#she has THREE built-in weak points

[transzojja]

there is a REASON Zojja is a distance fighter, alright?

[dizzydaisychains]

sylus being a soft father

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ sylus being a soft father; sitting among an audience of pastel plushies, sylus uses his evol to make the paws of the teddy bears clap as little ballet slippers poke out from underneath the living room curtain. three, two, one, swish! the curtain is drawn back and his little girl steps out in a sparkling tiara, followed by you, taking his breath away as he realises you're dressed in your old wedding dress that still makes his heart do somersaults when he sees you wrapped in all that chiffon and silk. "daddy! the music!" and ah, yes, he snaps his fingers and the needle drops on an old vinyl of brahm's waltz number fifteen. the gramophone crackles to life as you take the little girl's hand, mother and daughter curtsying for the audience, sylus clapping with complete and utter adoration. he dims the lights with a flick of his wrist, shining the torch on the cardboard 'stage' he had hand-painted that afternoon. the audience goes silent as the show begins, red ruby eyes falling in love all over again with the family he has made together with you.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ sylus being a soft father; because like his love for you, his love for his daughter is unconditional. it’s as gentle as the morning sunrise, and as soft as the golden glow of the night light by his little girl’s bed as he reads her a bedtime story. “read the one about the princess who saved the dragon again!” she squeals as she cuddles into sylus, both of them squashed into a bed that’s not made for two, but they make it work it anyway. sylus laughs, amused that no matter how many times he tells her the story, his daughter never tires of it. as usual, she falls asleep halfway through, and sylus kisses her tiny forehead as he tucks her in, smirking as he notices your figure leaning against the door frame. “so how did the princess save the dragon in the end?” you ask, a knowing look in your eyes as sylus tiptoes over to you, cautious not to wake his little girl up. gentle wisps of black and red mist guide you into his warm arms. “it's quite simple, really. no magic involved. the princess simply showed the dragon that 'family’ doesn’t have to be something that abandons you when it realises you are weak. that sometimes family is something that takes your weakness and turns it into strength. that family is the safe haven built by you and me."

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ sylus being a soft father; a rainy afternoon. sylus feels a tug on his sleeve as red boba eyes stare at him from over the top of his book. his daughter points at the torrential rain outside. "let me guess, your mother told you no." the little girl nods, giving him a pout that's identical to yours; a pout that sylus can never say no to. so he bundles her up in a yellow raincoat, crouching down as he helps her step into her wellington boots with faded smiley faces on the soles. and then they're both outside, sylus using his evol to guide the rain into puddles, making them bigger. splash! his daughter squeals with delight as she dances in the rain, sylus laughing as he too finds joy in jumping into puddles. so childish, yet it makes him crave the childhood he never had. later that afternoon, with grocery bags in your arms, you frown at the scene of sylus and your little girl with rain dripping from their hair, sneezing and drinking hot chocolate in the kitchen. sylus says nothing. just points at his daughter, who in turn points at her father. "daddy's idea!"

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ sylus being a soft father; he never had a warm childhood, so by god does he give his little girl anything she desires. little pink sneakers jump up in down in delight as your eyes take in the dozens of shopping bags strewn across the living room. floor. “sylus! did you buy her every toy in linkon?" sylus just shrugs, nonchalant, but his eyes are shining with a fondness as gentle as cherry blossoms floating in the breeze.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ sylus being a soft father; calloused fingers plaiting silvery hair. his little girl sits in front of the gold-framed mirror as sylus carefully braids baby pink ribbons into her silver strands. "when i grow up, i want to be strong like daddy!”she says all of a sudden, and sylus smiles, pressing a chaste kiss to the crown of her head. "you need to start eating your vegetables then. i know you hide them under your plate when you think your mother isn't looking." his daughter makes a face. "don't tell her! it can be our secret, daddy." sylus mimes zipping his lips shut. he throws the imaginary key over his shoulder. "you got it, my little princess."

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ sylus being a soft father; "ready or not, here i come!" a never-ending game of hide and seek, sylus disappearing in a puff of red and black smoke until, poof! he appears at the foot of the bed as his little girl tries to stay as quiet as possible under the bed. "hmmm...i wonder where she could be?" the girl giggles, thinking she's fooled the smartest adult she knows, until, whoosh! sylus appears right beside her, wrapping his arms around his daughter, his hands tickling her, provoking squeals of laughter that sound like little wind chimes on a summer's day. she slips out of his arms, but sylus is already crawling after her, and then he's picking her up with one swift motion and spinning her around in his arms. "again! again!" their laughter echoes throughout the house as you roll your eyes at their antics, folding warm laundry fresh from the dryer, humming to yourself as laughter continues to fill the walls of your little home.

[kwanisms]

It’s the season of love, or lust. Here’s a collection of 14 separate tales to keep you company this Valentine’s season. demon/incubus!Idol × fem!Reader

» back || playlist || taglist « ❑ WORDCOUNT —  ❑ WARNINGS — adult language, female reader, shorter reader, reincarnated reader, chubby!Reader, smaller reader, jealousy and possessiveness, mentions of: marriage, travel, homesickness, food & alcohol consumption, history of drug use, depression & thoughts of suicide, feelings of isolation, past love, heartbreak, major character death, reincarnation, severe depression, loneliness, minor character death, food & alcohol consumption, occultism, witchcraft, demonic summoning & rituals, PTSD, graveyards, ghost hunting, communicating with spirits, hospital environments, long working hours, bodily trauma, blood, gore; see each part for full warnings! ❑ CONTENT — angst, fluff, smut; supernatural, fantasy, demons & angels, biblical, established relationships, office setting, boss!Reader, coworkers to lovers, ER doctor!Reader, demon!Idols; non idol au, demon au, farm au, hospital au; see each part for full content lists! ❑ NOTES — happy valentine's, my loves! Here is something no one asked for but I'm delivering anyway! I've got 14 stories here, 11 of which are sequels to existing aus I've created and three new ones! They're all of my existing demon aus! From Seventeen to Stray Kids to Day6, all of my demon characters are being revisited here! Taglist is open and will close at the end of January so sign up now! Thanks for the support thus far babes and as always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only.

MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED. AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.

 ➥ incubus!Kihyun × fem!Reader summary: After the events of her story, Y/N has had her curse broken and succubus powers removed, allowing her to live a normal life. She has managed to keep a low profile, getting a job in a diner, her entire world is turned upside down when one of the men she was tasked with seducing in her previous life shows up at the diner late one night with a bone to pick with her. read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 1

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 ➥ incubus!Hongjoong × fem!Reader × Seonghwa summary: After being banished to hell, Hongjoong manages to find a weak point and escapes back to the mortal realm. He only has a short time before the hounds of Hell are sent after him to bring him back and he makes the most of his time by tracking down his former servant only to find Seonghwa’s vampire curse has been broken and that he’s now happily married to the woman who destroyed everything Hongjoong built up. read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 2

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 ➥ incubus!Jisung × fem!Reader summary: Now that all his friends are seeming to settle down with their respective partners, Han decides to venture out on his own and explore a new city. While there, he meets someone who flips his world upside down and turns it inside out. read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 3

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 ➥ demon!Jeonghan × fem!Reader summary: Jeonghan lost his chance at love by being stubborn and cruel. Since then, he’d been drifting through the world, finding no meaning at continuing his meaningless charade. He refused to return to Hell but being on Earth was even more torture. He thought about just ending everything when the world came to a halt upon spotting a familiar face on the streets of Paris. read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 4

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 ➥ incubus!Johnny × fem!Reader summary: Y/N has been living her best life, having climbed the social ladder at work and now heads her department, thanks to the promotion she landed. She can’t forget the reason for her success and one night while at the office working late, the demon she made a deal with comes back to check in. read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 5

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 ➥ demon!Mingi × fem!Reader summary: Summers spent in the country used to have a sense of nostalgia but now, as you helped clear out your aunt’s old farm house, it was just hot and all you did was sweat. When you come across an old, tattered black book, things go from hot to hotter when you are transported to an alternate dimension where you meet a mysterious man who inhabits your aunt’s house on what he calls the ‘Other Side.’  read now »» coming Feb 6

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 ➥ incubus!Sungjin × fem!Reader summary: Since the incident at the museum, involving the old grimoire, Y/N has kept a low profile and quit her job at the museum, instead getting a job at a bookstore in a quiet part of town. It’s been three years and she still has the book, keeping it locked in a glass case in her house. The demon has not appeared since but she can’t shake the uneasy feeling she has as the fifth year anniversary of the Summoning approaches. read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 7

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 ➥ incubus!Yeonjun × fem!Reader summary: After a visit to the old graveyard with her friends, Y/N has had this uneasy feeling of being followed or watched. Maybe she’s being paranoid, or maybe it's the result of playing around with a Ouija board but one thing is certain; she keeps seeing someone or something watching her from the window in her bedroom. read now »» coming Feb 8

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 ➥ incubus!Jongho × fem!Reader summary: As a result of passing his seduction test, Jongho has become a full-fledged incubus. He’s now among the ranks of those who have made names for themselves. He finds that being an incubus comes with a great amount of freedom and responsibility. Responsibility he shirks because he can’t seem to stay away from the one who helped him pass his test: Y/N.  read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 9

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 ➥ demon!Seungmin × fem!Reader summary: Your idea of fun was playing video games with your friends or playing beer pong at a frat party. It did not include summoning a demon in the basement of the creepy, old abandoned house at the end of Willow Avenue.  read now »» coming Feb 10

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 ➥ demon!Chan × fem!Reader summary: Ever since she summoned him, Chan hasn’t been able to get Y/N out of his mind. He returns to her after some time and insists that she accept the proposal he made to her the last time he was there. He wants to be bound exclusively to her. Y/N is hesitant but Chan tells her to think it over while he makes his trip to visit her worth both their time. read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 11

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 ➥ incubus!Chanyeol × fem!Reader summary: Since their encounter and Chanyeol’s nature as an incubus exposed, he and Y/N have had a secret relationship which tends to bring out the worst jealousy in both of them. They often sneak around the hospital, meeting in secret places.  read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 12

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 ➥ incubus!Hyunjin × fem!Reader × witch!Felix summary: After his visit, Hyunjin has moved into the house next door to Y/N and Felix, making himself at home as their neighbor and tormenting Felix by plaguing Y/N’s dreams. Hyunjin seems determined to make Felix’s life a living hell and drive a wedge between the witch and his girlfriend. read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 13

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 ➥ incubus!Joshua × fem!Reader summary: Ever since that fateful night where Joshua revealed himself as a demon, Joshua and Y/N have built a life for themselves, living together in her house and working at the antique shop together. When Joshua decides to take her out for a romantic Valentine’s dinner, his jealous side emerges when he thinks the waiter is flirting with Y/N so he takes her home to remind her who she belongs to. read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 14

©️ kwanisms 2018 - 2025 | all written and artistic works on this blog are protected under copyright. reposts, continuations, and translations of my works are not permitted. All graphics made by me.

[coeurify]

ok but what do you think about making a sex tape with ellie 🧍‍♀️

an: this has been reworked over and over since this request came in in march… so enjoy! its very lovey dovey and sm plot sorry :3

warnings: 18+. filming. jackson!ellie. fingering and oral!r receiving. mostly lovey but some teasing and rough language :3 ellie is obsessed and lovesick and so is reader soooo they make a sex tape. unedited gimme time.

When Ellie first brought up the idea, you had recoiled into her old beat up couch, scoffing as she waved the old camcorder around, a shiteating grin on her face.

“I doubt that thing even works El,” you shrugged your shoulders under the blanket you had stolen off her bed. It wasn't unusual for you to hole up in her small homey garage while she was on patrol.. but what *was* odd was her little.. Souvenir from this particular trip.

“C’mon babe,” Ellie pouted, “Let me try on you..” she wiggled the little camcorder, slipping her hand into the attached grip, flipping open the small screen. Despite your complaints that there was no way it worked, Ellie just could never be wrong. Of course she knew you would fight back, and so she had made sure she fished some batteries too. Of course they came from Maria, the cost three days of stable duty.. But it was worth it for the immune woman, who ducked her nose down and watched the screen flicker to a slow start.

The quality was no better than that of what you could expect from a decades old camera, the film grainy and muffled, each corner covered by symbols Ellie didn’t really understand. But it was no roadblock in the trek of her wants. She smiled when your hands immediately came to slap over your face, voice serious behind your palms as you spoke, “put that down.”

Eventually however, you got a little used to Ellie’s newest fixation. The little hums she made were always a dead give away that she was filming you. During a video game tournament against Dina and Jesse, squished so closely to the two on the floor of the garage that you literally bruised the taller man during a particularly aggressive round of a fighting game. When you were trying your best to compete against your girlfriend’s art skills, tongue poking out the corner of your lips as you worked on a very detailed stick figure that dawned pointed down eyebrows, a large frown and red pencil hair. Even just when you were organizing Ellie’s closet for her, sorting through the tens of sweatshirts with a judging pout on your lips at the mess.

Each time you heard the distinctive sound of El’s attempt at holding back laughs, a small little choked up ‘hmm’ sound. You usually turned your head, quick to flip off your girlfriend-turned-filmmaker. But by the fifth time of catching her smiling behind the little object, you just let her. Whenever you could see her a little less tense, you took it.

Even if that meant starring in all of her little five second shitty clips. Her excuse always, “Just something to look at when I miss you.”

In some ways it made you feel weak legged, slightly lovesick by the thought of Ellie loving you so dearly she just had to steal little memories of you. Every small grin that broke onto freckled cheeks wherever she filmed coaxed you into the haze built up by her new hobby. You became so covered in adoration soon that you resorted to tiny only half mad eye roll when the click of the camera sounded.

Small clips turned into Ellie’s free hand wrapping around your bare waist as you looked in the mirror of her bathroom, the camcorder pressed near your cheek, the auburnette on the other side. You wiped the condensation from the glass, the room still slightly foggy from your shower. “You are not filming me out of the shower,” you huffed. Ellie didn’t answer, the familiar sounding hum stopped only when she pressed a kiss to the base of your neck, lips pulling up into a smile against the skin. “Won’t point too low..” she promised. “You just look so pretty..”

That time, the camera had been closed and discarded on a random bedside table as the two of you stumbled across her floor, giggling as Ellie cursed, stubbing her toe on the corner of the bed she tried to press you down into.

It continued like that, the limits of what you allowed Ellie to film seemed to blur further with every day.. Every curl of her fingers around the object that had become so central to this small haven of her home. Your own neck hot for reasons very different from embarrassment each time the filming light blinked a little too long. The line that you and Ellie had drawn in the sand of your mind was looking a lot less precise with every new memory saved into the device.

Even further along into the passing weeks, you had settled comfortably into yet another night spent at Ellie’s. Your own bedroom had remained untouched for nearly a week this time, bed spread likely just as cold as the air outside. But the garage was warm. The air inside thick as you pressed two fingers against your lips to keep a laugh from spilling out. Glasses of half empty wine, stolen from Tommy and Maria’s cupboard, balanced on the table that sat directly in front of the couch you were cuddled into.

The feeling of wine drunkenness always made you giggly, but your girlfriend parading around her small living space with her camcorder, well, that made you even more prone to bursts of laughs. She had gone from filming and rambling on about what wine you were drinking to zooming into your face, chuckling with breath that smelt like red wine. “See how pretty?” Ellie gaped to no one, stepping closer to you on the couch. The whole garage was painted a light orange from the setting sun outside, but it didn’t stop Ellie.

“El, you’re being a dork,” you chide, shaking your head as more compliments spilt from her. She shoos off the bitten remark with a sound that boarders on a coo, leaning over you as the lens of the camcorder sat close enough to pick up the smaller details of your face the grainy film usually could not.

“I’m just showin’ how perfect you are..” Ellie explains, a softer tone edging into her lungs as she presses her thumb to your cheek, drawing a new heat under the digit. “Perfect cheeks…” her finger traces over your jawline next, and then your chin. Each new landmark of your face that Ellie doted on swept closer and closer to your soft lips. You were no idiot, you saw how the green of her eyes fell to the fat, watched as you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth and then out again. You made no move to stop what came next.

That next move was your girlfriend’s finger following like a moth to a flame to the one spot that teetered on that blurry line again, thumb pressing softly around the curve of your lips.

“Perfect lips,” Ellie continued, eyes flicking back and forth from the camera screen to you. Soon the pad of her finger is right against your bottom lip, and the room seems to slow.

The both of you hold bated breaths as you mull over your options. But this mulling is no longer than a few seconds, feeling overwriting the more logical side of your brain with a gushy type of tightness in your chest.

Your lips part, eyes meeting the lense as you suck the tip of Ellie’s thumb into your mouth. Lips wrap around the soft skin, salty and cold, and Ellie has little to say other than a slow and breathy, “Fuck..”

Your tongue peaks out just for a moment, lavishing over the wet skin, but Ellie is quick to pull away, leaving your shining lips parted in confusion. The camera falls to her side as her free fingers wrap around your wrist. Just like last time, the little red light twists away from your face. Ellie’s toes step backwards from that oh so mysterious line you two made.

“You know what you do to me, hm?” Ellie questioned as she hauled you up by your arm, a sharp giggle following as she stomped to the bed. The camera is discarded on the table near her pillows as you are thrown back on it.

“No,” you tease, your next giggle cut off by a thump noise that was Ellie pushing you back against grey sheets, you make a sound that almost sounds like “oof” as you try to readjust. Ellie clambers on top of your squirming frame as another sputtered laugh escapes at the messy, and not very seductive, way you two found contact against the creaking mattress.

“Tell me,” you prompt, meeting Ellie’s narrowed green eyes. “Why should I? You’re laughin’ at me.”

Your eyes roll as Ellie’s lips fall into a pout that you want to kiss clean off. “Stop being a baby,” you mutter before letting your impulse win, your hands cupping the freckles cheeks of your girlfriend and pulling her down for a soft kiss. Her pouted lips quickly shape to your own, and you sigh in approval as the hand not holding herself up traces down to your waist.

“I’m not a baby,” your girlfriend complains when your lips part from each other, and you nearly pinch her cheeks from just how lovely you find the whiny drawl in her voice, instead you just shrug, biting back another half bubbled up laugh, “mhm, prove it.”

Ellie does just that. One tug on your hips has you flatter against the bed, one poke at your side has a squeal leaving your mouth. You see how Ellie’s lips quirk up, but before you can admire the sight, she kisses you again.

“So,” Ellie punctuates the word with a kiss, the sort that makes a loud and annoying smacking noise, before trailing her lips to your cheek. “Fuckin” Ellie’s lips find home on your jawline next, and act that has a simmering heat grow between your legs. “Perfect.” Ellie finishes the repeat of what her fingers had done earlier by nudging your head back, lips pressing softer kisses to the flesh of your neck.

Your eyes flicked to the side table, pupils finding the little camcorder as the auburn haired girl bit at your neck, your attention pulled away as your eyes flutter closed at the feeling. “El,” you breathe out, a hand finding her messy hair, nails scraping at her scalp as she bit harsher at the column of your throat. You aren’t sure why her name had been your first thought to say after seeing the camcorder, swallowing as your fingers itched to reach toward the side table.

“Hm? Tell me,” Ellie taunts, words muffled as her next target becomes your collarbone. Your own words biting at you again as your eyebrows furrowed together, watching as your girlfriend’s fingertips find the edge of your shirt, pushing it up as your hand falls from her hair to help take it off.

