#practicing with colors and save functions

[mypaperkingdom]

[uraveragelonelysapphic]

Gentle Love

Pairing: Rio Vidal x Fem!Reader

Summary: She may be Lady Death, but to you, she is your sweet love.

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: mentions of depression, panic attacks, just a lot of hurt/comfort

a/n: surprise! another fic! i know a lot of people have been wanting just rio fics, so here you go! a little hurt/comfort! the goal was to make a mental health fic where it isn't romanticized, so here's hoping i did that! enjoy!!!

Your relationship with Lady Death wasn’t one that had a spontaneous start. She didn’t save you from a painful demise, or help you realize life was worth living.

She had met you on her day off. (Yes, Lady Death gets days off. She’s not the only one working the underworld, you know.) She was wandering through a wooded area when she came across you. You were sitting under a willow tree, humming to yourself as you wove a crown of daisies.

Her heart had practically melted at the sight of you, and she found herself gravitating towards you. Before she knew it, she was introducing herself to you and you were inviting her to join you beneath the willow.

The two of you were pretty much inseparable after that. You spent countless days getting to know every part of each other; mind, body, and soul. Soon enough, you were deeply in love with Rio Vidal: Lady Death. And she could say the same about you.

You both had grown exponentially by being in each other’s presence. But a romantic relationship doesn’t mean the absence of all problems.

Rio struggled deeply with guilt. She hated that she had been bound to this calling, that she had been chosen to wear a face she found hideous and escort living creatures to a world beyond life. It pained her to take children from their mothers, sisters from their brothers, soulmates from their lovers. 

But you were so soft with her. Soft as you kissed her in her Death form, soft as you held her while she shook with guilt and self-hatred, soft as you assured her that she was doing the right thing. That you loved her always.

As for you, mental illness was something you had dealt with from a young age. After all, being a witch who was chased from countless villages and hunted endlessly, all for possessing a magical ability she never asked for…well, it tends to have some lasting negative effects on one’s mental well being.

You were proud to say you knew how to handle it, but you had your weak moments. Moments like now. And you hated them.

As you woke up, you felt a familiar heaviness in your bones. Your heart felt heavy but was racing all the same, your head ached, and your stomach churned with dread and anxiety.

You turned to the other side of the bed, reaching for your comfort, your person, only to find it empty. Your eyes filled with tears as you took a deep breath. 

You wondered if you should call her. You hated that the thought even crossed your mind. You could handle this alone.

“But you don’t have to,” your lover’s words echoed through your mind as you pondered what to do.

You and Rio had created a system for times like this. If ever you were feeling like the walls were closing in, like you couldn’t breathe, like you could barely function. All you had to do was think of a color and a name. Her name.

Yellow meant you were struggling, but could handle it alone if need be. Red meant you needed her.

You rarely tended to use red. You loved Rio, and you knew full well that her presence helped to calm you in times of discomfort and anxiety, but you couldn’t pull yourself out of your need to be independent and not rely on anyone for help. You hated admitting the need for help.

Even now, as you laid in bed, tears streaming down your face as you struggled to breathe, you refused to admit defeat. But you knew you owed it to both her and yourself to say something.

Yellow. Rio. Yellow, you thought as you brought your hands to your face, willing your breathing to calm down.

It was no use. All you could think of was how useless you were, how helpless, worthless, weak.

You choked out a sob as the room seemed to get smaller and smaller.

Until you felt gentle hands on your wrists, tenderly pulling them from your face.

“Hey there, sweet girl. Let’s sit you up, yeah?” Rio said softly.

You followed her instructions, allowing the witch to help you to a sitting position.

You met her eyes, expecting to see disappointment and disgust, but instead being met with nothing but love pooling in her brown eyes. 

Her hands moved from your wrists, gently intertwining her hands with yours. 

“There’s my girl. Let’s try and get that breathing to slow down. Wanna get some more air in those beautiful lungs of yours, yeah?” She cooed, her eyes encouraging.

You nodded, and she took one of your hands, placing it on her stomach as she took exaggerated breaths as an example.

You began to copy her, your eyes not leaving hers, feeling safe as you lost yourself in her.

She squeezed your hands softly. “Look at you go. Breathing all by yourself. I’m so proud of you, mi vida,” she whispered as you found yourself finally able to breathe steadily.

You both sat there for a few more minutes, her allowing you the space to feel whatever you may be feeling as you came back to your senses.

You opened your mouth to speak, struggling to find words to express your needs. As if she had read your mind, Rio let go of your hands to reposition herself against the headboard of the bed and opened her arms to you.

You smiled at her in gratitude, moving to sit in between her legs, laying your back against her front as she held you.

You both sat in silence for a few moments, just soaking in each other’s presence; Rio running her fingers through your hair with one hand and softly caressing your leg with the other.

Eventually, she spoke.

“I’m so proud of you.”

You shrugged against her and she shook her head.

“I’m serious, my love. I’m proud of you for calling for me.”

“Feel weak,” you mumbled as you hung your head.

Rio furrowed her brows, turning you to face her. “Quite the contrary, love. You are the bravest person I know. You can handle these things on your own. I know you can. But you knew it wasn’t what was best for you, so you called for me. And I’m so grateful to be in love with such a strong, beautiful girl who knows how to help herself,” she said, her voice full of adoration that brought tears to your eyes.

“I love you, Rio,” you choked out, your hands finding her cheeks, thumbs brushing against the skin softly.

She placed her hands on your waist, allowing you to initiate the kiss.

You brought her face to yours, kissing her with all the love you had. She kissed you back, softly, always softly, pecking your lips softly as you pulled away.

“I love you most, my precious girl,” she said, laughing as you rolled your eyes at her need to turn everything into a competition.

She kissed the tip of your nose, relishing in the way you wrinkled it at the sensation.

“Alright, I prescribe you a glass of water, some chocolate chip pancakes, and cuddles with your hot girlfriend,” she said as she got up, smirking at you.

She beamed in triumph as you giggled. “Well if that’s what the doctor herself ordered, who am I to disagree?” you teased.

“My thoughts exactly. I’ll be right back, my brave girl. I love you,” she said, her eyes softening again.

“I love you, Rio Vidal,” you said with a smile, and she blew you a kiss before exiting your bedroom.

Yes, she was Lady Death, but to you, Rio Vidal would always be your gentle love.

[cologona]

The fact that Jason’s wearing his murderer’s old title is a fun detail for angst but good god, “taking ownership of his trauma” is not his primary reason, or even secondary reason for doing so.

Practicality is core to Jason’s character. He did not learn to use bombs because he died from an explosion, he used them because they’re destructive and remote controlled and that’s useful for his goals. Even his theatrics are for a purpose of communication. Remember that he spent all of Lost Days in the same ratty track suit, and never took credit for anyone he killed or anybody he saved. If he isn’t saying something to someone he doesn’t bother.

So what is the practical utility of taking on the Red Hood persona?

It’s crap as a symbol of fear. Unlike the silhouette of giant bat, which stokes the imagination, the sight of some guy in a helmet hardly inspires anything more than perhaps thoughts of motorcycles. The name itself is merely a reference to the costume and the costume is just a thing to hide your face. It’s the most spartan, pared down persona one could have. That it used to be Joker’s hardly helps because it was only his back when Joker was just an ordinary man— and a rather pathetic no-name fall guy at that. Anyone clued in enough to know about it is more liable to think of Jason as another nutjob than to be intimidated.

But that’s the point. Jason doesn’t need a symbol of fear because he gives people perfectly tangible reasons to fear him. The Red Hood persona is nearly devoid of expression, but because of that it’s very effective at the one thing it does express- “I am a criminal. Refer to me by color because there is nothing more to know.” Its association with Joker taints anyone else who uses it with the implication of insanity, but insanity is useful when any crook or businessman worth his salt in Gotham knows not to bother questioning the non-negotiables of its local lunatics.

Jason is an especially acrobatic single-operator pushing a seemingly altruistic agenda. It would’ve been very easy for him to get labeled as another vigilante. One that is more comfortable getting blood on his hands maybe, but a vigilante nonetheless. That he’s able to function the way he does, while still being taken seriously a rogue and crime lord is due in large part to his very deliberate presentation.

Why, if Jason thinks what he does is good and necessary, does he present himself this way? Maybe because from the start, his beliefs were more nuanced than one would be lead to believe. That Jason thinks his actions are necessary does not mean he must also think they should be attributed to righteousness or justice. He explains in Outsiders: PAYG— what it means for a ‘bad guy’ to do something is different from if a ‘good guy’ does the same thing. Jason essentially makes the same point Tim once made to Huntress about public trust in heroes but from the opposite angle.

The assertions modern comics make about why Jason has the Red Hood mantle (and why he uses a crowbar) ring very hollow to me. It feels like an almost deliberate push to erase the complexity he had as a villain in favor of a squeaky clean redemption arc. The way I see it though, so long as Jason remains Red Hood any sort of “redemption” he has is a false one. He’s still holding onto the symbol of his convictions, just because he’s willing to betray himself and others for love doesn’t mean that he’s changed his mind about how it all works.

[psychemochanight]

I don't know how to put this, but-

Have you ever thought that while Dick is there for all his siblings, for all the young heroes in and out of his family, Dick had to be alone?

Like, I know the comment about the eldest daughter syndrome gets made, but have you really thought about that?

Dick was there for every batkid, even though the fandom has this idea that he hated Jason, no, it never happened; Dick never hated anyone, he accepted it, he just had to be there, be the mature one in the situation, let it go and move on.

But Dick had to be alone, with a Bruce who, although he tried, was barely a person outside his life as a vigilante, and an Alfred who "did not enjoy the company of children".

Dick had to be the first to help Bruce and Alfred feel something else, he practically had to teach them how to raise a child in an emotionally healthy way (as it was possible) being the child himself.

Alfred himself admits this, and it is referenced several times that it was Dick who saved Bruce (it's reciprocal tho, but the fandom only talks about how Bruce saved Dick, not the other way around), Dick was the one who helped make them "functional people" beyond their role to cover Bruce's identity as Batman.

I know, I know, it depends a lot on which version you're reading, in many versions Bruce was actually a good father... But there's a reason why there's so much talk about his complicated relationship with Dick, because not everything was pink colored.

I just think it's sad, seeing how Dick is there for every Batkid is beautiful, wholesome, but then you go back to reading the comics where it was just Dick... And it's just so sad. He was a kid.

I'm not saying he didn't have people who loved him, I would NEVER say that... But who understood him to the level that Dick understands his younger siblings? There's no one.

The eldest daughter syndrome for real.

[serpentface]

Here's what typical vestment for The Odomache looks like.

The pelt of the lion that was originally sacrificed and worn raw for her incarnation is retained throughout the years of service, preserved and fashioned into a headdress and cape (obscuring a helmet). This can get dreadfully hot in the summer but no one ever said that being a hollowed out pathway for God's spirit was easy.

The body is always obscured near completely, barring the hands, feet, and parts of the face (philosophically, these are the body's least vulnerable parts as its modes of Action, though this is in large part a practicality). This is partially a matter of psychological enforcement that this person is not Just a human, and partly a matter of protecting the part of God's living spirit that's in a wholly human body. Conceptually, the Odomache Enables tremendous power rather than being intrinsically powerful in of herself, so all manners of protecting the metaphysically vulnerable human body are of tantamount importance in her case.

The complete obscuring of any identifiable feminine form is also notably important to the underlying philosophies and biases involved. It is necessary that she is female, a condition ascribed a unique malleability to change and transformation (for good or harm), but the act of female/non-male sex and gender assignment also serves to uphold an underclass in a patriarchy that she By Necessity must be distanced from. This extends beyond the masculinized social and dress performance of Odonii to a masculinized social performance with dress that utterly obscures any part of the body that could be gendered, and dress that is not gendered in of itself (women do wear less revealing clothing than men and skirts of similar length, but the act of Fully covering the body in this form exists outside of the bounds of gendered dress).

