattered clothes and the crimson grass. Whispering; talking in tongues you can’t understand at the moment above the noise from Gaz’s eyes. He’s still smiling at you, a knowing glint in his orbs as his fingers squeeze your chin. You catch his hand before it falls, grasping it without looking away. His pulse sings, and his throat releases a hum.

If love is a cage, you’d never wanted to be a prisoner more.

TAGS:

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[sillyzel]

✨The Amazing Digital Circus Hunters AU

The players in the circus are playing Caine’s game, “HUNTINGG” or maybe, uh, they’re like bounty hunters with powers..

Each player has unique abilities and can be used when they’re “hunting” for stuff in Caine’s game! Just-, Just that, simply.

(More under the cut)

Each of the players have unique abilities. Or, yeah, weapons. They use the weapons to help hunt stuff, of course. OR to KILL stuff. Players are kill-able but will respawn. Cuz, why not? If you’re an NPC, maybe you might just, die, yeah, die.

What are they hunting for?? Duh, it’s like, for ranks or smth. Higher u rank, more powerful u become, but when u get killed by anyone, well u gotta start over again. Who knows what u can achieve if u keep that first place…

OK!1!1!1 MORE ABOUT THE PLAEYRSZSZ

Pomni - Police… with a sword.

Pomni is… yeah, that. Why? Bubble just thinks it’s cool. Yeah, she does have a gun too. Pomni’s sword can get longer and shorter, but it is limited. Sword can electrocute some bozos, but needs charging after 5 uses of electro-power thing blah blah. Gun? Normal police gun.

Ragatha - Bare hand fighter, most of the time.

She is, a bare hand fighter. KICK AND PUNCH, yeahhhhh, but uses the spear sometimes. She keeps about 3 spears in her back. Rather than using the pointy part, She usually uses the wooden part more. Pointy stuff has poison. It stings and it hurts making the area that got cut/stabbed with that feel numb. Possible cramps, ig…

Gangle - Chainy chainy stuff with a slim cutter on it’s end.

Gangle’s… weapon, can cut OFF your limbs… BUT that’s rare! Only if she did it right. Usually only cuts deep… nvm, it depends if she is using it the riiiight way! The chain can go longer, with limit, of course! Making the chain go shorter takes more time.

Zooble - FIRE STAFF MUAHAHAHHA 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Zooble. I can say Zooble is like, an alchemist? Only if it’s fire-related. Basically, ya know, Staff with fire magic. BUTTT staff might lost its control sometimes. Zooble can use the staff, whenever. There’s always a “water-looking” bottle attached to the stuff. That thing is minimizing the chances of the staff to lose control. Also minimizes the fire a bit. Zooble can take it off, for about 20 minutes while using it. More than that, it burns the whole tent.

Jax - PEW PEW guns

Some sick guns. Yeaaahhh let’s goooo!1!1! 2 small guns and 1 big gun. 3 in total. The two smaller guns work differently. One works very fast and shoots 3 bullets at one click. One just shoots one per click, doesn’t deal much damage, but will make the enemy feel not-so-good and pass out, sometimes. Big gun? Fast, big bullet. Uses are limited. Only 3 times a day.

Kinger - DARK MAGIC GUY?!?!?

Exorcist? Dark magic? Whatever. Magic book. Yeah, he uses magic book to make and control magic. Just like Zooble, Kinger’s weapon can lose control too. Rarely. Magic book has no limits. The magic just- won’t work well if it’s closed. Quite hard to keep it open, y know.

BONUS - Links Abt this thing yes.

I have a feeling it’s not gonna be so “noticed” by other people, but I enjoyed making it while boredom.

[gay-dorito-dust]

For the writing requests, can I request a hurt/comfort scenario where Bi-han has accidentally hurts or almost hurts the reader with his powers? Like maybe he loses control during an argument or an intimate moment, or maybe they're training or on a mission he accidentally hits them with ice in the heat of battle. He feels really guilty about what he did, but reader knows it was an accident and tries to help him through it. Feel free to edit the scenario as you please. Thank you!

Bi-Han was furious.

No, that word doesn’t even begin to come close to describing how he felt in that moment. Bi-Han was livid and it was all in due to the sheer recklessness that you had shown during your most recent mission. You almost died on serval occasions throughout the mission but had managed to escape with minimal injuries by the skin of your teeth. However Bi-Han didn’t care about that part of the story because despite being happy and relieved as he was that you had came back to him with treatable wounds; his main focus was on the fact that you were so careless with your life, so irresponsible and so seemingly uncaring of the consequences that your actions would’ve caused had it weren’t been for your quick thinking.