You pull her back for another kiss before you can even think to answer her question, one you weren’t even sure you could explain. Ellie’s needy fingers come into contact with the fat of your tits, tweaking at the perked nipples, nails pressing in just a little too hard, earning a mewl directly against the spit slick kiss. As Ellie kissed you, you tried your best to focus on the feeling, and not how you were acutely aware of the camera beside you.

Her tongue swiped at your bottom lip, warm against your parting lips as she searched to deepen the kiss, messy sounds of half breaths and kissing all sounded through the small area, your hips rolling up as her knee slotted itself between your trembling thighs.

You can’t help but wonder what this may look like on camera, and as Ellie pulls back, you notice the green of her eyes had dimmed, pupils blown as the pretty eyelashes fanned lightly. The freckles splattered over the apples of her cheeks were particularly prominent tonight, and you suspected it had something to do with the blood that rushed there, rosy and all around causing that same lovesick feeling to creep up your weakened bones.

You wonder if she would look as pretty on that grainy screen too.

Before your mind can even form another thought, Ellie is pulling away from your lips, a small whine the response she received. You can’t complain for long as she moves down, wet lips trailing sloppy kisses to your soft stomach, planting the ember of a growing fire in your groin, causing your hand to flex. Your eyes are pulled by an invisible string to the side of you again, the black material of the camcorder your gaze’s target. Ellie grumbles in response, and a small pinch on your hip has you yelping.

“What’re you looking at? Look at me.”

“Ellie,” you try again, lip quivering nervously as she ushers you to lift your hips, tugging off the bottoms you wore. “Fuckkkk,” she drawls, lost in her own little world as a large hand presses your thighs open. “You see that?” she marvels, a finger pressing against the wet spot on your panties. When she presses, you can feel the fabric stick to you, nearing translucent as she teases, your lips hugging the now soaked panties. It has your hips stirring in their spot, the flame in your stomach burning your liquid feeling stomach. “Ellie,” you sigh again.

Finally her gaze looks up, “Yea?” she asks, her voice softening. You can see the flash of confusion, her hand falling from your thigh as she searched for any apprehension. “You ok?”

“I can’t—“ your voice comes out whinier than you would like to admit, harsh against your ears with a feeling of embarrassment. “Can’t say it,” you finish, eyes moving to the camera sitting on the small wooden table beside you for the umpteenth time.

Ellie follows your eyes, and when you look back to her, there’s a flash of surprise in the shade of green you loved so much. It was replaced quickly, her eyelids drooping as her chin tilted up. “Hm. Don’t know what you mean,” she shrugs, fingers going back to teasing your panty line.

Her tone is laced with sarcasm, the teasing tilt to it is a voice you had heard many times before, many times in this exact position. Ellie liked to make you say things, liked to watch you squirm. You were convinced at this point she got off on your embarrassment, and she probably wouldn’t even deny that.

“Gonna have to spell it out for me, babe,” Ellie added, dipping down to place soft kisses at your hip-bone, pink muscle licking over a mark there.

A low and annoyed sound escapes your throat, and your girlfriend chuckles against your flesh, one finger curling around the fabric of your panties, tugging it down a little ungracefully, your shaking thighs to thank for that.

“Barely even touched you yet and you’re shakin,” Ellie teases again, whispering softly, “Such a pretty pussy..” as the sight of your weepy folds meet her eyes. “This all for me, baby? Or somethin’ else on your mind?”

Your eyes squeeze shut again, hoping to rid your mind of the film reel like thoughts of the camera pressed in Ellie’s hand as she did this. They played over and over behind the black of your eyes, and another frustrated sound fills the garage.

“Not gonna answer?” Ellie was quieter now, repositioning herself, parting your thighs even more. A finger ghosted over your dripping cunt, a hum following the action. “Can’t make you feel better if you don’t use your words, y’know?”

The warm air hit your folds as Ellie exposed you more, thighs burning from the stretch, from the tight grip of one of her hands, fingers digging into and squeezing the fatty flesh.

The blanket beneath your bare ass is no comfort as you move around, and Ellie’s nose bumps against the softness of your thigh. So close, so fucking close to giving exactly what you were searching for, so close to your aching center that your resolve cracks lightly, head tilted back and against the pillow.

“The camera,” you croak, your mouth dry as your lips part, refusing to look at the other girl.

“What about the camera? Look at me and tell me what you want.”

The crease between your eyebrows likely was gaining small droplets of sweat just from how hard you were attempting to avoid this entire fucking conversation, but Ellie kept pressing you further, and who were you to deny her?

“Wanna film this,” you eventually admit, head dipping down to meet her darkened eyes.

“Yea baby? Wanna see what a mess I can make you?” Ellie’s words start to blur together, the idea surely muddling any coherent thoughts together in her mind, licking her lips as she awaits your response.

“Fuck— mmph, yes El. Please.*”

Ellie’s lips curl into a smile that’s more wicked than loving, “Red button starts it, you can hold it.” She instructed, and you scramble to reach your arm out, grasping at the little hand strap connected to the camcorder.

“There you go babe,” she nods, “give it a go, let me see what you’ve got.”

Your fingers are shaking so badly it takes a moment for your thumb to hit the button, to see the soft little red light noting the start of the film.

The grainy screen doesn’t pick up on all the freckles adorning Ellie’s face. The ones that made you feel all gooey, that you wanted to kiss until her face was a pretty shade of red. But it did capture her parted lips, the expanse of your thighs, and your shaky grip tilted the camera down as Ellie’s head dipped between your thighs.

Her mouth latched to your achy cunt, tongue licking up the drops of arousal that covered your slit, pearling on the petal like lips that she spreads with her fingers.

Your arms almost immediately gave out.

Clearly, you were not as skilled in the art of film making as Ellie had been, the camera dropping almost completely to your tummy as Ellie sucked at your cunt. Her eyes flicked up, and she unlatched from the saccharine slick that pooled on her tongue.

“You keep that camera steady,” she muttered, thumb rubbing tiny, tight circles on your throbbing clit. “Or I stop, yea?”

You nod quickly, hips grinding into the slow and steady motion of her thumb, wet with your sticky . You would have agreed to anything she demanded of you right now anyway. Too needy, too desperate to feel her lips on you again.

“ ‘M counting on you to make a pretty movie for me.”

The sentence tapers off as she disappears to the space between your thighs again, and you nearly and truly sob as her nose bumps your clit, her tongue poking experimentally against your hole, feeling as it clenches against nothing.

You know your whimpers and quick little puffs of air are being picked up by the camera, but you’re too focused on keeping the lense directly focused on the auburn tendrils of hair, on where her face was covered by your thighs caging her cheeks in, keeping her in the place she most needed to be, drinking down every single single drop you gave her.

“Ellie,” you whine, toes curling when she presses away from your clit, two long fingers coming to part your folds, admiring the sticky sight.

“Shhh,” Ellie coos, eyes glancing up at the camera again, the burning sight of her fern colored gaze through the tiny screen has your stomach clenching even harsher, hands trembling lightly.

The air on your exposed center lasts no longer than a few seconds, Ellie’s head dipping down as the warm, wet feeling of a glob of her spit trails down your clit, finding your pulsing hole. Her tongue swipes it quickly after, suckling gently at the shiny bubbles. The sound that follows, the loud wet squelch of your wetness mixing with her spit is enough to make you want to cover the speaker of the camcorder, fingers gripping tightly at the little contraption. She focuses on licking at your sopping cunt, her head moving slightly, moaning against your folds.

“Oh—nnh—El!” you cry, your chin trembling in tandem with the hand you try desperately to keep still. Your hips rut up, and Ellie’s face moves up with you, an arm detaching from its place on your squishy thigh to instead wrap around your waist, pulling you closer. Impossibly closer.

You can feel yourself closer, closer to that delicious peak, Ellie’s nose bumping your clit, tongue working mind numbing ministrations on you.

Then she pulls back.

“Fuckin made for me,” Ellie groans, taking a deep breath as she unlatched from your pussy, her fingers sweeping through your puffy lips. “Was fuckin’ made to let me taste you.” Her eyes flick to the camera, her tone louder than usual— a little less breathy. She wanted the microphone to hear.

You cry pathetically at the loss of her tongue, lip quivering.

“Tell me,” she demands, voice overpowering the slick noises of her now shiny fingers rubbing between your folds, the tips pausing at your pulsing hole, dipping only a little in, teasing. “Tell me this pretty pussy was made for me.”

And then Ellie is reaching forward, letting go of her grip on your hips to grab harshly at the camera, maneuvering it to show your trembling body, her fingers pressing open your lips, giving the camera a pretty close up of your soaked cunt. She croons at the sight, her fingers pressing together to land a short and sharp slap against the swollen lips. “S’pretty.”

“Ellie,” you choke, chest heaving up and down as the embarrassment creeps up, making that coil in your tummy even tighter.

“Tell me,” she says again, smoothly.

Desperate to have her fingers opening you up, to have her filling you and breaking that tightly wrapped tension in your groin, you break.

“I’m yours el. ‘m all yours, was made for you,” your voice is restrained, quiet as you chew at your lips, stirring in your spot as she continues the teasing.

“What else? Tell me more, baby,” she insists, one long finger sinking into you, hissing at the feeling of your cunt molding to her, perfect for her as you clench.

“A—ah!” your voice is a sweet little cry. You grind down into the feeling, searching for more. “It’s yours El,” you babble— louder now, head thrown back. Ellie captured the moment with a quick tilt up of the camera. “M-my pussy s’all yours.”

“Fuck,” Ellie breathes, her own, usually steady camera hand, wavering as you speak. She grants you with another finger as she thrusts harshly into you, a shriek pulled from your open mouth.

“So—s-so fucking perfect,” she grunts, curling her fingers gently, hitting that squishy spot in your walls that has you keening, eyes rolling back. “Love this pussy so much, shit—shit, love you so much.”

“Love you too El,” you blubber, your chin tilting down to stare directly at the camera for a second. That awkwardness, the fear from the early days of when she’d film you completely gone as you moan pathetically, eyes shiny with complete and utter adoration.

She only pistons her fingers into you harder, faster, relishing in how you moan, how your toes curl and your chin wobbles. You’re the prettiest fucking thing she’s ever seen.

The camera points down to where she’s thrusting into you, watching through the screen as you meet her thrusts, your hips moving against the grey sheets, your thighs squeezing her hand in between them as you sob out.

Ellie meets your eyes, stealing your attention from the camera she keeps focused on your squirming frame, pounding her fingers into your cunt. “Cum for me, you can do it baby, go on. Give me a pretty show.”

And you do. Your sweaty back lifts off the bed with a sharp sob as the cord in your tummy snaps, gushing around Ellie’s fingers, pulsing around her as she thrusts shallowly, riding you through it.

Your vision goes black for a second as you heave, hands shaking as you reach out for Ellie, fingers looking to curl around her warm skin.

You don’t even notice the off click of the camera, of how she lets it softly drop to the side as she climbs up your shaky form, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek.

“So pretty,” Ellie hums, “Prettiest movie star ever,” she mumbled, and you pour your lips— getting another soft kiss as she continues to plant tiny loving pecks around your face.

“Never should’ve let you keep that camera,” you whisper gently, smiling right when she does against the corner of your mouth that she pecks at.

“Yea fuckin’ right, we just made the movie of the year babe.”

[vamptizm]

this whole thing is annoying the actual fuck out of me so let’s actually talk about it

not saying one is much better than the other, but the comparisons are annoying ASF and if i was petty enough i’d pull the NATTY card, but that’s silly

caitlin’s WNBA debut game was may 14th against connecticut where she played 32 minutes and did score 20 points and 3 assists, yes. but ALSO set a record for the most turnovers in a WNBA debut with 10 turnovers. they lost the game 92–71. by 21 points. as a developed team.

paige had 10 points, lead in rebounds with 7, 2 assists and 1 block. only 2 turnovers the entire game. played 29 minutes. whistle wasn’t pretty, but i’m sure that’s something they loveee to ignore. they lost 99-84. by 15 points. as a new team, with only 3 old players on the roster and a whole new coaching staff. they played against minnesota.. a team that lost the 2024 championship by 5 points only.

so there’s your fucking wnba regular season debut comparison. not much of a fucking difference.

but if you wanna compare FURTHER, which is so dumb because cc and paige don’t play alike—we can do that.

CC

strengths:

• great shooter, especially from deep

• great at creating her own shot and pulling defenders out.

• very flashy passer with high court vision.

• can change the momentum of a game with quick scoring runs.

weaknesses:

• is turnover prone ( she tries a lot of stupid high risk passes).

• her defense is a work in progress to say the LEAST. not always consistent or physical on that end.

• heavily ball dominant. she thrives best when the offense is built around her just like in college

bottom line: She's a high volume offensive weapon, gets compared to steph for her range. BUT she still needs to improve a lot in terms of decision making and defense

PB

strengths:

• very smart decision maker. rarely forces shots.

• clutch in late game situations.

• strong on both ends of the court. offense AND defense.

• can shoot, drive, facilitate, defend, and rebound. definition of all around player.

weaknesses:

• injuries have definitely slowed her momentum and exposure compared to cc.

• less flashy than caitlin

• might not be as dominant from three point range.

• passes the ball a lot

bottom line: paige is more of a complete guard. efficient, tactical, and quietly deadly. she’s the type of player that can slot into any system and make it better. can also play different positions and HAS done so successfully.

if you want a high scoring player who draws in fans and stretches defenses, go with cc.

if you want a balanced, winning guard who can run the floor, score, and lock in defensively, paige is your girl.

right now cc has the louder game but paige has the quieter dominance. and that might be more sustainable longterm.

one is a flashy shooter, and one is a do it all guard.

[cineatros]

༉‧₊˚. haunted by you

pairing.ᐟ daniela avanzini x doctor!strange reader about.ᐟ  daniela doesn't remember their love. The curse took that away, but when she looks into the stranger's eyes—the woman who won't stop staring at her like she's something lost—she feels something aching, something empty. genre.ᐟ heavy angst. no comfort. cw.ᐟ language. three dimensions. a/n.ᐟ drabble only. currently working on the one-shot. not proofread. just gonna post this cuz its been staring at me in my docs. pls someone tell me if this is good or not so i could edit it in the final fic :D. 4k words

dimension one - soul severance curse.

They tell you not to fall in love when you study the arcane.

Not because love makes you weak, but because it makes you choose.

And I chose her.

Even when I swore I wouldn't. Even when I whispered oaths in a language older than the stars, carved words into my soul, anchored myself in silence—I still chose her. Every day. Every hour.

Her name is Daniela. Not Lady Daniela, or Seer of Light, or anything like the others I met through the Sanctum. Just Daniela. Just…her. And she has no idea who I really am.

She thinks I’m a surgeon who switched to theoretical physics after a bad accident. She doesn’t know. About the Sanctum. About the texts hidden under my bed wrapped in illusions. About the magic that leaves bruises on my spirit. About the way I wake up sometimes not remembering which timeline I’m in.  

She doesn’t know what I keep in the second drawer of my desk, or that I once stitched a bleeding tear in the fabric of space while she slept two rooms away. She doesn’t know I’m on a first-name basis with demons who speak only in riddles and lies.

But she knows me.

She thinks I’m just…Y/N. A little odd. A little secluded. Always curious. Always hers.

The real me. The one I forget sometimes when I get too close to the edge of whatever revelation I’m chasing.

When I’m with her, I forget the multiverse. I forget fate. I forget that I’ve read the end of too many stories.

We met on a Tuesday.

Not the kind of day stories are usually built on—there were no omens in the sky, no signs carved into stone—but I remember it clearer than I remember most of my magical training. She was standing in line at the café on East 73rd, scowling at the menu like it had personally offended her.

“I don’t trust anyone who names a drink Soul Latte,” she muttered under her breath.

I laughed. She looked at me. And that was it. That was the first spell I was ever caught in.

She never knew it, but she was already starting to save me.

We don’t talk about fate.

She hates the idea. Thinks it strips people of their choices. “If fate’s already made the decision for us,” she’d said once, “then why bother loving anyone? What’s the point of falling if you didn’t choose the edge yourself?”

I remember wanting to agree with her. But I also remember the way her hands felt wrapped around mine that night, like maybe fate wasn’t a villain. Like maybe it had done one thing right—one thing good—when it placed her on that street, in that café, in front of me.

But lately… I’ve been studying fate anyway. Quietly. Behind her back.

Because if there’s even a chance that someone like her could be taken from someone like me—by a timeline, a breach, a paradox—then maybe the answer isn’t to trust the universe.

Maybe it’s to control it.

I see it in her eyes sometimes. A flicker of worry. She doesn’t say it, but she feels it—that I’m slipping. That something in me is spiraling further away.

“You okay?” she asks, brushing her fingers through my hair, tucking it behind my ear the way she always does when she’s trying to feel closer.

“Yeah,” I say, kissing her wrist. “Just tired.”

She smiles like she wants to believe me. God, she always wants to believe me.

The first time we kissed, it was raining. Not the dramatic kind. It was the sort of rain that just existed—soft and constant like a heartbeat, more background than plot device.

She was soaked. Her curly dark hair stuck to her cheeks, and she looked up at me like I was the only thing in the world worth standing in the rain for.

I hadn’t planned it. I never do with her.

It’s terrifying. All my life, I’ve been a woman of plans. Of contingency. If A, then B. If B fails, then C. I learned the layout of every sanctum before I ever set foot inside one. I learned how to make people think I wasn’t afraid of anything.

But her? I never planned for her. I just—fell.

She leaned up, her breath warm and shivering against mine, and said softly, “You always look like you’re about to leave.”

That was the moment. The shift. The crack in my armor.

Because she was right. I was always ready to vanish. To portal out. To fix something. To stop a war before it began or speak with time itself. I was always half-here.

But not with her.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I whispered.

And for a while, I meant it.

She doesn’t know about the mirror dimension. The place I go when the world is too loud. Where gravity bends sideways and I can scream without anyone hearing it. That’s where I’ve been spending my nights lately. There, and the library beneath the Sanctum, trying to decipher ancient incantations written in languages that died before memory existed.

I tell myself it’s all for her. That if I just understand the weave of the multiverse enough—if I find the right pattern, the right key—I can keep her safe. I can keep us safe.

But there’s a cost to knowing too much.

I’ve started to dream of her face…fading.

She doesn’t believe in magic.

She likes science. History. Real things. She tells stories with her hands when she talks about her job—archival preservation. She’s the kind of person who protects the past so it doesn’t disappear. And I’m the kind of person who tears open time just to see what’s hiding behind it.

“I think you like breaking rules,” she told me once, her head on my chest.

“Only the ones worth breaking.”

“So…all of them?”

I laughed, kissed her forehead. “Not yours.”

She smiled then. I remember that smile. She believed me.

I don’t think she would now.

Tonight she’s curled up beside me on the couch, her legs over mine, a book resting on her stomach. Something by a dead poet. Her hair is falling into her face and I can’t stop staring.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks, her voice barely louder than the crackle of the fireplace.

“I just…I love you.”

It slips out. Too raw. Too sudden.

She freezes for a second. Not because she’s surprised—I’ve said it before—but because of how I said it. Like it’s a goodbye.

She sits up. “Hey. Hey, what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I lied. “I just—I wanted to say it.”

Her fingers cup my cheek. “Y/N. Whatever you’re holding in, you can tell me.”

I want to. I ache to. But I can’t tell her the stars are aligning in patterns they never have before. I heard a whisper from a guardian of the multiverse last week saying I was too close to something sacred. That I cast a spell last night that burned the edge of my soul just to see what would happen—and what I saw was her, looking at me like she didn’t know me.