[[It should be noted that on a historical level, this role is largely a descendant of a variety of 'celibate and/or masculinized female religious authority' figures in pre/proto-Wardi societies stretching back centuries, rather than an emergent property of contemporary religion and philosophy. This is an adaptation of older roles and worldviews to securely fit the contemporary zeitgeist, and that's part of why many aspects of this role Superficially clashes with said zeitgeist.]]

The relatively undecorated white cloak and robes in comparison to culturally favored displays of color and opulence further emphasizes a sense of the Odomache's separation from humanity. The Wardi image of God is not a human lord, but rather the world itself and the functions of the world distilled into the forms of animals. Human hierarchies exist Within God rather than God having a place within human hierarchies, so in this philosophy it's natural for this particular person of high authority to not closely resemble a Human Authority.

This is still ultimately a human body existing at the top end of a human hierarchy (and in the dimension of religious thought, it a human body holding aspects of God most specifically concerned with maintaining concepts of 'right' civilization and hierarchy), so public-facing garb like this will still include a few mundane trappings of lordship such as this fancy gold khattanocuy displaying an image of an enemy being trampled by the Face Odomache as the guardian lion. Purely ceremonial garb for the Odomache hides the body in its entirety beneath the white cloak and forgoes all decoration save for the obligatory weaponry.

A sword and dagger is worn at all times as a matter of being the ultimate physical bastion of her society's military might, and she is always accompanied by a retinue of 'lieutenants' (Extremely elite servants/squires) who carry whatever other elements of her perpetual armament are not currently in use. These weapons are Completely ceremonial in nature (to the point that they're made or plated with gold rather than anything like, durable) and there is absolutely zero expectation that the Odomache will ever directly engage in combat (the times this has happened historically have been when things have gone horribly wrong).

Her face is usually masked in public, though this is not a strict necessity of the role and is forgone for some ceremonial purposes. On these occasion, it's standard to paint the face red to still partly obscure human features in the same fashion of battlefield Odonii. As the color of blood, it positively evokes bodily vitality and strength, the living spirit of the world itself and the mode of connection to God (and will also be reminiscent of the rite of incarnation during which she is Actually covered in blood)

[ducksido]

You said we could spam. This is one of four requests I've been saving. Expect more. Later though. Could you please do a Male!Reader x Housewardens? Reader got a new skirt and shows it off to his partner. (I got a new skirt myself recently and I actually feel very comfortable in it. No yucky dysphoria :D)

-🥀🪻

(I'm really glad you're feeling good in it and that it’s bringing you gender euphoria, not dysphoria. That’s a huge win. You deserve to feel great in your clothes. You're very pretty)

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle’s eyes widened the moment you walked in, lifting your skirt ever so slightly with a proud grin.

“You look…” he pauses, ears pink. “Lovely. It suits you.”

He clears his throat, trying not to stare too obviously, but his gaze keeps drifting down. “The color compliments your eyes. And the way it moves when you walk—very graceful.”

Then he adds, more softly, “I hope it makes you feel as good as it makes me feel seeing you so happy in it.”

Leona Kingscholar

Leona’s lounging on your bed, one eye half-lidded when you strut in and spin once.

He raises an eyebrow. “Huh. That’s new.”

You pause. “Good new?”

He smirks. “Better-than-good. You’ve got legs, herbivore. Show ‘em off.”

You laugh, and he pats his lap lazily. “C’mere. If you’re gonna tease me in that thing, I better get a front-row seat.”

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul freezes mid-paperwork when you twirl in front of him. For a second, he doesn't say anything.

“…You look stunning,” he eventually breathes.

His voice has that rare, quiet sincerity—no sales pitch, no flattery-for-profit. Just Azul.

“I-I mean, not that you need a skirt to look stunning! But it’s a wonderful choice. You look… radiant. Happy.”

He fiddles with his pen, avoiding your eyes. “May I… take you out tonight? I want everyone to see how beautiful you are.”

Kalim Al-Asim

“Oh WOW!!” Kalim practically launches himself at you in excitement. “Is that new?! It’s SO COOL!”

He circles you like a hyper puppy, tugging at the hem (gently) and asking where you got it, if he can get one too, what colors it comes in…

“You look amazing! Like a prince in a fairy tale!”

You don’t even have to say much—your joy feeds his. He grabs your hands and says with a beaming grin, “You have to wear that at the next party! Everyone needs to see how awesome you look!”

Vil Schoenheit

Vil slowly looks you over, his sharp gaze assessing—then softening.

“I was going to suggest you try skirts, actually. You beat me to it.”

He steps closer and adjusts the waist ever so slightly. “Impeccable fit. The silhouette is flawless.”

Then, he cups your cheek and smiles. “But the confidence—that’s what makes it truly beautiful. I’m proud of you. You wear it like it was made for you.”

Idia Shroud

You step into Idia’s room and twirl in front of his gaming chair. He glances up, jaw dropping.

“O-oh. Oh no. You’re hot. You’re, like, final boss-level hot.”

He sinks deeper into his hoodie. “Bro, you just hit me with a status debuff. Stunned. Can’t function. Need a revive—wait, no, don’t actually revive me if I die from how good you look.”

He’s red from ear to ear, and when you laugh and thank him, he mutters, “You look comfy, too. That’s… that’s really cool. I’m glad.”

Malleus Draconia

You walk through the Diasomnia gates and call Malleus’s name. When he sees you, the moonlight catches on your skirt, and he pauses mid-step.

“…It suits you perfectly,” he murmurs.

There’s no teasing, no hesitation. Just reverence.

“You seem to shine even brighter when you feel like yourself. I am honored to witness this side of you.”

He offers you his arm. “May we walk together beneath the stars? I wish to see how the wind plays with your skirt.”

[seresinhangmanjake]

The One I Want: Part 16

Jake Seresin x plus size!reader

Summary: You're new in town and some guy named Jake is about to be your roommate. Being skeptical of new people keeps you lonely and uninterested in any entanglements, but Jake is desperate to change that.

Warnings: a little smut

Words: 1500

The One I Want Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag List

“I can’t tell you much,” Jake had told you, but you knew that. “We’re not a hundred percent in the clear, but it’s looking like four weeks, maybe five.”

“Beats fifteen,” you’d said, hearing a rewarding chuckle in return. 

You were thankful no one could witness the mess you were at that moment, your face-splitting grin heavily contrasting the puffiness of your eyes from tears. But that was just the beginning of weeks of inner turmoil. 

For forty-eight days, your stomach has swirled a storm that’s consistently had you on the edge of nausea, whether from anxiety regarding his safety or butterflies at the thought of Jake returning. You miss him, more than you thought yourself willing to, and regardless of what he told you, nothing guarantees he will walk through the door of your apartment. And if he doesn’t, you know exactly what will happen to you. You’ll crumble into unsalvageable pieces, and no one—not Millie, not Rooster, not anyone who has been kind to you over the last months—will be able to put you back together. 

And then what? Your only choice will be to leave. Start anew. Twelfth new place. Except this time, you’ll be more numb, less human, less operable on a daily basis. It’ll be like waking from a dream to a gray environment. You fear nature will lose its color, and you will lose your light once again.

—

It’s another week before your phone rings with a name other than Millie’s plastered across the screen. Unknown Number, but the first three digits are recognizable, matching those of the number Jake has been using to call you with. What you hear on the other end of the line, however, is not Jake, but instead, a gruff voice asking you to confirm your identity. 

“Yes,” you answer. “That’s me.”

The man clears his throat. “You are the emergency contact for Lieutenant Jake Seresin. We’d like you to come down to our medical facility as soon as possible,” he says before providing you directions.

You drop your phone, and then you’re running. Running to his truck, running from his truck to base, running through halls until you find someone willing to lead you to him. You’re so terrified, your arms jittery, legs barely functioning from the panic of Jake’s pending fate, so overwhelmed by nerves that when you finally do see him, it pisses you off. 

That man with the voice that imbued you with dread is on your shit list for life. Maybe next time, he could lead an emergency contact call with He’s fine or Don’t worry, because his implication was severe enough that you feared lost limbs or damaged brain functioning. But there Jake is, not in a coma or with some life-threatening injury, but sitting on the edge of a bed in a room with his back to you as a nurse seals a strip of medical tape across a small patch of shaved hair on the side of his head.  

When she’s done with her work, she smiles at Jake and nods at something he says before walking out of the room. She jumps at the unexpected figure lingering just outside the door, and then realization dawns. 

“Oh, you must be the girlfriend,” she says. “You’re welcome to go on in.”

So you do, cautiously easing into the room, hoping that when he turns, his face won’t be covered in slashes and bruises—a sight you’re not sure you can handle with strength and maturity. You’d love him all the same, but to see him in such pain would take you to your knees. But again, he’s fine. Beautiful as ever. Not a mark on him that you can see save for the one on the mend. 

Jake’s face brightens at the sight of you; he practically glows, and you’re shocked to discover yourself not running into his arms. You’re frozen for a moment as you take him in. It’s a quick moment—a brief second to recover—but then you’re stepping to him, your eyes watering, your bottom lip quivering, your fingers reaching up to brush over the stark white tape. You’re careful with your feathery touch, relieved to see that his injury is not so sensitive as to make him wince.

Jake’s arms wrap around your waist. His eyes do not break from your face. He’s patient as you scan him once more for visible injuries, verifying for your own sake.

“It’s just the one,” he tells you, his voice soft and only a few notes above a whisper. Your eyes snap to his. He lifts his hand to cup your cheek, thumb stroking your cheekbone. “Come here, beautiful.”

You melt when his lips gently touch yours, but the kiss doesn’t last long as innocent. There’s bites and sucking and giving and taking, and it’s perfect in its semi-sloppy neediness. Voices passing by the door is what breaks the two of you apart. Jake lightly groans before he chuckles and rests his forehead against yours. 

“I missed you,” he says. He places another quick peck on your lips. “I want to take you home.”

“Then take me home.”

—

“J-Jake!”

You feel his mouth curve against your core before he licks another stripe right through you, tongue like a heated blade slicing you in two halves, spreading you open and baring you inside and out. You’re completely gone—lost in the sole way you’re willing to be lost—as Jake tethers you to this earth. He’s the only one you trust to ground you while simultaneously letting your head float amongst the clouds. 

His arms curl around the thickness of your thighs, locking onto you and keeping your hips steady atop the mattress as he devours and tastes and sucks and licks some more.  

“Come on, beautiful,” he mumbles into your folds, just loud enough for you to hear through the rush of blood in your ears. “Let me have it.”

As if you could hold it back. 

Your whole body jerks and writhes as you sink into pleasure, back arching, head digging into the pillow. Jake reaches a hand up to intertwine your fingers and you squeeze them tightly while he continues to kiss folds and brush his nose against the overstimulated bud.

“There we go,” he coos until your body calms.

Jake crawls onto the bed, lips and tongue traveling up the soft flesh of your stomach, between the valley of your breasts, into the dip in your throat before he kisses you, demanding you taste everything you just gave him. 

Jake introduced you to your taste during those weeks before his deployment. His head lived between your legs. He showed you how to perch perfectly on his face, encouraging you through your concerns of suffocating him. He begged you to relax when he backed you up against the wall, slipped your pants off, knelt, and tossed your leg over his shoulder as he dove in. And after each success of making you crumble to pieces, he sealed his lips to yours and pushed his tongue into your mouth. 

You know your taste as well as you know his, and on the occasions he spills down your throat before he returns the favor, you get the satisfaction of the combination on your tongue—a mixture more intoxicating than an alcoholic binge. 

“I’m never going to want anything like I want you,” he says after he slips inside of you, the intensity of the love in his eyes penetrating your soul.

“Then it's good that I’m yours,” you whisper back.

Thrusts that were paced and steady and gentle falter. With your words comes a sharp rut of his hips—unexpected to you both—that hits hard, deep. Jake chokes on the air in his lungs, his eyes snapping shut as you cry out. 

“Fuck” hisses through the grit of his teeth. Then he finds his pace again. 

His head falls to your neck. Nibbles make you gasp, and the image of examining claiming bruises in the mirror first thing come morning causes your walls to clench around the veiny column moving in and out of you. Your fingers fist into his hair. Nails dig into the toned muscle of his ass. 

