#that had a *very distinct* physical difference from you

[heliosobjections]

in both your art and fics you portray phoenix in such a lovely, raw, compelling way that i personally think the aa fandom could learn a lot from. there's so much consideration for canon and media analysis and i love the way a lot of these wholly subvert the sometimes frustrating tropes that stem from shoehorning characters into having certain traits due to which archetype they fit into "best." thank you so much, genuinely, for sharing your work!! they're always such a delight to see/read and i hope to have the courage you do to post what i want without fear of being bullied out of what was meant to be a fun creative space

Thank you bunches <3. My best advice is to talk like you're the only one in the fandom.

Writing from the standpoint as someone who's only (fully) seen the Phoenix Wright Trilogy.

I think a lot of people stop judging Phoenix at: “He's the player character and we're meant to project ourselves onto him.” And while that's true, there's a reason why he's so naturally relatable and a character within his own right. Unlike, say… BotW/TotK Link (because I'm currently playing it again), he has a discernable and distinct personality, based on Shu Takumi and how he would interact with the world and people of Ace Attorney. He's written to be the Straight Man in a world of Funny Men. He's the most normal guy in this world, but is still ready to believe in the occult/paranormal and other weird AA shit before he's given any evidence that it actually exists, because he is still a part of this world. He serves as an effective conduit between the player and the game and helps suspend the player’s .

These concepts of Phoenix being the Sun to Miles’s Moon, or the Dog to his Cat, the Sunshine to his Grump, only serve to water down and needlessly separate two characters that are, in my opinion, more compelling when their similarities are considered. Phoenix is a mean, bitter man who has insulted even his own friends. He makes morbid and downright weird jokes, gets insecure about his appearance, and rarely puts his hands on people. He's sly, cunning, and sharp. He's polite enough to people's faces, but is judgemental in his monologue. But in those monologues he also has moments of genuine empathy or sympathy for friends and strangers. Because despite low-key being a jackass, he's a ride or die for anyone who needs him. Most of all, he’s intuitive, and an amazing judge of character.

To compare him to Miles. Both lawyers are strong-willed and intelligent, with their main goal in their profession being to find the absolute truth. They both have the capacity to be assholes but try their best to show people they care, mostly through their actions. They'll put themselves in physical and occupational danger for each other and other people. They’re both reserved and don’t speak about themselves much, but both can carry conversations under the right circumstances. They have a deep respect and trust in one another. They both acknowledge and appreciate romance without explicitly stating that’s what they want for themselves. I would even go as far to say they're both equally married to their jobs.

But what makes them different is class and experience. Unlike Miles, Phoenix is a rookie who doesn’t have a (known, recent) family history in criminal law; Miles had Gregory. And wouldn't have the means to study law; Miles had Gregory, then von Karma. The people they are/were surrounded by are different too, with Phoenix befriending Maya and other poorer clients— people without power. Miles was associated with people like von Karma, Damon Gant, and Lana Skye, all very powerful people.

After all of his connections crumbled (except Franziska), Phoenix and Miles shared connections/friends, especially Maya, Larry and Gumshoe. However his class status never lowers to Phoenix’s, and Phoenix’s never rises to Miles’s. That’s partially because of Phoenix’s narrative role as the underdog, and partially because of the fact that he will always be paid less as a private defense attorney with few cases than the state-appointed prosecutor. 

Some smaller things they differ on: Miles lacks superstition (especially with spirit mediums because of his past). Where Phoenix is intuitive, Miles is logical. Phoenix is a lateral thinker and Miles is vertical. Miles is introverted and Phoenix… an ambivert.

I think the reason why Phoenix is so mischaracterized in fanon is one big thing: Subtlety. As I said at the beginning of this, Phoenix is written to be relatable. Therefore many of his character traits are subdued compared to characters like Maya, Miles, Franziska or Gumshoe. I need you to realize that Phoenix doesn't even laugh in the PWT. It's also why we have no backstory for him besides the class trial and Turnabout Memories. However the team speculates about his past, mostly describing him as an average, lower-middle class bachelor (with a dog??? I heard that once but can't find the interview so that's up in the air.). But for the most part they don't try to dictate what fans want to see in him. And despite Takumi's views that he might have studied sequential art or theater in college… Phoenix is only described in game as an “Art Student”. That is SO vague, he could've studied CHEMISTRY.