“I love you too,” she says, pulling me into her chest. “Whatever it is, we’ll get through it.”

Her heartbeat is steady. Mine isn’t.

I start writing things down.

Not spells. Not maps of potential timelines. Not warnings from the old texts.

But memories.

Little ones. Dumb ones. Her face the first time I made her pancakes and set off the smoke alarm. The way she laughed until she cried when I tripped over my cloak (she thought it was a costume). The time we stayed up talking about whether ghosts get lonely. The way she smells in the morning—like cedarwood and coffee.

I write it all because I’m scared I’ll forget. Or worse—scared she will.

The curse is only theoretical. That’s what I tell myself. I haven’t cast it. I haven’t even spoken it aloud.

But I’ve read it. And when you read something forbidden, it doesn’t leave you clean. It leaves residue. Whispers. Echoes that follow you even after you swear you’ve put the book away.

It was an accident, really. I was looking into soul bonds. Into tethered fates. Into what binds people across dimensions.

I didn’t expect the price to be so specific.

“You will remain. They will forget.”

I laughed at first. Thought it was a metaphor. A romantic tragedy from another realm.

But last night, I heard the mirror speak back to me. As if it already knew.

Daniela leans into me while we sleep. Her body naturally finds mine. Like we’re planets drawn to each other by instinct, by gravity.

She doesn’t know I watch her. That I memorize the way she shifts in her sleep. That I count the freckles on her shoulders because they’re more permanent than anything I’ve ever summoned with a spell.

“Don’t go too far,” she mumbled in her sleep last night.

I don’t think she was talking about the room.

Today she asked me what I’d do if I lost everything.

I said I’d find a way to get it back.

She laughed. Thought it was bravado. “What, you’d fight the universe?”

I didn’t answer.

Because I already am.

And yet.

With every spell I read, I feel it. A pull. A tug from somewhere beyond this world—like fate is daring me to challenge it. And I’m tempted, every time, because I’ve never met anything I couldn’t try to fix.

But maybe love isn’t meant to be fixed.

Maybe it’s just meant to be held, fiercely, until it slips through your hands.

Tonight, Daniela is reading in bed, her glasses slipping down her nose.

I stand in the doorway, just…watching.

“Come here,” she says, smiling.

I walk over. Slide into the sheets beside her. Kiss her like it’s the last moment before the storm.

Because maybe it is.

She hums against my lips. “You always kiss me like I’m going to disappear.”

“You’re not,” I whisper, clutching her like a lifeline.

“Good,” she murmurs, curling into me. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

I close my eyes.

But the universe never needed her to leave.

It just needed her to forget.

dimension two - temporal curse.

She doesn’t know.

That’s the first thing I always remind myself of when I look at her. When I watch her sleep, cheek pressed lazily into the pillow, lips parted just slightly, one arm dangling off the side of the mattress like she didn’t wage war with her own blanket hours ago.

She doesn’t know who I am. Not really.

She knows I like my coffee strong and my silences softer. She knows I’ll always steal her side of the blanket even if I’m not cold. She knows I flinch a little at loud thunder, and that I hum under my breath when I think no one’s listening. She knows the mundane pieces. The unremarkable ones. The kind of things you learn when you love someone in the daylight.

But not the rest. Not the reason I sometimes leave in the middle of the night, not the reason I clutch my wrist like it’s bleeding when nothing’s there. Not the weight in my gaze when I watch her—like she’s a countdown, and I don’t know when the clock started ticking.

I didn’t even know which version of her I saved.

Not at first.

The timelines blurred so violently when I did it—when I pulled her from the moment death reached for her, when I bent time so far it nearly snapped.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t noble. It was grief in motion.

One second, she was lying there—her blood on my hands, lungs struggling, eyes unfocused.

And the next…she was alive. Standing in front of me. Whole.

But she was already different.

And I’m not sure I could ever bear the way she’d look at me if she did.

There was a moment once—two weeks ago maybe—where I almost told her everything. We were on the rooftop, just after midnight, and the city was silent in that eerie, stretched-thin way. Like the world was holding its breath. Like it knew I wanted to say something dangerous.

She had her knees pulled up to her chest, hoodie too big for her, sleeves half covering her hands. The stars had lost their fight to the city lights, but she looked up anyway. Like she believed in them just the same.

“I had this dream,” she said, softly, not looking at me. “That the world ended, but we didn’t die. We just...forgot.”

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t.

Because I’ve seen it. Variants of that dream. A thousand ways the world ends and keeps on spinning anyway. Some with fire. Some with silence. Some where I lose her. Some where I find her too late.

She tilted her head then, rested it on her knees, and blinked at me. “You ever get that? Like...something’s coming. And you’re already grieving it.”

She always does that. Says something that guts me without knowing she’s twisting the knife.

I think I touched her cheek then, just to make sure she was still warm. Still here. I kissed her slowly—slow enough it could have meant goodbye.

But I didn’t tell her. Not yet. I told myself it wasn’t the right moment. That she deserved normalcy while she still had it.

Really, I think I was just selfish.

The thing about loving someone as someone else—someone fictional, someone edited—is that you get really good at lying to yourself.

You tell yourself the parts you gave them are enough. That the secrets are protecting them. That it’s love, even if it’s in a cage.

And she does love me. I think.

No. I know.

She loves the version of me that forgets to charge their phone and can’t cook pasta to save their life. The one who gets too intense sometimes, too still, too far away in the eyes—and she just reaches across the table, grounds me with a touch. She never asks where I go when I go quiet. She trusts me without needing to understand.

Which is maybe the most painful part.

She never asked for magic. Or war. Or fate. She just wanted someone to stay.

And I’m going to break her heart. I know it.

It’s already started—the ripples. Little shifts in the air. Loose threads pulling at the seams of the life we built. The kind only I can see. The kind I shouldn’t ignore.

But every time I think about acting, about stopping the momentum of what’s coming, I see her laughing in the morning, barefoot on cold tile, humming some pop song she pretends not to like. I see the little love notes she hides in the fridge, the way she sings to plants when she waters them, the way she lets her guard down only for me.

And I tell myself: Maybe there’s still time.

I don’t think she notices the way my hands shake when I hold hers sometimes. Or the way my breath catches when she says things like, “We should plan a trip.”

Trips require a future and futures are fragile.

Especially when you’re me.

I’ve bent time before. Ripped it clean in half to protect the other version of her. I paid the price. I always pay the price. The universe is cruel, but fair.

And I know—deep in my bones—that if something happens to her, I’ll do it again. I won’t hesitate.

Which means I’ll destroy everything just to keep her breathing.

Even if she hates me for it.

Even if she forgets.

She brought home sunflowers today. Said they looked “obnoxiously hopeful.”

“I thought they’d balance out your broody vibe,” she teased, poking my side.

I smiled like I always do—crooked and weak—and watched her arrange them in the chipped mug we both pretend isn’t a vase.

She looked so proud. Like placing bright yellow petals on the windowsill was enough to shift the axis of the world. And maybe, for a second, it was.

Maybe, in that moment, I wasn’t the Sorcerer Supreme. Maybe I wasn’t the harbinger of the end. Maybe I was just hers.

And maybe that’s why I kissed her like I was drowning.

Because I knew—I knew—I wouldn’t get many more chances.

We lay on the couch that night, limbs tangled like vines, half a movie playing in the background. She fell asleep first, as always, breathing slow and even against my shoulder.

I watched the screen flicker. I listened to the faint hum of the fridge. I stared at the ceiling and tried to memorize the way she fit into me.

And then I whispered, so quietly it hurt,

“I’m going to lose you, aren’t I?”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

But I think the universe did.

The lights flickered. Just for a second. Barely noticeable.

But I felt it.

A shift.

A warning.

There’s this concept—chronomancy. Time magic. Dangerous, unstable, almost always fatal in the wrong hands. I’ve only used it twice. Both times it almost broke me.

But I would do it again. For her.

If it meant she got to keep laughing like that. If it meant her hands stayed warm.

If it meant I didn’t have to bury her.

Because I’ve seen what’s coming. I’ve seen the moment she dies.

And I won’t let it happen.

Even if I have to tear open the fabric of time itself. Even if it fractures everything. Even if it breaks her.

She won’t understand.

She’ll never forgive me.

But she’ll be alive.

Right now, though—right now she’s curled up in bed, face buried in my chest, arms loosely around my waist. Her breath tickles my collarbone. She makes this soft sound when she dreams��half sigh, half content hum.

And I hold her like she’s already gone.

Because in some version of time, she is.

In some timeline, I wasn’t fast enough.

In another, I didn’t choose her.

But in this one, this fragile and beautiful and doomed one, she’s mine.

For now.

And if the only way I can keep her safe is by rewriting the rules of love itself...

Then so be it.

She’ll wake up tomorrow, same as always, maybe kiss me sleepily, maybe ask what I want for breakfast.

She’ll have no idea that the world is already unraveling. That the spell is already forming. That I’ve already started the process.

But she’ll live.

And maybe that’s the most I can ask for.

Even if she forgets how she loved me.

Even if I become a stranger.

dimension three - dimensional drift curse.

She always forgets me by morning.

No matter what I say, what I do, how long I stay—every time I cross into her world, it resets.

A curse, layered through time and dimensional faultlines. One that clings to her like dust in sunlight. Not her fault. Never her fault. She didn’t ask to be loved by a woman who breaks universes.

But God, she was loved.

And I keep going back.

I don’t know how many times I’ve met her now.

Could be a hundred.

Could be a thousand.

Every time, it’s different. A new version of her. A new variant of the same soft soul, living a life untouched by the war I fight across stars and spells and sleepless nights. Sometimes she’s an artist. Sometimes a teacher. Sometimes she owns a flower shop that always smells like spring.

Sometimes she’s wearing the same earrings I once gave her in a universe that no longer exists. And she doesn't know why.

But every version has her smile.

That same one. Like dusk settling over the ocean.

And every version still stuns the breath out of me.

I never tell her everything.

What would be the point?

She won’t remember.

By the time I cross back into my own dimension, the tether of memory unravels behind me. Like it never unfolds at all.

The curse is designed that way. Not by me. Not by her.

For a moment.

By a mistake in battle, a spell hurled with such fury it fractured the truth of us across existence. A sorcerer’s curse spoken through cracked teeth:

“The cost of power is always love.”

And I didn’t believe them. I thought I could fix it.

I always think that.

I’m not even sure why I keep trying.

Maybe it’s ego.

Maybe it’s hope.

Maybe I just want one more hour with her before the world resets. Just one moment where she tilts her head and says, “You look like you haven’t slept in years,” and offers me tea like I’m not wearing the weight of every timeline I’ve failed to save.

Maybe I like pretending—for a minute—that I’m not Doctor Strange.

That I’m just Y/N. And she’s just Daniela.

And we’re just…us.

Yesterday—whatever “yesterday” means in this spiral of slipping worlds—I told her something small.

I said, “Your voice sounds like spring rain.”

She blushed. Looked at me like I’d pulled that sentence from some long-lost poem.

She doesn’t remember that I said the same thing in Dimension One, on the first night she cried in my arms.

Doesn’t remember how I held her hand as she forgot me.

How I watched her fall in love with me in one universe, only to lose the ability to feel love in the next.

Here, she’s new.

Fresh.

Alive.

And I’m the ghost.

I know the spell exists.

The reversal.

The one that could fix it.

It’s buried deep in the Book of the Broken Star—pages bound in silence and consequence. A forgotten ritual that rewrites memory across dimensional planes.

It requires something.

A trade.

Not blood. Not time.

A soul.

One soul in return for another’s remembrance.

I know what it means.

If I cast it…she’ll remember everything. Every kiss. Every touch. Every laugh and grief and joy.

But I will be gone.

Not dead. Not erased.

Just—

Unraveled.

Like a name no longer spoken.

She’s sleeping now.

I found her again three hours ago.

This version works in a bookstore that smells like ink and wood. She keeps her hair up with a pencil. She laughed when I asked if she believed in magic.

“No,” she said. “But I believe in feeling like something matters. Isn’t that the same thing?”

I didn’t answer.

My hands were shaking.

Because even though she doesn’t know who I am, and doesn't remember anything, she still says things like that. Still feels like her.

Still is her.

I sit at the edge of the bed now, watching her breathe.

Her face is soft in sleep.

I can cast the spell.

Right now.

And she will wake up with every memory. Every version of us stitched back into her chest.

She will know me.

Will finally remember the love we once shared so loudly, so fully, that it split reality when it broke.

But I won’t be here to see it.

I’ll be lost to her.

She will wake up crying for someone she knows by heart and can no longer find.

That’s the price.

A reverse curse. A reverse cost.

She remembers. 

I forget.

I close my eyes. Hold my breath.

And I cast it.

There’s a stillness in the universe when magic like this takes shape. A pause. Like the world knows what it’s about to lose.

And then—

A whisper.

A shift.

Her name, Daniela, whispered through a thousand timelines.

A thread, snapped and re-intertwined.

She gasps.

Her body jerks upright in bed, eyes wide, tears already falling.

“Y/N?”

I don’t respond.

I can’t.

Because I no longer know that name.

I no longer know her.

And somewhere else—in another city, another time, another morning—I wake up in a world I’ve saved a thousand times, with a hollow in my chest I don’t understand.

A woman passes me on the street. She stops, suddenly breathless.

Looks like she’s seen a ghost.

Her lips tremble as she reaches for me.

But I just smile politely.

And keep walking.

Daniela remembers everything.

And I remember… nothing.

But the universe never forgets.

And love, even when fractured across dimensions, always finds a way to echo.

maybe a manon or fic next lol

[boyfriendtodeathconfessional]

Which BTD/TPOF character seems most realistic in their gruesome endeavors? Лзсь го!

Strade-All in all, everything he does is terrifying because it's so grounded in reality. All of his execution methods are done with saws, axes, knives, etc. He does lose some points for realism for setting the MC's mouth on fire while they're still in his basement. I'm sorry, but a man so practiced with tools has to know about fire/smoke inhalation hazards.

Realism: 8/10

Brutality: 7/10

Creativity: 7/10

Ren-Not really much to say about Ren. He's definitely the most 'merciful' out of the killers with only six out of his 27 endings resulting in the player dying. Most of them are instant and non-bloody? The one that isn't, he just rips the MC's heart out like a Mortal Kombat fatality? And now he wants to take up Strade's mantle? Don't make us laugh, Ren. There will always be more plushies of you than the others, because everyone knows you're soft. In my hc, you scroll right past the 'horror' manga section and refuse to read anything by Junji Ito, because it's 'unrealistic' or whatever, but we both know the truth. I love you, Ren, but you're not built for this life.

Realism: 6/10

Brutality: 4/10

Creativity: 2/10

Lawrence-Flower boy doesn't seem like much, but every rose has its thorns. There are only three survival endings out of his 21. One requires MC to lose their arms and legs. One requires MC to kill *him*. The last requires MC to die in a different ending. The rest of his endings are pure nightmare fuel. He pulls out veins, he chops off arms, he cuts out tongues... if the MC takes too many substances, he even manages to summon R'lyeh of all places to his apartment. His sadism even gives Strade a run for his money the way he buries MC alive. Congrats, Lawrence, you managed to outpace Strade. This may come as a shock to everyone, but I was also bullied in high school. I didn't turn out this way. What the fuck was this guy's deal?

Realism: 7/10

Brutality:9/10

Creativity: 10/10

Derek-The heir to the Goffard family fortune. The extremely wealthy have a stereotype of making everyone else do their dirty work. Derek... is no exception. Most of the deaths in his route aren't even done by him. Hell, he's not even the final boss in his route. At one point, he smacks the MC with a baseball bat while riding an ATV, and they aren't even concussed?! You got weak forearms, little man. What's next? Firecrackers down their pants? Why'd you even have those in the first place? What are you, 12? Next time, show up at the end of the hunting trip, bro. Maybe Jack will let you take a selfie with a bloody hunting knife.

Realism: 8/10

Brutality: 3/10

Creativity: 2/10

Celia-Won my coveted 'most horrible ending' award in another post. She takes a page from Lawrence's book and cuts off MC's feet and tongue. Then she puts MC in a cage and uses them for acupuncture practice for years?! And just for trying to escape, you're gonna make them eat broken glass?! Please forgive me for underestimating you in my first playthrough, Mrs. Lede... I don't know what kind of career compels someone to act this way, but may it never find me... True girlboss. Slay. Literally.

Realism: 9/10

Brutality: 10/10

Creativity: 5/10

Mason-This route already takes me out of my comfort zone by forcing me to imagine going outside. I just know Mason was blowing up Fox's customer support line demanding a refund when I was MC. I wandered into bear traps, snare traps, and died of cold because I didn't understand the temperature mechanics more than once. Other than that, his tactics are simple yet effective. He strangles, stabs, and chops off heads. Fun fact: this is the man your grandpappy reminisces about.

Realism: 10/10

Brutality: 6/10

Creativity: 1/10

Fox: Ren saw my rating above and started taking notes. He hurts the MC just enough so the pain sticks with them but never enough to make them go into shock. Every crunch and stab is accompanied with a nauseating sound effect that I wish I could unhear. He does lose some points on creativity for just getting his cues from the chat. But, man. The cumshot/eye gouging combo? The soldering iron brand? Breaking the MC's nose? Fox, you unbelievable bastard. You do all this and manage to get it up on camera? Mad props for carrying on the proud legacy of treacherous twinks.

Realism: 7/10

Brutality: 10/10

Creativity: 5/10

-☢️

.

[vixensdungeon]

Oh no, the dastardly No-Good Gang has ambushed crowd-favourite wrestler Joe Punchfist while he was promoting his upcoming charity match. He's outnumbered and getting pummeled in the middle of the ring while the officials look on helplessly. Will Joe be able to wrestle his match at next week's Renaissance Slayre pay-per-view, or will those poor orphans end up on the street? But wait! The crowd goes wild as a song starts playing and running out of the locker-room area comes…

Okay so before our valiant wrestler can run into the ring to save Joe's hide, we must create them. And we'll be using the WWF Basic Adventure Game for that!

The game assumes you'll be creating several wrestlers plus a couple managers and even a referee or announcer for each player, but we'll just be making one wrestler. This post is really long so click to see the rest of it!

First we pick a sex for our wrestler (this game was made in the early 90s so you'll excuse it if the terminology isn't up to 2025 standards). We'll be making a girl. For a name I just go to a random generator and get Weronika Sandström. She started wrestling out of high school so for random age we roll 1d10+17, getting an 18.

Then we determine our weight class. We could just pick, but that's not how we do it down in the Vixen's dungeon, so a random roll it is! A d% roll of 63 lands us in the lightweight division (sidebar: because this game is based on WWF in the early 90s, you can't actually make someone like Rey Mysterio in the game, because according to the designer's research there were no male wrestlers in the super lightweight category). Then we roll another d%. A 67 tells us that our weight is 225+1d6 pounds, 231 in our case. This gives us some game stats. Our maximum for the Aerial Tactics attribute is 90, and we get a +5 to whatever number we later generate for it. We have a -5 modifier for lift, meaning that our opponents need to roll 5 less than normal to lift us. Our maximum stamina is 90.