“I do love you, Jake,” you say. 

He stops completely, but you don’t question it. The fingers in his hair loosen and you lightly scrape your nails along his scalp, down to the base of his neck, then back up into blond locks. Turning your head, you stamp a tender kiss onto his temple. 

Jake doesn’t say a thing. He doesn’t look at you. His thick breaths burn the delicate skin just under your ear. When he begins to move, he’s slow, taking his time before he picks up, working to nudge that special spot inside of you that tightens a white-hot coil in your belly. 

“I love you so much, beautiful,” he whispers.

[sonjalikestodraw]

*wrestler announcer voice* Everybody! Give it up for Slay the Princess' TRUE tumblr sexyman:

the VOICE OF THE PARANOOOIIID!

Design notes:

Based on a canary; "the canary in the coalmine"

As a part of Slayer's psyche, represents Paranoia (and the autonomous nerve system)

Uses both she/her and he/him. I really love Paranoid as trans feminine/genderfluid for the Weird Girl Energy.

The wizard of the group, with his trusty show-stealing mantra as a spell!

Programmer socks because: she "programs" our body + matchy-matchy with her counterpart Cold + compression lowers stress + thick thighs save lives!

Dark and bloody color scheme with tatters to match Nightmare's vibe and make the clothes be as ragged as he feels.

Crimson Blood palette is default, and Silver Tears is for special occasions.

Pointy long peasant hood inspired by several other interpretations of Paranoid, among them @toon-topaz. It fits his jumpy self to have a hood and cloak to hide in when things get too overwhelming.

Again to ironically match Nightmare, Paranoid's hood is an eldritch part of her body. The hood has eyes and is constantly moving with his emotions, looking for danger.

Fluffy hair is cut short for practicality, but unkempt.

Always sleep-deprived with tired eyes.

The necklace with its gems represent our organs, and fills the same function as a magic wand. It's only revealed under the cloak as Paranoid finds her courage and gets to work.

[evilminji]

You know what? HAVE we tried Yoda's "younglings fix everything" tactic on Skywalker?

New SI-OC Time!

Smol, adorable, has a bug out bag and enough credits stashed for their life on the run! Already learned how to tie the hover prams together in like .001 seconds flat and (SUPER gently) toss the babies into um. Knows where the baby food is. Conveniently, has helped ORGANIZE said baby food. (Some of which was "organized" straight into bug out bags)

The whole works.

But like.....?

Better part of a cure? Is prevention you know? And the Tragedy Of Anikin Skywalker? Is that he WAS a GOOD MAN.

And she's standing there, with her Fully Grown ADULT SOUL, looking at this KID who thinks he's a man... this TEENAGER who's been GROOMED by a Sith Lord, a fully grown adult he TRUSTED in a position of power and authority over him, the FORMER SLAVE, and she just...?

How can she look upon his soul? So brightly burning with light and emotion and a sense of JUSTICE? A young man who CARES so much he can barely function some days. Who's heart's ambition is to Free The Slaves so NO ONE will ever again suffer as he and his mother did? Who looks at his partner like she's the most wonderful person to ever draw breathe?

So bright. So GOOD. Struggling and trying and fighting a battle he doesn't even know he's IN, against a Sith Lord he thinks is his FRIEND?

How can she look upon that young man... and just? Abandon him. Decide he's too much effort to save. To even TRY. That his fate is a forgone conclusion and he is destined to Fall. Such things are a CHOICE. And Anikin Skywalker? Has had precious few of those in his life. Between Duty and his youth, lives on the line and Master's that owned.

This is HIS Soul. HIS future. And Palpatine is trying to chip away at his ability to think clearly. Trying to pressure and rush rush RUSH! So he chooses in fear and desperation, like the bad sell it is. Knowing he'll feel he's "too far gone" to back out. Letting him spiral. Ever tightening that noose.

But? Like... the man DOES want to be a dad. Have a family. The thought HAS to be there.

"I should practice taking care of Force Sensitive younglings..."

You know... in case he in Padme... I mean, he's not SUGGESTING anything! But, I mean? If she WANTED too? And he knows they're young and all... and it would complicate everything... but? But!

They'd be KIDS. His kids. HER kids. THEIR KIDS! A... a family. He can barely imagine it.

A problem though? Is how LOUD he is. He can't help it. No more then one can help their hair or eye color. Reminders to "remember his shields" are a great deal like hearing "your breathing is upsetting people. Kindly stop." Like? What do you want him to DO, exactly? Cease existing?

Yes, he COULD be shielding better. If you met him at WHERE HE IS. Not continued to try and make him conform to a mold he'll forever be too big to fit. He's not an IDIOT. He is AWARE that babies are hypersensitive to the Force, since they are so new and rely off it for basicly everything. He KNOWS he's overwhelming to even ADULTS sometimes.

Obi-Wan can handle him because HIS shields are basicly High Council levels. He could TEACH classes to knights and masters. Everyone else? They feel a bit... projected at. It's RUDE™. Very "getting all up in my personal space and shouting". you know?

Babies can't handle that!

That UPSETS babies! Younglings too, they just don't have the words for it.

Knight Skywalker is just "So Much". It's upsetting and alienating. Force Sensitives are basicly MADE to connect to each other. Are THE most social of their various personality types, races, and various cultures. It's just?? A "ducks trying to raise a swan" scenario.

Anikin has subtly different needs. Is gonna grow to be bigger then them. What works for THEM may very well be wildly unnatural for HIM and that's OKAY. Neither of them is wrong! The PROBLEM here? Is rigidity. Refusal to meet a youngling where they ARE, out of fear of change. Clinging to tradition rather then ADMIT to ignorance... thus? Never treating that ignorance with the healing hands of Knowledge, as is the Jedi WAY.

The Sith have been at work for a long, long time.

But OC does not have to play part in their games. Bow to their rules. To hell with tradition and fear. Paths upon paths that MAY, conceivably, lead to SOMEWHERE. Did you not SAY, Master Yoda? That the Future is always in motion? Attachments may lead to darkness, but they also lead to light. They LEAD to everything. Because they are part of being ALIVE.

OBSESSION and CONTROL are the Darkside. But mere Emotions are the flowing of tides.

She prescribes hugs.

An adorable youngling, herself of course, following Skywalker around the Temple like a duckling and flopping against him every chance she gets. Asking bright eyed youngling questions of her Super Cool Esteemed Knight Elder that he'll have to look up. Or look up WITH her. Sometimes indulgent listen to HER ramble about.

Or? If he's sand blasting the soul of everyone around him? Welp, time to brace for it! Once more into the breach! She is small and squishy. Warm, huggable, and filled with light. Can hum and hug his head. Smell like Baby. Itty bitty lil light and heart beat and body. Not a threat. Cares about him. Fellow Jedi. Safe safe safe.... calm...

Does she feel a bit... rubbed raw? Soul wise, afterwards? Fuck yeah. Ouch, her everything stings. But that's not his fault. AND! He's getting better.

QUICKLY.

Cause there's nothing QUITE like an adorable wittle baby child, whom you BLASTED IN THE SOUL FACE with abrasive anger-sand hard enough to probably scour them to the BONES, wincing but smiling up at you and asking if you feel better now... to make you just a LIL bit "fuck asking Master's, I'm gonna tear the Archives apart until I can solve this on my own" hysterical. Ha ha....

Oh Force he MAIMED A CHILD! (Soul bruised, at BEST. And not intentionally.) (THATS NOT BETTEEEEEER!!! *hysterics in Skywalker*) Padme! Put me down like THE ANIMAL I'VE BECOME! AaaaaaAAAAAAA-!!! (He says, showing up at a senators apartment, holding a youngling she's never met like a teddybear. The MAN SHE MARRIED, everybody! He's so lucky she loves him. Ffs Ani.)

But like?? Shielding? Leads to SO MUCH better emotional regulation and stability? Plus an immediately increase difficulty scale for Certain Sith Lord's.

Especially! If the technique Anikin has to use? Is OLD AS FUCK. Like... Pre-Rebulic old. Considered a wildly overly complex and exhausting way to Shield for most people who just don't have the midi-chlorians count to NEED it.

A case of "the side effect of THIS medicine can actually address THAT crippling symptom!? Huh." So Anikin? Starts? INTENTIONALLY Projecting. Yeah... wild right? After so long trying NOT too! He starts learning to? PROJECT a "bubble" into the Force around him.

So that he'll only sense himself. So he can FOCUS on projecting and politely not project AT people. Kinda like elevator music where normally there is just nature noises. Very clearly artificially made? But not? "Every thought you have shouted at me" intrusive.

Kinda pleasant actually! Especially here on Coruscant. Where everything is so discordant and murky. Suddenly? There's this walking Air Filter/Lovely Ambiant Noise Machine walking around and???

Anikin has NEVER been so popular?? O:

Padme. Padme! The Crechelings FELL ASLEEP ON ME! Just?? Clambered RIGHT on up, dumped themselves in my lap, and fell asleep! Everyone wants to meditate near me! There were ARGUMENTS! Obi-Wan! OBI-WAN feel asleep on me the other day! Just?? Slumped over against my shoulder and started to CUDDLE!!! (/ T^T)/ hold me Padme! Everything is Beautiful and nothing hurts! I should have done this YEARS ago!

Also! Did you know it's Totally Cool for us to get married? We just have to get JEDI married! Wanna help me lie to the council? (Totally, you even got to ask?) O/ \O *highfive!*

Palpatine would HATE it. Fucking LOATH it. But the thing is? You can plan for actors on the stage, plan approximately for players to come, but? NO ONE can plan for a SI-OC. And even then? Any plan accounting for what children will do? Usually discounts how intelligent truely really are.

The Sith Did Not PLAN for "smart baby knows what you are up too and decides to stop you".

Because WHO WOULD PLAN FOR THAT?

Well....? Maybe don't be SUCH a dick? That the Actual Force Itself decides to fuck with your plans by introducing Chaotic elements? Ever thought of THAT??? Anyway... THAT is how the Big MEAN Sith Lord was unveiled targeting an INNOCENT and TOTALLY not provoking him, itty bitty child! Oh no! Anikin! Save meeeee! The scary bad man wants to HURT ME!

A CHILD! Who you gonna pick? Me, the crying lil girl you basicly adopted with your wife, or the man you THOUGHT was you friend... before he ATTACKED A CHILD! With a RED LIGHTSABER! And lightning! Someone's throwing around mention of SLAVE CHIPS and he's suggestinghe can "save you wife"!!!

Real CONVENIENT. Since Anikin's wife is both completely FINE and under the care of Jedi healers, yet he's been having MYSTERIOUS DREAMS about her DYING HORRIBLY. Dreams that Don't Feel Right. Like they DONT come from his head! So? How do YOU know about those dreams, HUH? SHEEV??

*Chosen One INTENSIFIES*

[room-surprise]

Shuro's Ninja Girl Squad: Why do they have code names? Does Toshiro have a code name????

(WARNING FOR GENERAL SPOILERS!) The culture of Wa Island appears to be inspired exclusively by historic Japan, since all of the characters that come from Wa have Japanese names, clothing, weapons, and magic, they eat Japanese food, imagine traditional Japanese-style artwork, and obey Japanese social norms.

THE NINJA GIRL SQUAD

Maizuru, Hein, Benichidori, Inutade and Izutsumi are servants that work for the Nakamoto family, and they have been assigned to travel with Toshiro, serve and protect him. In some translations they have been called retainers. I’m not sure what the original Japanese calls them, but most likely some form of servant or vassal, such as 家臣 or 家来.

A retainer is a part of a retinue, which is a group of people who are "retained" (employed) in the service of nobility, royalty or a dignitary.

Retainers can have many varied functions, such as domestic servants, personal attendants, bodyguards, porters, musicians, tutors, translators, guides, etc. Retainers often wear some kind of uniform, possibly bearing the colors or insignia of their lord. They serve their master, but they also expect to be protected and cared for by their master as a part of his household.