So as Bi-Han was practicing patience whilst waiting for you to finish up your medical examination, you finally exited the room and just before a single word could escape your mouth to question his reason for being here, fulling believing that he would’ve been deeply involved with some Grandmaster business. Bi-Han then grabbed you by the bicep, his ice cold hand drawing a sharp gasp from you as he wordlessly dragged you to your shared room, where upon arriving, he swiftly shut the door behind him before addressing you directly. ‘What were you thinking out there!’ The cryomancer hissed, taking a step towards you. ‘Your reckless could’ve jeopardised the mission.’ Bi-Han adds and everything leading up to now had finally started to make sense.

You knew that it would only be a matter of time before word reached Bi-Han and you knew it would only be a matter of when before he would hunt you down and demand answers. ‘The only thing that you should concern yourself with is the fact that we achieved what we were sent out to do. The mission was a proven success, the method as to how we obtain that success shouldn’t matter.’ You replied straightforwardly, wanting to be done with this argument as fast as you possibly could, having already finding it redundant; and while the fact that you had gotten ahead of yourself during the mission was something worth criticising.

You weren’t new to this. You knew exactly what you were doing and you knew that Bi-Han’s frustrations often came from a place of worry and deep concern, but since he doesn’t give himself the leeway to express his innermost emotions that when he does, it comes across as him being angry or frustrated. ‘You almost got yourself killed!’ Bi-Han practically exclaimed, his hand that was clutching onto your bicep tightened it’s grip, causing you to wince as you felt a numbing or a painful tingling sensation -which one it actually was you weren’t really sure- spread across your bicep. You tried to breath through the pain and act as though Bi-Han wasn’t currently giving you frost burn, but you knew that the longer you let this went on, the more severe the damage you would sustain.

And not even a second later, your willpower to push through the pain was quickly reduced to nothing, as you found yourself wanting nothing more then the numbing, tingling pain stop. ‘Bi-Han.’ You tired saying with a steady voice but the inflictions of hidden pain within the way you said his name had him on guard. ‘Please let me go, it’s hurts, you’re hurting me.’ Was all you said in a whisper, just as a tear escaped from your eye and streaked down your cheek, before gesturing with your eyes towards the hand he had kept glued to your bicep since the beginning of your argument; which at this point had felt as though there was a small impact of ice growing from within. Upon your desperate plea to be released, Bi-Han immediately removed his hand as though you had somehow burnt him.

He watched as you whimpered and it all hit him hard that despite the fact that he had already let go, you were still very much in pain and he was the reason that you were in pain. He had let himself become overwhelmed with emotions and as a result his powers, something that he has sworn to only use as a means of protecting you, had potentially caused you irreparable damage. Bi-Han was sickened by the thought and by extension he was sickened with himself for allowing you to get hurt in the one place he promised that you’d never be hurt. Ever. ‘I hurt you.’ He said after a moment of torturous silence. ‘I was hurting you, the one person I’d swore to protect with my last breath.’ His soul was screaming, completely torn between wanting to come to your aid and comfort you but also fearing the idea of harming you more than he already had.

‘How long was I hurting you before you spoke up?’ Bi-Han asked as he gauged your expressions closely in the instance you were still withholding the rest of your pain from him.

‘It doesn’t matter.’ You say, trying to reach for his hand to hold but Bi-Han withdraw from your attempts, hiding his hands behind his back in shame as he averted your forgiving gaze that he didn’t feel he deserved.

‘It matters to me, my love.’ Bi-Han stated, clenching his fists. ‘I hurt you. Whether it was intentional or unintentional doesn’t make much of a difference when the end result is all the same. I hurt you. I caused you pain. I made you shed a tear. I made promises that I see now that I can not keep.’ The cryomancer finished as he chose to stare at the floor before closing his eyes, where he would be greeted with flashes of your pained face and the tear that streamed down your cheek; Even from behind his eyelids he was being haunted. If Bi-Han could take your pain he would without hesitation, but he couldn’t and with that brought the dreaded sense of helplessness.