Ace Attorney canon is rich with characterization and I’ll always love it so much more than fanon. I hate how fanon makes Phoenix out to be incompetent, stupid, but cute and trying. That’s not him! I hate when people make him out to be just a complete asshole too! He’s just some dude! He’s a normal guy who was written in the 2000s! With disorders! And he’s Going Through It as we speak!

Funnily enough, I think the fact that Phoenix is so misunderstood and comes off as unlikeable to the audience the moment we’re not privy to his perspective is so fitting. What do you mean Beanix is too different from Phoenix? It’s still him!

This response is almost 2 pages long. In another post, I’ll describe my own views about Phoenix based on what I’ve talked about here.

Evidence below.

Common Knowledge evidence I didn't feel the need to/couldn't include:

All of Phoenix and Miles's connections should be clear to everyone. No need to explain. I also don't think there's much need to show that Phoenix and Miles trust and respect each other since it's literally the turning points of their relationship in JFA and T&T.

Narrative roles are difficult to explain without author's input, but easy to infer through analyzing all interactions between characters.

I CAN'T find the transcript for when you show Miles the picture of Dahlia but know that's what I'm referring to when I say Miles isn't superstitious. Phoenix and Miles have a conversation about spirit channeling being a sham.

"He could've studied chemistry" assuming Phoenix was getting a Bachelor of Art, there are plenty of majors that fall under that, including chemistry. Idk if that needed to be expanded on but... I over explain lol

Also I could've sworn I saw something somewhere that Suekane said he wanted to be work on manga too.

[sunburstsandmoonshadows]

modern-day changeling tales

[doriansbutt]

designers take visually impaired people into account when making packaging for similar but different products (ie shampoo and conditioner, different sizes of pads, etc) challenge

[flanaganfilm]

Mr. Flanagan, I’d like to ask a question and I deeply hope that it does not offend or upset you. I am strongly considering canceling my Netflix subscription due to their new password sharing policy. However, Midnight Mass is one of my favorite shows of all time and I know it isn’t available on DVD, and I’m also profoundly anticipating your take on my favorite Edgar Allen Poe story. So I wanted to ask your take on people accessing your work through, uh, other means. If it’s something that’s offensive to you or will harm you or the other people who work so hard on these shows, I’ll happily keep my Netflix just so that I can keep supporting your work. I respect you far too much as an artist to do otherwise.

Again, I really hope I’m not upsetting you by asking this question. Thank you for everything, and I hope you’re having a great day!

(NOTE 6/4/2024: I'm editing this entry because, well over a year since it was posted, some journalists dug this up and used it to create click-bait headlines that are misleading, out of context and artificially combative. While I was of course disappointed over the years that Netflix opted not to release my work on physical media, I never experienced any hostility or aggression in those discussions, and I sincerely regret the manner in which this post was used in the press this week.)

Hi there - no offense taken whatsoever, in fact I think this is a very interesting and important question.

So. If you asked me this a few years ago, I would have said "I hate piracy and it is hurting creators, especially in the independent space." I used to get in Facebook arguments with fans early in my career when people would post about seeing my work on torrent sites, especially when that work was readily available for rent and purchase on VOD.

Back in 2014, my movie Before I Wake was pirated and leaked prior to any domestic release, and that was devastating to the project. It actually made it harder to find distribution for the film. By the time we were able to get distribution in the US, the film had already been so exposed online that the best we could hope for was a Netflix release. Netflix stepped in and saved that movie, and for that I will always be grateful to them.

However...

Working in streaming for the past few years has made me reconsider my position on piracy.

In the years I worked at Netflix, I tried very hard to get them to release my work on blu-ray and DVD.

It became clear very fast that their priority was subscriptions, and that they were not particularly interested in physical media releases of their originals, with a few exceptions.

While companies like Netflix pride themselves on being disruptors, and have proven that they can affect great change in the industry, they sometimes fail to see the difference between disruption and damage. So much that they can find themselves, intentionally or not, doing harm to the concept of film preservation.