Next are our attributes. There's three ways to generate them: rolling random numbers and then assigning them as we see fit, using points to purchase them, or rolling them in order. And you know how we do it in the dungeon! For Brute Strength (STR) we roll a d6 on a chart and get a 6, which means a 50. Technical Ability (TEC) is 35, Brawling (BRA) is 45, Martial Arts (MAR) is 45, Aerial Tactics (AGI which is short for Agility rather than Aerial Tactics) is 30+5 for 35, Perception (PER) is 45, Stamina (STA) is 45, Business Skill (BUS) is 30, and Constitution (CON) is 45. Our lightweight girl is more of a powerhouse than you might expect!

Then we get to Advantages, which are miscellaneous qualities our wrestler might have, at the cost of lowering our basic attributes. And would you look at that, there's an option to roll them randomly! We get to roll twice and get 98 (Resistance to Attack) and 70 (Winning Appearence). We have to lower four attributes by 5 for the first one, and two of them for the second one. I choose to lower my TEC, BRA, AGI, and BUS, and then BRA and AGI again (I couldn't have lowered the same attribute twice to pay for the same advantage so I had to do them separately like that). This character is kinda starting to resemble the one I made in AEW Fight Forever, who is built entirely around kicking, although she is a heavyweight. For Winning Appearence I choose to be good-looking, and the neat thing about this advantage is that even if I had chosen to be ugly, the effect would be exactly the same and depend on whether the wrestler is good or bad. It says something about how our physical qualities are perceived depending on how our nature is perceived. For Ressitance to Attack I pick Martial Arts, which will halve the amount of stun those kinds of attacks deal against our wrestler. Your kung-fu is weak!

There's also disadvantages, so we get to roll some more, yippee! 50 and 45 would give us the same one so we re-roll one of them and get 39. We have Title Lust and Personal Vendetta. A second roll (69, nice~) means our lust is for the Intercontinental Title, meaning we can't wrestle for the World Title or the Tag Team Title. For Personal Vendetta I'll pick some bad character to feud with, probably someone from the No-Good Gang! We get to raise two and one attributes, respectively. I pick STR twice and STA once.

Now our attributes stand at STR 60 (the maximum for a starting character), TEC 35, BRA 35, MAR 45, AGI 25 (the minimum), PER 45, STA 50, BUS 25, and CON 45. We can now determine our secondary attributes. Our Power Bonus (PB) is the number of extra stun points we inflict, in our case 3/2/1/0 (I'll explain the slashes later). Our Stun Points (STN) are determined by cross-referencing some charts based on our STA and CON, which ends up giving us 200/140/92/46.

Next we determine our build. I want our girl to be of the Large variety (with some curves), so cross-reference a chart and find that at 231 lbs. our wrestler is 5' 8". Then we choose handedness. I try to roll for ambidexterity but fail, so I make her a righty like myself. As my finishing move I pick Bearhug, because isn't it nice to just cuddle your opponent into submission? Based on our AGI, our Movement (MOV) is 2/2/2/1. Based on CON, our Recovery (REC) is 4/4/3/3. Our Fan Support starts at 0, but our good looks will help in raising it! Finally we multiply our BUS by 5 for 125, giving us $125 because it's that kind of game. I'll buy a bandanna, some jeans (cut into jorts), a tank top, kneepads, and a sweat shirt, leaving us with $4. Hopefully we can make some money so we don't have to wrestle barefoot anymore!

So what's with the slashes? To illustrate, here's our final lineup of attributes.

STR 60/54/48/42 TEC 35/32/28/25 BRA 35/32/28/25 MAR 45/41/36/32 AGI 25/23/20/18 PER 45/41/36/32 STA 50/45/40/35 BUS 25/23/20/18 CON 45/41/36/32 PB 3/2/1/0 MOV 2/2/2/1 REC 4/4/3/3 STN 200/140/92/46 So you see how all our attributes actually have four values? As we start out at STN 200, they're all in that left-most value. But as our Stamina Points wear out, all our attributes start dropping!

Anyway, back to our exciting scene from earlier. "Sandstorm" by Darude starts playing as newcomer Weronika Sandström runs in to save the day!

As you can probably tell, this is a very silly game. And that's what makes it great.

[blairwritingscript]

**Hunters of the Silent Moon p.10**

(part one) (part two) (part three) (part four) (part five) (part six)

(part seven) (part eight) (part nine) (part ten)

srr for not posting anything yesterday, I was out partying T-T so here is an extra long chapter!

--------------------------------------------------

Ka’Thar stood near the entrance of the tent, his sharp gaze lingering on the small human curled up near the center of the space. She was motionless, too still for his liking. The firelight cast flickering shadows over her form, emphasizing just how much smaller and fragile she was compared to them. The mere thought irritated him—fragility was a weakness, yet she had proven herself to be anything but weak. He had watched her endure, adapt, and fight through grueling training sessions, even when her body screamed for rest.

And yet, now she looked... defenseless.

A low growl rumbled in his throat as he turned away, attempting to push down the unease creeping into his mind. She wasn’t their kind; she wasn’t built like them. He had no reason to feel this sudden sense of protectiveness—an instinct he usually reserved for fellow warriors in battle, not for some human female.

Vey’Ta, on the other hand, had moved closer, his focus trained on her with an entirely different energy. His posture was relaxed, his mandibles twitching in thought. Unlike Ka’Thar, he had been certain of her potential from the start. He had chosen her, not simply for her strength but for something deeper. Something more instinctual. He had seen a fire in her, something that resonated with him in a way that he had never experienced before. Bringing her here had been his intention, and while she may not yet realize it, he was prepared to ensure her survival and—more than that—her place among them.

Ka’Thar exhaled sharply, his narrowed gaze shifting to Vey’Ta. The way the other Yautja watched her was different. Purposeful. It sent a ripple of irritation through him.

“You act as if she belongs to you,” Ka’Thar muttered in their tongue, his voice low but pointed.

Vey’Ta didn’t turn his head, but his mandibles twitched in amusement. “Perhaps she does,” he replied smoothly. “I was the one who saw her worth first.”

Ka’Thar clicked his tusks together in frustration. “She is here for the experiment,” he reminded him. “Not to entertain your... interests.”

Vey’Ta finally turned to face him, his bright eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “You speak as though you do not care,” he challenged. “Yet you stand guard over her as if she is already one of our own.”

Ka’Thar’s growl deepened, but he said nothing. He didn’t have an answer—at least, not one he liked. He had respected her before, that much was true. But respect was different from this odd, protective impulse that had begun to coil within him. He had never concerned himself with the well-being of someone so delicate before, yet here he was, feeling the tension of unspoken responsibility tighten around him.

Vey’Ta tilted his head slightly. “You know it too,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “She is not just another human. She’s a fighter. Stronger than expected. And she is ours to protect.”

Ka’Thar scoffed, but the words struck something deep within him. He had thought the same thing many times during their journey, though he had refused to acknowledge it outright. This human had changed something between them. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, she had earned more than just their curiosity—she had earned their loyalty. And that was not something given lightly.

Silence stretched between them before Ka’Thar let out a quiet, reluctant sigh. He glanced back toward her small form, still unmoving. “She needs rest,” he muttered. “And food. She barely ate.”

Vey’Ta nodded. “Then we will make sure she has both.”

Without another word, they settled in opposite corners of the tent, each instinctively taking up a position that ensured she remained in their sight. Outside, the distant sounds of their tribe carried through the air, but inside, there was only the flickering of firelight and the quiet breaths of the human who, whether she realized it or not, was no longer just an outsider in their midst.

--------------------

The next morning, the camp was already stirring with life when Ka’Thar led Y/N out of the tent. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and burning wood, the rising sun casting long shadows over the settlement. Y/N felt the weight of drowsiness clinging to her, but she pushed it aside, knowing what was expected of her. Training was a given.

Ka’Thar wasted no time, taking her to a clearing at the edge of the camp where the ground was packed firm from years of sparring. The moment they arrived, Y/N felt eyes on her. Groups of Yautja warriors lingered just beyond the training space, some standing with arms crossed, others murmuring to one another in their guttural language. Their gazes bore into her, assessing, scrutinizing. Among them were Youngbloods, the fresh warriors of the clan, their postures alight with a restless sort of energy. Some seemed intrigued, others skeptical.

She swallowed, shifting under the weight of their attention. This wasn’t like training aboard the ship. There, it had just been Ka’Thar and Vey’Ta, their sharp critiques balanced by an unspoken understanding of her limits. Here, she was on display.

Ka’Thar, as always, was unreadable, his body language neutral as he stood beside her. But Y/N had learned to pick up on the small shifts in his stance, the slight twitch of his mandibles when he was irritated. And right now, he was irritated. Whether it was at her discomfort or at the others for watching, she wasn’t sure.

Vey’Ta was nearby as well, lingering just outside the clearing, but unlike Ka’Thar, his posture was more relaxed, almost casual. She knew better. He was paying close attention. He had been the one to bring her here, the one who had vouched for her. If there was anyone who took personal interest in her progress, it was him.

Ka’Thar let out a low growl and stepped forward, signaling for her to take a stance. She obeyed, steadying herself, trying to ignore the murmurs beyond the training area. The Youngbloods were the worst. They didn’t even try to be subtle about their curiosity, their heads tilted, eyes glinting with challenge. The females, however, regarded her differently—not with mere curiosity, but with something closer to calculation, as though measuring her worth in ways she couldn’t yet understand.

Some of the females stood taller and broader than the males, their muscle definition unmistakable even beneath their armor. Their presence carried a weight of authority, their movements deliberate and powerful. Unlike the younger males who observed with arrogance or amusement, the females assessed her with a detached, almost clinical interest, as if deciding whether she was worthy of recognition.

Ka’Thar’s voice snapped her back to the moment. “Focus.”

She exhaled sharply, grounding herself as he took the first swing, testing her reflexes. It began as it always did—slow, controlled movements to get her warmed up. She deflected, countered, moved with him. But she felt sluggish today, her mind distracted by the onlookers. Ka’Thar noticed.

“Again,” he said, sharper this time.

Y/N gritted her teeth and complied, dodging his next strike, her breath coming faster. A few of the observers let out amused clicks, their amusement clear despite the language barrier. She wasn’t giving them a performance worth their attention, not yet.

Ka’Thar’s irritation deepened, his strikes gaining speed. He wasn’t being cruel—this was his way of forcing her to focus. And it worked. She barely had time to overthink before she was forced to move on instinct, ducking and weaving, blocking and countering. The whispers dulled in her mind.

A particularly well-placed counter made Ka’Thar pause, his head tilting slightly. Y/N barely had time to register the flicker of approval before he lunged again.

But this time, he miscalculated.

Forgetting, just for a second, the vast difference in their strength, he struck too hard. His fist connected solidly with her stomach, sending her stumbling back. A sharp, breathless sound escaped her lips as she doubled over, pain radiating from the impact. The world narrowed to a dull ache, her lungs struggling to draw in air.

Laughter erupted from the gathered warriors. Low, guttural chuckles filled the air, their amusement unmistakable. Y/N gritted her teeth, fury burning beneath the pain, but she could do nothing but clutch her stomach and try to steady herself.

Ka’Thar stiffened. His mandibles twitched, a flicker of something—regret, frustration—crossing his features. He hadn’t meant to hit her that hard.

Somewhere beyond the clearing, Vey’Ta let out a low rumble, something close to a scoff, but not at her expense. His gaze flicked to the others, sharp, as if daring them to continue their amusement.

One of the larger females, standing with her arms folded, let out an approving growl, a smirk evident in the way her mandibles flexed. “She’s still standing,” she rumbled in their native tongue, her tone carrying both amusement and a grudging respect. “Maybe she can bear pups after all.”

Ka’Thar shot her a glare but said nothing. Instead, he extended a hand toward Y/N. She hesitated for only a moment before grasping his forearm, allowing him to pull her upright. His grip lingered for a fraction longer than necessary before he released her, stepping back.

Vey’Ta, standing at the edge of the training circle, watched the exchange with an unreadable expression. His gaze flicked from Ka’Thar to Y/N, something thoughtful lurking behind his eyes. He had seen it—the way Ka’Thar had reacted. And though he wouldn’t say it aloud, he recognized the protective instinct taking root in his companion.

Ka’Thar exhaled sharply, his mandibles flexing. “Enough,” he announced, his voice leaving no room for argument. “We’re done for today.”

Y/N swayed slightly but held herself upright, determined not to show any more weakness in front of the others. However, Ka’Thar wasn’t fooled. He exchanged a brief glance with Vey’Ta before stepping closer, gripping her forearm again, this time more firmly. “Come.”

Vey’Ta took her other arm, not saying a word, but there was no mistaking the tension in his grip. They led her away from the training grounds, ignoring the lingering gazes of the other warriors. The murmurs quieted behind them as they moved toward the medical tent.

By the time they arrived, Y/N’s stomach was throbbing with pain. The bruising was already forming—deep, dark splotches spreading across her skin. Ka’Thar clicked his mandibles in irritation, watching as the clan’s healer assessed the injury.

“She will heal,” the healer stated simply, though his tone carried a note of curiosity. “Humans bruise easily, it seems.”

Ka’Thar didn’t reply. His gaze remained locked on Y/N, his irritation shifting into something else. Something closer to concern.

Vey’Ta, standing just behind him, crossed his arms. “will she still be able to mate like that?,” he murmured, low enough for only Ka’Thar to hear.

Ka’Thar’s mandibles twitched. He wasn’t sure why that thought unsettled him so much.

Y/N winced as the healer’s claws prodded at her ribs, pressing into the already-darkening bruises.

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from hissing in pain.

Vey’ta’s voice was low, meant only for Ka’Thar, but Y/N heard it clear as day.

Heat shot up her neck so fast she nearly choked on her own breath. “Excuse me?!”

Both Yautja turned to look at her. Vey’ta’s mandibles twitched slightly, as if he only just realized she’d heard him. Ka’Thar, on the other hand, exhaled sharply through his nose, clearly irritated.

“You heard him,” Ka’Thar muttered, as if that was explanation enough.

Y/N’s face burned hotter. “Yeah, and I’d really love to un-hear it.”

Vey’ta, to his credit, didn’t seem embarrassed. If anything, his head tilted slightly, studying her reaction. “It is a logical question,” he said, his tone entirely too calm. “Your body is small, fragile. It would be unfortunate if training made you unfit for—”

“Oh my God, stop talking.”

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, pressing a hand over her face. She felt all of their gazes on her, even the healer’s, who was watching the exchange with vague amusement.

Ka’Thar made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a scoff. “Now you are flustered?” He shook his head. “After everything you have endured, this is what unsettles you?”

Y/N snapped her head up, glaring at him. “Because I wasn’t expecting to hear you two discussing my—my breeding potential while I’m literally right here!”

Vey’ta let out a low chuff, and it took Y/N a second to realize—he was laughing.

Her glare whipped toward him. “Oh, you think this is funny?”

Vey’ta’s mandibles twitched in amusement. “A little.”

Y/N groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “You guys are unbelievable.”

Ka’Thar clicked his tusks in annoyance. “Enough. She is healing, that is what matters.” He shot a glare at Vey’ta before looking back at the healer. “She will be fine?”

The healer nodded. “Yes. Human skin is weak, but it recovers quickly.”

Y/N let out an exasperated breath. “Gee, thanks.”

Ka’Thar ignored her. “Good. Then we are leaving.” He turned on his heel, clearly done with the conversation as he went to stand by the exit.

Vey’ta lingered for a moment longer, watching Y/N with a glint of amusement still in his eyes. “You turn colors when embarrassed,” he observed. “Interesting.”

Y/N scowled. “You turn colors when I punch you. Also interesting.”

Vey’ta chuffed again, clearly entertained. "you can't punch me."

Y/N groaned, flopping back against the cot. She was bruised, exhausted, and mortified.

She was never going to live this down.

Y/N sat on the medical cot for a moment longer, her face still burning. Unbelievable. First, they nearly cracked her ribs during training, and now they were casually discussing her “breeding potential” like she wasn’t even in the room?

She exhaled sharply, shaking her head before pushing herself to her feet. Her body protested, sore and aching, but she forced herself to move. If she stayed here any longer, the healer might start asking questions she didn’t want to answer—questions about her reactions, about the tension that lingered between her and the two Yautja who had become both her tormentors and her protectors.

Y/N groaned inwardly. She knew that look. He was not going to let this go.

“So, do you guys talk about this sort of thing all the time, or was today just special?” Y/N questioned.

Ka’Thar let out a gruff noise. “You are part of a breeding experiment. What did you expect?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Oh, I don’t know—maybe a little tact?”

Vey’ta chuffed, clearly enjoying her frustration. “Why does it unsettle you so much?”

Y/N shot him a glare. “Because I’m not used to people talking about me like I’m not even there, especially when it comes to—” She cut herself off, crossing her arms.

Vey’ta’s head tilted, his gaze calculating. “Mating?”

Y/N groaned. “Do you have to say it like that?”

Ka’Thar scoffed. “You act as if it is something unnatural.”

Y/N turned to him, exasperated. “It’s not unnatural, it’s just—ugh, forget it.” She clenched her jaw, feeling her face heat up again. “You two don’t get it.”

Vey’ta was still watching her, his amusement shifting into something more curious. “You react strongly to the idea,” he mused. “Is it because you do not wish for a mate at all? Or because you do not wish for a Yautja mate?”

Y/N faltered, her heartbeat picking up. That was… a loaded question. One she wasn’t sure how to answer.

Ka’Thar let out a low growl, clearly annoyed. “It does not matter what she wishes.” His words were blunt, dismissive, but there was something else there too—something almost bitter.

Y/N’s hands curled into fists. “It matters to me.”

Ka’Thar’s golden eyes snapped to hers, intense and unreadable. For a moment, there was nothing but silence between them, thick and heavy.

Then, Vey’ta exhaled, breaking the tension. “Perhaps,” he said simply. “But you are here, regardless.”

Y/N let out a slow breath, forcing herself to relax. They weren’t wrong. She was here. And no amount of arguing was going to change that.

But that didn’t mean she had to accept it.

“Yeah,” she muttered. “We’ll see about that.”

Ka’Thar didn’t respond, but the way his mandibles twitched told her he had heard.

Vey’ta, however, was still watching her, thoughtful. “You are… interesting, Y/N.”

Y/N sighed. “Yeah, well. You’re frustrating, Vey’ta.”

His mandibles twitched in amusement. “Good.”

Y/N groaned again. This was going to be a long stay..

Y/N was about to step away when the healer, who had been silent until now, finally spoke again.

“She is in peak condition for producing offspring.”

The words were said so matter-of-factly that it took Y/N’s brain a moment to register them.

Then, her entire body locked up.

Ka’Thar’s mandibles flexed, his gaze snapping back to the healer. “That is not relevant right now.”

“It is entirely relevant,” the healer countered, unbothered. He turned his calculating gaze to Y/N, looking her over with something more akin to scientific curiosity than anything else. “Humans reach their prime reproductive years far earlier than Yautja. Based on her biology, she is at the peak of her fertility now. If the Elders wish to see results, it would be most optimal to begin soon.”

Y/N choked. “I—what?!”

Vey’ta tilted his head, his mandibles twitching slightly. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. “That does make sense.”

“NO, it does not—” Y/N sputtered, stepping back instinctively as if distance would somehow make the conversation less horrifying.

The healer continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “The bruising is minor and will not affect the process. Though, considering the size difference, care will have to be taken to avoid damaging her—”

“Oh my God, STOP.”

Y/N pressed both hands to her face, feeling heat crawl up her skin so quickly she was sure she was redder than she’d ever been in her entire life. She could feel all three of them looking at her, and it only made it worse.

