#once again no beta

[kenobers]

magic hands | Jason Todd x Sionis!Reader

but first free palestine !! Your regularly scheduled hook-up session with Jason Todd is rudely interrupted by the arrival of your period. As tragedy strikes, you have to ask Jason to buy you pads, perhaps throwing a curveball in your still emerging relationship. this installment comes before this one; you don't know jason is red hood in this one (not that it really matters to this particular story) tw: periods, mentions of drugging, reader having issues with acts of service, afab readera/n: i'm writing additions to this story completely out of order because i can. don't worry - you're gonna be the one comforting jason soon, just stay tuned. and if you're following me for the obi-wan content, i promise you'll also be fed soon. the sionis!reader concept was inspired by this ask on gilverrwrites' blog! In hindsight, it might've been kinda weird of me, but i couldn't get the concept out of my head. thank you to gilverr and anon! please check out their blog!

Yo

You cringe a little at your choice of words, wishing you'd thought harder before sending the text. Well actually, you cringe at the entire situation. You despise having to ask for help, but you're a little desperate.

Would you-

Too entitled.

Would you mind-

Passive aggressive.

Will-

Your phone buzzes before you can finish typing.

yo.

That was fast.

You take a deep breath. Jason was coming over anyway and it wasn't like you were in any position to have sex like you were planning to. And this constitutes as a bit of an emergency, considering you're currently sitting on a wad of toilet paper.

Can you pick me up some pads?

You hit send and drop your phone on your bed. This is so embarrassing for no reason. Jason's a good guy, he isn't going to judge you for being on your period of all things. He's not going to hold it against you if you can't have sex either.

It was just that you weren't sure your relationship was...like that. Acts of service and all that. A month ago, you wouldn't have even considered asking him to do this. But you'd been a lot more personal with one another lately. Making dinner, staying the night, being physically affectionate while your clothes were still on.

Your phone vibrates and you frantically feel for the purple case in the grey and white sheets. You'll deal with that giddy feeling later.

i don't know, can i?

Fucker, you think, glaring at your screen. You start furiously forming a response about how you aren't in the fucking mood for this when your phone buzzes again.

yeah, of course i can. need anything else? painkillers? chocolate?

You eye the empty bottle on your nightstand. Your stomach cramps painfully.

I'm out of ibuprofen

Then you consider for a moment. With a sigh, you bite back your pride. Well, if he's offering.

...and maybe some ice cream.

you got it babe.

Babe. Heat rushes to your cheeks as the corners of your mouth twitch upwards.

Ten minutes later his name flashes on your screen again, along with a photo of a wall of pads.

which kind

Damn, he was kind of good at this. A flare of jealousy burns through you at the thought of Jason doing this for some other girl. Another feeling you'll deal with later. You circled your preferred brand and send it back.

check. headed your way shawty.

After another ten minutes, the rumbling of a motorcycle echoes through your street. Nine minutes and 45 seconds later, the sound of your living room window sliding open lures you from your bed.

You fight back a goofy grin at the sight of Jason's large-than-life frame slipping through the window, two plastic bags balanced in one gloved hand. Leaning against your kitchen island, you allow yourself a second to admire the curve of his ass in those joggers.

"Hey," you greet, shivering as a gust of wind followed the man. He gives you a toothy grin, sliding the window shut. With a dramatic flourish of his arm, he presents the drugstore bag to you.

"Your essentials, m'lady."

"Oh, my hero," you giggle, taking the bag gratefully. You eye the second bag suspiciously, although the telltale red thank you print and the smell of fried rice give the contents away. "Chinese?"

"Chinese," he confirms. "And before you say anything, I was already picking it up when you texted."

You purse your lips. He was starting to know you too well. You would've said something, would've lied about how you weren't hungry. The idea that he'd already thought to do something nice for you before he even knew about your situation makes your stomach twist.

Jason takes a step closer, trapping you between him and the island. He reaches behind you to set the food on the counter, green eyes trained on your face. It's hard not to shrink below his quizzical gaze. Goosebumps cover your bicep as the leather of his jacket rubs against your bare arm.

Bastard.

"That okay, pretty girl?"

Fuck, he's handsome. He knows it too, know to flick his dark hair just so. Knows how to look at you so that any "oh, you shouldn't have" argument you can conjure up falters before it can reach your tongue. It certainly doesn't help that he's flexing the arm reaching behind you just so.

"Perfect, even," you purr, uncrossing your arms to play with his jacket zipper. "How much do I owe you?"

"Don't worry about it." You try not to roll your eyes at him, reminding yourself that you were opting to be nicer to him tonight. He is your hero after all. His hands fall to your hips, his thumbs running along the bone. "How you feeling?"

You shrug, suppressing another shiver as his pinkie pokes below the length of your shorts.

"Shitty. Like everything hurts," you answer honestly. Your lip twitches and you abandon his jacket zipper in favor of the strings of his sweatshirt.

"'m sorry we can't, y'know, do what we planned." The apology floods abruptly from your lips. "I would offer to do it anyways, but I just, I-I can't with these cramps." Your hips twinge with pain to emphasize your point. "But, I mean, I can blow you if you really want-"

"Hey."

Two fingers tilt your chin up, tough leather juxtaposing soft skin. You hadn't even realized you'd stopped looking at his face. He's smiling at you.

"Don't worry about it," he says for the second time. "Lemme make you feel better. It'll piss Roman off just as much."

You both look pointedly at the bookshelf you're fairly certain your father had hidden some sort of recording device.

"Besides," he continues with a wolfish smirk. "I've become accustomed to a certain level of performance from you and I'm not sure if I'd receive that if you're not at your peak."

"Fine, only because you insisted," you sigh. "And I'm gonna do you a favor and ignore that last part." You turn away from him, fishing the package of pads and the ibuprofen out of the drugstore bag. "I'm gonna go...yeah."

You wave the package in the air as you head for the bathroom. With your back turned, you don't catch Jason saluting you.

When you return, you notice one of the books on the shelf has been inconspicuously placed over a Wonder Woman knick knack. Part of you is relieved to know your father can't spy on you tonight. Another part of you feels a pang of anxiety knowing that means tonight is just for the two of you to enjoy each other's company. As people. Not fuckbuddies.

This is still casual. Professional, you tell yourself. It's not like he's my boyfriend.

You turn to the kitchen, where Jason is pulling plates out of a cupboard, and ignoring the smaller voice that wouldn't mind him being your boyfriend.

He hands the plates to you, letting you dish the both of you up.

Jason sidles up behind you, pressing his chest to your back. You lean into him, letting him support your weight.

"Chinese was a good call," you say. He hums in response, dipping his hands under your shirt to rub your sides. You yelp in alarm as something wet hits your skin.

"Dude! What the fuck!"

Jason backs up, holding two cream covered hands in the air. He looks apologetic enough, but still smirks at the way you glowered at him over your shoulder. It's an awful cute look when it isn't coming from behind an ugly ass skull mask.

"It's just CBD."

You spin around, pointing your spoon straight at his heart.

"CBD- what, are you trying to get me high?"

It's all Jason can do not to double over laughing. He'd take a picture if he wasn't certain you would find a way to lodge that spoon in a major artery.

His laughter has you fidgeting nervously, trying to maintain your hard stare.

"Don't laugh at me."

To his credit, he stops almost immediately. He straightens his posture and gestures to a small round container on the counter.

"It's just a lotion. Helps with joint pain, I use it all the time. I thought it might help with cramps."

You blink. That was...incredibly thoughtful of him.

"Oh."

You turn back to the food, continuing your task sheepishly. All you ever do in front of this man is embarrass yourself. And orgasm.

He creeps back to his spot cautiously. You glance over your shoulder, briefly meeting his eyes.

"You can...continue," you tell him, your tone much softer now. He presses a kiss to the exposed junction of your neck and slides his hands back under your shirt.

It does feel nice to have him massage the cool lotion into your aching body. His fingers seem to know exactly where to go, undoing the built up tension and leaving a light buzz in its place.

"I'm sorry I snapped like that," you whisper. "I overheard some of my dad's idiots talking about some kind of lube that's infused with LSD or something. Apparently it's becoming a popular method for people to get what they want so...little on edge."

After a moment, Jason speaks again, "I wouldn't drug you like that, you know."

"What, topically?" You scoff, dividing the orange chicken equally.

"Without your consent."

You pause. You suppose you hadn't given much thought to how much Jason respected you in that regard. To be fair, you'd never really been around men that respected you at all.

"Well, that's good to know." It's not the most sensitive response, but you're sudden determined to move on from the conversation before you start oversharing. "Let's eat, big guy."

After dinner, Jason applies the lotion again. This time, you're sat on the couch between his legs as he drives the stuff into a knot on your hip. The TV drones with some black comedy series the two of you have been watching at the recommendation of one of his brothers.

"Do you get a lot of joint pain?" You ask suddenly, looking back at him. He doesn't tear his eyes away from the screen.

"Huh?"

"You said you use it a lot on your joints. Do you get a lot of joint pain?" Now he looks at you, one slit eyebrow raised. For a moment you watch him try to remember when he told you that. Then he smirks, a silly view from upside down.

"I do whenever you get through with me," he says, his chest vibrating under you. You give him a look. "Sometimes after the gym, yeah."

You're not quite sure you believe him, but you let it slide, turning back to the TV in time to see your least favorite character earn a smack to the face.

"It was nice of you to bring it."

"'s helping?"

"Mmh," You sigh as he works a particularly tough spot. Your relief is short lived however as the small of your back cramps up. A small gasp escapes you and you squirm and swear in Jason's arms.

He pauses his work on your hips.

"Where's it hurt?"

"Back," you whimper, turning over so he can get to it. He obliges immediately, rubbing the butt of his palm into the sore spot. You groan into his chest, melting beneath his magic hands. "The fuck did I ever manage this shit before you."

He snorts, "very bravely, I'm sure."

You smile at his answer. Clever boy. You reward him with a kiss, pleased when he returns it in kind. His hand doesn't stop its work on your back as his soft lips move gently with your own.

"You sure you don't want a blowjob?" you murmur against his mouth.

Jason nods, giving you another chaste kiss before pulling away. "You're in pain, sweetheart. Let yourself rest."

He moves his lips to your ear, lowering his voice.

"Now, how about that ice cream, hm?"

Absolute professional.

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 330

Y’know what? Fuck it. Omegaverse-esque Liminals and Realms. 

See the difference between being ecto-contaminated and being a liminal is the formation of a Core, however small or malformed that might be. Which is what the “secondary sex” as the living begin to refer to it as, originates from. Mostly from it being compared to a second puberty, however half jokingly. 

See, with the formation of a Core, the living start getting the equivalent of ghost hormones, start producing their own ectoplasm, yadda yadda yadda. 

But! Not all of them are the same type. There’s omegas that like to have a semi-permanent haunt that they get real territorial of, save for with younger and weaker ecto-beings. There’s alphas who are constantly wanting to move, flitting from one location to the next. There’s betas that go wherever their Fraid does, trying to keep them together and getting real aggressive towards others who try to separate them. And then there’s deltas, who are more often on the fringes of a Fraid, driven more by violence towards perceived threats and sometimes not exactly mentally stable with how strong their Obsession can get. 

The thing is that from an outsider’s perspective, especially as people begin moving out of Amity (despite the GIW’s efforts for a blackout on the city), is that they know none of this. Which means when a team of not-quite heroes pass through, they get a bit blindsided. 

Pspspsps @golden-buddle @f4nd0m-fun @gaddaboutgriffon have prompt

[musubiki]

i think the most powerful final form for mochi timeskip outfit will embrace her witch nature 🖤

[hyperfixiation-station]

Welcome Home

Based off this post by @simon-rileys :))

Pairing: GhostxReader

Summary: Picking Ghost up from the airport after 3 month long mission with your 4-year-old daughter. What could possibly go wrong?

I did write this on my phone, so please please please let me know if there are any errors. And, as always, no beta!

"Layla!" You say sternly, "stop running around, you're going to get hurt." Your 4-year-old daughter completely ignores you, just giggles and keeps running in circles around the baggage claim.

You sigh and shake your head, grinning ruefully. You can't blame her for her excitement. After all, she's going to see her dad after 3 longs months away. You'd be running around too if your body could manage it. Your heart rate quickens in anticipation at the thought, and you bounce up and down for a moment before getting winded and going back to monitoring Layla.