The danger comes when a title is only available on one platform, and then - for whatever reason - is removed.

We have already seen this happen. And it is only going to happen more and more. Titles exclusively available on streaming services have essentially been erased from the world. If those titles existed on the marketplace on physical media, like HBO's Westworld, the loss is somewhat mitigated (though only somewhat.) But when titles do not exist elsewhere, they are potentially gone forever.

The list of titles that have been removed from streaming services is growing.

I still believe that where we put our dollars matters. Renting or buying a piece of work that you like is essential. It is casting a vote, encouraging studios - who only speak the language of money - to invest more effort into similar work. If we show up to support distinct, unique, exciting work, it encourages them to make more of it. It's as simple as that. If we don't show up, or if they can't hear our voice because we are casing our vote "silently" through torrent sites or other means - it makes it unlikely that they will take a chance to create that kind of work again.

Which is why I typically suggest that if you like a movie you've seen through - uh - other means, throw a few dollars at that title on a legitimate platform. Rent it. Purchase it. Support it.

But if some studios offer no avenue for that kind of support, and can (and will) remove content from their platform forever... frankly, I think that changes the rules.

Netflix will likely never release the work I created for them on physical media, though I'll always hold out hope.

Some of you may say "wait, aren't The Haunting of Hill House and The Haunting of Bly Manor available on blu-ray and DVD?" Yes, they are, because they were co-produced with Paramount, and I'm grateful that Paramount was able to release and protect those titles. (I'm also grateful that those releases include extended cuts, deleted scenes, and commentary tracks. There are a number of fantastic benefits to physical media releases.)

But a lot of the other work I did there are Netflix originals, without any other studio involvement. Those titles - like Midnight Mass, The Midnight Club, and the upcoming Fall of the House of Usher - along with my Netflix exclusive and/or original movies Before I Wake and Gerald's Game - have no such protections. The physical media releases of those titles are entirely at Netflix's discretion, and don't appear to be priority for the studio at this time.

At the moment, Netflix seems content to leave Before I Wake, Gerald's Game, Midnight Mass, and The Midnight Club on the service, where they still draw audiences. I don't think there is a plan to remove any of them anytime soon. But plans change, the industry changes.

The point is things change, and each of those titles - should they be removed from the service for any reason - are not available anywhere else. If that day comes - if Netflix's servers are destroyed, if a meteor hits the building, if they are bought out by a competitor and their library is liquidated - I don't know what the circumstances might be, I just know that if that day comes, some of the work that means the most to me in the world would be entirely erased.

Or, what if we aren't so catastrophic in our thinking? What if it the change isn't so total? What if Netflix simply bumps into an issue with the license they paid for music (like the Neil Diamond songs that play such a crucial role in Midnight Mass), and decide to leave the show up but replace the songs?

This has happened before as well - fans of Northern Exposure can get the show on DVD and blu-ray, but the music they heard when the series aired has been replaced due to the licensing issues. And the replacements - chosen for their low cost, not for creative reasons - are not improvements. What if the shows are just changed, and not by creatives, but by business affairs executives?

All to say that physical media is critically important. Having redundancy in the marketplace is critically important. The more platforms a piece of work is available on, the more likely it is to survive and grow its audience.

As for Netflix, I hope sincerely that their thinking on this issue evolves, and that they value the content they spend so much money creating enough to protect it for posterity. That's up to them, it's their studio, it's their rules. But I like to think they may see that light eventually, and realize that exclusivity in a certain window is very cool... but exclusivity in perpetuity could potentially limit the audience and endanger the work itself.

[minikoko-a]

general relationship headcanons —proxies x fem!proxy!reader

including: ticci toby, masky, hoodie and kate the chaser (individually)

suggestive mentions, mentions of murder, creepypasta masky and creepypasta hoodie (but with some features of MH tim and brian).

i'll make a distinction between Tim and Brian from MH and Tim and Brian from Creepypasta, if i'm writing of both and i don't mention if it's the creepypasta version, then it's from Marble Hornets! but in this case, i mentioned that is their creepypasta version (if it's said like that? (⁠ᗒ⁠ᗩ⁠ᗕ⁠))

i did my best with my proxies characterization, hope you like it! 💗⭐

Masky/Tim Wright

oh Tim my beloved.