Ka’Thar exhaled sharply, his patience clearly wearing thin. “Enough.” His tone left no room for argument. “We are not discussing this here.”

The healer merely chuffed in amusement, clearly unbothered by the tension he’d just created. “Very well.” He turned away, busying himself with his supplies. “But do not wait too long. The Elders will be expecting progress.”

Y/N couldn’t look at either of them. She turned on her heel and stormed out of the tent, needing air—or whatever passed for air on this damn planet.

Behind her, Vey’ta let out a low hum. “She reacts so strongly to these topics. Interesting.”

Ka’Thar sighed heavily. “If you do not want her to kill you in your sleep, stop talking.”

---

The path back to their shared dwelling was quiet, save for the distant hum of the city and the steady crunch of their steps. Y/N walked ahead of them, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her movements stiff with irritation.

Vey’ta and Ka’Thar followed behind, their minds preoccupied with the healer’s words.

“The sooner it happens, the sooner she leaves,” Ka’Thar finally muttered, breaking the silence.

Vey’ta exhaled, tilting his head in thought. “You assume she would see it that way.”

Ka’Thar scoffed. “She despises being here. She despises us. The only logical path forward is to remind her of that. Give her a reason to cooperate.”

Vey’ta’s mandibles twitched. “Perhaps.”

Ka’Thar’s patience was already thin. He shot Vey’ta a sharp glance. “You disagree?”

Vey’ta let out a low chuff. “I think you underestimate how much pride she has. She does not like being told what to do. That much is obvious.”

Ka’Thar let out a frustrated growl but didn’t argue. It was true—Y/N resisted everything, even when there was no point. Even when she was exhausted, in pain, outmatched. She fought simply because she refused to be controlled.

Which meant convincing her wouldn’t be as simple as giving her an easy way out.

They reached their tent, and Y/N immediately stepped inside, arms still crossed as she paced near her sleeping space. She was still flustered, still angry, and Ka’Thar knew they had to approach this carefully.

He stepped forward first. “You want to return to your home, yes?”

Y/N stopped pacing and shot him a wary look. “Obviously.”

Ka’Thar nodded. “Then you know the fastest way to achieve that.”

Y/N’s expression darkened. “I knew this was coming.”

Vey’ta crossed his arms. “It is not meant as a threat.” His voice was calm, measured. “It is a fact. You know what the Elders expect. The sooner they are satisfied, the sooner you will be free.”

Y/N clenched her jaw, her fingers twitching at her sides. “And if I don’t?”

Ka’Thar narrowed his eyes. “Then you stay.”

The tent fell into a heavy silence.

Y/N’s breathing was steady, but Ka’Thar could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers curled slightly like she was holding herself back from throwing something.

Vey’ta took a step closer. “We are not your enemies, Y/N.”

Y/N let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah? Because it sure feels like you are.”

Ka’Thar growled. “You believe this is easy for us?” His mandibles flexed in irritation. “You were not our choice. This is not what we trained for. But we are following orders, just as you would if you were still in your own world.”

Y/N’s gaze snapped to him, fire burning behind her eyes. “That’s the difference between us, Ka’Thar. I never had a choice.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, Vey’ta exhaled slowly. “Perhaps,” he admitted. “But you have one now.”

Y/N blinked at him, clearly thrown off. “What?”

Vey’ta’s mandibles twitched. “You can fight this. You can resist. But in the end, the outcome remains the same. You can choose how difficult this is for yourself.”

Y/N stared at him, her fists clenched so tightly her knuckles turned white. She didn’t respond.

Ka’Thar huffed, stepping back. “We will not force you. But do not think for a moment that refusing will give you what you want.”

With that, he turned and moved toward his own sleeping space, clearly done with the conversation. Vey’ta remained. His gaze lingered on Y/N, watching the way her chest rose and fell in slow, controlled breaths. She was angry, that much was obvious—but underneath it, there was something else. Confusion. Uncertainty.

She didn’t understand why.

And he wasn’t sure if telling her would help. But she deserved to know.

“It was not meant to be you,” he said finally.

Y/N’s head snapped up, her eyes locking onto his. “What?”

Vey’ta took a slow step forward, his posture careful, non-threatening. “You were not our first option. The Elders did not wish to take a human unless they had no choice.”

Y/N scoffed, crossing her arms tightly. “Oh, so I was a backup plan? That makes me feel so much better.”

Vey’ta exhaled. “Not a backup. A necessity.”

Her brows furrowed. She didn’t say anything, but he could tell she was waiting for him to explain.

“Our clan is strong,” he began, keeping his voice measured. “But there are too few unmated females. The Elders have long debated what to do about this. Other clans have had similar problems, but not to this extent.” His mandibles clicked. “Every female of age was already bonded to another warrior. There were no options left.”

Y/N’s lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something—but she didn’t.

Vey’ta continued. “The Elders did not want to take from another clan. That would mean challenging them, creating conflict.” He tilted his head. “So they looked elsewhere. To your kind.”

Y/N’s expression twisted, and her arms tightened around herself. “And what, I just happened to be the unlucky one?”

Vey’ta’s gaze softened slightly. “You were… compatible.”

Y/N blinked, clearly thrown off by the word.

“There are many humans,” Vey’ta explained. “But not all would survive here. You are strong, even by your species’ standards.” His mandibles twitched slightly. “Ka’Thar and I saw it before we took you. You fought. You did not submit.”

Y/N swallowed hard, looking away.

Vey’ta could tell she was processing. Letting the truth settle in.

Finally, she let out a slow breath. “So what you’re telling me is… I got dragged into this because there weren’t enough alien women to go around?”

Vey’ta gave a slow nod. “Yes.”

Y/N ran a hand down her face. “God. This just keeps getting worse.”

Vey’ta chuffed, amused. “It is not ideal.”

Y/N shot him a sharp look. “Not ideal? That’s all you have to say?”

His mandibles twitched in mild amusement. “Would you prefer I lie?”

She let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking her head. “You Yautja are insane.”

Vey’ta took another slow step forward. “We are warriors. We do what must be done.” His gaze lingered on her. “As must you.”

Y/N tensed at that, and Vey’ta didn’t miss the way her fingers twitched at her sides.

She was still resisting. But now, at least, she understood why she was here.

For now, that would have to be enough.

[ghostchems]

thief - silco x female!reader - part four

silco finds himself at your door

tags: drug addiction, drug abuse, shimmer, shimmer abuse, KNIFE-PLAY? fucking so hard a table breaks. also some words i think i would like to hear from silco myself. also -gasp- silco tattoos. 18+! mdni! 4.6k words. part one/two/three. ao3 link.

Rain pattered against Silco, drenching his jacket and face—a rhythmic backdrop to the tension hanging in the air. He stood motionless outside your door, his hand suspended over the knob. This wasn't part of your arrangement; you weren't supposed to see each other today. Yet here he was.

The past few days had been a whirlwind of complications, each problem more vexing than the last. Enforcers, emboldened by some unknown factor, were becoming increasingly intrusive, poking their noses into affairs that didn't concern them. He already had a meeting with Marcus scheduled, but his temper was far too flared to handle it now. The chem barons, perhaps sensing weakness, were causing him no end of grief with their incessant demands and power plays. And then there was his daughter, Jinx—she had reached that precarious age where rebellion seemed to be her default state. She didn't just dislike listening; she actively went out of her way to do the opposite of what he asked.

The weight of these problems pressed down on Silco, threatening to crush him under their combined force. But he would manage this, just as he'd managed everything else. His resolve was what had kept him alive throughout it all. He'd found ways to blow off steam over the years. Some more violent than others. The satisfying crunch of bones beneath his fist, the metallic tang of blood in the air—these were familiar comforts. But today, his mind fixated on a different kind of release. He wanted you.

He knew where you lived—a tiny hole in the wall from which he had once sent Sevika to retrieve you. She had described it to him: one room with a table, bunk beds built into the wall. You slept on the bottom bunk, while the top served as storage for your clothes. No cabinets for food. Silco's hand tightens around the doorknob. What was he doing here? He could have had you brought to him again if all he truly wanted was a quick fuck.

Silco is running—running from his responsibilities, seeking to exert power and control over someone. Over you.

The door burst open with a resounding crash, jolting you from your slumber. In an instant, your hand flew beneath your pillow, fingers wrapping around the familiar handle of your knife. Heart pounding, you spring up, blade at the ready—only to freeze as your vision clears.

"Silco?" you breathe, lowering the knife but not releasing it entirely. "What are you—"

He cuts you off, striding into the small room with purpose. "What am I doing here?” He echoes, eyes narrowing. You still have the knife pointed in his direction, your heart thundering in your ears. The last time someone had broken into your home, they'd knocked you out and left a nasty bruise on your forehead—all for him. But seeing Silco here now... you feel weak. The knife wobbles in your hand. "You should know why I'm here," Silco growls, his voice low and dangerous. He slinks closer, the power of his presence rendering you unable to move. Your brain has short circuited. This is outside of the norm you’ve established and just seeing him makes your body pulse with need.

In a swift motion, Silco grips your wrist, his fingers digging into your skin as he wrenches the knife from your grasp. A gasp rips from your throat and your eyes lock with his, the tension in the room building. He brings the blade up to your chin, the cold steel forcing your head to tilt upward towards him. You can feel his breath, hot against your face, see the hunger burning in his mismatched eyes. They swallow you whole. You feel like you’re still trying to play catch up but his intentions are clear. With a low growl, he closes the distance between you. His lips crash against yours in a vicious kiss, all teeth and tongue, demanding and possessive.

The knife slams into the table with a resounding thud, its blade quivering as it stands upright in the worn wood. Silco's now-free hand tangles in your hair, pulling you closer. You respond with equal fervor, your body melting into his, despite the dampness of his clothes. The kiss deepens, growing more heated with each passing second. Your bodies press closer, the dampness of Silco's clothes seeping into your thin shirt. Just as you feel yourself getting lost in the moment, he abruptly breaks away, leaving you breathless and slightly dazed.

His fingers trace along your face, following the curve of your cheek down to your jaw. The touch is gentle, almost tender—a stark contrast to the ferocity of the kiss moments ago. You lean into his hand, your eyes searching his face. These softer touches have become more frequent lately, each one a tantalizing taste of something deeper.

"I thought I was in trouble," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

Silco's lips curl into a smirk, his eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and cruelty. The fact that you worry about such things makes heat pool in his gut. "Not yet," he replies, his voice low and full of promise. The words send a shiver down your spine. He takes a step back and drapes his rain-soaked coat over the back of the chair, the wet fabric leaving a dark stain on the worn wood. His gaze rakes over you, taking in your disheveled appearance. You suddenly feel exposed, becoming aware of your state of undress. The thin fabric of your T-shirt did little to shield you from his heated eyes, and you fought the urge to cover yourself with your arms. Silco's expectant look bores into you, a silent demand that sent a shiver down your spine. This is uncharted territory. He had never shown up unannounced like this before, and the change from your usual arrangement left you feeling off-balance and vulnerable.

"I... I would have cleaned up if I knew you were coming. Wasn’t expecting you," you manage to stammer out, your voice barely above a whisper. Your hand instinctively moved to smooth down your untamed hair, a futile attempt at composure in the face of his intense presence.

Silco's lips curled into a smirk, that predatory gleam still in his eyes. "Clearly," he drawled, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the small room. "But here I am. And you know what I want."

You're surprised to find that your usual craving for shimmer is absent. Instead, your entire being is focused on the man before you, on giving him exactly what he needs. His presence alone seems to be intoxicating enough. You lean forward, your lips seeking his, but at the last moment, Silco tilts his head away. Undeterred, your mouth finds purchase on his jaw, trailing soft kisses along the sharp angle before moving down to his neck. Your hands, meanwhile, busy themselves with his clothing, fingers working deftly to undo the buttons of his vest and dress shirt.

As you work, you can feel the tension in Silco's body, the taut muscles beneath your exploring hands. His breath hitches slightly as your lips brush against a particularly sensitive spot on his neck, and you file that information away for future use. The layers of his clothing fall away, revealing more and more of his skin. You take your time, savoring each newly exposed inch, your touches hungry. All the while, Silco remains still, allowing you to work, his good eye half-lidded but watchful, gauging your every move.

You peel away the last layer of his clothing, your eyes widen in surprise. Silco's skin is adorned with intricate tattoos, each one a work of art etched into his flesh. Two syringes trail along his v-lines, their needles pointing downward towards his cock. On his left pectoral, a fierce shark seems to swim across his skin, its presence as intimidating as the man himself. Your gaze shifts to his right pec, where a dagger appears to be cutting through his very skin. Your fingers trace the outlines of these tattoos, feeling the slightly raised skin beneath your touch. You look up at Silco, a question in your eyes. He meets your gaze unflinchingly, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Surprised?" he asks, his voice low and husky. You barely have time to nod before Silco's hands are on you, pushing you back against the table. The edge digs into your lower back as he presses his body against yours, his skin hot against your thin shirt. His hands drift down your sides, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Suddenly, his fingers close around the handle of the knife still embedded in the table. With a swift motion, he yanks it free, the blade glinting in the dim light. Your breath catches in your throat as he brings the knife to your collar.

"Don't move," he growls, an order. The cold steel slides against your skin as he begins to cut away your shirt, the fabric parting easily under the sharp blade. Your heart pounds in your chest, heavy breathes leaving your lips as Silco methodically destroys your clothing, leaving you exposed to his hungry gaze. It slips off your body, leaving you in your underwear.

Silco begins to trail the knife along your collarbone. Your breath hitches, a mixture of fear and anticipation coursing through you. Slowly, deliberately, he guides the knife downward, the flat of the blade gliding over the swell of your breasts. Your skin prickles, every nerve ending hyper-aware of the dangerous caress. Silco's eyes are glued to your exposed body. The knife's path leaves a trail of tingling sensation in its wake, contrasting with the heat emanating from his body pressed against yours. You can feel his rapid heartbeat echoing your own.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. The single word sends a jolt of electricity through your body, igniting a fire deep within you. You're acutely aware of your vulnerability, completely at his mercy - and yet, you've never felt more alive.

You feel a sharp sting just beneath your breast. A small gasp escapes your lips as you realize Silco has nicked your skin with the knife. His eyes don’t change, still cool and icy.

"My apologies," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "I got... carried away." You know he doesn’t mean it.

Before you can respond, Silco leans down, his hot breath ghosting over the small wound. His tongue darts out, lapping at the tiny droplets of blood that have formed. The sensation sends a shiver through your body, a mix of pain and pleasure that leaves you breathless. Silco's tongue continues its ministrations, soothing the cut with gentle, circular motions. The contrast between the cold steel of the knife and the warm wetness of his tongue is intoxicating. You find yourself arching into his touch, craving more of this dangerous attention.

As if reading your thoughts, Silco's mouth moves from the small cut to your breast. His lips close around your nipple, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud. A soft moan escapes your lips as he alternates between gentle sucking and light grazing with his teeth. His free hand cups your other breast, kneading the soft flesh and teasing the nipple with his thumb. The knife, still in his hand, trails along your side, cold compared to the heat of his mouth. The dual sensations send shivers through your body, heightening your arousal. You silently beg for more as your hand cards through his wet hair.

Silco's eyes darken with unbridled desire. His voice commanding and dark makes you shiver. "Turn around," he all but hisses, another order.

You comply without hesitation, your body thrumming with anticipation. As you turn, Silco's hand presses firmly between your shoulder blades, bending you over the table. The wood creaks beneath your heated skin, making you gasp. His body looms over you, his presence overwhelming your senses. You can feel the heat radiating from him, his arousal evident as it presses against you. Silco's breath is hot against your ear as he leans in close.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his praise sending a jolt of pleasure through you. His hands trail down your sides, gripping your hips with a possessive intensity that leaves you breathless. Silco's voice drops to a smokey whisper. "You're almost perfect," he says, his words sending your head spinning. Almost? You hear something being placed beside your head on the table. Turning slightly, your breath catches in your throat as you see a syringe filled with shimmering liquid, its needle pointed directly at your eye.

The sight of the shimmer so close, combined with Silco's words, sends a conflicting wave of desire and fear through you. You're acutely aware of your vulnerability, bent over the table with Silco looming behind you, and now the temptation of the drug right beside you. Your heart races, all the tension building inside of you until it’s unbearable. The proximity of the shimmer sends your senses into overdrive, your skin prickling with heightened sensitivity. Your fingers twitch involuntarily, itching to reach for the syringe. The craving builds within you, a familiar yet intense desire that threatens to overshadow everything else.

But even as your body yearns for the drug, another part of you is aware of Silco's presence behind you. His touch, his scent, the heat of his body – they all compete with the allure of the shimmer. A soft whimper escapes your lips, your conflicted desires evident in the sound. You press your forehead against the cool surface of the table, trying to ground yourself amidst the swirling sensations. Your breath comes in short, rapid gasps as you struggle to maintain control, your body trembling with need – but whether for the shimmer or for Silco, you're no longer sure.

Suddenly, you feel Silco's hand on your arm, his grip firm and unyielding. Before you can react, there's a sharp sting as the needle pierces your skin. The cool liquid rushes into your veins, and within seconds, your world explodes into a kaleidoscope of sensations. Your muscles tense involuntarily, every fiber of your being coming alive with an electric intensity. You can feel each individual muscle contracting, the sensation both painful and exquisitely pleasurable. Silco’s eyes are on you, leaning back now so he can watch as the drug consumes you. Your back arches, pressing you further against Silco, who groans in response to your writhing form.

"That's it," Silco whispers, his voice thick with desire. "Let it take you." His hands roam your body, feeling the way your muscles twitch and spasm under his touch. The dual sensations of the shimmer coursing through you and Silco's exploring hands send you spiraling into a realm of pure sensation. He seems to be electrified by your reaction, his hands never ceasing their exploration of your trembling form. "So beautiful," he praises you again as a gasp falls from your lips.

Your senses are heightened to an almost painful degree. Every touch, every breath, every subtle movement is amplified tenfold. You're lost in a sea of pleasure and pain, your body no longer your own as it responds to both the drug and Silco's ministrations. Through the haze of power and pleasure, you feel Silco shift behind you. The sound of a belt buckle being undone reaches your ears. Your body trembles with anticipation, every nerve ending on fire. Deft fingers remove your underwear.

Silco's hands grip your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh. You feel him position himself at your entrance, the heat of his body radiating against your sensitive skin. With a low groan, he pushes forward, sliding into you with ease, your arousal allowing him a smooth entry. The sensation of him filling you is overwhelming, amplified by the shimmer coursing through your veins. Your muscles clench around him involuntarily, drawing a sharp intake of breath from Silco.

“Perfection.”

He begins to move, his thrusts hard and frantic. The shimmer amplifies every sensation, making you feel as if you're being split apart and remade with each powerful stroke. Your fingers grip the edge of the table, knuckles turning white from the intensity of your grasp. The room fills with the sounds of your combined pleasure - grunts, moans, and the rhythmic slap of skin on skin. Silco's pace becomes increasingly erratic, his control slipping as he chases his release. Your own climax builds rapidly, a white-hot pressure coiling tighter and tighter in your core.

There's a loud crack. The table, unable to withstand the force of your enhanced strength and Silco's relentless pounding, snaps clean in half. You both cry out in surprise as you crash to the floor, a tangle of limbs and splintered wood.