‘Bi-Han.’ You uttered softly, moving to stand in front of him, watching closely as his breath hitched in his throat and took notice of how his body tensed uncomfortably into itself, as you reached your hands out to cradle his perpetually conflicted face between them before Bi-Han melted into your touch, practically nuzzling his face further into your touch. You smile at this as you proceeded to stroke the apples of his cheeks with your thumbs. ‘You didn’t mean it and I know you’d never intentionally hurt me. Ever. You’ve proven that more then enough times for me to know that you’re a man of your word.’ You told him as you pressed a kiss to his forehead, then down to his nose, then finally pecking his plush lips. ‘Your hands are the only hands I could ever feel safest within.’ You admitted, kissing his lips once again.

[thundergrace]

Good lord, I just woke up 🤣

[queenofmalkier]

Moiraine being 70 vs 40

(Alright this one took me a minute because corralling my thoughts is a challenge in the best of times.)

To begin with I will admit... I am one of the people who was indifferent towards the age change in the beginning. They're Aes Sedai, they live nice, long lives, and I wasn't like, emotionally attached to a younger, canon-aged Moiraine. It does make her early years more poignant, but I'll touch on that later.

Primed for older Moiraine, the show started and after two seasons I can safely say I am so gung-ho for 70 year old Moiraine I might actually be feral.

Here's why I, personally, think it was an excellent choice: Rosamund Pike is 44 as of writing this, so she visibly fits into the book age. As an audience nobody is really questioning her age - a few show-onlys I watched season 1 with actually remarked on how refreshing it was to see an older female character allowed to just exist and be part of the narrative without trying to sex up and/or grandma-ize the role.

Little Did They Know.

So you've got an audience that's mostly accepting of this character being in her 40s, and then you hit them with "Oh she's 70 and lets explore just how horrific that fact actually is together, it'll be fun!"

It was not fun, it was gutting.

One of my main critiques of the book has always been how we have these long-lived women, powerful women... but we never really take much of a look at the reality of that concept. Nor are we given POV characters who are really old enough to remark on it. Pevara at least thinks about her family, but Cadsuane doesn't give two figs about hers.

And here's the thing... they're Aes Sedai, but they're still human. What happens to them as they get older, but the people who fill their life are the ones aging? How does it feel to watch a mother, a sister, a child, friends, acquaintances, EVERYONE succumb to time in a way you won't for a very long time after?

That has to be impactful and I wanted to see those stories - and the show delivered. Seeing Moiraine with Anvaere? Chilling, horrifying, heartbreaking. Liandrin and her boy? A kick in the teeth. Even Alanna with her family, knowing very well she's probably the oldest one sitting at that table.

The point is, being an Aes Sedai means being powerful and respected, but it also means living through a very specific kind of suffering and trauma. They're basically vampires in terms of lifespan and we should see how that shapes them.

In regards to Moiraine being older and therefore not basically a child during the foretelling, it does change that particular hit... but by no means did the show let the viewers not understand how that moment altered Moiraine's life forever.

Instead of her being sort of an unformed girl hardened and honed by a lifetime of searching for Rand, one who never got much chance to be anything else, we get a woman who was already beginning to build her life, who had achieved the shawl, found love, and was exactly where she wanted to be.

And then all of that is taken from her.

It's devastating to watch the double-barreled whammy of Siuan and Moiraine giggling about being fishwives and walking into what was in many ways their deaths. Because the Moiraine and Siuan they were before walking into that room were gone forever. They would never be able to go back to the women they were before. They never even had a chance to mourn that loss. Moiraine went hunting and Siuan set her sights on the Amyrlin Seat.

I do understand for a lot of people her age is a sticking point, and that is completely fair and valid! It's a change that I fully agree did not need to be made... but by making that change we're given such a stark insight into the lives of older Aes Sedai who are just beginning to experience what it means to outlive everyone they know, watching one by one as cherished friends and family members pass on.

Soon all they have left are the children and grandchildren of those people, fractured mirrors that are just enough of a hint at the original that it must be painful to know them - which explains even further why so many Aes Sedai cut off contact entirely with their families. It's too painful to keep them in their lives.

[heathleaves]

I can’t stop thinking about Verna’s deals and her collateral - with Roderick it is straightforward, his bloodline ends with him which would imply he does love/will love his descendants… but never enough to overshadow his greed, only Lenore’s death at the end truly shakes him.