one thing is to interact with Tim outside of work and another one to interact with Tim as Masky while working.

he's protective way too much.

please understand him, everything is already very fucked up and even more to being controlled by Slenderman.

y'all live in cabins in the woods! and even though you have your own, you tend to spend a lot of time in Tim's cabin.

since you started dating, you both made one thing clear: private relationship.

and to be honest, helped you quite a bit.

it didn't suit either of you for others to know exactly what's going on.

when y'all aren't deeply under his command, Tim is more soft and more talkative. his sarcasm makes you smile and he then sometimes initiate some kisses and physical contact.

but you are more of the one who initiates it.

when he has missions where the two of you don't go together, he tries to bring something to you.

but when you both go together on a mission, you take things and he covers them up and also you both deviate a little from the path or take a little longer to return (if you understand me wink wink)

but it isn't so common that you deviate from the path.

use honey, dear or your name

he holds your hand when you are together.

sometimes he wants to be alone but he always tells you before you give him space (something that he had to learn and it's difficult for him but he tries to do it to avoid arguments between you, he is an exhausted guy).

when this happens you go back to your cabin or take a walk nearby until Tim is the one who comes to find you.

his jealousy is more of a pessimistic comments to himself.

he loves you and he doesn't want to lose you.

he genuinely cares about others despite his reserved demeanor.

when you go shopping, even if he says that only what is just and necessary, he buys you what you like without anyone knowing.

but when he's Masky.

well... it's almost the same attitude.

he doesn't soften his voice to you.

just wants to do the mission, finish it and leave.

but also, that everything goes well and ends well.

he actually talks more than Hoodie.

more reserved.

he doesn't hold your hand at all.

but his protective attitude is still there!

if you get hurt during one of the missions, he will help you.

says your name, no nickname, no pet names.

but in the end, he knows you are his partner and his girlfriend.

"look at her, i would die for her, i would kill for her" vibe.

"older sis of her family x older brother of his family" vibes/trope

his kisses are long but with a strong charge of emotion.

he's a soft dom.

and again, the difference between when he's outside of work and when he's at work is not much, it's just that he acts more distant and less expressive, but for the rest, he is still a big protector.

he also values autonomy!

don't get him wrong, he just enjoys seeing his girlfriend being self-sufficient, especially with the life y'all lead.

it's between Toby or Brian that teases both of you.

Kate doesn't care much.

he loves it when you squeeze his shoulders! even though your hands hurt from how tense they are.

please give him words of affirmation and quality time :(

his love language would be acts of service and quality time!

your dates are going to the nearest city or town or just hanging out inside his cabin or yours.

there are times when it's already daylight but he doesn't let you go, for him, you're the only that can keep him putting up with that shit any longer.

and vice versa.

the sound of leaves colliding against each other thanks to the gentle gust of air was the background noise of the scene.

your head was resting gently on his shoulder, somewhat snuggled into him being greeted by the strong smell of coffee and cigarettes, his arm around your body to be more in contact with you. Tim's breathing was a little slow, you thought maybe it was because of all the cigarettes he smoked or the scene was really peaceful, a calmness that you always appreciated.

"Tim, honey..." your voice brought him out of his thoughts.

"yeah, dear?" you opened your lips, thinking a little about the words you would say. "if we get through this, will we be able to live far away and have a life together?"

your question made him go back into his thoughts, that question was so sad but Tim knew the answer for a long time.

"honey, we both already have a life together and when we least expect it, we will be living in a house somewhat away from the woods."

"love you" your lips joined together forming a beautiful connection and dance, that words were not enough because of how much you loved each other.

although you both know that it's increasingly a distant dream but he couldn't say no to his future wife.

Hoodie/Brian Thomas

ALRIGHT HEAR ME OUT.

Brian is a great boyfriend.

Hoodie absolutely not lol.

i started with Brian outside the power of the operator/slenderman.

brian is a golden retriever vibe, something in his past remains present and that is his charisma.

although his charisma is later interrupted by more sarcastic tones. after all, he's not the same as years ago.

the first to know about your relationship with Brian was Tim.

after all, he's his friend.

then the next to know it was Kate and Toby almost at the same time.