You watch her little braids with pink bows at the end flop up and down as she runs, zig zagging every which way. Oh well. As long as she is in your sights you can't get too upset. You shake your head as she squeals again, barely dodging an old man as she makes another lap, her chubby little legs never running out of energy

Where she gets it from, you'll never know. You certainly don't have that much energy. Especially not now. You laugh to yourself, looking down at where the small but obvious bulge in your stomach is, the sign of life that you have so carefully hidden with one of Simon's hoodies. Your hand strays to your pocket to touch the ultrasound photos, the ones you got a week ago when you went to find out the gender. You run your finger nervously along the edge of the photos, equal parts excited and anxious to tell Simon you are pregnant again.

You still remember telling him when you were pregnant with Layla. He'd been home at the time, and you had been absolutely terrified. You weren't even married at the time, and had never spoken about wanting kids. You almost had a breakdown when you handed him the positive pregnancy test and he just stared at it in silence. That was, until he looked up at you with a genuine smile and tears in his eyes and asked you to marry him. He didn't even have a ring.

Distantly you hear your daughter shriek, snapping you out of the memory. Your head shoots up, eyes wide and searching for her little form. You rake your eyes over the room, but you see no sign of a brunette in a little pink dress.

"Layla!" You cry, hurrying towards where you heard her voice, at the junction where the wrong terminal meets the baggage claim, "Layla, stay where I can see you!" She doesn't respond, and your heart rate picks up as you start to list off the worst-case scenarios.

"Layla!"

Ghost steps off the escalator, lips twitching under his mask. He had gone the roundabout way, take an extra 15 minutes to walk all the way to the other terminal, just so he could surprise his girls.

Gods he can't wait to see them. Yes, 3 months was really not that long compared to some of his other deployments, but to him, anytime spent away from his family felt like torture.

He never thought he would end up like this, a wife and a kid and a figurative white picket fence. It had always been in the cards for him to die alone. Or at least, he thought it was. And then you forced your way into his life, gave him something to fight for, gave him something worth living for. And gods how he loved you.

He hears a familiar giggle and freezes, snapping out of his reverie. He trains his eyes on the end of the hall, watching the crowd for you and Layla. Sure enough, a little pink ball of destruction comes hurtling around the corner, running full-speed for him. He drops his duffle bag to the ground, and waits for you to show, brow furrowing when you don't follow behind her.

He doesn't have time to dwell on it though, as his daughter appears before him in all her pink, glittery glory.

"Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" She shrieks, launching herself at him. He wraps his arms around her, and hold her tight to his chest inhaling deeply. He can feel her small shoulders shaking, can hear her sniffing, can feel her tears on his neck. Guilt overwhelms him for a moment, self-hatred overpowering him for making her cry. Its gone in an instant, his frown vanishing as Layla places a sloppy kiss on his eyebrow, his cheeks are still covered by a mask.

"Daddy!" She squeals again, burrowing her face in his chest. "I mithed you!" Tears prick his eyes at the sound of her voice. He forgot how much he missed her adorable little lisp.

"I missed y' too, baby girl." He presses his forhead to hers for a moment before looking up, his eyes scanning the hallway for you, frowning again when your still not in sight. "Wh're's y'r mother?"

"She was being thlow tho I lef' her." She informs him, grinning happily as she plays with his dog tags, her head resting against his shoulder. He grins, closing his eyes for a moment as he savors the feeling of his daughter in his arms.

"She's slow, huh?" Ghost huffs, shaking his head at his daughter's antics, "well then le's go meet 'er."

Layla grabs at his face, shaking her head rapidly, looking a serious as an over-excited 4-year-old can manage.

"She has an 'uprise for you." She informs him solemnly. He tries nto to laugh, knowing shes trying to be very serious, but fails. She frowns, squeezing his face with her chubby little hands.

"I'th no' funny." She says crossly, " Mommy 'as an 'uprise for you."

"A surprise?"

"Yeth." She looks around, eyeing the strangers in the terminal before leaning next to his ear, "I'm not appothed t' thay nothin', but-" she breaks off into peals of laughter as Ghost covers her mouth with his free hand.

"If mommy says you're not supposed t', then y'r not sup-" He pauses, hearing your frantic voice echoing from around the corner, "y' didn't tell y'r mother where y' were goin', did ya now baby girl?"

She at least has the decency to look ashamed, hiding her face in his jacket as she shakes her head. He laughs softly and shifts, bending to pick up his duffle bag with his free arm. His daughter clings to his neck, her head buried in his chest as he moves down the hallway, heading toward your panicky voice.

"Layla where did yo-"

"I've got 'er luv, dontcha worry." You freeze in your tracks as Simon rounds the corner, your daughter in his arms. You stare at him wide-eyed, drinking in the sight of him af6er so many months apart. He's in a hoodie and jeans, a black mask covering the lower portion of his face. His dogs tags are out, Layla twirling them in her fingers. He looks exhausted and scruffy, his clothes dirty and torn, but you could care less. Just the sight of him alive and well is enough to make you cry.

He drops his bag to the ground and kicks it out of the way, opening his free arm to you. Tears well in your eyes as you launch yourself at him, wrapping you arms around him and Layla. His arm wraps around you and yoi feel him lean bacm, pulling you slightly off the ground, gently swinging you side to side before setting you down.

You stand in his embrace for a minute, face pressed into his side, savoring the feeling of being in his arms again. Your shoulders begin to shake, tears slipping from your eyes as you inhale deeply, the scent of him like manna to your soul. You let out a small sob and tighten your grip, digging your fingers into his side. You stand like that for a few minutes, a little family reunion in the middle fo the hallway, you sobbing silently while Simon rests his chin on your head, Layla's heel digging into your ribs. You pull back a moment later, rubbing a hand across your eyes as you inhale shakily.

"I missed you Si'." You laugh wetly, looking up at him. He doesn't say anything, just grabs you and pulls you in again, your head resting on his chest. Your daughter's chubby hand moves to rest on your head, her fingers twisting your hair into painful knots. You don't notice, to focused on trying not to cry again.

"I missed y' too luv." He murmurs after a minute, his chest rumbling beneath your forehead. He holds you for a few more seconds before stepping back, his eyes suspiciously shiny. "Now Layla says y' have a surprise f'r me?"

"That I do, dove." You sniff, rubbing your nose with the the back of your hand. You look down, biting your lip nervously as you take another step back. You slip your hand into your pocket, fingers closing around the little bundle of photos.

"Y'gonna expla-" His voice trails off as you pull the pictures from your pocket, handing them out to him. You watch as he gently sets Layla down and takes a slow step forward, his movements almost reverent. He takes the photos from your waiting hand, his eyes growing wet as he studies the photos of the 4 month old baby you have growing inside you. He can't read them, but he knows what they represent. After all, he has one of Layla's ultrasound photos in the pocket of his vest.

"Is this-are you…"

"Yes." You laugh, your voice thick, "we're having a baby boy. In April."

He laughs, a rare, genuine one, and sweeps you up in his arms, spinning you around in a circle. He sets you back down but doesn't let go. His hands slide down to your waist as he leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours. His eyes close as your arms wrap around his neck, and he exhales shakily, the warm air making your eyes flutter. You stand like that for what feels like ages, forehead-to-forehead, just breathing in the other's presence.

"Mommy!" You are brought back to the real world by your daughter, who is standing with her hand on her hips and glaring at you, "Th'op hogging daddy to yourthelf! I wanna turn!"

You chortle softly, stepping back from Simon. He huffs and shakes his head, giving you a very 'she gets this from you' type look. He scoops her up as she squeals, positioning her on his hip. He crouches and grabs his bag, hoisting it on his shoulder before grabbing your hand amd interlacing fingers. You step forward, tugging him behind you as you lead him out of the airport and back home.

"Was it a good surprise?" You murmur as you walk to the car.

"Very, luv."

"I'm glad. How would you feel if I tell you we're having twins?"

So here it is, a month later than promised @simon-rileys @dwkfan , sorry 'bout that

Lemme know what you think :)

[smilesrobotlover]

Talon has never been afraid of things that people were typically afraid of. He never understood the fear surrounding spiders—he only found them to be pests that needed to be put outside where they belonged, and he even found some of them cute. Talon never found water frightening, the dark was no issue to him, and he found tighter spaces more cozy than anything. He was scared of monsters, but that felt more like a valid fear since they could actually kill him. But everything else he never understood the fear others had. That is, until he was swept into a different world surrounded by men looking for their respective heroes of Hyrule. Talon discovered that he was terrified of heights. He’s never had to climb anything high up—back then he would have his wife reach high places for him. Now either Malon or Ingo took care of those problems for him since they were both taller than him. But being on this adventure, he had to face heights more times than he’d like, and every time he faced them, his legs would turn into mush and he’d struggle to stand on his own. He always tried to hide it since he already felt like a burden to the other men, but he couldn’t. It was all getting worse when the men found themselves in the mountains, inching closer to cliff-sides that made Talon dizzy. Rusl picked up on Talon’s nervousness and he rested his hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t like heights?”

Talon gave him a look and let out a shaky breath. “Y-you could say that.”

Rusl smiled. “It’ll be ok, we’ll take care of you. And besides, we have Kass here in case we fall!”

The blacksmith gestured to their feathered friend who was chatting with Benji, but it didn’t make Talon feel any better. He didn’t want to put any responsibility on Kass, and he definitely didn’t want to fall in the first place. As the men walked, Talon couldn’t help but notice the cliffside getting closer to them, and he felt himself pressing up against the rocky wall more and more the closer it got. The path turned rocky and rough, and the edge was inches away from his feet. Talon turned away from the cliff, hugging the wall as he shuffled forward. This slowed him down, and the others were far ahead of him, not seeming to care that one wrong step could send them to their death. But Talon didn’t care; he didn’t bother to call for them. He was just focused on his breathing and shuffling along the wall.

“Talon.”

The farmer flinched and looked to his side where Leon was standing, watching him worriedly. “S-sorry,” Talon apologized, and Leon waved it away.

“It’s alright, we just don’t want to accidentally leave you behind. Here,” Leon offered his arm for Talon to grab onto, “you can hang onto me, but the sooner we’re off this path the better.”

Talon let out a breath and complied, not caring that it was childish to do so. Leon walked slowly, yet with confidence as Talon stumbled along. It wasn’t like the first knight to slow down for him, but Talon was grateful for it. He peeked over Leon’s shoulder to spot the others already on the other side, with Rusl watching them anxiously.

“We’re almost there,” Leon assured, and Talon nodded.

“I’m so sorry about this—“ Talon started, but Leon stopped him.

“We all have fears, it’s normal. But that’s why we have each other. We don’t have to face them alone.”

Talon smiled at Leon and they pressed onward. He didn’t know how long they were going for, but it felt like forever. But Leon still held onto him as they walked, so he continued. Sudden shouting from the others made him and Leon pause.

“What’s going on?” He heard Leon yell, but he wasn’t able to hear a response before the sound of crumbling rocks was heard. Leon gasped and he spun around, covering Talon as small rocks and dirt fell on their head. Talon felt his stomach lurch as the mountain shook, and a loud crash was heard in front of them. Leon let go of him and he cursed under his breath. Talon opened his eyes only to see the path in front of them destroyed, and the others hidden by boulders.

“Oh goddesses,” he mumbled, and Leon cupped both hands around his mouth.

“RUSL! AMMON!” He shouted, and it was silent until the two heard a faint shout back. Talon let out a sigh of relief, but was returned to his own predicament. “Well, they’re alive,” Leon muttered, turning to him.

“W-what are we gonna do? The way forward is-is broken!” Talon cried, gesturing to the broken path. Leon hummed and walked towards the edge, then he gave Talon an apologetic look.

“It’s not a far jump…”

Talon’s eyes widened.

“No.”

Leon walked towards him, his hands up defensively. “Talon, that's the only way we can reunite with the others.”

Talon shook his head, but the mountain began shaking again, and another loud crash came behind them. To his horror, the other side was destroyed, and there was shouting from his friends again, this time with the clang of metal. They were being attacked.

Leon grabbed his arm and started to pull him towards the edge. Talon pulled back, stopping him in his tracks.

“Talon, we need to go. Now!”