But Madeline - at first I thought the twins shared their price, their collateral, but Madeline never wanted kids. True, she might never had any because of the deal but she also mentions being against it in general - she wanted to be immortal on her own merit not fulfilling a woman’s role of childbearing and achieving immortality in this more traditional “prolonging the species” kind of way. And while she did everything to protect their family and the Usher legacy - and slayed while doing so! - I don’t know if she actually loved any of her brother’s children as individuals. She protected them, but also didn’t hesitate to threaten death if any of them threatened the collective and/or the company. While Roderick was also ruthless in these moments and encouraged the hunt for perceived traitors, I think there was genuine grief and loss during the last funeral - and this is the scene when I think it clicked for me that Madeline did not love the dead Ushers - the way she was sitting in front of the final coffins. It was a beautiful pose, the actress slayed. Madeline looked bored. And probably planning next moves with the company/the board. She had tried to protect them because they were Ushers, but they were nowhere close important enough for her to be her collateral - for her to feel the loss, personally.

What, then? At first I thought the whole cost was on Roderick’s side and the twins were a package deal, but then Verna’s insistence that they both confirm would sound off. And she stressed the part about them both going out together which, I think, is the whole crux of the matter.

Madeline’s collateral is her ambition and dream of achieving immortality, rather than a person she loved - the only one she truly loved is her brother, and she was prepared to kill him in order to prolong her own life - so that she could achieve her goal.

This is where the price of her deal comes in - she received all the means in order to complete it, all the money (that she chose in her conversation with Verna) and no consequences for her actions - but she is made to die together with her brother before she achieves her digital immortality, as we know her AI failed due to an example with Lenore.

It was rather skillfully arranged in the narrative because I think we had the key to that answer before we fully formed the question - i.e. Verna’s talk with Arthur Pym about the collaterals before the full scene of her deal with the Ushers, and both of those happening at the end of the series, so for the majority of it the viewers can solidify in their minds a pre-existing idea of the deal’s only price are the Usher children dying, only to have the inkling of doubt during Verna’s conversation with Pym and then the final picture happening in the bar.

Which is what makes me wonder about the third Madeline that Verna could see - the past we know, the present we know, but the alternate? Would she have achieved her dream through her own means, even without the money she said she wanted in her solo conversation with Verna in the bar? It does seem to tie-in with the theme of the poem Verna recites to Madeline - The City in the Sea. The poem’s main theme is a ruin brought on by riches, as Death presides over the once opulent city. This obviously refers to the fall of the house of Usher, and the fact that death conquers all.

But I wonder if it doesn’t also mean, more personally for Madeline, that she gave up her dream of achieving immortality, and exchanged it for money - that Verna’s personal message to Madeline is “You would’ve been magnificent, but money and riches are not the way to overcome death.”

Both Usher twins were obsessed with Egyptians, but Madeline understood you couldn’t take your treasures to the afterlife - I don’t know if Roderick understood it as well and only wanted the symbols of status, but Madeline wanted the money as a means to achieve her true ambition.

Perhaps her immortality would’ve been fame, if we go back to the conversation with Verna in the bar when she asked Madeline what was more important to her - money or fame.

[luxudus]

The Six Lords of Ko-ve-dor, and an introduction to my friend's project Star Odyssey

One last art piece to end the year on a high note. It's an entry @jennywolfgal's sophont in her sci-fi / spec-evo / worldbuilding project Star odyssey. A far future where humanity and a few other advanced species help to found a Galactic Coalition of Worlds spanning half the galaxy. Everyone go follow her and check out her project!

I genuinley consider this atm my magnum opus in every aspect, Linework, Texturing, Coloring, Composition, and ESPECIALLY rendering.

    The Commonality of Ko-ve-dor is an alliance between multiple sophont species evolving side by side on the same planet. All working together towards the prosperity for all denizens of the known galaxy.

     Planet Ko-ve-dor, also known as Kepler-442 B, is a super earth in a 3 planet star system all orbiting a K-Type main sequence star known as O-uosa. Ko-Ve-Dor’s higher mass, larger magnetosphere, denser atmosphere, 3 moons, larger continents and O-uosa’s longer lifespan make Ko-ve-dor a superhabitable world. Capable of hosting more biodiversity than our own earth for a far longer time.

    Plantlife on Ko-Ve-Dor is just as complex as it’s animal life and it shows. Most terrestrial flora possess a segmented exoskeleton that vary in shape and size akin to an insect. Most forms of plantlife exhibit both radial and bilateral symmetry in their overall body plan. Some species of Ko-ve-dor plantlife can even take in their surroundings with special segments that act as one big sensory organ.     And aside from some greenish phytoplankton, most flora on this world take on a red pigmentation to make the most out of its star’s dimmer light.