Brian does the best he can, knowing the shit y'all live, he tries to make sure to have at least some good moments within that... exhausting reality you both live in.

use honey, babe and love.

the kind of give you some flowers that are picked up in the forest.

remember when i say y'all live in cabins? well, he also has his own but he's constantly in yours.

his love language is words of affirmation and quality time!

he's not a jealous type at all, yeah sometimes he is jealous but he's more the kind of "yeah, she's my girlfriend, all mine, look at her because that's the only nearest thing that you're going to have something about her" "proud that she's my girlfriend, so what?"

your relationship is also private!

your dates consist in going to the nearest city.

a great kisser (i still hc that he's the top 1 among them lol)

an absolute service dom.

when he sends both of you on missions, he tries to do the hardest parts (although you don't care much about that later and end up doing too).

the cool aunt and cool uncle couple vibes.

but when he's working as Hoodie... well

you missed your Brian when he's not completely under the slenderman's control.

i mean y'all are completely but when he put y'all to "work".

when he's as Hoodie, he doesn't speak.

he just sighs, pants, grunts but doesn't say a word.

but those sounds sound different, because he carries a voice changer inside of his hoodie and balaclava.

Hoodie just treats you as an equal like the other proxies.

kind of stubborn (but not as toby)

Hoodie genuinely cares for you, if you go the wrong way, he grabs of your clothes and pulls you back to the right path.

there aren't many displays of affection when he's in the mission, to be honest.

but it doesn't mean that he doesn't do it completely, he is, along with Toby, the one who mind the least about showing affection (knowing the current situation everyone is in).

but he adores you, and even though you're under Slenderman's command, he's afraid that he will do something against you.

your footsteps that made the old dry leaves scattered on the dirt ground crunch made Brian turn his head to you.

"hey babe" he showed you a smile, revealing his small tooth gap.

"i didn't know you had arrived" the sound of crushed leaves began to get closer to Brian, you stopped your walk when you were already next to him. "Tim told me you got injured"

there was no response from Brian, he kept his gaze in the direction where you were but without seeing you as such, appreciating the green grass with brown tones due to dryness. the only thing he could enjoy about this shit was nature in its purest state and you by his side.

he let out a small chuckle and looked away, now looking at the lake in front of you. "just a little scratch".

your mouth curved into a smile, taking your hands out of the pocket of the large and thick jacket you were wearing, you ran your hand over his abdomen, causing him to press his lips together. "you got me, you got me" now you let out a little laugh.

there was a brief silence, the sound of leaves rustling against each other from the gusts of wind that appeared was the only noise between you and him. his hand slid down your back, at the height of your waist, curling his fingers at the end of.

"hurt or not, i'll always come back to you, love" he murmured near your temple, placing a kiss. in response, you tilted your head to his shoulder, still not losing your smile.

one thing you both know is, wounded, healthy or dead, you will always come back for each other.

Ticci Toby

OH THIS BOYY

being with him everything is a box of surprises.

he's so spontaneous, seriously.

and stubborn.

when you accepted to be his girlfriend, that same day everyone already knew it.

"hey, can you tell your boyfriend it's his turn to take out the trash?" "how do you know- nevermind"

"I LOVE MY WIFE!!!" vibes

laughs and jokes will never be lacking!

he has a terrible diet and terrible habits, but you help him improve it!

he really tries hard to make the relationship work (and he achieves it very well).

for Toby, you make him live his teenage romance (although he's no longer a teenager).

he says things directly and, well, someone said that truth hurts.

it's not his intention (sometimes it is) but he doesn't know how to be "delicate" with what he says.

he tries it but after a while, he does it again.

when you go on dates, he wears a mask and something to cover his wound. all to prevent everything from spilling out when he's eating or drinking.

after all he's been through, he would never dare treat you badly or hit you. he lived with an abusive father and he saw what his mother and sister were suffering, including himself.

but it doesn't exempt him from the fact that he can fuck up on some occasions.

sometimes he leaves you on seen, sometimes he forgets to go see you at your cabin, sometimes he tells you something and can hurt you his words (by the way he said it), that kind of things.

he has not filter when saying things, to be honest.

uses princess, babe, love, honey or a nickname of yours.

i dare to say he's the one who doesn't mind showing affection at all.