For a moment, you both lie there, stunned. Then, Silco lets out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. "Well," he says, his voice rough with exertion and amusement, "it seems we've made quite a mess." Silco's arms tighten around you, his body still intimately connected with yours. With a grunt, Silco shifts, carefully maneuvering you both away from the splintered remains of the table. He doesn't withdraw from you, instead positioning himself behind you once more. The familiar feeling of his chest pressed against your back sends a shiver down your spine. His breathing is ragged, hot against your neck, betraying his barely contained desire.

Silco's hands grip your hips with an almost bruising force, guiding you onto your hands and knees. "That's it," he husks, the usual coolness of his voice slipping. "Show me how much you want this." His fingers dig into your flesh, a testament to his waning control.

You arch your back, pressing against him as he begins to move. Silco's hands roam your form, alternating between gentle caresses and possessive grips that are sure to leave marks. His touch is frantic, needy, as if he's trying to memorize every inch of your skin. The rhythm builds rapidly, his thrusts becoming more forceful as he takes you from behind. The room fills once again with the sounds of your shared pleasure, punctuated by the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath you. Silco's grunts and groans become more frequent, more primal, as he loses himself in the sensation.

"You're mine," he hisses, one hand snaking up to tangle in your hair. He pulls, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to arch your back further, changing the angle of his thrusts. The new position sends jolts of pleasure through your body, making you cry out. You curse and whine, your nails digging into the floorboards as he rails you.

Silco's other hand slides around to your front, his fingers finding your clit. He rubs in tight circles, his movements becoming more erratic as his own pleasure builds. "Come for me," he demands, his voice rough with need. "Show me how good I make you feel."

“S-Silco!” You gasp, your body convulsing with pleasure. The shimmer makes you feel as if you're floating and crashing to earth all at once. As your climax approaches, you feel Silco tense behind you. His grip on your hips tightens, sure to leave bruises. With a final, powerful thrust, he buries himself deep inside you as he finds his release. He lets out a guttural groan, his body shuddering against yours.

The sensation of him pulsing within you, combined with the shimmer coursing through your veins, sends you over the edge. Your orgasm crashes over you in waves of intense pleasure, your body shuddering and clenching around him. You cry out, your voice hoarse and raw, Silco's name falling from your lips like a prayer.

The aftershocks subside and you collapse onto the floor with Silco following suit, draping himself over your back. Both of you breathe heavily, his arms wrapping around you to keep you close as you both come down from your high. The shimmer continues to buzz through your system. Silco's lips brush against your shoulder, trailing up to your neck. His kisses are softer now, a stark contrast to the roughness of moments before. "You're exquisite," he murmurs against your skin, his tinged with satisfaction. It’s so comfortable like this, to be in his arms on the floor. To be safe with him. You know it won’t last.

Silco's demeanor suddenly shifts, his voice taking on a commanding tone. "Get up," he orders, his hands already moving to disentangle himself from you. "Get dressed. Now."

You comply, albeit reluctantly, your body still humming from the effects of both the shimmer and your intense encounter. As you stand, you notice the tattered remains of your shirt on the floor, torn apart by Silco's earlier fervor. A small sigh escapes your lips as you pick up the ruined shirt. "You destroyed my favorite shirt," you murmur, a hint of disappointment in your voice.

Silco's eyes flick to the torn fabric in your hands, a fleeting look of amusement crossing his features before his expression hardens once more. "I'll find you a new one," he states matter-of-factly, already buttoning up his own shirt with swift, practiced movements, hiding away his recently discovered tattoos.

You rummage through your belongings, finally finding a sweatshirt you've sewn together yourself and a pair of tattered sweatpants. You slip them on, acutely aware of how disheveled you must look compared to Silco and his tailored suit. He’s composed and put-together despite his coat still soaking wet. You, on the other hand, are a mess of patchwork fabric and frayed edges. His gaze sweeps over you, his expression unreadable. You can't help but feel a twinge of self-consciousness under his scrutiny.

Silco's eyes narrow as he takes in your appearance. "Come with me," he commands, his tone leaving no room for argument. Without waiting for a response, he strides towards the door, expecting you to follow.

You hurry after him, stepping out into the damp streets of Zaun. The rain has lessened to a light drizzle, but the air is still thick with moisture and the ever-present chemical haze. You walk beside Silco and you can't help but notice the stark contrast between you two. People on the street turn to stare as you pass. Some eyes linger on Silco with a mixture of fear and respect, while others dart to you with curiosity and confusion. The weight of their gazes makes you ever more aware of how out of place you are beside him.

Feeling increasingly self-conscious, you pull up the hood of your sweatshirt, trying to shrink into it. The fabric, worn thin in places, offers little protection against the scrutiny of passersby. You can't help but feel like a stray cat walking alongside a sleek panther. Silco, for his part, seems utterly unaffected by the attention. He walks with purpose, his stride confident and unhurried. The crowd parts before him, people stepping aside to clear his path. It's a stark reminder of his status in Zaun, of the power he wields.

As you continue to walk beside him, you can't shake the feeling of being an outsider. In the privacy of your home, the differences between you and Silco seemed to matter less. But out here, in the open streets of Zaun, those differences are thrown into your face. You follow Silco through the winding streets of Zaun, your mind hazy from the shimmer still coursing through your veins. Eventually, he leads you into a dimly lit alleyway, the air thick with the stench of chemicals and decay.

Silco stops abruptly, turning to face you. "Do you know where we are?" he asks, his voice low and intense.

You glance around, the surroundings vaguely familiar. A chill runs down your spine as recognition dawns. "This is... where you first found me," you whisper.

A grim smile plays on Silco's lips. "Indeed. This is where I took you and… where I saw your potential." His eyes narrow as he studies you. "You were so desperate for shimmer, for the power that it holds. And yet..." He trails off, disappointment evident in his tone. Silco's gaze feels like a physical weight upon you. "You're not doing anything with it," he continues, his voice a mix of frustration and contemplation. "You take the shimmer, feel its effects, and then what? You go home. It's a waste."

His words hang in the air between you, heavy with implication.

"You could punch through that wall now," he says, gesturing to the very wall he had you pressed against moments ago. "Pulverize it into rubble. What's stopping you?"

Your heart races, anxiety and confusion swirling in your mind. The shimmer's effects still linger, making your muscles twitch with untapped power. You open your mouth, but no words come out. You're at a loss, unsure of what he wants from you. Silco steps closer, his presence looming over you. His hand reaches out, cupping your face with unexpected gentleness.

"You're more than just a pretty face," he murmurs, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. "You have so much potential. I see it in you, even if you don't see it yourself."

His words, combined with his gentle touch, send a wave of conflicting emotions through you. The warmth of his hand on your face is comforting, filling a void you didn't realize was there. Yet, the weight of his expectations still hangs heavy in the air. Suddenly, Silco's hands move towards your throat. The shimmer coursing through your veins heightens your reflexes, and before you can even process what's happening, you react instinctively. Your hands shoot out, gripping his shoulders and shoving him forcefully against the alley wall. The impact reverberates through the bricks, and you hear Silco's breath leave him in a rush.

For a moment, you stand there, shocked by your own actions. Your hands are still pressed against Silco's chest, pinning him to the wall. The strength flowing through your muscles is exhilarating, but it also terrifies you.

"I... I won't hurt anyone," you stammer, your voice shaky but determined. You step back, releasing Silco from your grip and almost folding into yourself. Memories of your past flash through your mind - the hunger, the fear, the constant struggle to survive. You shake your head, trying to clear the painful images. Growing up in the lanes… you were hurt and you still hurt to this day from it. You won’t do the same to anyone else.

"What if they deserve it?" Silco purrs, though his gaze remains cold. He straightens his suit, composing himself after your unexpected display of strength. “You have the power to do something. To be someone. And I’ll be here when you realize that.”

With those words hanging in the air, Silco turns and walks away, leaving you alone in the alley. Again.

Hazy eyes drift down to your hands. They clench into fists.

Silco is nearly out of the alley when he hears a loud crack! He turns to watch as that wall comes crumbling down.

[lucozadehulahoop]

A question of time (Astarion x fem! tav/reader) part 1/?

Summary: Cazador gets his hands on the daughter (tav) of the Elven goddess Sehanine and a common mortal, hoping to manipulate the girl over time and obtain the favor of her protection while he prepares for his Ascension, during which he plans to sacrifice her to gain more power than any devil could ever promise him.

Unfortunately, as the plans for his Ascension become more and more concrete, his ward is summoned every night by the sweet cries of the most tortured out of all his slaves, and she cannot bear to leave his side.

Meanwhile, it has become increasingly obvious to Astarion that his Master does in fact have a weakness, a certain someone he keeps locked away and safe... there is nothing Astarion wants more than to snuff that little light out of Cazador's eyes, no matter if it's the last thing he ever does.

tags and TW pre-bg3! Astarion, slave!Astarion, mentions of torture and abuse, demi-goddess!tav, Cazador being all sorts of creepy, eventual NSFW (minors stay away kindly, thank you darlings)

Part 2 here ! Part 3 Part 4

I'll take you under my wing, Somebody should

-A Question of Time, Depeche Mode

Astarion had come to the conclusion that the excruciating torture Cazador imposed on him every night was becoming unbearable to the point he was now hallucinating.

It had happened three times now, always when he felt at his lowest. When he was so desperate and alone in his suffering, that he could only wish for someone to drag him out in the early dawn and leave him to burn alive, she would appear.

A clear figment of his imagination. A soul so ethereal yet warm, soft, and real. It made no sense for a creature like that to be down in the dungeons with the likes of him, her silk dress soaked from his own blood. Cazador was never really done with him until the entire floor was soaked in the thick red liquid.

Astarion had been afraid at first. He had never even seen her enter the room. She was just there, at his side. He'd made a feeble attempt to back away when she'd attempted to reach out for him. She had stopped herself in her tracks, and spoken to him softly. Astarion hadn't understood a word. He only knew this was another trick, another evil sent to punish him.

He'd passed out soon after.

The following night he'd realised he didn’t feel as weak as he usually did after a beating. He'd been healed. Somehow he'd even been granted a lavish pillow to rest his head on instead of the cold hard ground he was used to.

Alarmed, Astarion immediately did his best to hide it, using all of his strength to stuff the pillow behind a loose set of bricks in the walls of the dungeon. His master would not have been very forgiving if he thought one of his spawn had been stealing from him.

..☆..

A few weeks passed before the hallucination presented itself again.

It had been another terrible night and Cazador had decided Astarion needed to be sealed up in a coffin again.

Astarion cried like a babe. He begged his Master, promised to do anything for him, to give him anything he wanted. At some point he even attempted to convince Cazador to simply kill him once and for all. But it was no use, and soon he was sealed back into the darkness.

Astarion wondered how long he'd be left to rot this time. Another year? Two? What if this time Cazador simply... forgot about him? Left him to suffer his bloodlust and paranoia for all of eternity?

The world would move on, new cities would be built above his head and no one would be able to hear his cries—

Astarion almost jumped out of his bones in fear when the coffin was being opened up again. He was more than happy to take this little mercy from his Master in exchange of whatever other punishment he chose.

But it was not Cazador's face he ended up facing in the dark.

It was his angel, once again there to save him. Or more likely , as Astarion had been beginning to suspect, to lead him on to the next life.

This time he could see her more clearly. At first glance she might have been any other noble young lady from the city, the kind that had an array of suitors waiting outside her door. She looked like the type to make someone go mad from love or heartbreak, and Astarion was certain there were many out there already dedicating songs and sonnets to her beauty.

Yet her regal attire, while exquisite and fashionable, did not suit her. In fact, it seemed as if she were completely out of place wearing something so mundane. Something told him she wasn't exactly human, or elven for that matter. Her wide eyes were reading him like an open book, yet she did not say a word.

"Now, I don't know who you are..." Astarion warned, barely finding the strength to speak after an almost constant state of screaming and crying. "...or what you want with me... but I can tell you're not his. Because, if you were... you would know how dead we're both going to be when he catches you trying to get me out of here."

She attempted to speak, reaching out for a cut on Astarion's cheek. "You're —"

"You better get the fuck out of here, if you know what's good for you—" Astarion growled, snatching her wrist and squeezing it so tight, if she had been human it would have snapped in his hand like a twig. "And I trust you know how to board up this coffin again since you've been capable of roaming around a den of starving vampire spawn and making it out alive. Twice."

She gave out a wail of pain and Astarion finally let her go. He wasn't about to rot even longer than he had to in a coffin because of yet another reason that was completely out of his control.

The young woman stood there in front of him, undecided on what to do.

"I can't." She said, finally.

"But you will!" Astarion, roared, panicking about the very real possibility of Cazador assuming he'd managed to break out of his confinements himself. "By the hells! Put me back the way you found me and be on your way—"

"But you were crying—" She interjected.

"E-excuse you?" Astarion smiled uneasily, tilting his head to the side. What did this silly little girl think she knew about him?

"I heard you." The odd little thing in front of him answered as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "You were calling out for help. You said, anything but the dark-"

Astarion's eyes burned with rage and hot tears. Suddenly he was stumbling out of the coffin, grabbing the woman by her frilly bloodstained clothes, and pinning her up against a wall. "You're here to doom me, is that it? You're some kind of faerie pulling a cruel joke on me, are you? Trying to give him even more excuses to hurt me. Is that it?" He panted frantically, straining his ears to pick up any signs of Cazador's return. "Here to feed on my suffering, are you?" Astarion attempted to grill answers out of her.

The supposed faerie did not seem concerned with the fact an unstable bloodthirsty creature currently had her trapped with no way of escape. She slowly reached for a huge gaping wound on Astarion's abdomen, and for a few moments he was transfixed by how quickly the flesh healed itself back together under his very eyes.

"I do not wish to bring you harm." She explained calmly. "I thought you would enjoy the freedom. He is away. And I promise to put you back as you were before his return."

Astarion shook his head and laughed maniacally. Freedom. His prayers had somehow been answered but he didn't trust the situation one bit. "Is that right, princess?" He taunted her. "And who just might you be to know the comings and goings of the Master of this house better than his own spawn?"

"He calls me his daughter."

..☆..

The revelation never left Astarion's head, even in the days that followed. Cazador... his heartless captor, his psychotic jailor, had a weakness. Initially, he'd thought about what it would have been like to take the life of Cazador's precious daughter right there and then, damned by the consequences.

But that would have been too easy. No, Astarion had finally stumbled upon something that gave him an edge over his Master, and his revenge was going to be carefully thought out. Sweet as can be.

Cazador had never mentioned his daughter to any of them so Astarion had no rules or commandments looming over his head. She was the perfect way to get revenge after almost two centuries of suffering. He just needed to be clever about it. He could not squander an opportunity like this.

The prospect of hurting Cazador made the torture much more barerable during the coming weeks. In fact, Astarion didn't know whether he was delirious or if all of that suffering was just feeding the fire burning inside of him more and more.

Once he'd been finally freed to go out and bring a new victim for Cazador to feast on, his plan he been set into action. Going out on a limb, Astarion assumed Cazador had tucked his daughter in the highest room of the tallest tower of his castle, where none could get to her and where she could never see the true horror of who her father truly was.

Under the cover of night, he scaled the side of the castle walls with nothing but some climbing tools and his own blessed agility. And as he did so, his mind was flooded with the same questions he'd been plagued with since the last night he'd seen the young woman. How was it possible that Cazdor had sired a daughter? What was the nature of her powers? They did not seem to have sliver of relation between them. And why, oh why, was she so determined to care for Astarion of all people?

Had Cazador set her on it? Was it all some sick game? Only one thing was for sure. Cazador had hidden the girl from everything and everyone, so at some fundamental level he must have cared for her.

That was all that mattered to Astarion. It was worth risking Cazador's eternal wrath just to see even a tiny sliver of pain in his eyes. A crack in his armor. And there was no doubt in his mind that would soon be true, just as soon as he found his daughter's lifeless body and her blood splattered all across the castle walls on his return.

"Are you stuck?" Her voice called out to him from her bedroom window as she looked down at him. Yes, Astarion had been slightly stalled by his thoughts. He looked up at her. Well, there went the element of surprise. He certainly was not planning on underestimating her. The girl had true power coursing through her veins.

Yet, he had not anticipated the scenario and now he was at a loss for words. A first for him. "No I was just, well I was—"

"Just close the window when you come up, okay? It's getting cold in here." She admonished him, before disappearing back inside. Astarion was a little taken aback. Had she known he was coming?

When he finally stepped into her chambers, he got a full understanding of just how capable Cazador was of spoiling and pampering someone he cared about. The room was lavish and spacious, almost every single item worth more than the average working person in Baldur's Gate could make in their entire lifetimes.

She was there, simply brushing her hair in front of the fireplace, almost completely uncaring about the fact a stranger had just invaded her private quarters.

Astarion let a dagger slip out of his sleeve, and only then did she turn around to look at him. He hated it, wishing he could have gotten the chance to kill her in her sleep or with a stab to the back, so he wouldn't have had to stare into those mesmerizing pools again.

"You won't hurt me, Astarion." She simply stated.

Astarion ground his teeth in anger. It really wasn't fair how perfect his name sounded on her tongue.

"I see his brat is not only spoiled, but entitled too. What makes you think you'll get out of this?" Astarion marched over towards her. "What makes you think your life will be spared against the countless others I've dragged to the grave in your father's name?" He snarled drawing his blade up to her perfect neck.

The sound of her pulse was enchanting and exhilarating at the same time. If he only could have, he would have gorged himself with her blood, sunk his teeth into her perfect flesh.

"Because... you're afraid the next time you call for help you'll be alone. For good." She answered honestly, seeing right through him as if he were made of glass.

The young woman had meant no offense, but Astarion took it nonetheless. In one swift move, he had a dagger to her throat, tears brimming in his eyes. He hated that she was right, but he was going to prove her wrong nonetheless.

"You think you're so smart, don't you love?" He sneered. "What? Were you so bored all couped up in your tower, you thought you could just have a little fun with one of your daddy's toys? That bastard's going to get what's coming to him—"

Suddenly, she was placing a hand over Astarion's mouth and cutting him off mid-speech. For the first time ever, Astarion saw the strange girl display concern in her features. No... it was genuine fear in her eyes.

"He's... he's down the hall." She whispered, more concerned with her father's arrival than the blade at her throat. Astarion dropped the weapon and froze, completely incapable of doing anything except await for his punishment in silence.

"What are you doing?" She fretted over him. "You need to leave!" The girl tried to put some sense into him but it was useless. Her attempts to drag him towards her closet were also fruitless.

Astarion was frozen, his eyes on the door and his ears keenly listening to Cazador's steps as they drew nearer.

___

AN: Let me know if you'd like part 2, comments are appreciated 🤧🥺

[tumblingxelian]

A Necessary Post - Yang, Taiyang & Seeing Red

I debated this being a message or a note or a reblog, but ultimately this warranted an essay. Because a hatred of nuance is not even remotely the reason why Tai is critiqued as a teacher or father.

With that fact in mind, let's begin:

During RWBY Volume 4, Episode 9: Two Steps Forward, Two Steps Back Taiyang has a great deal of critical feedback for Yang regarding her fighting style, personality & Semblance.

The issue is that Tai's words and advice when compared to what we saw on screen before & afterwards demonstrate he does not understand how it works or how she used it.

So here for your reading pleasure if a more or less line by line breakdown of Tai's advice and why I don't feel it holds up & more to the point, why I don't believe Yang utilized it.

Taiyang: Do you realize that you used your Semblance to win every fight after the qualifiers?