Not only is Ko-ve-dor more biodiverse than earth. But it’s greater abundance of life and more surface area means there's far more consumable biomass too. Allowing it’s animal life to reach greater heights and the option for greater brainpower. This paired with evolution’s trend towards more socialization. Means that sapient life has developed not once, or twice. But six times, all within a similar enough time frame for them to all interact with one another.      As each sophont species is a good representative of Ko-ve-dor’s kingdom of life. We will be skipping over the planet’s animal life to discuss their biology.     The Dor-Eø are the largest of the six sophonts and represent the planet’s many soft-bodied invertebrates. They take on a body plan very similar to earth’s flatworms. And being filter-feeders, they fill a niche not too different from whales. Their large carpet-like fins are actually enlarged partially external gills to aid in respiration. And they manipulate their environment with their two mitten shaped mandibles and opposable tusk thumbs.     They live in tight-knit nomadic pods where they ride the waves in search of plankton. They hunt said plankton like dolphins, continuously switching roles to either shepard the plankton and strike the condensed schools. And as they achieved sapience they’ve built nets to catch more plankton and dorsal fin flags to distinguish which pod they’re apart of.     The Dor-Ssri’ii represent a sapient species of aquatic, radially symmetrical fish analogs. They possess twelve eyes, with three on each side, a four sided jaw, and eight fins, four anterior fins and four posterior fins. Their intricate color palette helps them blend in with the yellow and red reefs.      They live in borderline eusocial schools where they manipulate their environment through their mouth like a tuskfish

    The Ko-Ka’Kta are terrestrial relatives of the Dor-Ssri’cai, these are a sapient species of para-reptilian pack hunters native to the deserts and shrublands of Ko-ve-dor. They retain their radial symmetry and are quite basal compared to their relatives. Their forearms have atrophied into small rudders used by females to attract mates and live in matriarchal packs.     And they manipulate their environment with four highly specialized tongues. Their lack of claws or fangs pushed them to crafting an array of weapons to hunt. That and their hierarchical pack structure paved way for sapience    The Ko-A’atur represent the most derived group of Ko-ve-dor’s Vertebrates. Descending from a group that forgone their radial symmetry and became secondarily bilateral. Their heads hyper-elongated to the point where it’s now two separate body parts all together. Their lips have pulled back and became large flaps to cool off and express emotions.     Of all the sophonts they live the least socially, They forage and occasionally hunt in groups of 3-5 individuals. But the social bonds formed are so tight and complex that it managed to bring them up to sapience.     Onto life in the sky. The Ve-Huik are one of two representatives of Ko-ve-dor’s aerial invertebrates. They are a species of hexapodal invertebrate flyers protected by a sturdy exoskeleton. They fill a niche similar to parrots,  capable of crushing nuts and fruits with their large mandibles that clench together like a fist. They live in small flocks and communicate by short whistles and hums. And they manipulate their environment with their remarkably dexterous six legs.    

    And lastly the Ve-Z’qi, a Is a seafaring relative to the Ve-huik, they are a sapient species of flying arthropod analogs native to the many coastlines of Dorveko. They live in nomadic flocks, hopping from island to island. They hunt their aquatic prey by looking for disturbances in the water before diving in to catch their target     Their history is one defined by sheer first contact and a long road to equality. The Dor-Eø and the Ve-Z'qi,a were the pioneers of exploration due in part of their nomadic lifestyles giving them a global range to freely explore. Slowly each species would suddenly learn the existence of their contemporaries and how to work with them.     Their society is egalitarian and very xenophilic, each species is born with full citizenship and everyone regardless of origin and identity are treated truly equally. yet their government is surprisingly autocratic. Each planet is ruled by a handfull of philosopher kings and queens who come from all walks of life. And are chosen by the state based on their view of life and understanding of the humanities. All to improve the lives of their people. They are also very welcoming towards outsiders, and have made themselves a beacon of liberty and safety for the galaxy's downtrodded.     With so many different sapient minds at work in a society that promotes harmony and teamwork. The Ko-ve-dor Commonality has advanced rapidly, being able to become a spacefaring civilization a thousand years before mankind. Their architecture and spaceships are large and bulbous, containing vast aquariums and spacious domes to accommodate all the different lifestyles. And have become one of the Galactic Coalition of Worlds' most important members.     Depicted here is a human diplomat posing with a friend group eager to take a photo with an unfamiliar face.