"Toby! you stink of blood!" "just another kissss c'monnn"

he's a switch.

can't keep his ass in just one role.

when he's working under Slenderman's control, he is much less careful.

even with you.

if you fucked up something, he will tell you much more directly.

if you get injured, he'll bring you or will be healing you without much care.

doesn't measure his strength.

he spends more time in his cabin than yours.

his love language would be words of affirmation and maybe physical affection, but the last one would be when he has too much trust in you.

he's the most jealous of the four.

but just like Tim, his jealousy would be self-sabotaging.

and maybe a little finishing off those who are in your way, OH! who said that?

his kisses are kinda sloppy and with tons of little smiles between kisses to kisses. just sloppy and passionate.

he just hopes that you both will get away from that life and still living in the woods, without being tied to him.

the thick sheets that were impregnated with the aroma of fresh oak managed to lull you more and more in your sleep.

your mind was blank, you were eternally grateful for that, genuinely missing dreaming. your chest rose and fell calmly until you quickly became alert when you felt the sheets lift slightly, quickly you turned around pulling a dagger out from under your pillow but it was stopped by Toby's hand holding onto your wrist with a smile on his face.

"what are you doing, honey?" he smiled making short sounds with his tongue, pretty amused how your muscles seemed to have memory.

"sorry, love" his arms quickly caught you, leaving you lying on his chest and his back being hugged by your soft pillows. the dagger was left on the nightstand. "why aren't you this quiet when we're on our way to missions?" you said playful.

"i don't want to" you chuckled. he didn't say anything, he just held you in his arms.

"babe, i want to live with you" "well, you can come to my cabin-" "not that way, du-dumb"

you looked up, could see a beard just trying to emerge from his skin, his pale skin looked similar to the moonlight and then, he sighed.

"i mean far away, where we are not tied to this" he lowered his gaze to you "would you promise to be with me?" "ye-" "forever" "forever"

both lips collided in a slightly rushed kiss but you could feel his feelings on the surface of the skin of his lips.

this is forever.

Kate The Chaser

MY GIRRRL KATEEEE

"toby i'm lesbian" "i thought you were american"

the majority of your dates are at dusk and at night.

sometimes she tells you about Lauren and Chris but just a little of what she can remember.

actually she's pretty good at drawing!

usually draws you recycling pages.

be patient with her, she isn't very familiar with relationships, not romantic ones.

but still, she's a sweetheart!

she goes to your cabin very often.

every time you go out of the woods to go shopping or just to go on a date together, she tends to hold your hand or be very close to you.

although most of your dates are inside the cabin or near the forest.

the first to know it definitely was Toby and it was by accident.

he saw you kissing behind a tree and almost got killed by him thinking you both were intruders.

and then Brian and Tim knew.

praise her please.

sometimes she just walks away and leaves you, when she does that you know he's starting to torment her.

when she is on his mantle, you don't say a word, she just nod and sigh.

then she holds you, she wants to confirm that you're real and not another hallucination of Slenderman's part.

when the both of you go on missions, you're quite fast, which is why there isn't much interaction between you.

but when she comes out of that trance she asks you if she was ever too harsh with you.

she loves you, like, way too much!

you both have an engagement ring (don't ask where she got it).

when she's with you, the mask is freely removed.

how is she going to kiss you with the mask on?

use love and honey.

there are times when she snuggles up on your chest when you're lying down.

her jealousy is just like Tim's, it's self-sabotage and tends to grab you with more intensity.

the relationship is private but the affections are obvious.

her kisses are slow and shy.

her love language is definitely quality time and words of affirmation.

tell her you love her and spend time with her, she has been through so much.

she's a switch.

although she's more a top but she's beginning to accept receiving.

the kind that brings you many objects that remind you.

often lend you her clothes.

although your lives are no longer part of you, you both have each other's hearts.

the large, rough trunk of the tall tree behind you made abrupt contact with your back. you had leaned on it without much care, watching as Kate desperately cleaned the fresh blood from her hands.

"love, you did it amazing" you tilted your head slightly without receiving a response from her.