“B-but—but we—“

“I know you’re scared, but we must get to the others or else we’ll be crushed by rocks!” Leon turned to the gap and ran towards it, jumping towards the other side. It didn’t seem to take much effort for him, but it didn’t make Talon feel much better. “Talon please!” Leon tried again, his hand extended. “It’s going to be ok, we’re close to the end!”

Talon swallowed hard, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. He had to be brave—just this once.

The farmer started to slowly move towards the edge, his legs shaking uncontrollably as he shuffled. Parts of the cliffside began to give way, and it nearly made Talon fall to his knees, but with Leon pleading for him to hurry, he continued to move forward. He reached the cliff edge and he felt himself grow nauseous as he glanced over the edge. That was a mistake.

“Come on, Talon!” Leon pressed, his hand extended. Talon paused for a moment before letting out a breath.

“J-just give me a moment—“

“You don’t have a moment! Don’t think about the cliff, just jump!”

Talon swallowed again, his whole body shaking now. He shuffled closer and closer to the edge, feeling weaker each step he took. Leon was clearly growing impatient, but he gave Talon a confident look. He could do this. He had to.

“Run and jump, Talon,” Leon said, waving his arm towards him, and the farmer nodded. He just had to trust himself. Talon took a small step back and took a deep breath, then ran to the cliffside. But as his foot hit the edge, the ground beneath him crumbled, and he yelped as he began to slide over the edge. Talon’s hands were waving wildly, and he miraculously was able to grab onto something, stopping his fall.

“TALON!” The farmer looked up to see Leon reaching out for him, a more desperate look in his eyes. “Grab on!”

Talon was growing hysterical as the only thing stopping him from plunging to his death was his grip on the rocks embedded into the rocky wall. He squeezed his eyes shut, not trusting his strength to grab onto Leon.

“Talon please!”

The farmer looked up at Leon.

“It’s going to be ok,” the first knight assured, inching closer to him. “I won’t let go, just trust yourself, and trust me.”

Talon swallowed again, and he nodded. Using all the strength he had, he began to reach for Leon. Their hands were inches away from each other, and with one last effort, Talon swung himself, and their hands clasped together. Talon smiled relieved, as did Leon.

“It’s going to be ok,” he said again, starting to pull. But Talon heard something, an arrow shooting through the air, and Leon let out a pained yell as it was buried into his back. A sudden electric shock went through both of them, and Talon yelped as he lost all strength in his grip, and he let go of Leon’s limp hand. He could do nothing but watch as Leon and the path grew smaller and smaller as he plunged to the world below.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Talon awoke with a jolt. He instinctively started to feel himself, checking for injuries, but he found none. He let out a loud sigh of relief, rubbing his hand against his head as everything came back to him. Was it all a nightmare? He didn’t know what else it could’ve been—he fell. Not even a tough Hylian would’ve been able to survive a fall like that. Yet… it felt so real…

Talon rested his hand on his heart and attempted to slow down his breathing. Whatever it was, he was still worked up over it; beads of sweat were beginning to drip down his forehead, and his throat hurt as though he was about to cry. He glanced over to his left and found himself in a clearing surrounded by trees, but no one else was there. He frowned and turned his head to the other side and found a shallow spring with fairies gently floating around it. Yet no sign of anyone. He sat up and flinched at a sharp pain going through his ribs. He groaned and rubbed at the area, trying to breathe in a way to not make the pain worse. Why was he hurt? What happened? Where was everyone? Talon’s questioning thoughts were interrupted when he heard movement behind him, and he spun around only for his heart to stop at the sight.

A large man was watching him from the shadows of the trees. He had long white hair that sat on his shoulders, with strange markings decorating his cheeks and forehead. But what scared Talon the most were the bright, white eyes staring back at him. The man began to move towards Talon, and the farmer began to scramble away despite his aching side.

“N-no no no! Stay away! Please!” Talon begged as the man reached him in only a few strides, but he stopped in front him.

“Be at peace, Talon. I will not harm you,” the strange man said, his hand raised in a way to calm him. Talon’s mind went blank as he stared at the large man, his eyes feeling like they were popping out of his sockets.

“D-do I—do I know you?” He stammered, fearing to anger him. The man’s expression was blank as he stared back at him, but he shook his head.

“No. But I know you.”

That certainly didn’t tell Talon anything. He looked side to side again, hoping to find one of his friends, but he remained alone with the strange man who somehow knew him. He swallowed and sat up, once again cradling his side with a wince.

“Um… Who—who are you?” Talon tried again, and the man simply kneeled in front of him, his expression continuing to remain blank. He was silent for a moment, and Talon wondered if he even heard him, but he finally spoke up.

“I am called the Fierce Deity,” he answered.

“Oh.” Well that still didn’t answer anything for Talon. But he supposed it was better than nothing. “Well… Uh… nice to meet you then. Um… Can I just call you Fierce? Or… something?”

Fierce’s expression was making Talon grow uncomfortable. He couldn’t tell what he was thinking, or if he was thinking at all. Was he even a Hylian?

“You may call me whatever you like,” he said after a long moment of silence. Talon nodded, and he began to lean back, his whole body beginning to shake. He fell backwards and let out a sigh, staring at the sky. With this… Fierce Deity here… It was becoming harder and harder to explain the previous events as a dream. Fierce suddenly came into his view, and Talon’s eyes widened.

“Wh-what?”

“Are you alright?”

Talon let out another sigh, rubbing his ribs. “I–I don’t know. My ribs kinda hurt. And I’m confused. I don’t know where I am, I don’t know what happened to me, I don’t know how you know me or what you even are. I’m just—” Talon’s voice began to shake and he rested his hand on his eyes. “I’m so confused.”

Fierce’s eyes squinted slightly and he left Talon’s view. “I can explain everything to you Talon, but first—” A twinkling sound was heard, and Fierce entered his vision again, this time with a fairy. “Let’s heal your side.”

Talon frowned, but the fairy floated towards him before he could say anything. In a blink of an eye, the fairy swirled around him, and his side suddenly stopped aching. Talon sat up, staring at his side in surprise. He always knew about the fairies’ abilities to heal, but he never experienced such a thing himself. It was incredible. He looked around him but found that the fairy disappeared. He glanced up at Fierce confused, who picked up on his confusion.

“It’s alright, the fairy only needs to return to a great fairy to rejuvenate her power,” he explained.

Talon nodded and looked down at his side, still amazed by the missing injury. Goddesses, he almost wished he could do that as well.

“It is fortunate that you fell closeby to a fairy fountain,” Fierce continued to explain, and Talon froze. Fell. So Talon did fall, so he…?

“What happened?”

Fierce turned to him and once again kneeled down. “You died.”

Talon’s mind went blank. “What?”

“You died.” He repeated, hitting Talon harder the second time.

“I… died?” Talon repeated himself, feeling his stomach sink to the ground. He died. That fall killed him. How was he alive? Did the fairies save him? Did he die when he hit the ground? His friends…

Did they all think he was dead?

Talon began to grow nauseous, and he ran his hand through his hair. “I died…”

Fierce watched him silently as Talon continued to look down on himself. There was no evidence from the fall, save for his aching ribs, but the fairy healed that away.

“Is-is it true then?” Talon asked in a quiet tone, his voice shaking uncontrollably. Fierce tilted his head which was the first emotion he’s ever seen him express. “Is it true that fairies heal you, even after death?”

Fierce was silent for a moment. “Only immediately after you die. If you die long before you can get to a fairy, then you’ll need fairy’s blood.”

Talon felt the blood drain from his face. Fairy’s blood was extremely illegal in Hyrule. In order to use blood from a fairy, it would have to be killed. To kill a divine creature sent from the goddesses themselves was an act of blasphemy. Did Fierce… kill a fairy to save him?

“You… you didn’t…” Talon started, but he felt his stomach churn, and he covered his mouth, feeling like he was about to vomit. Fierce’s eyes squinted at him, once again showing his confusion. “You didn’t—you didn’t kill a fairy did you?” Talon was able to force out.

“No, you died as soon as I reached the fountain. The fairies wasted no time in helping you.”

Talon felt a heavy weight lift from his shoulders and he let out a loud sigh of relief. “Thank the goddesses. I couldn’t live with myself if I was responsible for a fairy’s death.”

The corner of Fierce’s mouth was curled up in a smile, but it went away so quickly Talon thought he imagined it. “I could never harm Hylia’s creatures.”

Talon frowned. Hylia? “Right, well… Thank you for saving my life,” Talon finally said, and Fierce nodded.

“Of course. It is my desire to help Link and those he cares about.”

Talon frowned again. “So you know Link… How—How do you know him? How do you know me?”

“You are Malon’s father.”

Talon nodded slightly. “How do you know my daughter?”

“She is Link’s wife.”

“Ok… And how do you know Link?”

Fierce’s empty eyes stared at him, and Talon swallowed, wishing he could read what he was thinking.

“Link saved me from an eternal fate in Termina,” he finally answered.

It was Talon’s turn to stare. Termina. He’s heard that name before…

“Before I ever saw Link, I always believed that mortals were all the same,” Fierce began, his eyes half-closed as if he were looking down. “They are selfish, greedy, and cruel. They’ll lie to you to benefit them, they’ll steal from you, they’ll hurt you. They use you and then give nothing in return. They imprison you when you have done nothing but help them.” Fierce’s voice had a hint of anger that sent a chill up Talon’s spine. “Link taught me otherwise. When Termina was threatened with destruction, he was the only one who set out and did something about it. I watched him help countless people when it didn’t benefit him; I watched him express compassion that was lacking from other mortals, and I watched him defeat evil, and save Termina.”

Realization hit Talon. Termina. He remembered Link telling him a story about a moon falling in a land and him going back in time over and over again. He always chalked it up as a child’s imagination, but now… was it all real? Did Talon brush his previous adventures away because he didn’t believe him? Guilt crept up on Talon. It was no wonder why he stopped telling Talon his stories. Fierce picked up on his guilt and tilted his head.

“What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing I just… I think I remember Link telling me about Termina… it’s… it’s real?”

Fierce nodded. “Link understands why you don’t believe him.”

Talon was taken aback. “Oh… well…”

“Do not feel guilty for not believing him.”

“… It probably felt like he had no one to talk to though…” Talon sighed. It was no wonder why Link was always so mature and jaded for a child. If everything he told him was true… poor Link.

“He has Malon.”

He supposed that was true, but regardless, he wasn’t there for Link like he should’ve been. He wondered if he would even want to see him again after this adventure…

“You have no idea how much you mean to him,” Fierce continued when Talon remained silent. “Everything you did for him, he cannot ignore it, nor can I.”

He didn’t feel like he deserved such talk. He didn’t even know why or how the deity knew about any of it. Fierce was large and stood out from the rest of the world like a sore thumb. How did he never notice him there, watching him and his family for the past fifteen years? The thought of it all was making him grow uncomfortable, so he decided to change the subject. “So… Termina… what happened after Link saved it?”

Fierce’s eyes went half closed again. “I’m not sure how he did it, but he left Termina, and he took me with him. I was doomed to remain in Termina forever, away from my Hylia. But because of him, I was able to return to her land.”

“You keep mentioning Hylia, is that a person?”

Despite having a blank expression, Fierce gave Talon a look as if he was stupid. “Hylia, the one who created your kind and Hyrule.”

Talon slowly nodded despite not understanding. He’s never heard of a Hylia who created Hyrule. He always thought it was three golden goddesses. If this Hylia created the land he called home, why hasn’t he ever heard of her?

“I could’ve left Link as soon as I was in Hyrule, but I instantly felt an emptiness where Hylia used to be. Judging by your lack of knowledge of her, I take it she no longer resides here?”

“Uh, no I guess not…”

Fierce stared long and hard at him before turning away. “I see. I was always curious since meeting Link, if Hylia’s influence on the world changed mortal’s nature. But, I suppose it makes sense that they were never influenced by the goddess herself. When Link returned to Hyrule he grew ill and didn’t have the strength to carry on. The mortals simply passed him by, which went against what Hylia believed in.”

Familiarity sparked in Talon. He remembered finding Link again in the middle of Hyrule field, burning up with a terrible fever. So Fierce was watching him the whole time. Where was he?

“You proved me wrong again, Talon. Not all mortals are selfish and greedy. Some are… good, and pure…”

“Wait, what? I proved you wrong? How?”