HISTORIC JAPANESE NAMING CONVENTIONS

Japanese personal names were fluid in the pre-modern era. Men changed their names for a variety of reasons: to signify that they had attained a higher social status, to demonstrate their allegiance to a house or clan, to show that they had succeeded to the headship of a family or company, to shed bad luck that was attached to an inauspicious name, or simply to avoid being mistaken for a neighbor with a similar name.

Changes in women's personal names were recorded less often, so they may not have changed their names as frequently as men did, but women who took jobs (such as maids or entertainers) frequently changed their names for the duration of their service. During their employment, their temporary names were treated as their legal names.

THE NAKAMOTO CLAN’S NAMING PRACTICES

All of Toshiro’s servants, Maizuru, Hien, Benichidori, Inutade and Izutsumi, have real names and work-issued code-names, similar to the Japanese practice I just described. Only Izutsumi seems to mind this, the rest of the characters use their aliases all the time.

All of the ninja code-names are plant-based, and Maizuru, Hein and Benichidori’s names also have a bird theme, something they do not share with Izutsumi and Inutade. All of the birds they are named after have been popular in Japan since ancient times and are considered lucky symbols. The plants Maizuru, Hein and Benichidori are named after are also all beautiful flowers, while Izutsumi’s is a toxic shrub and Inutade’s is a weed.

This may be meant to show how Izutsumi and Inutade’s status is separate and lower from the other three.

Interestingly, although Toshiro is their master, he also has a nickname, given to him by Laios, that sounds like a plant, which matches his subordinates!

Perhaps the way Toshiro endures this nickname and doesn't protest it, is a hint that Toshiro does not want to enforce his position as a superior to his subordinates, but wants to treat them with compassion and empathy, because he does not consider himself better than them. He demonstrates this when he gets down on his knees and begs Maizuru and the others to help him save Falin, since this is going outside of their standard duties.

This unusual humility and kindness is probably why the World Guide says Maizuru thinks Toshiro will be a better leader than his father.

If you want more details, and to read a full analysis of all of their names and code-names, be sure to check out Chapter 6 of my essay!

BONUS: TOSHIRO’S SECRET NICKNAME???

Laios, mishearing Toshiro’s name during their first meeting, started calling him シュロー (Shurow), and told everyone they met that his name was Shuro. Toshiro, too embarrassed to correct him, has allowed this to continue for the three years that they’ve known each other.

Shuro (棕櫚 or シュロ) is Trachycarpus fortunei, the Chinese windmill palm or Chusan palm. It is a species of evergreen palm tree in the family Arecaceae, native to parts of China, Japan, Myanmar and India.

Windmill palm is one of the hardiest palms. They tolerate cool, moist summers as well as cold winters. Trachycarpus fortunei has been cultivated in China and Japan for thousands of years, for its coarse but very strong leaf sheath fiber, used for making rope, sacks, and other coarse cloth where great strength is important.

This is very funny, since we know that Toshiro is one of the strongest characters in the story, due to his skill with the blade... But we also know he's insanely patient (tolerates everything, just like the palm!), because he puts up with Laios bothering him for years before finally snapping and asserting his boundaries.

Plus, a palm tree used to make humble but strong items such as rope, sacks and coarse cloth, really shows Toshiro's true nature (a strong but humble man) versus his aristocratic status.

THREE TYPES OF BROOM

A Shuro Houki (棕櫚箒) is a traditional Japanese hemp-palm broom made from the Trachycarpus fortunei palm.

There are three distinct subtypes of this broom, the first two of which are considered very durable and the last one which is considered expendable. The Hon-onike Houki will last for 1/3rd of a person’s life, a Onike Houki you’ll need to replace every 15 years, and a Kawa Houki can be thrown away after 2 years of use.

Toshiro is the oldest of three brothers, and they are competing for their father’s favor to see who will become the heir of the household… Their father is testing them to see which of them is disposable, and which of them is strong enough to lead the family. Which type of broom are they?

SHURO THE HUMAN NAME

It should also be noted that Shuro is a Japanese name, it just isn't a nickname for Toshiro. The correct nicknames for Toshiro would be Toshi, or Shiro. Shuro sounds similar to Shiro, but it would be like calling someone named Robert the nickname Bart instead of Bert, or calling Matthew Pat.

Depending on the kanji used Shuro can mean several things. I think the most appropriate kanji is 修郎.

修 means to make right, to be in shape, to become correct, to put things together, to learn, to acquire learning or skills, to decorate, to harmonize, to fix, to mend, to put together in a book, good, excellent, beautiful, splendid.

郎 means male, men, young men, boy.

While Toshiro’s actual name describes him very well, his nickname, given to him by Laios, is also extremely accurate. Laios’ name means “left” and “wrong”, so Toshiro’s name potentially meaning things like “right”, “correct” and “to fix” is extremely funny and appropriate!

They can fix their friendship!

[miidcrystal]

Unholy Temptation

This fic is for my beloved @skelvron-keiman, who I am a huge fan of. I am so happy to have had the opportunity to write for her Pairing: Gale x Athalia (Tav!Fem)

Warnings: !smut, !domGale, !fingering, !oral, !semi-public sex, !hidden sex, she says a lot of "no" but she is consensual !!

Summary: Gale has some research to do, and asks his wife Athalia, Cleric of Selùne, to let him access the temple library. After an afternoon spent together in a formal manner, his desires for his beloved wife manifest themselves

⊹₊⟡⋆⊹₊⟡⋆⊹₊⟡⋆⊹₊⟡⋆⊹₊⟡⋆⊹₊⟡⋆⊹₊⟡⋆⊹₊⟡⋆⊹₊⟡⋆⊹₊⟡⋆⊹₊⟡⋆⊹₊⟡⋆⊹₊⟡⋆

It was a normal afternoon, warm and clear in Waterdeep. Normally, at this time of day, Professor Gale Dekarios would be practicing his profession, teaching the young wizards of the Blackstaff Academy. Normally, but not today.

Today, in fact, Gale had taken leave to go to a place he was notoriously familiar with; the House of the Moon, the largest church of Selúne on the Sword Coast. As for Gale that day, the House of the Moon in Waterdeep was a destination for pilgrims, believers, worshippers, scholars… and above all, the place where his beloved wife spent most of her day.

She, his brightest star, was there ready to welcome him. When Gale set foot in the great hall of marble and alabaster, he immediately saw her near the altar. She was in her white and blue Cleric of Selúne robe, very different from the black and gray of the battlefield he had been accustomed to seeing her in during their adventure in Baldur's Gate. Since she had become Mother of the Faith here in Waterdeep, she wore a robe suitable for functions and ceremonies. Even though he had seen her like this a thousand times, he always found her beautiful.

Her milky white hair reflected the light, highlighting the color of her pink cheeks. He could have looked at her all day without intervening, like when you admire a beauty of nature. When her eyes turned in his direction, a tender smile crossed her face

"Gale!"

With a quick step, she reached him in the enormous nave of the Church

"Love! My darling! You've arrived"

"Good evening dear"

He replied, giving her a quick kiss on the knuckles of her hand, holding back his enthusiasm so as not to make it seem obvious to her that he had been waiting to see her all day. Even though he would see her for dinner at their house, like every day, this pleasant detour from their daily routine made him palpitate. He had waited like a puppy for the moment to leave his office to join her, even if it was for work reasons.

"Come, I'll accompany you to the library"

"Thank you so much for this opportunity, it means a lot to my research"

"Are you kidding? You are 'Gale of Waterdeep' the valiant wizard who saved Baldur's Gate. No one would have denied you the opportunity to read some old tomes"

"And you are the current 'Hero of Baldur's Gate', darling. No one would have denied you, when you asked on my behalf"

The two crossed the Church, moving to the most hidden parts, where only the most recommended Clerics and scholars could enter. At the doors of the library, the two paladins on guard did not bat an eyelid at Athalia's arrival. She, with a candid smile, only nodded in greeting, which was enough for the two paladins to allow her and her husband to pass to the library.

When the doors opened, shelves and shelves of ancient tomes stood before Gale. A vast two-floor library, housing them and a few other attentive clerics in research. Gale admired this spectacle for a few more seconds, before turning his astonished gaze on Athalia

"I really don't know how to thank you"

"Whatever you decide to do with these informations, it will certainly be worthy of note. Like everything you do"

She replied, with a delicate smile at the corner of her mouth. Gods, how he wanted to kiss her.

Her optimism, her simplicity, her always being so candid and sweet, drove him crazy. She was always kind to him, no matter how. He felt a visceral need to hold her close and hug her, bombarding her with kisses from forehead to lips. Behaving so formally, was torture. But she was working, she was in her temple, he couldn't make her look like young lovers without shame. He had to hold out until they returned home, to their sacred domestic walls, to worship her as she deserved.

Athalia made her way into the library, showing Gale where the tomes for his research were located. They gathered all the books he had indicated for this work, and together they sat at a table, peering intently into the ancient pages. She spent the whole afternoon with him, helping Gale gather the notes he needed.

Without realizing it, the natural lights were replaced by those of the candelabras, and evening fell on Waterdeep. Gale only considered the time when he saw his beloved wife yawn. Her tired eyes, like those of a child, were closing more and more every minute.

Gale jumped up "What time is it? I'm mortified.. I stole so much of your time!"

"It doesn't matter love, it was something important"

"I'm so used to doing such long searches, I didn't notice. I'll help you put these away and we'll go home, okay?"

"I'm happy to have helped you" Athalia replied, starting to stack the books from the table

"I hope the things you collected are useful to you. If you do, you can always come back. I'll ask for permission again"

"I don't want to take advantage of you so much, darling"

"And miss the chance to spend an unscheduled day with you?" Athalia's eyes were wide and longing, completely in love with him. She was so sincere in saying those things

He was momentarily speechless, lost in the idea that his wife loved him so much, even in the little things. She took two steps towards him. The books clutched in her arms, against her chest.

Their eyes stared at each other for a few more seconds, before she, on her tiptoes, reached him to kiss him. That moment he had been waiting for all day, had just arrived. His heart fluttered in his chest at the thought of a thousand desires, of how much he still wanted from her. The idea that he couldn't, yet, made all of this paradoxically more exciting.

She immediately pulled away, printing only a quick kiss on his lips. With an innocent smile, she closed her shoulders shyly, squeaking like a teenager, embarrassed and flattered by the penetrating gaze of him who was still staring at her.

He blinked twice to get all the lustful thoughts out of his mind, and with a smile he let out the air in his chest, saying amusedly

"Uhm- AH! Ok, so.. we were saying-? ...The books! I'll give you a hand putting them back, and then we'll run home"

"Home.." She replied.

At that point, Gale noticed the light of desire in her eyes. With immense surprise and pleasure, he understood that she was thinking the same things. She too was being crossed by a flow of pleasure at the idea of ​​going home as quickly as possible to throw herself into his arms.

The day spent together, in a detached and professional manner, was bringing them both to the limit. That kiss, so innocent, had lit them up like two braziers.

She absentmindedly let out a bite on her lower lip, well hidden by the upper one. Gale felt a jolt of adrenaline run through his spine.

He was unable to help but smile. He looked away, almost ashamed of how much the idea was amusing him

"Aren't you being a little too perky?"

"Me? You're the one looking at me like you want to eat me"

He snorted amusedly, lowering his gaze, while a grin crossed his face.

"It's not my fault! Look, certain things have an effect on me. If you look at me like that, what should I do?" She continued to justify herself, now nervous, lowering her voice to a whisper, to not be heard from anyone else.

He looked up to look her in the eyes again, answering impertinently "If I looked at you like that, and we were at home.. you should just undress, I suppose"

She grabbed a book of the ones she was holding close to her chest, and patted him on the arm in an irritated, but also playful way. Gale couldn't help but laugh, and apologize to her pleadingly, as she set off to the library to put away all the tomes they had taken out that afternoon.