"how can you be so calm and, i mean, how can you get used to it?" now you were standing next to her as she looked up to you, she didn't have her mask on and her reflection could be seen faintly in the lake thanks to the sunset.

"because it's not like we can leave and he won't find us" you stopped for a little moment. "apart from that, the only thing i'm grateful for is that i was able to meet my fiancée" you extended your hand showing the ring. you finally achieved your goal, a soft smile curved on her lips.

"do you think this will end at some point?"

"i hope not" she looked at you again. "because I know i couldn't be with you" now you were both looking at each other. "and if it ends, i would go with you, no matter what"

your voice was silenced along with your lips as you felt Kate's lips on yours, she's fast definitely. her hand descended, passing through your abdomen until it reached your waist as your hands made a short journey between her shoulders, neck and ending on her cheeks.

you both separated with your breathing agitated but the sweetness in both eyes made a genuine smile appear, reuniting again in a much slower kiss.

you couldn't say if you were sure that this control and nightmare was going to end, you and Kate wished to know the answer but it was almost impossible.

but what you both were sure of, was that you didn't want the relationship to end.

[svartalfhild]

Elf Lore in the Forgotten Realms for BG3 Players who are Unfamiliar

I've been seeing some...uninformed takes lately about certain elf characters from BG3, so let me just throw some stuff out there for y'all to consider.

Elves in FR live to be about 750.

They physically mature at roughly the same rate as humans i.e. 18-20.

Culturally, elves don't consider other elves emotionally mature i.e. adults until the age of 100, at which point they may choose an adult name to go by.

What does this mean, logically? Well, consider their very long lifespan. If you are going to live 750 years, your perspective on wisdom is going to be quite different from a human's. While 60 years might be plenty mature for a human, for an elf, that means you still haven't had enough time to watch all of your shorter lived friends pass, which I imagine is something of an emotional milestone for elves.

Halsin is 350. This means he's just hitting middle-age.

Astarion is 239 (Idle Champions claims he's 350, but I call bullshit because his birth and death dates are literally in BG3 and also IC frequently gives the characters bullshit ages, like they say Jaheira is 36, which couldn't have been true even during BG1). He died at 39, which is quite young, but he had the same emotional maturity as a human 39 year old at the time, so he's not Like That because he's undeveloped. He's Like That because he's a snapshot of a privileged young nobleman who then spent 200 years being used and abused by the worst sort of person imaginable. He wasn't a full adult by elven standards, though, and I'm sure there's lots of elven rites of passage he didn't get to experience because he was dead.

BG3 does not mechanically distinguish between sun elves and moon elves and simply puts them all under the high elf umbrella, but they are very much a thing in the lore and have distinct appearances, cultures, and histories.

Moon elves tend to have black, blue, or silver-white hair and have pale skin, sometimes with a bluish hue. Their eyes are usually blue or green, sometimes with gold flecks.

Sun elves tend to have blond, black, or red hair and brown skin tones. Their eyes are usually green, gold, black, copper, silver, or hazel.

Based on his appearance, Astarion is probably a moon elf, and it's likely his original eye colour was either blue or green.

There are many other types of elves than those that are playable in the BG3, such as sea elves, winged elves, star elves, wild elves, and lythari.

It's possible that Shadowheart's father is lythari, because lythari are lycanthropic elves.

[aka-indulgence]

Intruder

(Dust!Sans x Reader)

Wrote a lil Dust Sans drabble… the scene struck me in the middle of the night and suddenly i was just…. ehe 👉 👈

The premise is your ‘kidnapped and stranded in Nightmare’s castle with all the Bad Sanses’.

Also he’s big Sans because I want him to be :]

Your bedroom is one of the very few safe, personal space you had in this castle. So it was a shock to see those eyelights in the dark; especially those belonging to the one you could never figure out. CW: breaking and entering, minor threats, getting in your bed without permission (non sexual)

—————

You're not sure what woke you up. Maybe you just sensed something was different.

Your eyes flew open with a sudden sense of urgency you couldn't place. You were staring at basketball shorts, and your eyes shot up to the owner.