I'm happy i managed to get this out before 2024, though there still maybe work to be done, mainly to expand on their worldbuilding, and i hope everyone else has a happy new year!

[judithan-fr]

Tutorial: How I Render Accents

PART 2: COLORS

I usually do not recommend 'pixel hunting' aka going over your work with a fine tooth comb and picking out stray pixels to erase. However, for setting up a proper base layer for accents it is imperative to do so.

To explain my method of color blocking: I select everything outside of the lines, invert that selection, then fill in. This does a more accurate job than going into each and every section and filling them all in individually, and is also significantly faster. Only downside is small sections like above where you can see bits of the green (which I use bright green against a dark grey background to contrast the base color, lines, and background) poking out, as well as the inner section where it filled in a spot I did not want filled in. Getting all of this right in this stage will make your life easier as you go. (It's also the method I use to color block all my work, even beyond accents)

Now this where my style of rendering color may come off intimidating and, tbh it might be. I do gradients first and then I color over them with "normal" blend layers. I typically don't use multiply layers unless I'm shading something that has a lot of textures. If this scares you, it's okay I'll keep walking you through it. Here, my gradient goes from a pastel but deep periwinkle, to a soft more cyan blue, then to a lighter pastel green. Skipping steps and going from the periwinkle to green will give it a different look. There's also hints of a pinkish tone as an accent color.

So as I said, these additional layers are done with regular "normal" blend mode layers. I've placed one in between the butterfly line art and the line art for the rest of the flowers, and then an additional layer under everything else. This allows me to create a glow effect specifically around the butterflies, and then specifically under the flowers. Going back and forth with the proper amount of opacity (by using the airbrush transparently) helps to make it glow but not be Too Loud. Also checking it against a dark background can help to check for spots where it spills past the borders, as well as really gauge how Bright it is. I've also color matched the butterflies with the flower pits and the bulbs. This adds extra cohesion and makes them all look uniform but different enough with the gradients.

The stages of how I render gems/dew drops. Take the base color, make it a bit darker and less saturated (as well as changing the hue a bit depending on what the default color is. For yellows I go more orange/red, for blues I go more purple or even pink. It depends), add a small drop light at the bottom thats a fairly saturated version of the base color, and then a stark white/ near white highlight. That's it. Don't over complicate it, it will not matter when it gets shrunk down. Note that I do not use multiply/overlay/screen layers for these types of things as it adds too much bulk to the files and doing it manually helps to strengthen your color theory skills.

For shading and rendering, again, I create a "normal" layer and simply. Draw over what exists. Color picking and hand blending allow me to create the exact shades and effects that I want that multiply/screen/overlay layers may not be able to achieve. (which isn't to say I dont use them! i just don't use them for the main meat and potato part of my coloring) All of what is shown here is also achieved with the CSP asset SOIPEN (which can be found for free in the asset store)

another example. The one on the right is showing how the layer looks without the gradient base layer under it. All of this is rendered by hand. I also specifically put a highlight color around where the butterfly is sitting to give a better illusion that it is properly sitting on the flowers rather than just in front of them.

Next is changing the color of the lines, if needed. A method i'll use is I color just the sections I want (on a separate clipping layer) then lock that layer's alpha setting to them add in a gradient. It's a small and subtle effect that adds more depth without doing a lot of effort. (work smarter not harder)

Now we get to the Polish Layers!

first image is how it looks as a base. second image is with an overlay layer applied. I've used some dark purples and mid tone desaturated greens to push the values a bit further (especially evident on the top left wing) Third image is with a screen layer applied, highlighting the inner most part of the flowers and adding some additional bounce light.

An important thing to note about making accents vs making full coverage skins: OPACITY AND LAYER TYPES MATTER OVER TRANSPARENT SPOTS. What I mean by this is that if you use a soft, light grey to shade with a multiply layer, don't clip it to anything, and have it go outside the lines - that will no longer appear as a 'shadow' when it comes to the final result. Instead you will have a section of soft light grey that is simply laid on top of whatever the image under it is. The same applies for overlay/screen/add layers and so on. If i use a very dark color on a screen layer (to give a soft highlight) and airbrush it over a bunch of stuff and don't clip it, it will end up with this horrible dark splotch over everything that isn't opaque. To this end, mastering normal layers is imperative to having well rendered and convincing accents.