Fierce gave him another look. “You helped Link, and expected nothing in return.”

Talon frowned. “Is this about when I found him with a fever then? Trust me, I ain’t special for doin’ that.”

“You saved him, Talon. That’s not a small thing.”

“Oh come on! He was a sick kid in the middle of the field! Anyone would’ve helped him!”

“No. No one did.”

Talon froze. “What do ya mean no one helped him?”

“Like I said. The mortals passed him by. Link asked around Kakariko and Castle town for help, but he had no money. No one helped him.” Fierce’s voice grew angry again until his face turned to Talon fully. “You were the only one who reached out to him. He had given up at that point.”

Talon stared at him, shocked. It put everything from that time into perspective for him. Knowing Link, an eleven-year-old boy, tried to get help, but no one did? That didn’t seem possible, no one was that heartless.

“That’s how I know you. I saw the way you and Malon treated him. You may think you’re not a good person because you don’t believe him, but that does not erase all the good you’ve done for him. You restored my faith in mortals, and you saved Link. For that, I thank you.” Fierce bowed slightly. Talon felt his face flush and he turned away. He was starting to hate this praise. It almost felt wrong, especially from a deity.

“It… it really was nothin’. But… um… really I should be the one thankin’ you… for… you know… savin’ my life?”

Fierce squinted his eyes again. “You already thanked me.”

“Oh, well… It certainly doesn’t hurt to thank you again, now does it?”

Fierce stared blankly once again. “Why?”

“Well, like you said, it ain’t a small thing.”

Fierce stared for a moment, then turned away. “You mortals confuse me.”

Talon chuckled. “Well if it makes ya feel any better, mortals confuse me too.”

“But you’re a mortal.”

“Exactly.”

Though it was subtle, Talon could almost pick up an annoyed expression on Fierce’s face, and he couldn’t tell if he should laugh at it or not. They both remained silent for a while, until one more question went through Talon’s brain.

“What… are you?” He asked. Fierce looked contemplative as he looked down at his hand, and he glanced up at Talon.

“I’m not sure. I suppose I am what they call a deity. But I have no divine power unlike the others. A demon is a more appropriate thing to call me.”

Fear pricked at Talon’s chest and he turned away. “So you’re a servant to evil?”

For the first time, Fierce’s expression grew dark, and Talon leaned back. Oh no.

“I will never serve Demise,” he growled. Talon nodded, yet continuing to not understand anything he was saying.

“R-right! Well then… you’re no demon!”

“That’s what we were called in Termina.”

“Well, lucky you, this ain’t Termina.”

Fierce’s expression softened and he didn’t press any further. Talon supposed no one knew what Fierce was, but he began to feel less of a threat to him the more he talked to him. Sort of.

“You should get some rest,” Fierce finally said, standing up. “Fairies don’t rejuvenate energy.”

“Oh,” Talon looked down at himself, admittedly still feeling exhausted from before. But… “My friends will be out lookin’ for me. A-and the puppeteer too… I reckon he’s the reason I fell down the mountain.”

“I will keep watch. But you must restore your strength if you are to continue on.”

Talon sighed. The others could be in danger—Leon could be in danger, and he’d be none the wiser. But his heavy eyelids fought against him and he simply laid back, staring sadly at the sky. His mind began to run rampant over everything that happened to him, and he was struggling to calm himself down so he could rest. He died, he was resurrected, Leon was shot with an arrow, and his friends were either dead, fighting, or captured. How was he going to reunite with them? Will Kass fly down to search for him? Will they try to move down the mountain to find him? Or will they continue on, with Talon completely separated from them? Anxiety pricked at Talon; he couldn’t travel alone, even with a deity at his side. He was a farmer, not a traveler. He wouldn’t survive on his own and he wouldn’t know what to do if something happened. His heart already ached for his home and for his daughter, he didn’t feel like he could handle anymore stress. Tears pricked at his eyes and he rubbed his face, feeling a sob threatening to escape his throat. He was spiraling; no matter how much he tried to not think about his current situation, he couldn’t help but only think about it. It was all too much—this whole adventure was too much. Just as he felt himself go into panic, a soft melody suddenly filled the air. It was a gentle, rising melody that put Talon’s mind at ease. He felt his body relax and his eyes grow heavy, and a thought went through his head.

You’re going to be ok.

Talon took in a shaky breath, tears threatening to spill, but the gentle melody continued playing, and he was finally able to fall asleep.

[suuooe]

patched || kaji ren x gn!reader

✧ i just wanted to write vulnerable kaji okay he deserves some hugs.

✧ content: established relationship, spoilers for kaji's backstory (sorta, it ain't said but it's there between the lines), fluff, minor descriptions of wounds

✧ a/n: i will and shall make every windbre boy soft or vulnerable or both. so have some soft kaji y'all before his official introduction to the anime this week yeehaw- it's also close to 1 am when I'm posting this so if it's rushed towards the end. no it's not.

Hiragi Toma rarely came over to your house.

Instead, you would just be one of the many people he would wave too when out on patrol, just with a deeper friendship - if he's not particularly busy you two would even strike a conversation, just to catch up.

But Hiragi Toma rarely came knocking on your front door.

So when you hear the firm, yet somehow gentle clear knocks on your front door - only to open it up to see Hiragi's bloodied knuckles? You can only answer with a confused glance back and forth between his embarrassed expression and the fist that is still raised up, ready to knock on your door that is very much open.

"... I had to knock him out."

Ah.

"Is he okay?" is the only thing you ask as you turn towards the side to reach for the first aid kit that you have stored next to the front door - quicky grabbing it and handling it to Hiragi while you swiftly put on some shoes.

"Depends on your definition of 'okay" the third year mutters, walking briskly ahead to lead the way once you've locked the door. "No broken bones?"

"Then yeah, he's fine." Hiragi answers, guiding you through some alleyways until you get to a semi-open area. In the middle you see Kusumi and Enomoto crowding around you assume is an unconscious Kaji on the ground.

Even without getting close you can already smell the blood surrounding the air - the the pile of passed out delinquents to the side was most likely the main reason.

"Kusumi-kun, Enomoto-kun, thank you for your hard work." you call out, the two vice captains turning towards you whilst you wave at them. And only then do you see their shoulders relax. "I can take it over from here."

The two students scurry quickly away, albeit not too far in case something were to happen when Kaji woke up. A needless worry you would always say to them.

Kaji would never hurt you after all.

So whilst Hiragi and the second year vice captains clean up the area, you're busy propping Kajis head on top of your lap, brushing aside his bloodied bangs to wipe away the dried blood on his face with a cloth.

It doesn't take long before Kaji stirs awake from your actions. It starts with a jolt of his fingers, followed by his eyes squeezing even tighter together. But it's only when you dab a cotton ball with disinfectant at an open wound that his eyes snap open in surprise.

Kaji would've almost headbutted you if you hadn't already cradled both of his cheeks in your hands, the distraught boy letting you tip his head up whilst you bend your own head to make eye contact with him. "Good afternoon sleeping beauty." you whisper, a smile on your face whilst you tighten the hold you have on his face, thumb gently stroking his cheek while he gasps for air. "How are you feeling?"

Kaji doesn't answer, he merely raises his hands to grab onto your wrists - his hold on you tightening which makes you unable to continue your ministrations of cleaning his wounds. His eyes dart back and forth questioningly, probably wondering how you ended up here although he's unable to directly ask you seeing that he's still heaving for air.

"Hiragi-san came to get me. Figured that it would help you calm down faster." you answer, wriggling your fingers in one hand to make him loosen his hold before wrapping your own fingers gently around his own wrist to press his trembling palm against your cheek. You let him stay like that for a moment whilst you keep an eye on his expression with a smile. It's only when you feel his thumb slightly brush against your cheek that you turn your head to press your lips against his palm, your eyes still trained on Kaji's own hazy ones.

"... The others?" Kaji finally whispers whilst letting his arm fall limp back down to the ground. A silent sign that you can continue tending to his wounds. "Helping Hiragi-san, quite a few of them managed to run back here, with you chasing them and all." you reply, placing a compress on a particular nasty scratch on his forehead.

"There! We're all done now!" you inform beaming, admiring your own handiwork with a triumphant smile. Kaji, however doesn't move from your lap - attention still at Hiragi and his vice captains that have begun to make small talk with the townspeople wondering what happened.

"So I only made trouble for both you and Hiragi-san again, didn't I." It was a statement rather than a question, perhaps that's why Kaji won't look your way. Too afraid to see what sort of expression you're sporting.

"... Ren," you call out softly, hands once again cradling his cheek to make him face you. There's a slight resistance at first, but Kaji soon let's you move his head to face upwards towards your direction again.

Kaji alternates between staring at you and looking slightly to the side to avoid your soft gaze. You can tell he's getting a bit nervous with how the fingers by his side keeps wriggling a bit, almost like he wants to dig them into his hoodie pocket to grab a sucker, anything to avoid saying something that can potentially hurt your feelings.

After all, behind that unbothered facade, lies a fragile boy still afraid of losing the people who had accepted him.

Every part of him.

Even the part he hated himself for.

In the end, he settles on balling them into a fist before taking a deep breath - directing his gaze back to you with furrowed eyebrows. "What-"

Before he can voice out his question, you're already bending down to slot your lips against his. The sudden kiss makes Kaji freeze, mouth slightly agape in surprise. The angle let's him easily smell the slightly sweet fragrance you have on your neck, paired with the smell of freshly dried linen.

A sweet peach scent, a stark contrast to the the rusty smell of blood that's been penetrating his senses since he woke up.

When you pull apart, it's only to give him a reassuring smile again before pressing your lips against his forehead, "You know I don't like it when you say you're being a bother." you gently remind. "If you were, I wouldn't be here now, would I?" you say.

Kaji doesn't say anything, merely staring at up at you with a glazed look. It takes a few seconds before he abruptly sits up straight and turns around to face you. The action making you jump in surprise, but you can barely move before his arms are wrapped around your shoulders with his face snuggled against your neck.

"... You smell good." He finally says, snuggling closer to inhale the fragrance left on your skin. "I know. It's your favorite after all." You answer with a laugh, wrapping your own arms around his waist whilst settling your own head against his shoulder.

And you'll stay there in his arms, for however long it takes for Kaji to pick himself up again.

[gracebethartacc]

I woke up and was haunted by visions aka Mlp redesign/rewrite ideas yayyyy :3

[silverskye13]

Every once in a while, for no real good reason, I get really self-conscious about the length of my fic chapters. Realistically I don't think anyone? Cares? But man, I'm looking at my current word count and I'm getting nervous.

[theminecraftbee]

okay now that i'm no longer trying to keep a project secret from certain people i can complain publicly about a thing i've been losing my mind about:

why the fuck is the evo wiki like that.

listen. i know. i know fandom wikis being decent entirely relies on whether there are people who both want to obsessively categorize things enough to fill out the wiki, with the free time to do that kind of obsessive categorization, and the desire to manage it all as a wiki. believe me, i know. but please i'm just trying to do research please, please at least bigb's page was just Entirely Empty so i knew i had useless information and just left. why the fuck did the mafia's page, by contrast, have this:

a sentence that is actively LESS USEFUL THAN IF IT WERE NOT THERE.

and then grian's page - GRIAN'S. GRIAN'S. THE ONE PAGE I THOUGHT MIGHT HAVE A SHOT OF BEING FILLED OUT. JOKE'S ON ME I GUESS.

BECAUSE IT HAS THIS????? I'M LOSING MY MIND. WHY ON EARTH IS THE WIKI LIKE THIS. WHY IS IT THIS BAD. PLEASE I'M JUST TRYING TO FIGURE OUT WHAT EVERYONE'S RELATIONSHIPS WITH JIMMY AND MARTYN WERE PLEASE,

anyway thankfully i had friends who could help me with their own knowledge and who also found the evo recap but in conclusion i have been being driven mad by this for weeks, thank you for coming to my ted talk.

[katreneebug]

I'm Okay (Trust Me) (Part 1/3)

Summary: Defeating Rapheal, and subsequently obtaining the Orphic Hammer, had gone exceptionally well. At least in comparison to how things usually go. However, as the companions move forward with their plans of parasitic liberation, Astarion can’t help but notice that their leader, and his lover, isn’t quite herself. Despite Tav’s assurances, the vampire spawn can tell that the events befalling The House of Hope still haunt her in more ways than one.