Briefly, they realized that the library was now empty. Their footsteps echoed, and their chatter among the shelves was the only thing audible in the corridors of books. As she put a book down from the top of a stairs, to reach the highest shelves. Athalia exclaimed "That was the last one" "Well, finally" "I'm not the one who took 17 books, Gale" "I won't answer"

Gale's arms held the stairs, resting on the rails, so that it wouldn't move. It was equipped with wheels to easily move from one shelf to another, with narrow and high steps that only allowed one person to climb. Athalia backed down the stairs, finding herself inexorably against Gale, with his arms still intent on holding the ladder. There was only one step between them, and Gale didn't move to let her pass, rubbing his nose against her neck.

"Gale?"

He didn't answer, but a deep sigh escaped from his chest. His nose followed Athalia's entire neck, up to her shoulder, where he kissed her dress.

"Gale please.. I want you too. We're going home soon"

Gale made a painful and longing "mmh-mh" against Athalia's skin. A trail of shivers ran down her shoulders, her back, her arms.. She closed her eyes, wrapped in pleasure. Her eyebrows arched in a painful and worried expression

"Don't persist..."

At that point, he pressed a kiss on her neck. His body became more and more present against her. Athalia's hands had slipped on the handrail to the point of crossing his ones.

She, without realizing it, gasped a moan in her throat. She hoped with all her being that he hadn't heard it

"You're enjoying it, aren't you?"

"Gale, please.."

Another kiss, this time near her jaw. "I just want to know that you like it, Athalia"

"This is not the right place.."

This time, another kiss near her ear, where she was most vulnerable. His breath found its way into her ear, as he breathed close to her, making her shiver. His voice was reduced to a faint, sensual whisper that caressed against her skin.

"Tell me that you like it, despite everything. Tell me that you like it when I kiss you and when I touch you, when I couldn't do it"

One of his hands, began to move up her leg, taking her skirt with it. His fingers were sliding against Athalia's skin, and it was driving him wild.

Athalia turned around abruptly, putting her hands on his chest to push him away, whispering

"Let me get home and I'll show you how much I like all of this, but not now! Not here!"

Gale didn't take his hands off her thighs. His gaze was glassy and stern, almost annoyed by her words. The desire was too much now, and he couldn't resist it anymore. Slowly, tempting her, and making her desire him more and more, he approached her again, nestling his face against her neck. Leaning over her, Athalia felt crushed, even though she was on the highest step, the difference in heights made them the same height

"Gale ..!" "I heard you"

His tongue grazed her skin with these words, his lips caressed her neck. By now Athalia's body was completely covered in goosebumps. When he became so possessive she went crazy, she didn't think straight and she gave herself to him, to everything he wanted to do to her, even though she knew how wrong it was there at that moment.

"I just want to have a taste of what awaits me at home" Gale continued, now opening his mouth completely against Athalia's neck, starting to kiss and suck. Her legs gave out and her ass ended up against a step of the stairs. He followed her, leaning on his knees on the ground, and crushing her gently. The pleasure was consuming her, her eyes disappeared behind her eyelids and her chest swelled under his deep sigh.

"Yes.. Show me how much you enjoy when you don't want to, Athalia. Show me how much your body can resist" His voice continues to scratch the skin, whispering and growling like an animal.

Gale's hands reached the upper part of her thighs, and grabbed her flesh, squeezing it gently. At that point, against Athalia's neck, Gale also let out a deep moan. She buried her face against his shoulder, stifling her moans of pleasure against the fabric of his clothes, to not to be heard. But he could hear her very well and he was going crazy at the idea of ​​making her please with so little attentions. The desire to do it, there and now, was consuming them both.

The clothes prevented Athalia from feeling how hard he had become in a minute, and how wet he was getting as his desire grew.

Gale, on the other hand, slid a hand between her thighs, and felt with the tips of his fingers how wet she was, even through her underwear.

He pulled away from her neck, resting his forehead against hers.

For a moment they did nothing but catch their breath, one against the other, in the silence of the empty library.

Athalia hoped with all her heart that this outburst was over, and that now they would get up as if nothing had happened. She hoped that he had calmed down and had obtained what he was looking for.

But the truth was she wanted as much as him, if not more, for him to take her quickly on that stairs

"Look at you..." Gale said, with a raspy voice

"You're a mess down here" His fingers slid deeper and deeper, moving her panties aside, making their way to the most delicate and sensitive spots.

A satisfied grin, instead, made its way onto Gale's face. What a pleasure to feel her so wet, to feel how only his words and a few kisses had reduced her to this state. She was eager to have more and he was ready to please her if only she had asked for it. It didn't matter where they were anymore, it only made things more exciting and sinful. Even her Cleric robes in this context were turning him on tremendously.

"Gale, no!" "Ooh.. You're loving it like crazy, aren't you Athalia?" "No, no.. Please, wait-" "Don't deny it"

Athalia's voice was fickle, she couldn't really stop either. If she had been sincere, he would have stopped immediately. He never did things she didn't like, he never forced her. But here, Athalia's body and voice were betraying her. Every inch of her body, encouraged Gale to do more. Her voice was low and sensual, almost as if it excited her even more to say "no" to receive the opposite effect from Gale. He knew those "no"s well. Those "no"s of his sweet little wife so shy, so delicate, who didn't have the courage to say when something excited her so much. She was ashamed to admit that there, in her temple, wearing her Cleric robes, she was dying with all her heart just to have sex.

Gale's fingers slipped into her opening. Athalia's mouth opened wide at the sensation, while her nails dug into his shoulders

Gale took advantage of this to gently and sweetly bite her lower lip, then whispering into her mouth

"Tell me no, honestly this time"

His fingers, so expert, so confident... "Tell me you don't want it and I'll stop" He was digging deep into her pleasure, and she was completely unable to speak. Her breathing became fast and deep, only small moans, tender and exciting, came out of her mouth accompanying each thrust of his fingers. Gale smiled at her, resting his lips against hers

"Yeah, like this. Good girl"

His hands abandoned Athalia's soft thighs, slipping immediately into his mouth. He savored those two fingers slowly, letting out a long moan, satisfied and pleased. He inhaled, then held his breath in his chest, trying with all his might to contain the beast inside him that was about to tear her clothes off to penetrate her completely and fast on that stairs.

Gale kissed her knee first, then the inside of her thigh and as he went lower and lower, making his way between her skirts, Athalia became aware of what he was about to do and pulled herself up on her elbows, in an attempt to get up

"Gale stop! No no! Not that-"

She didn't have time to finish her sentence, that Gale completely buried his mouth against her panties, destroyed by her fluids.

Athalia arched her back, quickly putting a hand over her mouth so as not to exclaim a moan out loud. Gale heard very well that muffled moan, and responded with one of his own. The excitement was consuming him.

Gale pushed her panties aside with two fingers, continuing his precise work with his tongue inside. Athalia gave in completely to the pleasure. By now, the orgasm was so close that it would have taken her less time to reach it, than to stop Gale. The moment was too involving; the two of them hidden between the shelves of her temple, she who shouldn't be there, he who shouldn't be there. Having sex in that place was completely wrong, and that made it even more desirable. Athalia grabbed Gale's hair with one hand, while the other remained against her mouth to prevent her from making any noise. She gently pushed Gale's head between her thighs, and that drove him completely crazy. Knowing that he had been able to satisfy her so much that she wanted to come, had made him unstoppable. When she found the courage to overcome that inhibition and to express her true ardour, he completely lost control. His only goal at that point was to please her only as she wanted, only as she deserved.

Athalia's breathing was getting faster and faster, and her thighs were getting tighter around Gale's shoulders. Her mouth was now so wide open that her small and delicate hand could no longer contain it. Her moans, so faint, were drowning in the deep breaths that she inhaled with her mouth.

Gale's tongue wrapped around her clit and began to suck and kiss it with the hope of making her come as soon as possible and making her writhe on that staircase. He wanted to see her back bend, her legs tremble, feel her muscles tense.

Gods how close he was to an orgasm too.

A little friction and he would have erupted.

"Miss Athalia?" A voice echoed from the front door.

They had never been so fast.

In a few seconds, he stood up, adjusting her skirts. She stood up and stepped down the stairs, quickly running a hand over Gale's lips and chin, completely smeared with her juices.

A fraction of a second, and they were exactly as they had been when they entered the library.

"Yes? What is it?"

One of the Selùne paladins from the entrance came forward along the corridors of the library. When he saw her, he walked towards her with a gentle smile "Oh, there you are"

The two of them did their best to suppress any emotion, and appear completely normal

"It's late, she's staying at the temple longer than usual. Is everything okay? Does she need to be taken home?"

"Oh how kind of you! There's no need this time, dear. He's my husband, I'll go home with him tonight. Thank you for your concern"

"A duty, Miss Athalia. Then, have a good evening"

With a slight bow, he left the corridor and headed back to the entrance.

Athalia let out a long sigh of relief, terrified that he might notice something suspicious. Gale adjusted his clothes further, with discretion

"So.." "So, what?"

"You seemed quite involved, despite everything" "Argh.. you! You would like that, mh?" she replied, slightly nervous. It was impossible to understand if her face was red from the orgasm she had almost reached, or because he continued to tease her

"I'll leave you the honor of finishing all this at home" "Ah! You'll be pleased to know then.."

A grin of amusement crossed Gale's face

"I was holding back a lot"

⊹₊⟡⋆⊹₊⟡⋆⊹₊⟡⋆⊹₊⟡⋆⊹₊⟡⋆⊹₊⟡⋆⊹₊⟡⋆⊹₊⟡⋆⊹₊⟡⋆⊹₊⟡⋆⊹₊⟡⋆⊹₊⟡⋆⊹₊⟡⋆ Thank you so much for reading!

English is not my first language and this is the first fic I've written in years. I hope you enjoyed it

[phoenixblaze1412]

OKAY, but imagine if Dottore's teenage!child is his complete opposite. Father, a scientist, is devoted to science, but here his child- painter, performs in theaters, sings, and so on. The harbingers are like "Wow! You're so... You're so not like the doctor!" . This idea has been in my head for too long and I'm dying to see your take on it

(PS I adore your works, as person w parents issues, your headcanons are saving me fr 😭)

The sound of brushes against a canvas and the hum of a tune spilled from the corner room of a grand estate in Snezhnaya. The stark difference between that lively atmosphere and the sterile, cold hum of machinery elsewhere in the house could not have been more pronounced. It was in this room that you, the teenage child of Il Dottore, spent your time.

You had always been a puzzle to everyone who crossed paths with your father. People imagined you might follow in his footsteps, becoming a scientific prodigy, perhaps even a calculating assistant to his notorious experiments.

Instead, you blossomed into something entirely unexpected: a vibrant artist who sought beauty in the world rather than dissecting it.

The first time the Harbingers met you was an occasion unlike any other. You hadn’t planned to meet them; you had only wandered into the meeting room to deliver an announcement to your father. You had barely stepped inside, your sketchbook tucked under one arm, when several sets of eyes turned toward you.

“Who’s this?” Childe asked, leaning back in his chair with a curious grin.

“Surely not... your child?” Arlecchino’s tone was laced with disbelief.

Dottore turned to you, his arms crossed, and gestured for you to approach. “This is my offspring,” he said, his tone completely detached, as though presenting a specimen rather than his own child.

You gave them a polite smile, suppressing a chuckle at their stunned expressions. “Hello,” you said simply, offering a slight bow.

Pantalone adjusted his glasses, narrowing his eyes at you. “I must say, you’re... unexpected.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Sandrone’s jaw tightened, her mechanical puppet creaking as she tilted her head to study you. “You’re nothing like the Doctor. You don’t even carry yourself like him.”

You shrugged, gesturing to your sketchbook. “I suppose that’s true. I prefer painting and performing than to.. dissecting and experimenting.”

A few Harbingers exchanged glances, clearly taken aback.

Childe broke the silence with a laugh. “I like them! They’ve got personality unlike their old man.”

Dottore sighed loudly. “If you’re all quite finished, we have important matters to discuss.” He turned to you, his crimson gaze sharp behind his mask. “Why are you here?”

“Oh!” You snapped your fingers, suddenly remembering. “I came to tell you the paint shipment I requested from Fontaine finally arrived. Thanks for approving it, Father.”

Murmurs erupted from the table, but Dottore ignored them, his expression unreadable.