Another thing of note: when it comes to sparkles/small details, note how 'large' the sparkles behind the butterflies are. They seem a bit chunky, yeah?

this is what they look like at proper size. If anything, I could have gone larger on the small metal beads connecting the dew drop jewels to the lace.

Another trick I also like to do is this:

a slight hint of transparency! It's just enough to let the dragon's lines underneath show through but not enough to be super noticable. I like to do this a lot when it comes to sparkly and magical effects.

Next is the worst part of all: destroying all that beautiful hard work with the shadow and line art layers! (sobbing)

This stage always agonizes me. This is my first pass of the shadow/line layers and let's hope it's dark enough.

But yeah that's a start to finish look at how I create my accents. Unfortunately a lot it devolves into needing to know, yknow, line weight and silhouette importance, color theory and the ways that drawing applications actually apply color to a png vs how its rendered in app. All of these things impact the finesse of the accent, and are things you do have to learn gradually over time, but hopefully this has given yall some additional insight and perhaps some helpful tips.

And this should also explain why I get so mad when people go 'hey can I get this accent in another color' no! no you literally can't!

[sinizade]

Izveta, the Blind Drow

Class: Monk (of Sashelas)

Romance: Astarion (not ascended)

Besties: Wyll / Gale / Karlach / Minsc / Scratch

Friends: Shadowheart / Lae'Zel

Momma reference: Jaheira

Izveta is the youngest of two sisters in the prestigious Noquar family, as she is the best among her sisters in letters and charisma, her mother placed her as her advisor and official scribe to write down all the family's great achievements and spread the greatness that they they deserved to have. All the problems in Izveta's life began due to the purchase of a simple slave, a surface elf who was taken to her home to serve the matriarch, but was given as a gift to Izveta because of her excellent work alongside her mother. Little by little the girl fell in love with that slave, a kind boy despite the situation he was in, a forest elf with beautiful green eyes.

The beauty that Izveta possessed was always a reason for "envy" of her sisters as she attracted not only the attention of other males but also of other matriarchs who always tried to have her around to show off the beautiful girl, and it was this beauty that ended catching the attention of that young slave who fell in love with Izveta and they both started to have a hidden affair, an affair that unfortunately ended up being discovered by her sisters, causing fear in Izveta, who, in a clear act of desperation, tried to run away with that slave, abandoning everything she had built behind her.

Her mother and sisters hunted them like animals... Not even giving them the opportunity for an explanation when captured. The slave, the elf that Izveta loved? Killed by her mother, but that pain was only accompanied by more long months of slow and sadistic torture, all the hate that her sisters harbored all these years was used to give them more motivation to torture her, her long white hair? Shaved with dull daggers that caused some cuts on her scalp. Her big red eyes? Blinded by drow poison, drop by drop until she lost her sight entirely. Killing Izveta would be dull, emotionless, out of sheer cruelty, her sisters burned all her clothes and left the girl alone naked in the solitude of the Underdark

Using the few senses she still had left, Izveta managed to reach the surface only to drown in the dark ocean, she didn't even remember how she got there, but now she just sank in the middle of the sea embracing her cruel and distressing destiny, until being saved by a strange creature, a dolphin made of water that seemed to take away all the agony of drowning until she was noticed by aquatic elves, monks of Sashelas, the Lord of the Undersea. She was adopted and cared for by creatures she once thought were inferior to her, she was treated as an equal even though drows have a terrible reputation inside and outside the Underdark.

It didn't take many years for Izveta to realize that her home was now there, and that, for some reason, she was saved by Sashelas, which ended up resulting in a clear admiration for the followers of the oceanic deity. Among the monks she learned to use her other senses to see, she would not need her eyes, but rather her body, concentrating all her energy and strength to protect the temple and spread the word of her Prince Dolphin, of her new deity...

Izveta's main objective in Baldur's Gate was to infiltrate Umberlee's temple, there were many strange things happening both in the city and in the seas and the water elves believed that those responsible for such chaotic acts were those who worshiped the Goddess of the Deep Wilds

Some curiosities about Izveta

She is vegetarian

She asked the aquatic elves to tattoo her eyes because she felt ashamed of the scars she had from the drow poison (She always wears clothes that cover her back for the same reason)

Her favorite color is white, well, even though she can't see that color anymore, she still likes it.

That strange incident with the dolphin seemed to give her a small and useful ability, she has better mobility when she is in the water, not in comparison to aquatic elves, but in comparison to other land creatures, Izveta has incredible mobility in the water