Yang rightfully points out that her using Burn is no different than anyone else using their Semblances. I would add that Yang's Semblance only serves to enhance her already present abilities with damage taken in a fight. So her not using it would be stupidly holding back extra energy for no reason.

Tai's critique also fails to register that when using her Semblance to take out FNKI, Yang specifically disrupted the ground so Neon could not skate effectively & used the boost in power to turn Flynt's own weapon against him.

I will be addressing Mercury further down but she used it effectively and intellectually here and to great effect.

What's more, every other fights fighting style, weapons or both were literally built around their Semblances. Yang's threat level remains fairly consistent without her Semblance, all three of these other characters take a huge dip.

Taiyang: Because not everyone else's is basically a temper tantrum.

Ignoring that calling the manifestation of Yang's soul a temper tantrum is another in a long line if dickish things Tai says to Yang. Her Semblance literally does not work that way.

Her anger has jack and shit to do with it, this has been explained & demonstrated time and time again. Yang only gets a power boost when she's been injured, the fact she tends to be angry when using it is because being hurt sucks and she's usually in an intense fight. When the fight is going well and she still gets to use it she's not angry, as seen with a pleased smirk here:

So as before, Tai's critique is bereft of any merit, Yang's Semblance does not work that way.

Taiyang: I'm serious! Once you take damage, you can dish it back twice as hard, but that doesn't make you invincible!

Cite a time Yang thought she was invincible, cite it provably that Yang thought, said or indicated that she felt she was invincible. You can't because Yang never indicated as such this is something Tai is assuming about her at best.

& no her jumping in the Nevermore's mouth is not an example because she was not using her Semblance, did not take damage, it was a very effective strategy & seemingly either part of the plan, or was so easily understood that it could be safely and reliably worked into the plan. She wasn't using her Semblance here but finding evidence of risky behavior was hard, especially with her Semblance, go figure.

In fact every time Yang used her Semblance she did so only because someone landed a blow, which just happens in fights sometimes.

Taiyang: It's great when you're in a bind, but what happens if you miss? What happens if they're stronger? What then? Now you're just weak and tired!

We know what happens when Yang misses, she can swing again!

After the first blow on the Paladin she missed & needed help to catch it, her missing had zero impact on her Semblances.

As to what happens if they are stronger, um, she loses, that sometimes happens in fights. Its not something Yang can do anything about by holding back on extra strength. Not to quote Qrow but sometimes bad things happen. Other characters losing to stronger opponents don't get given this kind of diatribe's because its pointedly obvious that there was nothing to be done about it.

& on the final piece, she was very pointedly not weak and tired after using it. The only times she has been shown to be is when she was extremely low on Aura regardless in which cases not using her Semblance is a death sentence.

So again, we've established Tai's critique comes from nowhere & his understanding of her Semblance is nonexistent.

Taiyang: But you gotta keep your emotions in check. Keep a level head, and think before you act. Your Semblance is a great fallback, but you can't let yourself rely on it.

This is so painfully unfair it hurts.

No other character gets this kind of shit for expressing emotions in combat. In fact we see characters expressing emotions in battle all the time. Nor has she stopped displaying emotions in combat:

I already outlined how in all two of the Yang fights Tai actually witnessed she used strategy and retained excellent combat form. So again, baseless claims from Tai.

What's more, Yang primarily does use her Semblance as a fallback rather than rely on it in these fights. She only whipped it out against Mercury when he'd unleashed his seeming kill move on her and was confident he'd won.

Not using it here would be dumb and make no sense.

Yang doesn't rely on it to save her, she deploys it when it makes sense to & she has the energy or the need. This is more than we see from many characters.

Taiyang: It won't always save you. Obviously.

So now he is critiquing her for a fight he didn't even witness & knows jack shit about. So let's break this down once again:

Yang has spent the last 24 hours questions her sanity.

Yang's new home (Her words) is burning down.

Yang's sister is missing in all this chaos.

Then Yang's partner gets fucking stabbed, and the guy who did it is standing between them with a sword & gun, with fire all over Grimm all around.

Anything Yang can do he can counter, she tries to go around he only has to pivot. If she tries to fire from long range she might hit Blake. She tries an earth shock wave, she launches Blake into the fire.

She quite literally had no others options & zero time to try anything else because he can just shoot or stab Blake whenever he wants.

Taiyang: You definitely have your mom's stubbornness.

This, this right here is where all this is actually coming from. Tai is once again projecting Raven onto Yang despite them frankly having almost nothing in common.

With most of Yang's visible personality tells being inherited from Summer, such as the mother daughter shoulder check of V9. Thanks to chittychittyyangyang for the GIFs

Or as outlined in some songs with Yang's side of the lyrics explicitly citing how she is trying to fill the Summer shaped void in their lives.

Like the smell of a rose on a summer's day, I will be there to take all your fears away.

Taiyang: Your mother was... a complicated woman. Like everybody, she had her faults, but those faults are what tore our team apart. And, it did a real number on our family.

Tai blames Raven for tearing their team apart. Save that by all accounts, barring her absence things seemed to be going fine. Qrow seemed to be present in their lives, Tai looked happy, the girls were happy & Summer at least seemed happy though we know she was covering up a lot of dread.

Keep in mind Tai is projecting Raven, the woman he blames for destroying the team and damaging the family onto his daughter who literally kept the family together after Summer died. Yang's established this, Ruby has established this, its canon.

Yang: I had to pick up the pieces. I had to keep things together. Alone. (pause) Weiss, if you have something to say, then say it. Ruby: If you thought we wouldn’t come for you, then you must’ve forgotten who raised me.

Tai was not the one holding that home or family together. Unless you think the writers are gonna randomly swerve & say both Yang & Ruby are big whiny liars for some utterly nonsensical reasons. So no, I don't take him seriously as a narrator or critique of Yang, I have no reason to.

But let's push on, because I'm not done.

Taiyang: You both act like the easiest way to tackle an obstacle is through it. (pointing at Zwei) That strength is all that matters in a fight.

Ah yes, Raven, the woman famously known for thinking the easiest way to deal with an obstacles is to tackle it head on. That's why she spent years adorning herself in a Grimm helmet that hid her eyes & raised a False Maiden to serve as her body double.

A woman so inclined to rely on her own raw strength that when she was ambushed by Salem's forces she decided to trick them into an ambush.

Then when fighting Cinder and was at a disadvantage she freezes her in place while making Cinder think she is going on the offensive leaving her to be crushed by Stalactites & also utilized mind games to distract her & deal the finishing blow... Cos she only relies on strength.

As to his final piece of advice I already address it up above, there was no way around Adam, the situation was fucked from the start.

Saying it was Yang's fault she was dismembered is no more than victim blaming, I stood by that in Volume 3 to to this day & beyond.

Taiyang: But if you just take a second look, then maybe you see... (walking toward her, stepping around Zwei) there's a way around as well.

But let's actually look at Seeing Red & if Yang listened to Tai's advice or if she not only ignored it but did the opposite of what he ordered.

Let's see she goes in with open aggression & emotions, and also takes many blows rather than going 'around' them somehow.

Yang, as if she were 'indestructible' outright tanks a massively charged up Aura beam for the purpose of increasing her strength.

Then burns through all of her Aura & Semblance energies delivering one direct blow, relying on it to save her & leaving her weak & tired.

Or in other words, she:

Yang didn't miss, but we know that isn't a real issue anyway.

Yang used her Semblance to 'win' the fight & very much did rely on it to save her.

Yang expressed anger & many other emotions in the battle & still continues to does so.

Yang willingly took huge risks that involved her being able to take tons of damage rather than go "Around" the problem.

Yang knew Adam was likely stronger given it was 2 V1 but relied on her Semblance to get her out of that bind and she was in fact left weak and tired.

This is also the first time she has done several of these things, or otherwise demonstrated these traits, such as being left weak and tired or willingly tanking big attacks rather than just being hit by surprise or due to being overwhelmed.

I don't take Tai's advice seriously because none of it was accurate or aligned with the Semblance we saw in action or had described to us.

I don't trust Tai's opinion on Yang because his take on her is explicitly informed by Raven & not the Yang we spent four & then five more volumes getting to know.

I don't take Tai's words over Yang's, Ruby's or what we see on screen because Tai is at best a secondary or minor character & a recurring theme in RWBY is the failure of older generations.

These failures are not just in the past but how they have been consistently failing the next generation as the story is being told. There is zero reason to think Tai is some magic exception to this narrative trend when much more well explored characters like Maria, Qrow, Ozpin, Ironwood, Raven, and hell, Summer Rose are not.

& that is my stance on that, thanks for tuning in!

[swiss-mrs]

You were asking for ideas about a future Sy fiction & an idea just popped into my head about “Shy Sy” & the “Karaoke Cowgirl”. Now, there’s NO WAY I could ever compare to your writing skills…but say Shy Sy calls & asks her for a date, she agrees, but everything goes horribly wrong……he spills beer all over her, clumsily trips over his own 2 feet, his truck gets a flat ( there is no spare tire), so they sit alone in the truck having the most fun conversation & maybe with a little cuddling to keep her warm?!?! (She only has a skimpy sundress on). As they casually talk, Sy becomes much more relaxed & finds her just adorably perfect?!?!

sorry this took so long. I have been going through some crazy writer's block. I think I got everything minus the beer😅 thank you for your support! hope you like this!💕

Your Shotgun Rider

Read Black Velvet (Pt. 1)

Word Count:

Warnings: Series of Unfortunate Events (First Date Edition), Adult Language, Some Suggestive Themes (No Smut), Petnames (darling and pumpkin), Reader is Able to Fit in One of Sy's Jackets.

Reader/Unnamed Character Description: No Descriptions Beyond Clothing (The vibes: one two three four), No Mentions of Age, Race, Ethnicity, Height, Etc., No Use of Y/N, She/Her Pronouns, Mentioned as "Girl"/"Pretty Girl" and "Little Lady"

Synopsis: After your meet-cute at the bar over the weekend, Sy gets you to go out on a proper date with him. Unfortunately, everything seems to be going wrong.

--💕👢💕--

It's time. Sy looked at the watch on his wrist and breathed out a heavy sigh. "God damnit!" He hits the steering wheel in a weak attempt to release some built-up tension. This was the 5th time he'd tried turning the ignition over to no avail. He was running good on time, thirty minutes early, to be exact, before he came out to his truck to try and head over to pick you up. Only to be cockblocked by his own damn pickup.

The last time he recalled, the thing was running smoothly. What in the hell changed?! He leans back in the driver's seat and drags his hands down his face in frustration, letting out a deep groan. His hands drop to his lap with a smack. With his eyes closed, he begins praying. "Please, to the powers that be, please let this God forsaken truck start so I can go see this girl." Without much hope, he opens his eyes and leans forward again to twist the keys again. Surprisingly, the engine roared to life.

Sy lets out a deep sigh of relief, closing his eyes and allowing his body to collapse slightly, forehead resting on the wheel. He lets out a chuckle in disbelief. "Thank you." He leans back up and shifts the truck into drive to head over to the address you'd given him when setting up your date over the phone.

Thankfully, you didn't live far. Your new apartment building was less than 15 minutes away from his house. He lived more on the outskirts of town as opposed to your apartment closer to the town center. He reckoned that if he pushed the speed limit, he could make it in there in 10. This was his town, after all. He knew the streets to avoid to be able to safely cut time.

Sy hated running late, much more now than ever. He didn't want to miss this opportunity. This was his first official outing with you. He had to make a good impression.

As he drove, all he could think about was you. Your laugh, your voice. Since you'd met two weeks ago, you two had built a strange little bond. You've gotten to the point where you can talk to each other like old friends, though all of it has been only over the phone.

You were extremely busy with basically zero down time. The combination of adjusting to your new job, apartment hunting, and now moving, you couldn't find time to do anything but work, sleep, eat, pack, and move. In between, you'd have your phone glued to your ear with Sy on the other end of the line.

Every time you talked, Sy could practically hear the stress and tension in your shoulders from carrying the weight of everything happening. He'd offered to help you move, but you turned him down, insisting you had more than enough help. Plus, you were moving things slowly, and didn't want to have him just drop everything he was doing at your beck and call just to move boxes. He never said it aloud, but he would be more than willing to be on standby for you.

Due to everything going on, Sy had made it his mission to make the little time you had together over the phone pleasant. Thankfully, you got his humor, so making you laugh was never a hard task. It hasn't been a day since he last spoke to you, but he already missed your laugh. Every time it came through the line, the image of your smiling face at the bar would pop up. Every time, without fail. It would always bring a smile to his own face.

The realization of him finally getting to see you in person again hit him hard when he finally reaches the street you live on. It's been two weeks. TWO WEEKS. He hoped you didn't forget what he looked like. Your image is engraved in his brain, one of his sweetest memories. That's when he spots you standing at the base of the stairs, just outside your apartment building. Somehow, his heartbeat both doubled in rate and stopped completely at the sight of you.

You're wearing a white dress that stopped mid-thigh. The skirt of your dress was light and flowy while the upper half was fitted to your frame, hugging you in all the right places. On your feet was a pair for dark brown cowboy boots. You looked utterly adorable and equally sexy. Sy found his eyes trailing along the skin of your exposed legs.

Sy pulled up to the curb, throwing the truck in park, and hoping out the driver's side to walk over to the passenger door, near the sidewalk.

As soon as he hopped out, your face lit up like the morning sun, eyes widening and face breaking out in a big smile. You wave at him and immediately start to speed walk over to him. Your sheer excitement made his heart warm. At least you were happy to see him, and in fact, did not forget what he looked like, as if you ever could. You fight the urge to run and jump into his strong arms.

"Sorry I'm late, darlin'." He blurts before you can get a word out. You're obviously taken aback by the apology. You scrunch your eyebrows and pout, tilting your head.

"Late?" You pull out your cellphone from your hidden pocket, clicking the screen on to check the time. "It's 6:03." You lock your phone and slide it back in your dress, looking back to him with a small smile. "There's no need to apologize for three minutes." You say positively. "You're here now, and I'm so happy you are." Your smile grows happily.

You have to clasp your hands together in font of your lap to physically contain yourself from jumping on the man in front of you. First off, you're overjoyed that you get to finally go on a date with him. Second off, he looks so damn good in his plaid button-down and jeans. You give him a quick once over. It looks like he'd given his beard a little neatening up. His shirt is ironed free of any wrinkles and tucked neatly into the waistband of his jeans. He has a brown leather belt that just so happens to match your boots perfectly. The circular buckle on the front has a horse on it, and his jeans hug his thighs just right, loosening back up as the fall passed his knees. On his feet are leather boots that are obviously a bit worn but sturdy. Must be his go-tos. Neither of you are dressed super fancy. Both cleaned up just appropriate enough for your date. You sigh out a happy sigh. "You ready to show me your moves?" You tease, raising a brow. Sy lets out a soft chuckle, showing off his teeth with his effortlessly charming smile.

"Now, little lady, I told you over the phone, 'I'm no dancer', but if it makes you happy, I'm more than ready." He gives you that smile that makes your knees go weak. He reaches for the door handle and opens the passenger door for you to get in. As you step closer, he holds a hand out for you to take, to use as leverage to get in the tall truck. You smile at him and give him a gracious nod and 'thank you' as you grab his hand to lift yourself into the seat.

Once you're safely in, Sy closes the door behind you and jogs over to his side, quickly hoping back into the driver's seat with one swift motion. He buckles up and looks over to you as he reaches for the gear shift, giving you another smile before shifting and driving off.

"Now, we have a little ways out til we get there. It's just outside of town. No more than 30 minutes." You look over at him as he drives, and he throws some short glances at you as he speaks. "So, uh..." He says, looking back and forth between you and the road. The happy, wide-eyed look you're giving him is making it awful hard to keep his mind straight. He clears his throat and decides to focus his eyes on the streets ahead of him, but the feeling of your eyes on him remains. "How's the move been so far? You likin' your new place?" Out of the corner of his eye, he can see your little smile grow a bit as you nod.

"Yeah, it's been going." You say with a soft chuckle and a shrug. "I at least have some furniture and kitchen stuff over, pots and pans or whatever, so I can now somewhat function out of my own place. It's looking a little less like a storage unit and more like a home, finally, minus the bedroom." You sigh and shift your gaze to the roads ahead as well. "I still have boxes to unpack and a bed frame I've been procrastinating having to put together, but it's nice." You smile, the pride of having a space to call your own swelling in your chest.

Sy glances over at you, eyes nervously shifting back and forth, contemplating his next words before just blurting them out. "I could help if you want." You turn to him to say something, but he continues before you get the chance. "I know you said you don't want me to 'be burdened with your move', which I would, by the way, be more than happy to help you with anything, so don't worry about burdenin' me." He quickly adds in, "I could at very least come by and put your bed together." He glances over at you again as if to let you know he's done with his little ramble.

You give him a little smile, so soft and warm it melts his heart down into his stomach. There's a short pause of you just staring at him with pure admiration before you nod. "Okay." You say with a smile. Sy raises his brows and glances over at you.

"'Okay'? Really?" He clears his throat, shifting in his seat a little in an attempt to cover up the surge of happiness that just ran through him. "Alright. I, uh, I keep some tools in the back." He points a thumb to the backseat. "After tonight, I could fix it up when I bring you back home, so you can have a proper bed to sleep on." He shoots you a smile, and you gently nod. He's so cute. You turn your head to look out the window. This burly man, 'if looks could kill' exterior mixed with his cinnamon roll personality played criminal tricks with your mind and your heart. It only left you pondering what he was like in action, when he was on-duty.

With his soft, sweet, and caring attitude towards you, it was hard to imagine him with a scowl, guns blazin', and dirty. It felt a bit forbidden, but a part of you was set alight by the pure fantasy of it. You could feel your heartbeat quicken at the thought. You purse your lips and try to quietly control your breathing, cheeks starting to burn a little. You nearly jump out of your skin when Sy speaks up again. "Is that alright, darlin'?" You turn away from the window to look back towards him, finding his gaze shifting between you and the road.

You take a quick breath in to try and compose yourself. You nod quickly. "Yeah, no, yeah, that's completely fine. Sorry." You shake your head and let out a small sigh with a smile. "Just got... caught up in my own mind." You try to play your fluster off. He throws you another brain melting grin.

"Well, hopefully, tonight can help you de-stress." He focuses his eyes back on the road, thank God. "New job, new apartment, new town." He shakes his head. "You sure got your work cut out for you." You let out a little laugh and a nod.

"You're telling me. Thank you for taking me out tonight, and thank you in advance for the bed." You give him a smile. He arches a brow and shoots you a glance out the corner of his eyes.

"Don't thank me yet. I might step on your feet, spill beer on ya or somethin'." He says, lighthearted but honest. You let out another laugh, filling Sy's heart.

"Okay, okay. We'll see how the night progresses, but I'm sure there's nothing you could do that would make me any less grateful. I'm truly happy to be here. I'm lucky to have met you." You say honestly. The way the truth rolls off of you was easy, but to Sy, it felt like you just gave him the world. He's about 98% sure you have no idea the effect your words affect him. His smile grows, showcasing his teeth proudly from behind his freshly trimmed mustache.

Before the conversation could deepen any further, a loud POP erupts through the truck, followed by an insane, anxiety inducing rattling and swerving of the truck.

You instinctively reach out to hold onto something, and Sy instinctively reaches a protective arm out to you, keeping the other one on the wheel to maintain as much control over the truck as possible. You had just made it on the country road highway not ten minutes ago, and from the sounds and feel of it, one of the tires popped.