You and your father had always been opposites.

Where his world revolved around logic and experimentation, yours was filled with color, music, and emotion. While he worked in his laboratory, you would spend hours painting landscapes of Snezhnaya’s frosty terrain or practicing lines for a theater performance.

Dottore didn’t discourage your interests, but he didn’t understand them either. Once, he had walked into your room, curious about the sounds of music and humming. He had found you standing before an easel, your fingers stained with paint as you worked on a piece that depicted the Aurora Borealis.

“What is the purpose of this?” he had asked, his tone bordering on exasperation.

“Purpose?” You had blinked at him, then smiled. “To make people feel something. Happiness, awe, maybe even a little bit of wonder.”

He had frowned, his crimson eyes narrowing. “Feelings are illogical. They serve no practical function.”

“Not everything has to be practical, Father,” you had replied gently. “Sometimes, it’s enough for something to just... exist and be beautiful.”

He hadn’t said anything more that day, though you often wondered if your words had stuck with him.

It wasn’t long before your hobbies became a point of interest among the Harbingers. One evening, during a formal dinner, Childe had convinced you to perform a song for them.

“You’re wasting their talents if you don’t let them show off a little, Doctor,” Childe had teased, earning a withering glare from your father.

Still, Dottore hadn’t objected, and so you found yourself standing before the table of Harbingers, heart racing and palms sweating from being under the eyes of the powerful lords of Snezhnaya.

As you began to sing, the room fell silent. Your voice carried through the air like a gentle breeze, soft yet powerful. Even the coldest members of the Fatui seemed captivated, their gazes fixed on you.

When you finished, there was a moment of stunned silence before Childe erupted into applause.

“That was incredible!” he exclaimed, grinning.

Arlecchino raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Perhaps you should teach your father how to carry a tune.”

Pantalone chuckled. “Indeed. They’re quite the opposite of you, Doctor.”

Dottore said nothing, though you could feel his eyes on you as you returned to your seat.

Despite his stoic demeanor, Dottore wasn’t immune to moments of pride when it came to you. He would never admit it outright, but he often found himself impressed by your creativity and determination.

One day, he had come across a painting of yours—a depiction of the Fatui headquarters, bathed in warm hues of orange and gold.

“You’ve romanticized it,” he said, studying the piece.

You laughed. “That’s the point. It’s supposed to make something cold and imposing feel... welcoming.”

He had hummed thoughtfully, his fingers brushing against the edge of the canvas. “It’s... well done,” he had said after a long pause.

Coming from him, it was the highest praise you could hope for.

While you and your father often clashed, there were moments of mutual understanding. One evening, as you worked on a painting and he tinkered with a device, you found yourselves in a rare moment of quiet companionship.

“Do you ever think about why we’re so different?” you asked suddenly.

He didn’t look up from his work. “Difference is inevitable. It’s neither good nor bad—it simply is.”

You smiled. “That’s a very logical answer.”

“And your point?” he asked, though his tone lacked its usual sharpness.

“Just that I’m glad we can coexist, even if we see the world differently.”

He finally glanced at you, his crimson gaze softening for a brief moment. “As am I.”

Over time, even the Harbingers came to respect you for your unique talents. They marveled at your ability to bring light into the cold, calculated world of the Fatui.

“You’re like a breath of fresh air,” Childe had said once. “It’s almost hard to believe you’re related to the Doctor.”

Arlecchino had smirked. “Maybe they got all the charm he lacks.”

Dottore, of course, had dismissed their comments with a wave of his hand, but you had caught the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips.

Though you and your father were as different as night and day, your bond was unshakable. You challenged his views, brought warmth to his otherwise cold existence, and proved that even in a world of logic and experimentation, there was room for beauty and emotion.

And while he would never admit it aloud, Dottore was proud to call you his child. You were his masterpiece.

Not for what you created, but for who you were.

[blackleatherjacketz]

Nobody's Soldier

Frank Castle x Jack Abbot

Frank never expected anyone else to save him, let alone a doctor who just happened to be strong enough to carry him into his apartment.

Warnings: Mentions of Violence, Field Medicine, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Sexual Tension?, Frank Unable to Recognize His Own Feelings, Witty Banter, Jack Abbot's Hands/Arms, Power Imbalance, PTSD, Veterans Being Veterans

Word Count: 1.7k+

Tags: @kat2107 @realfernmayo @elenacarey @likedovesinthewnd @frankcastiglione

The man who stood before him had that battle born glaze over his eyes that he knew all too well. He cut through his shirt like tissue paper, the rip so precise it made him think that he’s done this a thousand times before under much harsher conditions. He wasn't even bothered by the blood that soaked onto his shirt and arms, staining him in his own unique shade of maroon that smeared across his skin. His hands were strong, quick and skilled as he set his scissors down and rubbed them together with alcohol, his veins bulging from the adrenaline pulsing through them as he readied the rest of his supplies.

“Where’d you serve, doc?” Frank winced as the man pressed on the other areas of his chest, groaning as he felt a rib give way before taking in the details of his surroundings. He noticed how perfectly tidy everything in this man’s apartment was, how there wasn’t a single spec of dust to be found. He spotted the police scanner in the corner of the room, the gravely static echoing in his ears between muffled reports as he scoured the room for potential exit routes, a habit he could never quite shake. Everything within this room had its purpose, all function and no fashion with clean lines and dark colors; a simple yet comfortable resting place between shifts, nothing more. It almost reminded him of what he’d like his own place to look like if he took the time and effort to furnish it, but Frank couldn’t imagine that happening any time soon.

“Oh, you know,” the man glanced up at him, a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as he slid those hands of his into a pair of surgical gloves. “All over the place… Germany, Iraq and Afghanistan. Haven’t been in the sand box for over fifteen years, though, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Yeah,” Frank grunted, leaning back as the man pushed him onto his elbows and pulled his shirt away from his abdomen to better view the gaping wound at his side. “You look like you’ve seen some shit.”

He snorted, shaking his head as he began twisting the cap off a bottle of clear liquid. “That’s one hell of an understatement. How about you, boss?”

“Same as you, all over.” He looked down at his bruised and battered torso, his fresh wound bleeding a slow and steady trickle onto the black fabric of his pants as his whole body seemed to throb. He had been cut by that asshole’s knife a few times, once on his bicep and the other on his shoulder, but this wound really seemed to take the cake. The bullet had grazed through each and every layer of skin and fat, threatening to tear apart his muscle if it had gone just a hair deeper.

“Alright Frank, you’ve got some debris in your wound and I have to clean it out before I can stitch you up, okay?” The man locked eyes with him before proceeding, his hazel gaze practically burning into him as he held the bottle just above his wound. He wanted to make sure that he was ready, wanted to make sure that he knew what to expect so he wouldn’t start swinging the second the pain got too intense. “This is gonna hurt.”

“Frank?” He queried, his hard features twisting in a mix of shock and curiosity before he nodded in understanding, eventually signaling for him to proceed. He hissed as the fluid stung each and every exposed layer of his broken flesh, painfully flushing out the dirt, blood and cloth that had clung to it in the aftermath. “Frank Castle’s dead.”

The man laughed as he set the bottle down next to him, eyeing his wound like a cat would its prey, tilting his head from side to side before finally responding. “Sure. It must have been someone else who completely decimated my twelve dead-on-arrivals last night in the ER. Someone else who saved those women from being raped and beaten within an inch of their lives. Someone else who…”

“Alright, alright.” Frank cut him off with a huff. He took in a slow, steady breath as he watched the man twist the cap back onto the bottle, realizing now that it couldn’t have been a coincidence that this doctor just happened to find him stumbling into a back alley. He had to have been aligned with him on some level to know who he was, to seek him out and still go out of his way to help him, to risk bringing him back to his apartment to save his life. “So you know who I am.”

“Not that hard to figure out if you’re paying attention.” The man carefully opened a white paper package, pulling out a needle and thread between two gloved fingers. “And don’t worry, I’m not gonna turn you in. You’re doing good work out there.”

“Good work, huh? Doesn’t that work go against what you stand for?” He tested him, watching his pulse thrum steadily beneath the graying streaks at his temples. He squinted to watch for any kind of tell to present itself: a twitch of the eye, sweat on the brow, a snarl of the lip… anything to signal that he was bullshitting him. He couldn’t spot any.

“You saved those women,” he shrugged matter of factly, picking up a long pair of tweezers with his opposite hand. “From what I hear, you stop some bad people from doing some bad shit. You put them down so other people can live their lives without fear, and more importantly, you keep them out of my ER. That’s pretty badass if you ask me.”

“You really think all that?” He braced himself as he readied his surgical tools, holding his breath as he watched him step between his parted thighs to get closer to his wound. He could see the freckles on the man’s skin now, smell the subtle notes of his expensive cologne as the muscles in his forearms clenched before he began. This was always the worst part, the rising anticipation of the oncoming pain when it wasn’t his own hand stitching himself back together.

“Yeah, I do.” His eyes darted up to meet his again, this time a little softer as his pupils expanded. “You sure you don’t want any pain meds before I do this? It’s gonna hurt worse than the saline.”

“I can take it.” Frank mumbled, gripping onto the side of the kitchen counter to steel himself.

“It doesn’t mean you have to.”

Frank paused and looked at him sideways for a second, his words washing over him in a gut-wrenching flash of warmth that he didn’t quite understand. His breath caught in his throat, his heart skipping a beat before it began to race beneath his broken ribs as he tried to name the feeling, but it escaped him before he could push it down and bury it. “Just do it.”

“Alright.” He clicked his tongue and pierced Frank’s flesh without a second thought, gliding the curved needle in through his skin before bringing it flush against the other side of the wound. “So what brought you all the way out to Pittsburgh?”

Frank’s knuckles turned white as the searing hot pain glued his grip to the granite countertop, forcing his muscles to clench and beads of sweat to form on his brow. “Trying to lay low, to start over, but I saw what those assholes were doing and I had to step in.”

“You just couldn’t help yourself, huh?” He pulled the thread taut and started in on the second stitch, working a little quicker this time. “I get it. Can’t turn it off, no matter how hard you try, right?” He jerked his chin in the direction of the police scanner.

“That why you helped me, brother?” He bit into his bottom lip as he pulled the string again, each tug feeling like fire biting through his insides.

“Jack.” Another stitch, his eyes so intensely focused on his work that he barely noticed he was resting his elbow on Frank’s hip, holding him steady. “My name’s Jack. And yeah, I guess so.”

Another painful stitch. Frank’s endorphins finally trickled into his bloodstream long enough to dull the stabbing jolts of each penetrating suture. He could feel the gentle tug of his flesh as Jack meticulously repaired his skin, creating a whole new visceral wave of agony every time his tissue collided with itself. At least when he was fighting, he had the adrenaline to amp him up, to keep him going, numbing him to all the hits he was taking before his brain finally caught up with his body. Now it’s just him, Jack and his pain.

“Well Jack, you risked a lot taking me in tonight.” He glanced down to get a better view of how much more jabs he had to take, sweat coating his heaving chest as Jack pulled another stitch through. Thank Christ, he was more than halfway done.

“Just a few more stitches and you’ll be good… you’re doing great.” Jack whispered, practically reading his mind. He couldn’t help his bedside manner from slipping out automatically, even if he knew someone like Frank didn’t need to hear it. Even if he knew that Frank was a fucking monster of a man for taking all this without any anesthetic or pain meds. “Putting in the last stitch now…” He pulled it all the way through and finally tied it off, clipping it off with his scissors. “There! All done.”

Frank tried to get up the very second Jack cut him free and lifted his elbow from his hip, but was quickly met with a strong hand on his shoulder, dashing his efforts. “Stay down, Frank. You’ve got at least two broken ribs from what I can feel, and the last thing you need is to fuck up these stitches I just put in your side.” He stared at him with a pleading look, despite his clenched jaw and stern tone, hoping that the vigilante would listen. “If you need something, I’ll get it for you, but you have to rest. It’s the only way you can heal.”

Frank searched his eyes for any leniency, finding only stone cold resolve behind the brown and gold hues of his irises. “So I’m just supposed to sit on your kitchen counter all night, is that it?’