Parings: Tav x Astarion, Minor Shadowheart x Lae'zel

Warnings: Explicit content, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Dubious Consent, Sexual Coercion, Slight Victim Balming, Sexual Trauma, Eventual Smut

A/N: I decided to write this after I got through the House of Hope on my first playthrough. At first I was really excited at the prospect of getting to bed an incubus in the game but after everything was done I kind of felt off about the whole thing. Especially given that the player, after deciding not to fight, is given the choice to either let Haarlep use their image to have sex with a bunch of strangers or straight up die. It hit a little too close to home in regard to my own sexual trauma and how that has affected my self-esteem, relationships, and mental health.

I want to stress that there are some aspects of the story that don't match with the gameplay. An example of this would be going beyond the party size. You can pretend that this story is based on that no-limit companion mod lol.

Link to AO3: Here

            No last-minute begging had left Rapheal’s lips when Karlach raised her axe above him. The fact that it had been the final stroke came as a surprise to Astarion and, based upon the silence that drenched the room, the others. Not too far behind her could hear Tav panting, her magic practically drained to its limits. In the peripheral of his eyes, he could see Shadowheart’s armor move up and down as she too sought to catch her breath.

            Hope, who appeared the most worn out of the bunch, stood frozen to her spot by the door. Karlach noticed her immediately and moved to check on her, weapon still sunk deep within Rapheal’s chest. Astarion took the opportunity to walk over to him, caution obvious in the way he gripped his dagger.  

            There was no final spook to be had, though. Rapheal was dead, eyes wide and mouth slightly a gape with no more theatrics left on his tongue.  Good Riddance, he thought. A smirk danced onto his lips as he decided it was okay to turn back towards his companions. Hope was no longer a statue, the erratic motions from before returned vigorously as she took in their victory.

            The memory of Cazador lying vanquished on the ground materialized in his mind. He brushed it away quickly as Tav’s eyes landed on himself. A half-smile was the most she could muster before Lae’zel garnered her attention, talks of the next step towards freeing Orpheus’ flew from the githyanki’s mouth in rapid, yet precise, order. The lines in Tav’s forehead creased as she let her friend speak. Deciding to take pity on his lover, Astarion moved to stand beside her.

            “—The Emperor will know of what we have done, we must act fast upon our return.”

            “I—”

            “Surely you can’t expect us to go straight into the undercity of Baldur’s Gate after quite literally killing a devil.” Lae’zel sharp glare snapped up to meet his eyes. “I for one am not doing anything till I’ve had time to clean up, all of this.” His hand, the one not resting centimeters away Tav’s lower back, motioned to the state of his armor. Rapheal and his friends had left the floors of the foyer dripping in all sorts of blood and guts and, while Astarion’s body was happily intact, his outfit begged to differ.

            “He’s right, we should get some rest before meeting with Voss.” Lae’zel’s head snapped to see Shadowheart approaching. “It would be foolish to confront a mind flayer and a devil on the same day.” Lae’zel didn’t reply immediately, though the answer for what they should do was clear, she was not any happier to admit it.

            “All right,” she spat. “Prepare for an early departure by dawn, I will not wait for anyone.”

            “Of course,” he hummed with a dismissive wave.

. . .

            “I’m just saying we should take some more time to discuss our next course of action.” Gale instinctively backed up as Lae’zel stalked his receding form. “It would be unwise to go in all wands blazing without considering the effect this might have.”

            “I am not leaving my Prince at the hands of a ghaik any longer.” Astarion had no interest in interfering on the wizard’s behalf. Watching the man sweat was more than amusing. “The only thing unwise would be for you to continue talking.”

            “What if freeing Orpheus leads to us losing our only protection from the absolute.” It was Wyll who stepped in between the two. No surprises there, the vampire thought. Lae’zel had burst through the doors of their room at the inn with an attitude ready to fight the next person who dared to go against her plans.

            “It will, I’ve already told you that freeing Orpheus will only result in him—”

            “Will someone please get the squid to shut up.” Astarion winced, feeling the pain of The Emperors telepathy within his mind. How lucky Halsin and Jaheira were to not feel such an annoying headache.

            “Gladly,” Lae’zel sneered.

            “There are still other issues that we need to address.” Halsin’s voice passed by Astarion from behind, he could feel the bear of a man coming closer to the group before passing the vampire all together to aid Wyll and Gale from the Lae’zel’s wrath. “Orin and Gortash are still alive, it would be best to get rid of them before going to the astral plane.

            “Agreed, we cannot allow the absolute to draw more power from the city. It’s time we faced them.” Halsin nodded an acknowledgement at Jaheira, her argument adding to the growing resistance.  

            Quickly the room devolved into a mass of bickering, Lae’zel mostly fighting alone on her side. It took Astarion a few moments to realize that there was something off about the whole scene. It stumped him briefly but the soft steps of someone else moving about in the background was the answer.

            “Not going to step in, dearest?” Tav jumped a bit as Astarion walked towards her, his back now to the group. “It’s very unlike you.”

            “It’s been a long day,” the bed bounced slightly as she dropped her pack onto it. “And I don’t feel like picking a fight with Lae’zel.” If only the rest were that smart, he thought. “She’ll see reason soon enough, anyways. We really do need to usurp Orin and Gortash while we can.”

            “I’m sure she will,” his lips curled. “Right after she breaks a couple of Gale and Wyll’s ribs, of course.”

            “Shadowheart will fix them up,” her body joined the bag as she sat down onto the covers. “Or Halsin, either way they’ll be fine.”

            “I love this newfound ‘compassion’ of yours,” he briefly glanced away, catching sight of a smaller person far from the argument occurring. Either Yenna was blissfully unaware or was doing a great job at pretending everything was okay. “I just wish you had acquired it earlier.” Then maybe they wouldn’t be stuck worrying about every little orphan who manipulated Tav’s kindness.

            “They’re adults, they can take care of themselves.” He raised an eyebrow at this. Was she really letting things go for once. “I’m tired and I want to sleep.” She wasn’t looking at him anymore, choosing to instead dig around into her bag that she never organized, even at his insistence.

            “Fair enough,” a level of trepidation lined his voice. Before he could ask if she was alright, a loud clang hit the floor behind him, silencing the bickering voices. He turned away instinctively, catching sight of Lae’zel stomping away towards the door. A dagger, no doubt previously aimed towards the other men, laid forgotten at Halsin’s feet.

            “Fine,” she spat, casting one last glance towards them before nearly kicking the door off its hinges. “Cowards, all of you.” With that, she was gone. Shadowheart moved a few steps, considering the possibility of going after her, before ultimately stopping. Even from her his spot, Astarion could see the way her jaw clenched, hands balled at her sides.

            The rest of them dispersed to their own spots in the room, silence hung in the air uncomfortably. Karlach’s, he noticed, took a moment to collect Lae’zel’s dagger. She rarely used such a small weapon in combat, opting for her painfully heavy sword and bow. The little thing glinted in the light briefly before the Tiefling went to place it neatly on Lae’zel’s bunk.

            Such a mess they were, he thought with a shake of his head.

. . .

            He tried not to stare too much at Tav. His own bed had been placed directly next to hers and it was becoming harder to ignore the way she shifted and squirmed under the covers. Sleep came easily to the girl, at least most of the time. Her experience with combat and adventuring was limited before the parasite, her body unuse to such strenuous work. She rarely complained, though. The only indicator that this was tough for her especially being how quickly she tuckered out at the end of the day.

            There was a chance that some of the chatter was keeping her up. The silence hadn’t lasted too long before Karlach, Shadowheart, and Jaheira set up some type of card game. They weren’t particularly loud, save for whenever Karlach gained the upper hand in the game. Gale had tried shushing her a couple of times before ultimately giving up. The book in his hands had eventually engrossed him enough to tune it all out.

            When moonlight began to seep through their windows, Tav snores still not filling the air, Astarion decided to forsake his own spot. Standing over her crumbled form brought back the memory of the first time he had attempted to drink her blood. The few nights before that had been increasingly painful as he watched her lie so sweetly under the stars. Over time she felt less like a person and more like a beautiful feast, all set out for him alone. It was a shock, looking back, how long he held out on partaking.

            Her reaction to noticing him looming over her this time around was much less frantic. A little bit of surprise played on her parted lips as she slowly sat up to speak. There was still a hint of innocence in her eyes whilst meeting his gaze. Scores of monsters and cultists had perished under her spells and blades and yet it didn’t jade her the way it would for other humans.

            So precious, he thought.

            “Is something wrong?” It came out as a whisper, her eyes glancing left to confirm that Wyll remained unmoving in his bunk.

            “I was actually just about to ask you that, darling.” He wasn’t as quiet as her, unafraid that the Blade of Frontiers would wake up easily. “You’ve been acting peculiarly since we got back, care to enlighten me?”

            “I told you I was tired,” she looked away. “It’s been a very long day.”

            “And yet you’ve been tossing and turning for nearly an hour.” He crossed his arms over his chest, feeling a little too much like a scolding parent than a partner.

            “I . . .” She trailed off, knees moving up to support her chest as she leaned forward. “There’s just a lot on my mind right now. Between the netherstones and Orpheus, it’s just overwhelming.”

            “Anything I can do to help,” the bed dipped as he took a seat. There was little space between the two of them now and a part of him buzzed pleasantly at the thought of pulling her into an embrace. They hadn’t been all that touchy as of late. His confession at Moonrise had practically halted most forms of intimacy between them. An outsider looking in wouldn’t have guessed how close the two of them were in comparison to the others. Feather light touches and the occasional hug made up most of the relationship now. Sometimes he would steal a kiss, a usually quick action that ended before Tav had much time to register the affection.

            They had on occasion shared a bedroll back when they were out in the wild. She’d curl up against his side, a hand resting on the part of his chest where his heart once beat. He’d count the constellations whilst listening to the change in her breathing, the obvious indicator that she had plunged into a deep sleep. There, hidden from Cazador and the absolute, a flutter would come and go underneath his ribs. Perhaps he wasn’t all that dead.

            “No, I’ll be okay.” She shook her head, hair rustling against the sides of her face. “Don’t worry about me, please.”

            “Easier said than done, my dear.” The little pout that appeared on her lips decided his next move for him. “Now, scout over.” Tav’s eyes widened, gaze snapping back up to his face. She was still for a few moments, studying his features with an intensity one might have for a major test.

            Little voices scrapped against the back of his mind as he exalted all his control in keeping a calm demeanor. Any doubt or uncertainty would have Tav pushing him away. She was always so concerned about his comfort. It was welcomed graciously most of the time but, as much as the sentiment warmed his icy body, it could also sting. He was not nearly as fragile as she seemed to think he was.

            She only puts up with you because she pities you.

            “O-Okay,” Astarion almost breathed out a sigh of relief when she complied with the request. He wasted no time in joining her under the covers, lest she change her mind at his reluctance.

            She was rigid against him, even after he comfortably adjusted against the mattress. Instead of holding him, like she used to, Tav rolled over so that her back was facing him instead. Both of her hands clenched the sheets rather than his clothes. It unnerved him even more than the silence that passed between him.

            “You know,” he whispered. “I was afraid that your droopy mood had something to do with vanquishing our old ‘friend’, Rapheal.” Acidity coated his pronunciation of the devil’s name. Tav’s body twitched when she heard it, somehow tensing even more than before.

            “I’m glad he’s dead,” disdain leaked from her mouth as she sought to relax her body. “I wish I had cut out his tongue earlier, though. I can still hear his stupid, dramatic voice in my head.”

            “Perhaps I can take your mind off of it?” The sly words fell out of Astarion’s mouth without him even having a chance to think it over. Flirtatiousness was an instinct after two centuries and getting rid of it wasn’t something easily undone. A heaviness set within his chest, an all too familiar panic that he may have gone too far. She shook in his grasp and that heaviness gave way to bitter bile. Swallowing it down with a cough, Astarion placed a hand on her shoulder. “Forgive me, I didn’t—”

            “It’s fine.” Her statement, spoken quicker than before, felt like a cut. “I’m not in the mood, anyways.”

            Not in the mood for you, at least.

            She thinks you’d break under her touch.

            Besides, why would she want you when she just had him.