Sy carefully pulls over to the shoulder, parking the vehicle halfway off the road. Thankfully, there just so happened to not be any other cars on the road, but, then again, not-so-thankfully, that meant no immediate help nearby.

As soon as Sy gets to the roadside, he takes his arm back to use it to switch gears into park. He looks in the driver's side mirror with a clenched jaw. You both already know it's the tire, but a big part of him just hopes that the mirror will give him a different answer. He holds in a string of curses, throwing open the door and hopping out. He turns to you once he's outside, "I'll be right back." He's visibly struggling to keep calm, and your heart is a nervous wreck from the loud noise and turbulence. You want to ask him to stay for a few moments until your heart slows back down, but you instead stay silent and nod.

He closes the door and walks towards the back of the truck to get a closer look at the tire that blew. Even though the doors are closed and the windows are rolled up, you could still hear the muffled swears Sy was letting out. Though, yes, the situation is terrible, and you feel bad. You couldn't help but giggle through your little heart attack.

You turn to look through the back window to find a very stressed looking Sy leaning his hands on the truck with his head down. You couldn't hold back a pity smile. Poor guy.

You could see him let out a heavy breath before standing up straight and waking back to the driver's side door. He opens it and pauses, fixing his jaw. He drops his head, letting out another deep breath before looking back up at you. "I'm sorry, darlin'." He starts. "The damn thing is completely busted, and I don't have a spare." He drops his hands from the truck to run the down his jeans. He reaches for his back pocket to grab his phone. You shake your head.

"Don't apologize. It's happens." Your optimistic tone and little pouty face softens the blow. He shakes his head with a chuckle.

"This has got to be the worst date. I'm sorry, pumpkin." He pulls out his phone, clicking the screen on and tapping at it. "One of my guys drives a tow truck for a livin'. There's no tellin' what he's up to right now. He's probably still workin', but imma try givin' him a call and see if he can lend a hand."

"Okay." You say with a relaxed smile. He sighs a soft grin, a gentle look in his eyes. His shoulders relax ever-so-slightly. He hates that you're stuck with him in this situation, but at the same time, he's glad he's stuck here with you.

"Just a minute, pretty girl." He winks, bringing the phone up to his ear and closing the door softly as he walks around to the front of the truck, leaning against the grill.

You watch him have the conversation through the windshield, waiting with your hands rested in your lap. The phone call doesn't last too long as barely five minutes pass by before he's hanging up the phone and rubbing a hand down his face. He doesn't make any attempts to move, so you take that as your opportunity to get out of the truck and walk towards him.

Sy lifts his head from the hand he has massaging his forehead to look over at you. "I'm so sorry, darlin'." He looks at you, guilt, embarrassment, and shame worrying his features. You shake your head and raise a hand to stop him, closing your eyes and looking away, a clear indication of not 'wanting to hear it'.

"No need. Like I said, you don't need to apologize for this." You lean next to him on the warm grill of the car and offer a soft grin. You lean over to bump your shoulder to his. "Any luck with your buddy?" He lets out another sigh, looking down at his phone.

"Well, like I suspected, he's still on the clock and currently helpin' someone else out, but he'll come and get us once he's free. Though, it may be a while." Sy slides the phone back into his back pocket before going back to rubbing his forehead.

"You know, you look really handsome." Sy looks up, removing his hand from his face and looking over to you. The smile on your face nearly makes him forget the unfortunate situation you're both stuck in. He can't help but adore the way your head is adorably tilted as you smile at him. It brings a little smile to his own face. He huffs out a brief chuckle and looks down at his boots, shifting his feet a little.

"Thank you, darlin', and you are just as beautiful as the day I first saw you." He gives you a pursed grin as if trying to contain his smile but failing. You blush and look away from him. You avert your gaze to the field just off to the side of the road, admiring the setting sun. The warm light makes you look as if you're glowing, and Sy can't seem to pry his eyes off of you. His eyes slowly find their way lowering, caressing your figure. "It's a damn shame you've wasted such a pretty little outfit on this."

Your head turns back to him with a scrunched nose smile and warm cheeks. Just then, the best idea pops into your head. "You know, it's not over yet." You pull out your phone, unlock it and open up your music app. "We still got time for a dance or two." You give him a teasing smile, glancing over your phone to him.

Sy shakes his head with furrowed brows. "You can't seriously be tryin' to get me to dance," He looks around, " out here."

"Oh, what?" You press play, setting your phone on the hood of the truck and stepping away from the vehicle. "Scared?" You reach for Sy's hand and weakly attempt to pull him to you. Sy lets you drag him off the truck with little resistance but doesn't let his face show how easily he's persuaded.

You close the distance between you two, Sy's hands finding themselves in yours. "Now, remember what I told you, darlin'.-"

"I know, I know." You hush him and pull him closer. "I don't care. Just dance with me." You squint at him, and he caves instantly, allowing you to bring his hands to your hips.

You tentatively leave your hands on his broad shoulders and begin swaying to the music, easing into a rhythm. You smile at him, gaining a timid grin back. Sy tries his best to follow your lead but is notably awkward and stiff. You can't help but giggle at this. "Hey, now, no laughin' at me." He says, trying his best to be stern but ultimately stiffling his own chuckle. You shake your head, trying to rid your body of its laughter.

"Yeah, okay. Sorry." You manage out through your badly contained giggles. Sy shakes his head at you with a smile.

Several songs and several close calls of him barely missing your toes pass before Sy finally loosens up enough for you to be a bit more experimental with your movements. You open the door to singing along to the songs you like the most. Sy surprises you with his own baritone singing voice, the shock on your face giving him the confidence to step back and spin you around.

When he pulls you back into his chest, admittedly a bit clumsily, you speak up, "Why didn't you tell me you had such a beautiful singing voice?" Due to the nature of the clumsy spin, you were tumbled into his chest, resting one hand over his heart and the other entangled with his. You could feel his heartbeat in your palm through his shirt. Its quick pace was endearing and sweet, causing yours to quicken as well. He gives you a bashful smile.

"I'm no singer, gorgeous." You scoff and roll your eyes.

"Oh, please. I quite literally just heard you. You're actively humming now!" You point out with a laugh. His chest rumbles with a chuckle. He shrugs and continues to hum along, leaving it at that. You give him a playful glare, which he ignores and only pulls you closer by your waist.

Not long after, the sun has disappeared to the point of turning the sky into a deep, royal blue, hinting at the dark night sky incoming. The headlights of the still running truck illuminate you two as you dance, creating your own personal spotlights.

Everything in this moment is sweet and wholesome. A day that started and continued to dampen Sy's mood ended up being one of the greatest he's had in forever, and every upside to this day is thanks to you. This was only your first date, but he knew from right then and there that he would one day make you his wife. He didn't want to scare you off, though, so he kept that thought to himself, twirling you around in the evening air.

Now that the sun was no longer providing its warm blanket, it started to chill. It could be smelt in the air before it began to fall. A spring shower was incoming.

Just as that fact became evident, little droplets started falling from the sky. At first, it was going ignored and partially unnoticed, but it couldn't be ignored for long as the droplets turned into a light sprinkle. "We should get back in the truck before things start getting worse." Sy announces, but you shake your head.

"No, no. Let's at least finish the song." You reply, giving him a bright smile. He melts and submits, letting you continue on with your singing and sways. He knows it's way too early to call it, but, God, he loves you.

Barely halfway through the song, rain starts coming down in clusters. The change happens within a blink of an eye and causes you and Sy to stop almost immediately. Sy pulls you in closer, flush against his strong body as if trying to protect you from the falling water. You let out a little squeak. "I think it's time to call it." He chuckles, ducking his head down to keep rain from hitting his eyes.

He starts leading you over to the passenger's side, keeping you as close as humanly possible the entire tread there. He throws the door open and damn near picks you up by your waist and throws you in. Just as your bum his the seat, you shout out, "My phone!"

Sy closes the door in response and runs back around the truck, grabbing your phone and jogging to the driver's side, hopping in and shutting the door behind him. He hands you your damp phone after doing a quick swipe on his jeans to get most of the water off of it.

You giggle as you take it from him, "Thank you." He chuckles with a head shake.

"You're a crazy little lady, aren't ya?" You tilt up your chin.

"Adventurous, Free Spirited, Yes." You proudly correct, matter-of-factly, earning another chuckle from Sy.

He looks over at you, convincing you your heart had stopped. His eyes hold nothing but pure adoration. You swear all your insides melted as soon as your gazes collided.

You both hold eye contact for what feels like an eternity. Time feels like a slow-motion movie scene, and despite the gloomy, blue hue from the rainy evening, the world suddenly has a rose tint.

You notice Sy's eyes drop from yours, down to your lips. You follow suit, but just as you were going to lean in, an angry shiver runs through you. Your eyes meet his again. A smile grows on his face. He scoots a bit closer to the middle of the bench seat to reach into the backseat, promptly grabbing a brownish Carrhart jacket and draping it over your shoulders, engulfing you in his scent.

As soon as it's over you, you slip your arms into it and bring it tighter around you, using all your might to resist the urge to bring it up to your nose.

Sy gives you another award winning smile that brightens his eyes. He'd never liked his clothes on anyone else so much better than himself, but here you are.

You take this opportunity to scoot closer to him, meeting him in the middle of the bench. He raises an arm, inviting you into his side. You snuggle in close as he rests his arm around you.

Sy reaches forward to turn the heat on low to try and help you both dry off a bit faster without overheating. You being so cuddled up to him warms the pit of his belly. He smiles down at you before tilting his head to rest on top of yours. "This has got to be the best first date I've ever been on." You confess. He chuckles, the rattling in his chest causing your head to bounce slightly. He sighs, content and whole.

"Hopefully, the first of many."

--💕👢💕--

I hope you liked it!!😫💕

[and-so-he-rambled]

Minecraft is a FOUND FAMILY movie and you can’t change my mind!

Writing my fic has made me love all the goobers so much.

Natalie is trying her fucking best, she’s had the world on her shoulders all her life but that doesn’t matter because she’ll gladly hold up the world to keep her brother safe.

Dawn and her have girl time and bitch about their jobs, and while she’ll never have another mom, it’s nice to have an ‘aunt’ who cares about her and reminds her to breathe now and then. She’s just a baby, she’s so young and trying to do everything by herself, and now she has a village who loves her and lets her be small sometimes.

Henry is a prodigy disaster child who suddenly has two dads he didn’t ask for, he’s too smart for social cues and too cool for school 😎 (this bitch has perfect grades)

He gets too in his head constantly and it’s everyone’s job to make sure he eats and doesn’t make dangerous inventions (Garrett and Steve have repeatedly gotten in trouble for assisting in said inventions) He sometimes stays with Garrett and Steve so Nat can just have a break for a bit, and he’s too much of a teenager to admit he likes it.

Dawn, my sweet angel. This woman loves these kids and the two idiots that came with them. Garrett is her new little brother and they fight like siblings, but love each other like siblings too. She reminds him he’s allowed to be human, he reminds her she’s allowed to be herself. Steve’s her friend, and she loves him, but he’s the most likely to be sacrificed in the event of an emergency and he’s okay with that.

Dawn is the group auntie. She and Nat will always beat the drum of therapy even if they can’t actually tell any therapist the truth, and she watches her stupid little ducklings with pride. She’s always had a weakness for strays.

Steve didn’t have family before them. He had his parents, but they died long before he ever decided to leave the world behind, and him having no family was what made leaving so easy.

But this family he found, that he built, he left the game for them! He loves them! They make the real world bearable. He loves those kids like they were his own, loves Dawn, and loves his GarGar a little too much. He’s fully aware of his feelings and doesn’t really plan to do anything about it, much to the frustration of the other three.

And Garrett, my pookie. He’s emotionally constipated, hides under a hero complex even he knows is fake, and tries to cover up the mistakes than make him human because he hates feeling things. He bottles things up until they explode and then hates himself for getting to that point. He’s a sopping wet opossum and I want to kiss his lil head.

Dawn is the most in tune with Garrett’s bad habits. Steve has a problem with letting Garrett have space to his own detriment, and Dawn is often the one to snap at him to get involved because Steve is the only one Garrett fucking listens to when he’s struggling. Garrett is fully not aware of what his feelings mean and writes them off as having a best friend, something he’d never really had before.

I love them. I love them I want to chew on them like erasers, these are my babies and no one can take them from me.

[spidermanifested]

speaking of transfem interpretations for characters presented as men in the source material. one such case i have been stewing in my mind for a while is black sails charles vane

which i realize (hence the big post about it) would probably not be most peoples first assumption because vane is very stereotypically masculine on first blush. youve got the whole rugged individualist sigma male thing going on, the growly voice the immaculately shaped stubble, etc. but: as the show goes on we get more insight into WHY he presents himself that way and it becomes more and more clear that there are two (well, three but we'll get there) major reasons for this

1) his father figures' enduring influence (the conflicting desires to both appease and outdo them, to different levels for each, but both sides of which can only be achieved by performing masculinity The Best),

and 2) the practical need, as a pirate, to be respected and feared by the men following him,

both of which can be boiled down to "we live in a society". and on their own i would just take these parts of his character as an exploration of how gender roles are socially mandated and reinforced, but, unusually for this type of character, he seems very matter-of-fact and self-aware about the reasons hes Doing Masculinity. this is one of his parallels with flint, whos also consciously spinning his motivations through a narrative of cishet machismo to achieve respectability under patriarchy.

obviously to some degree vane IS shown to have internalized the bioessentialist 18th century england view of gender roles ("i can understand a womans desire for domesticity", etc) (and even still! you CAN understand it? interesting wording!). but he doesnt express things like this remotely as often as, say, jack, who repeatedly goes full throttle Boomer Wifejokes Mode when he feels undermined or slighted by a woman, even one he cares about. in contrast vane is quick to empathize with and relate to and even (especially!) project onto the women in his life. he strikes up a weird rapport with abigail; max, a total stranger to him, gets past his selfish crew-appeasing decision to keep her prisoner by appealing to their similarities. its not just that hes attracted to women (though he obviously very much is), he views them as people who are Similar To Him. maybe more similar than men?

the biggest example is his whole relationship with eleanor. hes CONSTANTLY pointing out how alike they are, how much they hate being oppressed by fathers, aka by men. arent you tired of being tied down by gendered expectations? dont you just want to go apeshit? hes constantly trying to pull her out of this box society has built around her but also hyperaware of and seemingly resigned to his OWN box. he identifies with and lives vicariously through her rebellion. shes his strongest and most genuine emotional connection, and not in a woodes rogers "grieving my beloved unlawfully-wedded wife. what do you mean she was a real person who didnt just sit in the corner and knit silently" way, but like, For Real. even if they were ultimately so incredibly bad for each other.

which brings us to the third secret reason he performs masculinity so hard. that connection, his bonds with women (like flint and the Witch Puppetmaster Rumors about miranda) is repeatedly shown to be considered by the men around him to be a weakness– one that might need forcibly correcting if he ever falters from peak masculinity even a little. hes only allowed to continue to explore that side of himself via the narrow avenues of male heterosexuality and social dominance– his actual relationship with eleanor is very equal, he has no desire to dominate her, or... anyone, really? hes super big on just letting his crew do what they want (to the extent where this winds up causing severe issues). but his ability to lead men requires that he put on the show. and even still, he never seems willing to sacrifice the part of his life with eleanor in it no matter how much pressure is exerted on him from men above or below him in the pecking order. SHE is always the one who winds up abandoning him for HER goals.

shes ultimately too caught up on the lie of finally achieving respectability. and, vane is too, just from a different facet of society. his character arc is about confronting that desire, reckoning with it, and discarding it, choosing to follow flint instead of blackbeard.

(meanwhile we have eleanor falling back on the patriarchys narrative in order to dehumanize him before his execution, even though she ALSO grew up without a mothers love. theyre the same, but through her privilege and adjacency to even more privileged men, shes been given all the tools she needs to deny it– at the cost of boxing herself further into her own role. a cost she chooses to pay every time, no matter how much she claims to hate it.)

theres just...... a whole lot of really good commentary about gender in this show. other characters have their own ways of exploring it but normally their sense of displacement within the gender binary is via the lens of queer sexuality, whereas vane is judged mainly for having a relationship to womanhood that goes BEYOND sexual attraction. and i think that while this part of the narrative stands strong on its own without it, a transfem reading would add some fun new layers and make a lot of sense. and i would love to know if anyone else has had the thought that hrt could have. well maybe not saved her. but definitely Helped

my final miscellaneous piece of analysis, is that aside from that one clothes-on nut-and-bolt between miranda and the pastor, which lasted ~5 seconds so it doesnt count. the only mutually passionate sex scenes shown happening on screen, either(?) involve two women, or a woman and charles vane. & like im just saying. for consistencys sake. we could just resolve that one outlier real quick

[thescarletnargacuga]

Where do puppet babies come from? How was the lead up to Cade's arrival? Was it easy? Was it stressful? Was it absolutely precious?!

A/N: Friendly reminder: Cade belongs to @iamespecter ! You can find his official intro post HERE!

Now, I did have a lovely talk with Specter and we put our heads together for:

HARLEQUIN CADE CANONS

@tadc-harlequin-au

Where do puppet babies come from?

When two puppets love each other very, very much...they perform the incredibly intimate act of SOUL BONDING!

Soul bonding happens when the hearts of the puppets involved literally open to one another, exposing their soul die. Their souls will interact and bond together in a transcendental experience where both puppets will be able to feel each other's emotions and even fragments of experiences or memories.

When Caine and Pomni did this, they felt their souls reach out to one another and just went along with it in the heat of the moment, not fully realizing what they were doing.

Remember, Cade is the FIRST puppet child in history.

And not every soul bond will result in a new soul, we don't know the success rate yet.

But what about old-fashioned sex? YES, puppets can have sex like humans used to, however, only the enlightened can. When a puppet becomes enlightened, inky black flesh literally sprouts from the die and spreads out through the core of the body, imitating organs. This can include "genitalia", mimicking what the soul is most comfortable with. (It's really gross if you think about it too hard)

There is no risk of puppet pregnancy from acts of the flesh.

What was the birth like?

When a new soul is created, it latches on to the host die and must consume energy from the host for a period of time before being extracted and placed in its own die.

Because Pomni and Caine were unexpecting, and unprepared, this led to a rough pregnancy. Pomni became weak and lethargic to the point of being bedridden. She was extremely irritable, more than usual, and even had cravings.

Births are as simple as someone who has high enough capability with their soul magic to remove the smaller soul from the host and place it inside a new die. From there, it can be placed inside it's own body.

Caine saved Pomni's life, the new soul was inside her for way too long and weakened her to the point of being life-threatening. Once it was removed, and Pomni recovered, Caine left it up to her on whether or not they should keep it.

She chose to keep the new life.

How do they grow up?

There are only three stages to physical puppet growth: child, teenager, adult. However, modifications can be made during these three main stages to change the puppet's body as the soul matures.

These three stages are divided by full body transfers from one to another, where the die is removed from the old body and placed in the new one.

The puppet's body type is determined by the soul. When the die is placed in a new body, it will either accept or reject. Building a new puppet becomes trial and error to figure out what fits best.

Caine didn't even realize that this new soul involved him, and not Pomni's soul fragmenting itself, until he built a body that the die accepted.... And it looked a bit like him.

That's how they found out having children at all was even possible. Their wonderful son Cade, their Miracle Star.