Jack rolled his eyes and pressed his lips together in a thin, fine line. “Let me help you to the damn couch.”

[lovelysturnx]

ＮＥＲ V ＯＵＳ ＨＡＮＤＳ，L ＯＵＤ ＨＥ A Ｒ T

in which ⋆˚꩜｡ reader tutors chris

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: 𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖘𝖙?, 𝖋𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖎𝖓 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊

𝔫𝔢𝔯𝔡!𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔵 𝔭𝔬𝔭𝔲𝔩𝔞𝔯!𝔠𝔥𝔯𝔦𝔰 (maybe new moodboard?)

𓍯

you sat at the far end of the library, the quietest corner you could find, surrounded by tall bookshelves and the faint smell of old paper. your notebook was already open, pages neat and full of formulas, diagrams, and color-coded tabs that probably made you look more like a machine than a person. Three pens—black, blue, red—lined up perfectly in front of you.

you djusted your glasses and checked the time again. five minutes late.

then six.

then ten.

he wasn’t coming. of course not.

you exhaled, chewing on the end of your pen and pretending it didn’t matter. you could just leave. you could tell Mr. Carrow that Chris hadn’t shown, and that you had tried, really. after all, you didn’t ask for this—to tutor Chris Sturniolo, the Chris Sturniolo. the guy who barely knew your name, even though you’d shared math class for months. the one who wore the same worn leather jacket every day and had that perfect, careless smile girls practically tripped over themselves for.

and yet here you were, sitting in a library at 4:30 p.m. on a Thursday, because you had said “sure” before you could even think about it. because Mr. Carrow had looked at you like you were some sort of math robot who could save even the most hopeless case. because some stupid, quiet part of you wanted to be near Chris Sturniolo—even if he never noticed you at all.

then, the sound of footsteps. loud. confident.

you looked up, and your heart immediately began doing that ridiculous fluttery thing it always did when you saw him.

Chris.

he didn’t walk—he strolled, like the air bent around him. hoodie unzipped, a smirk already forming like he knew he was late and didn’t care.

“hey,” he said, dropping into the seat across from you like he’d done it a hundred times before.

“h-hi,” you replied, your voice catching in your throat. you looked down so fast you probably seemed rude, but it was either that or stare at the curve of his jaw. “you’re, um… late,” he shrugged. “coach held me up. or maybe I just forgot,”

you didn’t know what to say to that, so you went back to your notes, focusing on the page like it was more interesting than the way his knee was now bumping yours under the table.

“so,” you began, voice trembling slightly, “we’re supposed to start with quadratic functions. do you…know what those are?”

Chris didn’t answer. you peeked up—he was staring at his phone, thumbs lazily scrolling. no book, no notebook, not even a pencil. just him, slouched in the chair, radiating boredom like it was a perfume.

you cleared your throat softly. “they’re, um… equations that look like ax squared plus bx plus c equals zero. and there’s factoring and the quadratic formula. it’s not hard if you practice, really…”

he sighed. not a word—just a long, drawn-out groan like he was already exhausted by your existence.

still, you pushed forward. because you always did. because numbers were easier than people. because if you just focused hard enough, maybe you’d forget how his hair fell into his eyes like it was trying to drive you insane.

“i…i think i forgot to get the practice problems in the book,” you mumbled, standing quickly. “i’ll go grab it.”

the bookshelf loomed like a tower, and of course, the book you needed was at the very top. you reached on your tiptoes, fingers barely brushing the edge, trying not to wobble. it was stupid. you should’ve asked a librarian. or brought a stool.

then, you heard it—another sigh. footsteps behind you. and before you could turn, Chris was there.

he didn’t say a word as he reached past you, arm stretching over your shoulder. you froze. he was close—so close you could feel the heat of him behind you, smell that faint trace of cologne and something warm, like sun and laundry and a bit of trouble.

he grabbed the book like it weighed nothing, and for a second, he didn’t move. neither did you.

then he handed it to you, holding it out without looking at you, like it was no big deal.

but when you turned to take it, your eyes met.

and everything stopped.

his fingers brushed yours, just barely. your breath caught. his eyes weren’t distant or amused or disinterested. they were locked on your, steady and unreadable, and for a terrifying, thrilling second, you couldn’t move.

you swallowed hard.

“th-thanks,” you whispered, voice so soft it almost didn’t exist.

he blinked, and then stepped back like it never happened. like that moment hadn’t shaken the ground under your feet.

you sat down again quickly, clutching the book like it was life support. your cheeks burned, and you didn’t dare look at him.

“o-okay,” you said, flipping pages too fast. “so… back to tutoring,”

chris leaned on his elbow and looked at you—not with boredom this time, but something slower, more curious.

you lowered your eyes, pretending to study the page, though you couldn’t read a single word.

and for the first time, you didn’t know if the heat in your cheeks came from embarrassment…

or if you were just nervous.

𓍯

if you want to take inspiration, please ask me first. thank you <3

-be kind to others, w love k <3

[diapydemon]

A Little Magick, Chapter 5

————————————————————————

Content Warning: ABDL, MDLB, MDLG, Manipulation, Fantasy Violence

————————————————————————

Chapter 5: Field Trip Gone Wrong

Read Chapter 4 here.

“Have you ever been to the Belatras Gardens?”

“No actually.”

“Well, it’s pretty unique, even for a dungeon,” Alveria explained, “most other dungeons have a consistent progression; the second level down is a bit more dangerous than the first, and so on, but the Belatras Gardens are different. The top six are all relatively safe, but the lower six all pose a higher threat.”

“So what level are we going to?” I asked eagerly, “Level 7 to slay monsters with fireballs?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, cutie,” Alveria chuckled, “we’re just going to the first floor to collect some magik flowers that I need for my potions store.”

“Oh.” I hoped my disappointment wasn’t totally transparent.

“Hey, this will be a great chance to practice your Silver Mirror runes.” Alveria tussled my hair, “You’ve come a long way in the last few days; you don’t even throw temper tantrums anymore!”

I blushed.

“It will be a great opportunity for you to perceive the magical frequency that dungeon fauna produces, so I still want you to take it seriously.”

“I will,” I grinned. The prospect of observing a dungeon in a whole new way did a lot to dissolve my earlier disappointment.

“Good. I also want you to wear a couple things when we go into the dungeon for safety reasons.”

“…what kind of things?” I asked with a speck of trepidation; these kinds of requests from Alveria tended to be infantalizing.

“Well first, I want you to wear a protective talisman I made. It will soften physical blows and lesson magical effects. Also, it’ll help me find you in case something happens.”

“Oh, cool!” I don’t know why I was worried; this magical artifact sounded useful and powerful.

Then, she produced a pacifier clip with an oversized binky attached to it. I guess I spoke too soon.

“Just clip this to your clothes and you’ll be under the protection of the talisman.”

“But does it have to be a pacifier?”

“It has added functionality,” Alveria shrugged. “if you put it in your mouth, it should help calm you and recenter yourself.”

“Is… is it enchanted to do that?”

“No silly,” Alveria laughed as if I had asked something ridiculous, “Pacis just do that.”

“Right… thanks.”

“And there is one other thing…”

“What is it?” Her tone made me nervous.

“Well, there’s no bathrooms in the dungeon…”

“Ms. Alveria, no!”

“Calm down cutie, you haven’t even heard what I’m suggesting yet.”

“You want to put me in another diaper!”

“It wasn’t such a bad idea last time.”

“That’s no fair!” I protested, “you know I only had an accident because it was my first time using magik!”

“And that turned out to be a good idea.”

I fumed silently, trying —and failing— to think of a logical response more compelling than ‘I don’t wanna’.

“Here,” Alveria moved fast, popping the pacifier into my mouth in one fluid motion, “doesn’t that feel better?”

I refused to admit that it did.

“Look cutie, you don’t have to use it if you don’t need it. But if you do need it, it’ll be nice to have. Just trust me, ok?”

Alveria had saved me from dozens of monsters and had been by my side through twice as many combat encounters. At the end of the day, I trust her.

“Okay,” I sighed.

€====={===========================>

Unlike most of the dungeons I’ve visited in my relatively short career, this dungeon was gorgeous in ways that others just weren’t. In place of glowing caverns, ancient ruins, and magically manifested colosseums, this dungeon was overflowing with different magical fauna that would never coexist in the same ecosystem otherwise. It was an arboretum filled with dancing palm trees, bouncing evergreens, and a plethora of flowers with pedals that changed colors in a way I could only describe as psychedelic.

“Woah…” I paused my slight waddle of a walk to take it all in.

“See cutie,” Alveria grinned at the obvious awe on my face, “I knew you wouldn’t be disappointed.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, “this place is gorgeous!”

“Isn’t it?” Alveria frowned as she glanced around the floor, “though, there’s usually more people here. Since it’s pretty safe, even some non-adventurers come here to enjoy the sites.”

“I see why,” I glanced around, “but there’s literally no one here.”

“I know,” Alveria’s lips tightened, “Oh well. I guess we have the whole place to ourselves today.”

“Cool.”

“I wouldn’t be so excited, cutie,” Alveria blipped a worksheet and a crayon into existence with her magik, “now you can’t ask people for help on the scavenger hunt.”

“A scavenger hunt?”

“Yep,” she smiled at me, “don’t worry; it’ll be fun! There’s even a prize if you finish the whole thing! You just have to find and identify different fauna based on their magical frequencies and check them off the list. It’ll help you hone your magik sense, which is foundational to quickly understanding more complex spell craft.”

“Right,” I nodded, “so take this seriously.”

“Mhmmm,” she confirmed.

“If you need anything —and I do mean anything,” her eyes lingered on my padded crotch, “I’ll be on this floor collecting ingredients. The first floor isn’t too huge, so come find me, or I’ll come find you.”

“Sounds good.” I appreciated the autonomy, regardless of how limited it was.

Alveria soon wandered off on her errands, and I was left to explore the dungeon. I concentrated the magik in my aura on my fingertips and traced the Silver Mirror rune into the air before enchanting my ears with it.

This dungeon already felt like another world before, but being able to hear all the fauna’s magical frequencies created an even more transcendent experience.

I looked down at my scavenger hunt. The bouncing evergreens were the easiest to place. They made a low ‘O’ sound when they compressed and a higher pitched ‘O’ sound when they sprung back up.

I continued exploring the gardens and completing my scavenger hunt. I was only three away from completing the entire thing before Alveria approached me.

“Hey cutie,” she held a satchel stuffed with flower pedals, bark, and leaves, “how’s the scavenger hunt going?”

“Good!” I held up the worksheet, “I only have three left!”

“That’s fantastic cutie,” she casually grabbed the waist band of my plated pants and pulled them back to eye my diaper, “you’re doing so great!”

“M-ms. Alveria!” I staggered as I realized she just casually checked to see if I had an accident.

“Oh hush, I’m just checking.”

“I could just tell you,” I grumbled.

“Well we’ve been here for awhile, and I knew you might’ve been shy.”

It was true; we had been here for a couple hours, and I did have to pee. But I refused to tell her that!

Before I could reply, our conversation was interrupted by an ominous rustle from the bushes. Soon after, we heard a breathy male voice: “Alveria? Is that you?”

A gnome dressed in all black with what seemed to be two hand-held meat tenderizers appeared from the bushes.

“Gyrfoyle!?” Alveria asked with excitement in her voice, “What’s it been? Sixty years?”

“More like 75,” Gyrfoyle corrected.

“What are you doing here?” Alveria asked, “this dungeon’s way below your pay grade.”

Gyrfoyle blinked, “You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“A high level cockatrice that can petrify its victims with a glance is loose in this dungeon. I’m hunting it. That’s why I thought you were here actually.”

“Oh. No,” Alveria looked over her shoulder at me, “Actually, I’m here to collect potion materials and take my apprentice on a field trip.”

The gnome leaned to one side, so he could see me past Alveria’s comparatively taller figure.

“Can you say hi, cutie?”

“Oh, uhhh hi.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” he shoved his hand up at me.