            He inhaled sharply at the memory conjured up by the swirling voices. He would have kicked himself for carelessness had she not been lying next to him. Amid their quest within the House of Hope, Astarion had been able to push down their interaction with Rapheal’s favorite toy. Now, with her distant yet so close, he could no longer.

. . .

            “I beg your pardon,” the snap of Astarion’s voice rang within the chamber. The marble floor beneath his feet nearly crumbled under the stomp of his boots. A hand kept him from getting closer to the bed before them. “Would you like to repeat that little request?”

            “I said,” the incubus’ eyes looked only at Tav. “Take off your clothes.”

            “Uh, why?” Her voice bordered on cracking. It was her fingers that kept him from throwing a dagger between Haarlep’s eyes.

            “Do you or do you not want my help,” playfulness dripped from the incubus as he rolled softly against the covers of the mattress. “I at least deserve something from you, seeing as you’re asking for so much.”

            “And you’re asking for an arrow through the throat.” Astarion grumbled, fingers flexing and ready for Tav to give the orders to fight.

            “Hypothetically, what were to happen if I did take off my clothes.” His jaw clenched as the human woman spoke slowly.  

            “Well,” he drawled, lips curling in a cat like smirk. “Let’s just say it’s a surprise.”

            “A surprise from an incubus? I wonder what that could possibly be,” Astarion’s mocking voice did little to faze the other man.

            “No need to be so jealous, little spawn.” The grip on Astarion’s shoulder tightened, Tav accurately guessing how restraint was practically peeling away from him. “I have only the best of intentions in mind.”

            “Oh really—”

            “Gives a moment, if that’s okay.” Tav began to pull against him, trying to bring him back towards the group. Haarlep nodded his head which was answer enough for Tav to motion for the companions to form a huddle of sorts.

            “We’re killing him, right?” An unsureness plagued Tav’s face as she shied away from his intense gaze.

            “Honestly, taking up his offer might be the best option.” He made a point to glare at Shadowheart. She looked only at Tav though, not bothering with the pissy vampire. “As much as I want to avoid it, a fight with Rapheal is practically inevitable at this point. Especially if we go through with freeing Hope. I’d rather we save up our resources for that fight instead of wasting it on him.” She motioned towards the incubus with a jerk of her chin.

            “If it were me, I’d rather gut him.” Lae’zel chimed in before Astarion could retort. “But I am not the one he is asking for.” Her gaze fell to Tav.

            “I’m completely fine with ripping his annoying face off,” Karlach glanced back at the Rapheal look-a-like. “But yeah, it’s up to you soldier.”

            “I mean,” the human’s face contorted as pros and cons weighed back and forth within her mind. “If we go against him, who knows what other cronies he’d bring into the fight. Plus, it can make it that much harder to get back to the hammer in time.”

            She wants to say yes to him, the offer is rather tempting.

            “Exactly, I say we get the hammer first with as little complications as possible.” Very few times had Shadowheart’s neck looked so perfectly ready to be ripped out in Astarion’s eyes.

            “Why don’t you take her place, if the choice is so easy.” She rolled her eyes at him.

            “I don’t see why not,” her lips curled up in a bitter smirk. “I’m sure he’s all sorts of fun.”

            “Such a tempting offer,” Haarlep’s voice broke into the group. Apparently, the huddle was pointless if he could hear everything from his side of the room. “But I have my sights set on your little leader. She’s stirred up Rapheal quite a bit with how passionately she denied his deal.”

            “Pity,” the former Sharran mumbled.

            “Now if you lot are somehow able to survive this little trip, I’d be more than happy to pencil you in for a play date, half-elf.” A silent chuckle left Shadowheart’s lips as she shook her head. Astarion couldn’t tell if she’d be against such an offer in the future.

            “Fight or Fornicate, make up your mind before we’re out of choices.” Lae’zel turned back to Tav as the human seemed even more indecisive than before.

            “I . . .” Her eyes met his then, as the rest of the group waited in bated breath for an answer. They stared at each other as each passing second felt even slower than the last.

            She wants your permission.

            You’ve left her longing for too long.

            The answer to her needs is practically begging to relieve her.

            He could do so, so much more for her.

            She’s tired of waiting for you to get a grip. So tired of holding your pathetic hand.

            I’d be cruel to deny her such an experience.

            “. . . It’s up to you, my love.” Throwing the façade of acceptance on his face wasn’t too hard to do. He had done it so many times before, he had practically become a master of it at this point. “I won’t hold it against you, whatever you decide.”

            She was quiet, facing smoothing at as her decision was made within her mind. She turned back to Haarlep first, prompting the others to do the same. Astarion, though, kept most of his attention on her and not the creature he wanted to eviscerate.

            Something inside him shattered as her lithe fingers went to the hem of her shirt. The realization that she was about to disrobe in front of Haarlep and their friends hit him like a pommel strike. The voices in his head were twisting wildly within his mind and somehow, throughout the horror of it all, he found himself bitterly thankful for Tav’s choice in today’s team.

            It was no secret that all their companions had, at one point, made a pass at Tav. Her rejection of them always had a sliver of satisfaction rolling up his spine. In Karlach, Shadowheart, and Lae’zel’s case, they had taken her no rather well. It was easy enough for the later two who had begun ‘sparring’ away from the eyes of the camp sometime after their interaction with the creche. Their excuse was that they needed more space to fight and that they didn’t want to ‘accidentally’ hurt someone during the intense training.  

            Hate sex is the best sex, Tav had muttered one night as she and Astarion caught the two women glaring at each other whilst walking off into the woods. He had curled his lips at the scandalous statement, deciding silently to remember the tidbit for a possible future tryst.

            Karlach, Astarion realized, was just happy to have the embrace of a friend. Romance had been easily forgotten by the Tiefling. The same couldn’t be said for Gale and Wyll. They had assured her that it was alright before and Tav had taken it at face value. Astarion knew better though, could see it in the way their eyes followed her. When she spoke, they would glance at her lips and look away as if caught with their hand in the proverbial cookie jar. The vampire spawn sometimes basked in the longing he could see within them every time he displayed even the smallest of Tav’s reciprocated affections.

            “Could you all go guard the door,” snapping out his trance, Astarion watched as Tav put a pause on removing her clothes. “The last thing we need is Rapheal waltzing in.”

            “Of course,” Shadowheart was the first to comply. Lae’zel quirked an eyebrow for a moment before leaving as well. He could feel Karlach looking back and forth between him and Tav. Reluctantly she placed a hand on his shoulder and encouraged him to walk away with her. Though her engine had been fixed, her palm was practically scalding against the thin fabric of his disguise.

            “We’re just across the room,” he murmured. “In case you need us.”

            With a nod of Tav’s head, Astarion finally complied with Karlach’s touch. The two turned around to trail after the other members of their party. He focused on the echo of the grand faucets flowing hot water into the pool between them. Anything to keep from catching the sound of whatever surprise the incubus had in mind.

            “You okay?” Astarion growled lowly at the question. He knew that Karlach’s concern was genuine, deep down, yet he couldn’t help but feel only irritation.

            “Of course I am.” He sneered; he wasn’t the one stuck staring at Rapheal’s stupid face. He considered telling them to not talk to him, as he was in no mood. Yet the little chatter that passed between the other three was something to hold onto. Very little went by the doorway of the boudoir, just a couple of miserable waifs limping about. A wonderful reminder of what might happen to them sooner rather than later.

            “—Must we waste time freeing her.”

            “Are you suggesting we leave Hope chained to this asshole.” He didn’t want to look behind him to watch their argument.

            “The longer we stay here, the more likely we are to join her.” Shadowheart’s voice was farthest away. A little too far for his liking, more likely to see what was happening past the pool.

            It must be quite a show, maybe she’ll tell you all the gory details later.

            Or maybe Tav will, how long will it be before his name passes those luscious lips.

            She won’t want you after this.

            What’s the point of a pretty face when that’s all it is. She’ll get sick of looking at it when she realizes she could have more.

            He didn’t know how much time had passed when Shadowheart’s voice cut through the mess in his head.

            “It looks like they’ve stopped,” gods he was going to throw up. “Come on.”

            Luckily the half-elf was correct. By the time the four of them had come to the other end of the room, Haarlep was already off the bed and looking starkly different from before. Instead of the near perfect imitation of Rapheal, he had shifted into a woman. An improvement, yes, but still too like the devil in looks. Tav was shimmying her shirt back on, something black and tight coverd the rest of her body. She hadn’t worn it before.

            Haarlep, noticing their return, locked eyes with him particularly. The ends of his lips twisted higher than they had before. In the blink of an eye the new feminine form shifted into something all too familiar. Instead of the Rapheal look alike, a copy of Tav now smirked at him.

            To his utter displeasure, the incubus was gone before the shock could lift. Tav didn’t waste time in collecting the contents of the safe. The portrait of Rapheal broke in half under her hands as she pried it off the wall. It was tossed unceremoniously across the floor. If only they had time to destroy more of the devil’s tacky décor.

            “Let’s go,” Tav was striding past them. Determination set within the crease of her forehead. There were questions on the tongue of each one of them. Ultimately their curiosity was left unspoken.

[jamtoro]

Just a drabble in large part inspired by the first Challengers fic I read by @cybersunnie Content warning for masturbation but this is mostly just mutual pining

- Of course you knew who Art Donaldson was, because, really, who didn't? So why wouldn't you be surprised when he approached you, offering to be your hitting partner for the night?

- You hesitated on your response, a mixture of embarrassment (you were practicing for a mandatory athletics class and were far from being even decent) and confusion (why would he ask you? What did he gain from it?).

- But, still, you agreed. Practicing tennis with Art, the Art Donaldson, was not an opportunity afforded to many beginners (at least you imagined). And despite the preemptive embarrassment, it beat hitting a ball against a wall.

- So, you begin with a backhand warm up before advancing to a rally.

- You miss volleys left and right, and even fall on your ass at some point. But with the cool spring night breeze on your sweat-slick skin and a lack of the pressure you thought you'd feel when sparring with Art, that 10 AM lecture class you have tomorrow feels light years away.

- When you've both had enough (well, you're sick of running after missed balls and you feel bad for making Art watch you flounder) you thank him, trying not to fall into realm of gratuitous gratitude. "I know it's not what you're used to, and it felt like torture at times, but thank you. I had a lot of fun losing to you."

- "You're not terrible," Art says, looking at you. Really looking at you, a soft smile on his face. You open your mouth to protest, but he tilts his head back a certain way as if to say Are you really going to debate me on that? Me? And you avoid breaking into a gigantic grin, but your giddiness is evident.

- You felt drunk on luck. First he offers to be your partner for the night, then he complements you. Well, sort of, but it's enough to make your heart stammer in your chest.

- You'd be lying if you said Art didn't look beautiful under the florescent light of the tennis court, a light sweat above his brow. And the scent of his musk, it could grow addicting.

- and you'd be lying if you said Art wasn't the reason why you continued to practice tennis on late nights. Some nights you saw him practicing with someone, sometimes he was alone, sometimes he showed up after you, but most nights you practiced alone. But lighting can strike twice, you told yourself.

- It took until the night of your last final, but thankfully eventually Art approached you.

- "Most people leave as soon as their last final's over, but you're still here," He says. "Summer classes," is all you manage in return. You force a barely there smile with pressed lips. You're wrought with tension.

- "There's a two week bre--" "Can you teach me tennis?" You cut Art off, the words basically stumbling out of your mouth. "I can pay you whatever, and I won't whine, and I know you have your own practices, but I just want you. I want to play tennis with you."

- It's bold and you know you're asking for a lot. You hold your breath as you wait for an answer.

- Art pauses in consideration, turning your words over in his mind. And your heart twists like a wrung towel as you watch a faint smile tug on one side of his mouth. "If you can win against me, I'll coach you."

- Your mind goes into hyperdrive with inquiries. Why would he say that? Does he really believe I could beat him? What happens when I lose? Does he have to be this cruel? Am I too desperate? Is it obvious? And before you could even begin to verbalize such a question, you see Art setting down his tennis bags on the far end of the court.

- "Are you gonna go easy on me?" You yell from the other side as you stretch your upper body.

- "How could I assess your abilities as your coach without seeing how far you'll go?" Art asks when he finishes a set of side lunges.

- yeah, you're gonna lose.

- And at least it's not a humiliating loss. You've definitely improved since the first time you and Art played, even managing a point here and there (but deep down you feel like Art let you have those). And even though you've lost two of three games, you're laughing, you're joking, you're having fun. Even though you approached Art so seriously, so desperately, you can't take yourself seriously, not in earnest, even when playing for something as coveted as a Summer with Art. And you can't even hate yourself for it because you feel so free.

- "I won't torture you with the idea of a rematch, so thank you for playing with me." You say, hand extended as you walk towards the net. "I'll still see you around, right?"

- But Art doesn't respond when he shakes your hand. He kind of just stands there for a moment, shaking your hand in a trance.

- Within Art, something shifted, or clicked, rather.

- No stranger to desperation, he recognized it in you, saw himself reflected in your curious eyes. And though he expected himself to be more repulsed by your desperation, each volley blunted the edges of such an emotion.

- And it helped he saw what Tashi loved about tennis within you.

- Maybe you could've been great if you had more than a casual interest in the sport, or if you had started in the single digits like the rest of the college athletes, or if you stopped blowing rasberies and laughing everytime you hit the ball into the net. But you didn't care about greatness. And to Art, it almost seemed like you didn't care about winning him as a coach, not for lack of trying, but because you became someone else on the court. You found a liberation that Art could only dream of. A liberation that could only be afforded to someone who's highest aspiration is the intermural leagues. Your relationship with tennis, with your opponent was more self-serving. This was less of a relationship and more so voyeurism.

- And that appealed to Art in some capacity.

- "I mean, you played pretty well, considering," Art finally says, returning to himself. "Do Tuesdays work for you?"

- It scratches an itch to be wanted. Even if it isn't by the person you want.

- Art reminded himself of this, like a mantra, on the first night he cums to the thought of you. A late night tennis session turned mildly risqué with an absent minded question ("Do you think some people use rackets sexually?" You asked before the stream of laugh that followed due to Art's flusted expression) was all Art really needed to follow through on what was a burgeoning feeling.

- On one hand, Art struggled to remember why he's keeping himself from you. He's already this close. You never shy from his touch when he corrects your grip on the racket. You don't seem to mind sharing towels or water. And he feels the way you watch him, even when his back is turned.

- On the other, he's kicking himself. Even though he's only your senior by a year and he's not an official coach by any standard, it feels wrong. Especially when he's the catalyst in Tashi and Patrick's teetering relationship. You were meant to be a scapegoat if Patrick and Tashi got messy and Art's culpiblity was revealed. You were not supposed to stay.

- But being wanted is like a drug. And the thought of your mouth on his, along his body, around him, is irresistible.

- He knew, as he watched his cum thin out and disperse in the shower stream, that this wouldn't be the only time he came to the thought of you.

- (Should he feel ashamed that he's wrapped around your finger, too, even though you're the one who wants him so obviously?)

- Art leaves the locker room without looking in the mirror.

[psychopomparia]

Imagining Sunday when he got his wings pierced:

CW: Mature, erogenous zone, NEEDLE, suggestive. I...had thoughts and I wanted to write them; no proof read btw; wrote this on a whim. I hope this is not too OOC, we only know so much on Sunday so...

What if Sunday's wings were sensitive? A light touch to them causes him to flinch; those calm eyes widen for a split second at the interaction. Yet, Sunday wears those studs on his wings. Two spiky studs to be exact. If a mere graze of a hand caused his shoulders to stiffen slightly, how did those piercings make him react?

The sight of Sunday going to Halovian piercing studio in his youthful days. As a member of the Family, he ought to look presentable. Perhaps, an added accessory to his wings would increase his aesthetics?

Yet, a Halovian's wings are a bit..sensitive to say the least. They are one's pride and joy, but also one's weak point if messed around. If anything, it might seem like a form of masochism for a Halovian to even get piercing on their wings. As the representative of the Family, he is willing to endure all types of pain - even for the sake of the Harmony.

So, there he was, in a private lounge with his hands folded on his lap. He reclines back on the leather chair, and the smell of rubbing alcohol lingers around him. His gloved thumb fiddles with the satin handkerchief to calm his nerves. The man tending to him reassured Sunday that he was a professional. Any unsightly behavior from the Halovian would remain in this room; no one would hear of what happens in this room. This is a private matter.

As soon as the man started cleaning his wing, Sunday's shoulders tensed up. Cold liquid pouring on his wing meant to disinfect it, but all it did was send shivers down his spine. He bit the inside of his cheek to remain composed and his eyes remained shut. While the piercer searched his drawer for the needle, Sunday squirmed around in in chair. One hand rests on the armrest while the other rests under his chin -the handkerchief grazing his lips.

He knew the next step. He's had his ears pierced before with his sister. That needle would mark him and stab into his flesh. But, that was their ear. It lasted a few minutes and only felt a dull, sharp pain. No, this time it's his wings. A more erogenous area for him.

The area for his piercing is marked. He asked for two piercings, so double the penetration. Double the consequences. The hairs on the back of Sunday's neck rose yet his outward appearance seemed placid. Despite the lingering cold sensation on his wings giving him goosebumps, that signature calm smile bore on his face.

Would it change once the needle went it?

Yes.

The needle's penetration into his wing causes the carefully crafted facade of Sunday to slip out. Now, his hand gripped forcefully on the armrest while the other clenches the handkerchief; the one he's currently biting into. It's difficult to suppress the whimpers, but muffling them is the least he can do. His eyes rolled back slightly while tears crept in. An overwhelming sensation of pain and arousal bubbled inside him. It hurt, but Aeons, it felt so good. The needle struck again for the second hole causing him to whine softly. His body squirms around like those origami birds stuck in cramped spaces.

"Too much," Sunday babbles to himself. It's too incoherent and soft for the piercer to notice. Dazed, Sunday didn't realize the piercer had already inserted the studs into the new holes. Soon, he began cleaning the area again. Sunday's jaw slacks as the liquid coats his wings for the second time. Any thoughts he had faded and only heat consumed him. Everything felt numb to him. He was unaware that the piercer completed his job and begun explaining the aftercare.

Sunday took the handkerchief loosely hanging from his mouth quickly and dabbed the corners of his mouth. He blinked quickly to regain his composure, even if his cheeks were flushed. The piercer jotted down a few remainders on a notepad to reinforce his explanation. He could sense Sunday's disoriented state. The man patted Sunday on his back and made his way to the exit. All Sunday could understand was that the man needed to attend to other clients, but he could feel free and calm himself down in the room. The room is a private longue after all. Equipped with soundproof padding and a lock. As soon as the man left, the words finally hit him.

His gaze peered at the hand mirror on the work table, and now he understood what the man meant by "calm himself down." Sunday looked absolutely debauched. His eyes were cloudy and watery from the impending tears. Mouth agape and lips glossy with saliva. His face was flushed, and small beads of sweat dripped past his cheek. He could clearly see and feel how horny he was. The blood flowing down south made itself present through twitching thighs. A gloved hand snakes down to palm his erection. A soft groan escapes him, and he closes his eyes to enjoy the sensation. A libidinous thought occurs to him. Perhaps, he could indulge in "calming methods."

After all, aftercare is essential in any piercing.

[kinnards]

a little tip for people who want to write a bit of spanish into their buddie fics:

querido = dear, not really common as a pet name nowadays unless you're like. a grandma

mi amor = my love, people also use just 'amor' and its probably the most common petname

other cute petnames in spanish include: mi cielo/cielito, mi vida, bebé, cariño (also used by older people), and others depending of the country, you can look that up.

boyfriend = novio, but there's a lot of different slang to mean that kind of relationship, look it up too.

do Not translate holy shit as 'santa mierda', that's not actually a thing! i've seen it too many times and. no. please.

fuck = joder, but it's more commonly used in spain than in latinoamerica. also since it's a verb it has conjugations and shit (ie. dont fuck with me = no me jodas, fucking sexy = jodidamente sexy). it can also be translated as 'maldito/a' depending on the context, like an insult (ie. fucking idiot = maldito idiota).

fuck as an exclamation of frustration can be translated to 'la concha de tu madre!' (your mother's cunt), conveys same feeling as screaming out 'fuck!' hkajsjsk used in various countries.

to fuck/have sex = coger, follar (also most common in spain but i've heard other latinos use it, not where i live though). there's a lot of slang in this too.

nieto = grandson yes, but abuelas dont really call you nieto all the time, they use petnames or nicknames(?) it's really common to have a special nickname only your family uses, like eddito in eddie's case. i would have her and pepa call him eddito instead of nieto or sobrino (nephew)

gringo = person from europe/usa. or just mostly white and/or blond people. can be used as a descriptor or as an insult, it really does depend on context and intention. my abuela calls my boyfriend gringo as a nickname, because he has light colored hair and eyes, but it's not mean-spirited, it's like, with love haha.

other phrases abuelas use: ay virgencita! (refering to the virgin mary, exclamation), señor dame paciencia/fuerza (lord give me patience/strenght, it's literally this 🙄 feeling for grandmas), ay dios mío señor (oh lord, oh my god).

on that note, it's more common to say 'dios mio' or 'ay dios' than just 'dios', when trying to translate 'god/oh god', as an exasperated exclamation or in smut.

that's all i can remember for now! pls latinx side of the 911 fandom add whatever you might find useful. i'm really tired of seeing people butchering the language because they only use GT and dont bother to check it it's right.

[miriatwstuff]

My friend just reminded me of the 2010s Disney era and so resurfaces my need for

VilYuu StarStruck-styled romcom

(It is objectively NOT a good movie but it really stuck in my impressionable preteen head back then)

Anyway! I was thinking it started somewhere in book 2, while Cater lead Riddle, Adeuce, Yuu and Grim to investigate the culprit behind the Magift/Spelldrive incidents and that's when they crossed path with Vil! (Actually they were out to see Rook but you know, the vice housewarden was always around his housewarden blah blah). Yuu might have been genuinely entranced by Vil's beauty (as they should) but that's the extent of their impression.

But unfortunately they may or may not have made a fool of themself in front of Vil (due to either Grim or Adeuce bumping into them, making them trip and fall face first in front of the Queen). So naturally, Vil assumed this little potato was yet another admirer, and while he was flattered, he was not at all amused with how they "bent over backwards" just to see him. Just try to approach him normally next time, and maybe he'd be inclined to help them fix their clothes!

We know he really meant well despite how strict he acted, but Yuu didn't. What a self-centered, condescending arse he was! Coupling with the embarrassing situation, Yuu vowed to never like Vil, like ever <3 Not even Cater-senpai's long list of Vil's achievement can change their little stubborn mind! Not like they'd ever willingly see his works, his films, his interviews, his modelling on their own accord!

Fortunately, they never crossed path again so neither paid any more mind to the other. Unfortunately (for Yuu), they gotta bit back their complaints when they was forced to welcome Vil and his NRC entourage into Ramshackle dorm in book 5. Ok they might have tried to play a nice host, but that's because of their friends and because they actually got manners, unlike some superstar! Unfortunately being a magicless half-student and all, they couldn't really voice their opinion, but seeing Epel's "pitiful" state they silently sided with the boy and felt some type of camaraderie with him. Vil, being emotionally dense as he was, didn't realize Yuu wasn't his biggest fan, he just assumed they were a little too starstruck and shy when facing their favorite star <3 (to his defense he was quite astute with malice, and Yuu's awkwardness around him does nothing to indicate that they didn't like him, they just seemed like some of his shy fans <3 which was adorable in a way)

Things started to change along with how the events unfolded, and Yuu started to see other sides of Vil and see through his tough facade and his smart mouth. And Vil... finally got to understand that Yuu neither was shy nor idolized him, they simply did not like him, and that was because of Vil Schoenheit the asshole upperclassman who "made fun" of them (sorry for pointing out the person who fell flat in front of his heels), who "forced their friends go through unimaginable horror" (it was just stretching exercises and a ban of unhealthy snacks), whose "attitude and approach suck harder than a prostitute with a dick" (he'd never heard such... vulgar and graphic comparison before, but that aside he had no justification). They hadn't even seen his work! They hadn't even seen his portrayal of evil villains and all, so their perception of him was just... refreshingly just another student in NRC, albeit a very mean one. Kinda like Epel in a way (though Epel's case was another can of worms... no preconceptions whatsoever except his ideals for manliness).