I grabbed it to shake, and I immediately noticed the leathery calluses. This gnome must’ve seen many battles.

His eyes widened in shock when I grabbed his hand and our auras intermingled, though his trained features quickly reverted back to normal. Maybe I imagined it.

“Well, we should probably head home,” Alveria said.

“What?” Gyrfoyle looked up at Alveria incredulously, “You’re really not going to help?”

“We’re not ready for that. My apprentice just started learning magik and—“

“I’m sure they’re more than capable if they’ve managed to catch your attention.”

“I said no, Gyr.” Alveria growled.

I stayed silent. I hated to admit it, but Alveria was right. Cockatrices were vile creatures; massive, angry roosters that had a basilisk head in place of tail feathers. I had never fought one before, and I definitely didn’t want to start by fighting a high level cockatrice that could petrify you if you made eye contact with it.

SCREEEECCCHHHH

A horrifying screech came from down the path. A cockatrice that was thrice the height of Alveria stood atop the path, clawing at the floor with one of its talons.

“It looks like you don’t have a choice,” Gyrfoyle muttered.

The cockatrice bolted in our direction with a velocity that would’ve been impressive if it wasn’t mortally threatening. I reached for the leather handle of my sword.

“Grab hold of me!” Gyrfoyle shouted.

I was too focused on the impending cockatrice to comprehend what he said, but Alveria wasn’t; she gripped my bicep first before grabbing Gyrfoyle’s shoulder.

Gyrfoyle held the two meat tenderizer mallets in either hand and swung them against each other. I heard a metallic DING before we disappeared right before the cockatrice’s sharp beak could penetrate us. We reappeared on top of a boulder on the other side of the floor.

“Thanks,” Alveria looked at Gyrfoyle, “That’s still quite a handy trick.”

Gyrfoyle shrugged, “Close-range translocation is my specialty.”

“So cool!” I interjected, “But more importantly, how are we going to deal with this cockatrice?”

“Your apprentice is right,” Gyrfoyle nodded up at me, “this cockatrice has notable intelligence. I’ve been stalking it around this dungeon for a week. It’s probably near the exit, waiting to catch us by surprise.”

“I didn’t think Cockatrices were native to this dungeon?” Alveria asked.

“They’re not. No one knows how it got here.”

“Hmm. I can probably take it down with a ninth level lighting spell,” Alveria said, “but if it’s as strong as you say, I’ll need to catch it by surprise.”

“Right,” Gyrfoyle turned his attention to me, “and what can you cast?”

“Only a perception enhancing spell, but I used to be a duelist,” I gestured to the sword at my hip.

“Then you can get it to charge at you, and Alveria can strike it head on from up here.”

“What? No!” Alveria failed to keep her voice down, “absolutely not!”

“Don’t worry. I’ll teleport in to grab him and then teleport us both out of the way in case the lightning doesn’t kill it.”

“Why don’t you be the bait then!?” She fumed.

“I wish I could,” Gyrfoyle grumbled, “I’ve tried to lure it into too many traps that way; the cockatrice recognizes me and refuses to charge me.”

“Ms. Alveria,” I met her gaze, “I can do this. I’ll be fine.”

“Please…” she grimaced, “I can’t watch another loved one die.”

“I know, Alveria,” Gyrfoyle reassured, “and I promise I won’t let your apprentice die.”

“And I promise I won’t die.” I added.

“Alright then,” tiny wisps of lighting crackled between Alveria’s fingers, “let’s do this.”

Gyrfoyle teleported me down to the bottom of the boulder before quickly returning to the top. I recast and poured as much mana into my Silver Mirror rune as I could manage; it would be good to have higher perception for this.

“Come get me, you big fat chicken,” I slammed the brunt of my broadsword against my chest plate to create a loud noise.

Sure enough, I heard the magical frequency of the cockatrice —which was also an ear splitting screech— before it charged at me. That still didn’t prepare me for the reality of a two-ton creature charging right at me. I was actually glad Alveria put me in a diaper now; it was probably —if not definitely— wet.

I heard the clang of Gyrfoyle’s mallets, and I quickly reappeared on top of the boulder just in time to see the most intense streak of electric blue lightning I’ve ever seen emanate from Alveria’s palms. I could feel the heat of the bolt from 6 feet away. The lighting bolt struck the cockatrice right in its chest and tore a smoking hole straight through the creature.

I couldn’t help but watch as the massive monster fell onto its side. It must have felt my eyes on it, because in one final act of petty resistance, it whipped its rooster head around. Before I realized it, it was too late. I was staring into the grotesque orange pupils of the creature.

I felt my body stiffen, starting in my toes but quickly making its way up the rest of my body. I couldn’t move; I had been petrified.

“No…” I somehow heard Alveria whimper through my petrificayion. “No… no no no no no!”

“Gyrfoyle!” She snapped to him, “I know you, always prepared. You wouldn’t hunt a coockatrice without a petrification antidote, right? Right!?”

“Yes,” Gyrfoyle nodded, “I have one.”

The gnome produced a small coin purse and stuck the entire length of his arm in it. It must’ve been magik. He rummaged around for awhile before pulling out a green vile.

Gyrfoyle held the vile out to Alveria, but in a split-second decision, he pulled it back to his chest before she could take it.

“G-Gyrfoyle?”

“Alveria,” he sighed, “I… I felt something in your apprentice’s aura when I shook their hand.”

“W-what are you talking about? Give me the vile, Gyr.”

“Not until you answer my questions.”

“You’re being crazy,” Alveria reached for the vile, but Gyrfoyle easily dodged her hand.

“I know you, Alv, and I know there has to be a good reason you’re using forbidden magik.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she tried and failed to swipe the vile again.

“You can be truthful with me now,” Gyrfoyle insisted, “your apprentice can’t hear anything while petrified.”

That should have been true, but I could hear them. Maybe it was the Silver Mirror runes, still dangling from my ears and dripping in my mana even in my petrified state.

“Does your apprentice know?”

“Gyr… please,” Alveria fell to her knees, and she began to sob.

“Are you using ritual based magik? That would explain the pacifier clipped to your apprentice’s gear…”

“P-please,” Alveria whimpered pathetically on the ground. Despite Gyrfoyle’s accusations, I couldn’t bear to see her in such a pained state.

“I asked,” Gyrfoyle’s voice turned more firm, “does your apprentice know?”

“N-not yet.”

“Alveria… why?”

“Because!” She threw her head back with a wail, “Do you know how fucking hard it is!? I’m one of —if not the— most powerful mages in the realm, yet I’m forced to watch loved one after loved one die again and again and again. I can heal back limbs and cure diseases, but no matter what I try, I can’t out heal old age! I can’t take it anymore Gyrfoyle, I just can’t! I love my apprentice, and I can’t watch them die. I would break. But then I had an idea: what if my loved ones never got old in the first place?”

“And you turned to forbidden magik? Ritual magik at that. Alveria, you should know better.”

“I do!” Alveria heaved, “do you know how long I’ve studied to make this safe? To make this the best, least invasive magik possible? Because I do Gyrfoyle, and it’s been an excruciatingly long time, even by Elven standards.”

“Oh Alv,” Gyrfoyle sighed.

I didn’t know if I wanted to wrap Alveria in a comforting embrace of my own or punch her in the jaw. All I felt right now was… confusion.

“You should know better,” Gyrfoyle continued, “We fought together against the cultists in the Great Demon War all those years ago, and they used ritual magik. You should know better than anyone what it can do to people.”

“I do!” Alveria insisted, “Don’t think I’ve forgotten the war. I’m doing this because of what I’ve learned from it, not in spite of it.”

“You better hope the Department of Forbidden Magic doesn’t catch you,” Gyrfoyle grumbled.

“I’m not afraid of them.” Alveria stated, “I founded that department after the war, remember? I know better than anyone that magik itself has no evil or good moral alignment; it’s how you use it.”

“Regardless, you have to tell your apprentice,” Gyrfoyle said. “Let them decide whether or not they want to continue.”

“You’re right,” Alveria’s shoulders slumped. “I’ll tell them soon, and it will be their decision. I just… I just have to get ready first.”

My choice? I didn’t even really understand what Alveria was doing to me in the first place. A part of me loved her and hated to see her suffer, even if I didn’t fully understand how or why she was suffering. Another part of me was alight with rage at whatever she’d been doing to me. The only thing I really knew right now was that I wanted to go to bed.

“Good.” Gyrfoyle grunted, “And just so you know — if the Department of Forbidden Magik doesn’t check up on you, I will.”

“Is that a threat?” Alveria asked through watery yet piercing eyes.

“No. You’re a dear friend, and I’m worried about you. That’s all.”

“Okay,” Alveria softened, “Thank you, Gyrfoyle.”

Gyrfoyle nodded, “Now wipe your tears, so we can free your apprentice.”

“Right.”

Gyrfoyle poured the contents of the vile over me, and my stone shell began cracking until it all fell off of me and exploded into dust upon impact with the ground below. I almost burst with an arsenal of barely contained questions, accusations, and insults, but —ultimately— I decided it would be best to bide my time. Especially since I didn’t fully understand what was happening.

“Good work,” Alveria couldn’t meet my eyes, “Now let’s go home.”

It was a quiet journey back to the penthouse.

————————————————————————

As Always, All Characters Depicted are 18+

Hi! I hope you enjoyed this chapter — it’s a bit of a departure from the usual more ABDL centric things I write, but don’t worry — more diapers and fantasy babying ahead. If you like this story, showing your support means a lot and encourages me to write more chapters faster — especially since my captions tend to get wayyyy more attention. Thanku ^^

[witch-ix]

Red Fountain Trainings Uniform, Mission Armor and Formal Suit

The students of Red Fountain are trained and educated to become either Knights or Wizards. The future Knights are taught to fight using weapons, as well as magical methods.

The round jewel is made of their magic, during the first week of first years' classes at the college. It resembles a Wizard's Amulet, but is used to store the phanto-weapons and the nanotech-armor. During their time as students their jewels are color-coded, depending on which specialisation they choose- First year's jewels of future Knights are teal. With the second year they can choose between different branches: team leaders, who continue joining most classes to become all-rounder, have a green jewel; armorer and combatants wear a magenta jewel; strategists and negotiators' jewel is blue; pilots and mechanics are yellow. The red jewels are on Red Fountains' Guardians.

Despite these different specialisations all future Knights have to attend weapon- and combat training, as well as dragon-riding classes.

During the first month of their first year the future Knights have a choice over what weapon(s) they learn to use. Whatever weapon it is comes down to preference and skill set of the student. The phanto-weapons are made of an absolute magic-proof material – Eraklium – which is shaped by their magic and retractable into the hilt.

They are also taught to use their magic to enhance their physical condition in order to be faster or stronger; and to keep their minds save from illusion magic.

more information under the cut -

Their trainings uniform consists of comfortable pants, laceless shoes, usually fingerless gloves (but Vyke's weapon of choice is bow and arrow) and tops, which are offered in different cuts - the choice comes down to personal preference. The jewels can be put wherever the student/guardian thinks the most practical.

The mission armor is nanotechnology and has been invented only a few years prior by a couple from Zenith. It is made of Eraklium, just like the phanto-weapons. Red Fountain students and Guardian's armor comes in blue and beige and the color combination is locked for them specifically.

A helmet is part of the armor. Both can be worn without the other. One's helmet can be connected with the teammates helmets, to be able to communicate through greater distances, when out on missions. After graduating everyone has to change their armor's colors, either to fit with their work place or personal preference.

The formal suit comes with a red cape, which is held in place with the jewel. The chains attached to the jewel show the rank – fourth- and fifth-year students get one chain, the guardians have two and teachers three.

Bonus: The suit without the cape and the bodysuit underneath the nanotech-armor. The bodysuit is form-fitting, high-tech; designed for comfort and functionality: it's advanced under armor that helps regulate temperature and provides additional protection. The material is resistant to damage, providing an extra layer of protection in case of emergencies; it's equipped with life support systems that monitor their vitals and provide oxygen if needed. It used to be worn for missions before the nanotech-armor was invented, but it was blue and white back then.