And throughout his breakdown and overblot, both Vil and Yuu gotta face the inner demons of Vil's, and Rook's encouragement for Vil's beauty as long as he himself believed in it, and the first years chimed in and said how awesome Vil was, and Yuu quietly admitted to misunderstanding him, and they were sorry for accusing him of being superficial despite they themself were superficial when it came to judging him.

And all of those words meant a lot and Vil put his all in his performance, with Yuu, more objectively this time, witnessing his highness' in all of his glory ✨️✨️✨️

Ignoring the chaos that ensued later with Neige and Rook's "betrayal" lol

[thevioletcaptain]

the ashes by imogenbynight

1.2k | mature | deancas

a 13.01 coda with dean scattering cas' ashes. technically this is canon compliant but i feel like i need to trigger warn for like… cannibalism? not really but. man. idk.

Dean sits with the ashes when they get back to the bunker. Sits with them and stares and goes a little insane with it, until he can’t stop imagining himself cracking open the lid and reaching his fingers inside.

Would Cas be soft? Chalky, velvety, like the white-charred remnants of driftwood after a bonfire? Would he be rough as his voice; as the sand his pyre had been built upon?

With a belly full of fire and whisky and desperate unease, he stares and stares as his thoughts spiral. As he thinks about pressing his damp index finger into the ash and raising it to his mouth. Swallowing it down and letting Cas become a part of him.

He could keep Cas forever that way; absorbed into his being.

Fuck, he can’t stop thinking about it.

Years ago, they worked a case where a young couple had been so frantic with love, intensified to the trillionth degree by the cruel touch of famine, that they'd eaten one another alive. Torn into each other's flesh with teeth as they clung together, ecstatic and bloody. Dean remembers feeling as confused as he was revolted by what had seemed to him a far-too-literal leap from desire to hunger.

Now, though, he kind of understands it.

Because it wasn't hunger, exactly, that lead to such a violent conclusion. It was need, followed through to its inevitable end. And he gets it now. Gets wanting to take the one you love into yourself and keep them there always. To hold them so wholly that they become a part of you, so you can never be parted again.

Of course, that's the thing that stops him, in the end. Not what should have stopped him--not the sick, visceral horror of what ultimately equates to eating his best friend's remains, no matter how he spins it--but the fact that tying Cas to himself in such an irreversible way feels like a betrayal. A punishment to Cas' spirit, however much of it still exists. He can't do that. Can't force whatever part of Cas' grace or soul might linger in the ash to endure however many years Dean has left as a part of him. Can't tether Cas so selfishly in death when Cas had never seemed to want to stay with him in life.

Cas might have been the love of Dean's miserable fucking life, but he's not under any illusions that the feeling ran both ways.

He learned early that it wasn't even possible--learned before he'd even fully slipped into loving Cas himself. Learned before he ever could have known how important it would be to him. Anna had told him, point blank, and he'd seen the difference in her. Human, feeling; angel, cold. And sure, Cas has come a long way -- had come along way by the end. He feels. Dean knows he feels, and feels for him, in particular. But his capacity for it is limited, and it's never been clearer than in his ability to leave Dean behind at a moment's notice. He's detached. Was detached.

So he can't force Cas to be a part of him. Would never forgive himself.

When he had eventually started falling, he'd hoped the knowledge that nothing could ever come of it would help keep him from toppling headfirst into something deeper than a fleeting infatuation. He hadn't been so lucky.

And now here he is, staring down a can labeled Cafe Bustelo Medium Roast and thinking the kind of thoughts that make his stomach turn in endlessly cycling fits of longing and revulsion, all because he fell in love.

It's half past five in the morning when he decides he can't keep the ashes in the bunker. Can't have the sick temptation. Less because he thinks he's actually going to do it, and more because he knows he won't be able to stop thinking about it whenever he sees the tin. So he scoops up the tin, and creeps down to the garage to the Impala, and drives west on US-36. 

Keeps driving until the rising sun starts turning the sky in his rearview a pale shade of pink, and he sees a few lonely lightning bugs blinking in and out of view on an quiet roadside near Phillipsburg.

He's pulled over before he's consciously decided to do so.

It's a pretty spot, is his first thought. Tall grass and scattered wildflowers spanning the open meadow which slopes down to a stream. A rusted old windmill stands vigil over the scene, slowly spinning in the gentle breeze.

Cas would like it here, is his second thought. Would gaze up at the windmill and make some observation about the ingenuity of human invention, and crouch down to watch the fireflies as they gently sink back into the grass at the arrival of the sun. 

The image is so clear in Dean's mind that he forgets, just for a second, that Cas is gone. Or-- he doesn't forget, exactly. He just isn't thinking about it so directly. Is so focused on the visual of Cas in the tall grass beside him, on the memory of his voice and the way his long fingers would look dipping between blade of grass that when he looks back down at his hands, at the coffee can he's holding with white-knuckled grip, the reminder of why he's here is harsh enough to leave him winded.

"I woulda brought you here," he says once he's caught his breath, like Cas can hear him, but it's a lie. They rarely had downtime, and whenever they did Cas almost always took off. Dean was lucky to get him to stick around long enough to watch a movie, most of the time. But he'd have wanted to bring him here. That much is true. He would have wanted to.

"I hope--" he starts, then stops, drawing his lip between his teeth and looking first to the sky, then to the ground, then just closing his eyes. Taking several deep breaths. "Man... Cas. Cas, I hope you're--"

Okay. Safe. Alright. Fuck, but all the words he has equate to alive, and with me, and whole, and underneath them all an unwavering current of coming home soon. Anything else feels like another lie. His throat clicks on a swallow.

"I hope you're happy," he says finally, and pries the can open. Stares down at the small cloud of ash that rises with it. "I'm gonna miss you for fucking ever, but wherever you are... I really hope you're happy."

With the windmill at his back, and the field of flowers spread out before him, he lets Cas' ashes run through his fingers as he gives him over to the earth, and he doesn't notice the texture at all. He's too busy thinking about how Cas' hand felt in his the last time he'd helped him to stand. How heavy he'd been, then. How light he is now.

It's not until he's preparing to return to his car, wrung out and cracked open and raw as an exposed nerve, that he notices the thin cut on his ring finger. He must have nicked it on the coffee can, or the fence, or the dry grass, and it doesn't hurt, but-- his blood is swelling from it in a bright red drop, and his hands are dusty with ash. His heart lurches at the sight of Cas' ash and his own blood mingling.

He raises his finger to his mouth.

Cas is holy on his tongue.

[also on ao3]

[omegapheromone]

Ok so, between the recent psa about miscecanis scent and reblog of the incels of omegaverse, I can’t stop thinking about how the two would correlate in a verse.

Like, “Chad alphas” could say you need to go buck wild on the Axe so other alphas know what’s “your property” (which becomes yet another omega-repellent because of scent sensitivity). Or even the opposite, where they don’t use anything, like no hygiene At All, because “omegas like the musk” but they just??? Smell like BO?????

But that’s not to say omegas/betas are exempt from this!!!!!! You’re telling me you don’t think some omega incels wouldn’t over-scent all of their bags and shit to like, “allure people in the halls”, but it’s just a Lot and it’s Everywhere. Or even an insecure beta who’s like “can anyone even smell me?????” And it’s like, Yes Buddy, I Promise You We Did Before And Can’t Stop Now

Also just????? The role of actual perfumes in omegaverse. I’m sure they’d exist for so many reasons, but I just wonder like, how they’d be marketed or even placed. Because you’re supposed to place perfume right where scent glands would be normally so I feel like people have a Problem with that while for others that’s The Point, you know?

Idk this just became a ramble. Any thoughts/insights are appreciated :’D

Chai your mind...... this is so good

Niceguy McFedora-type alpha that showers once a month because they think it's unnecessary because your "natural scent" is supposed to be strong to show the "weak and fragile omegas" what a strong and ~healthy~ alpha that will Definitely Treat Them Well you are. (He always has a personal space radius of at least 5 meters or more and doesn't connect the dots)

Or the *ndrewwww t*te type alphas making a point to go to the gym and Not Shower every time they go anywhere in public as some sort of a ridiculous show of dominance and thinking the nasty looks they get from people is because other alphas are feeling insecure and Betas are envious, obviously the Omegas are just pretending to hate it but actually they're all going into heat right now all because of his ~mUsKy AlPhA sCeNt~ (no sir, I know you live in delusion about owning a porsche but this is public transit and your stink is making everyone gag in disgust)

The desperate yet insecure folk of any gender and dynamic buying ridiculously expensive perfumes modelled after celebrities' natural scents (like that one headcanon post) because they think the scent is what made the celebrity famous/desirable/attractive and so if they smell like them then maybe they will also get courted...

And man I'd feel a little bad for the betas thinking they have no desirable scent and trying to "make up for it" because of how much importance society places on alpha&omega scents (that tend to be slightly stronger, sure, but It's not like betas don't have scents!!) And how little betas are talked about in the context of pheromones/scent

Also YEAH on the perfume thing!!!

My own headcanon sort of separates scents into their own cathegories of like, there's the natural scent that's associated with pheromones, it's not the same as body odour from sweat, but also the pheromones are slightly different/separate in that pheromones can affect the qualities of the scent but not the actual scent itself? And then there's obviously body odour, and then on top of that, I think perfumes are often used to either mask or even enchance one's own scent. They'd probably be especially affirming for any transdynamic folks! But also I can imagine some people feeling like their natural scent should be sort of "private" or they just don't want people to pay attention to it, esp if it's very unique? so they'll use fragrances to change it somewhat. Also for people with weaker scents, it could be an insecurity so they'll use perfume to feel more confident?

Oh and I wanna talk more about my headcanon about the pheromone-natural scent relationship! I think pheromones are what cause and are affected by emotional responses, almost like having a sort of... "aura" or "energy" people can read? But pheromones so it's an actual thing. but I also imagine it could affect the actual scent a lot too! I'll use my own peony+peach combo to explain since I know it best, but for example, if I was angry or annoyed, the pheromones would probably make the scent appear slightly "sour", like a sour candy or a flower that's slightly past its best bloom but still emits a really strong scent that starts to smell almost a little "stinging"? Or if I was really content and happy, it'd be like freshly-bloomed peopny blossoms and sweet, perfectly ripe peaches.

Probably in heat the scent would turn more "warm" and "heated" as well as stronger, too, like sitting in a garden of peonies eating a peach dessert during a heatwave in the summer? (Also I just like using that analogy for my own scent a lot. Sitting in a Peony garden and eating peaches. Except in heat it'd be more like a heatwave and much stronger/warmer) Like almost a little overwhelming, but not necessarily in the same way that overusing axe body spray is overwhelming, more like... a heat-scent becomes sort of really thick and warm? And that's why it's so noticeable? Like so ripe it would be "tempting" or something, idk.

For example if someone's scent was "pine forest", and they went into rut, I imagine it'd also increase in intensity a lot. Like... maybe the scent of pine sap really intensifies and gets really "thick"? Or maybe it'd be like... if it rains during a heatwave so the smell is extra strong but also really warm. And maybe someone with a scent like that would smell more like a cold winter forest when they're irritated (which would also be a wonderful way to describe personality through scent- people whose scents turn "cold" and "wintery" being more likely to have that sort of stoic, cold anger than the more explosive hot-headed type bursts of anger...) and when they're content, it'd be like a camping trip in good weather somewhere deep in the woods where you feel safe and relaxed in nature?

Idk man I just like thinking about scents and how scents change based on pheromones & emotions........

I also think perfume could be used to permanently amplify some aspects of specific emotional states in scent. I imagine customer service workers or salespeople using a perfume that maybe doesn't change their scent, but makes them always smell really happy, inviting and nice for better sales results and a better customer experience (especially since I imagine customer service is probably still absolute hell, even in omegaverse... not like they'd actually be feeling very happy to deal with some Karens all day)

Or for people who want others to stay out of their way (bouncers, gangsters, idfk depends on the canon I imagine), they'd maybe use a perfume that makes their own scent always appear a little aggressive/stern, not in the challenging kind of way, but just so people get the idea that it's probably better not to mess with them

But also certain professions having bans on those kinds of things, or even requiring full on scent blockers to be used (especially prevalent in the medical field I imagine)... just. Yeah lots of thoughts on this!