Dust might be the most strikingly unnerving of all of Nightmare's 'hired hands'. He was the quietest of the group— even more than Horror. You knew Killer was always wearing a facade, an emotionless monster with a good mask that was capricious and unpredictable. But as soon as you see Dust, you know in your soul he was bad news.

Your eyes met his mismatched ones; the blood reds with a striking blue center in his left eyelight. It was always impossible to read him, and the hood hiding the rest of his face made him look like a large, shadowy figure, leaving only his eyes leering down at you. They were so bright in the dark.

You open your mouth.

"don't scream."

He says it all too casually. With a flick of his wrist, a glowing blue bone materialized under his hand, its threatening luminance silencing you before you could even form a thought.

"don't talk. don't make any sudden movements."

You freeze, your thoughts freeze. You couldn't fathom for what reason this, this murderer is doing in your locked room in the middle of the night. What was the point of a locked room in a castle full of teleporting skeletons anyway?

"scooch over. i'm just going to get in your bed."

Haha… what the fuck?

You've been through lots of things since you've been kidnapped to this literal Nightmare realm, where killing was just another Tuesday for its residents. But this might be the most bewildering and frightening thing that's ever happened to you.

Regardless, you do as he says, making room for him. There's audible relief in his breaths when you do. With another flick, the bone fades into nothing and the skeleton lifts your blanket, shuffling into the bed with you.

He's so large and heavy, the bed creaks and bends as he moves under the covers with you, and you feel a quick chill followed by the warmth of his body the closer he is to you. The quick relief from the lack of physical threats was quickly replaced by the absolute terror of having Dust be so close to you. That terror is compounded when he doesn't stop when his elbow touches you and he turns to you.

You've never seen his face so close.

Your eyes are wide, with him unceremoniously wrapping his arms around you, squishing you into his chest and tucks your head under his neck. You're blinking, heart stuck in your throat, his ribcage expanding against your cheek, before he lets out a long, shaky sigh. You didn't notice it until just now how shallow and rapid his breaths had been. Even now there's a slight tremble in his bones and his breathing.

Your cheeks turn pink, feeling the distinct segments in his phalanges as his hands glide behind your back, bunching up your shirt a little above your hips. Whether it was intentional or not, you couldn't tell.

Just when you think you can relax a little, Dust's nasal cavity presses to the crown of your head, and the skeleton takes a ribcage-full of it. You fist your hands in anticipation of… you don't know what, especially when you feel his teeth graze you. Whatever he smells, he likes, because he pushes his arms further around you and gives you another sniff.

You don't realize you're trying to get some space from him when all of a sudden a leg hooks around yours. You stifle your cry, but the smallest of sounds escape you. Dust grits his teeth, and his fingers sink into you, your throat tightening in your attempts to quieten your whines.

There's a growl in his throat. Your heart stops.

…

But nothing happens. He releases his grip on you, a hand drifting up to brush your hair.

"sorry."

Sorry?

"i'm not trying to scare you. you're just… really cute when you make those little noises."

… What?

"I… I don't understand."

You knew all the skeletons liked you in one way or another, despite Nightmare insisting that you're merely a bargaining tool. Horror was both a Teddy and a Bear, a hungry beast who couldn't communicate when he wanted affection. Killer was a loudmouth who made his intentions towards you clear as day, even letting slip his softer feelings from time to time. Nightmare was an enigma, but it was clear he had a fondness for you. Dust… you couldn't tell if Dust liked you, at all. The sudden teleporting behind you, silently stalking around you, the uncaring way he looked down on you. You thought he thought you a nuisance. Or at the most, something fun to poke.

And here he was, practically clinging to you.

"i needed to find you. i was hoping you wouldn't wake up."

… He sounds… genuine. And relaxed. You take the opportunity to ask.

"Is something wrong?"

Dust shifts, so he could see your eyes. You've never seen his look so soft before, a lighter hue than before. With his hood moved, you could see a glimps of his face in this low light, just a hint of his teeth, and a part of his cheek. If you didn't know any better, this would be the perfect romantic scene with a boyfriend.

"i'm just," he grimaces, "i'm just having a bad night."

He brushes his face, palm to his sockets. When he removes his hand, his eyelights pulse unpleasantly, the edges looking like an old TV before they stabilize again.

"it's not important."

From the hint of a grimace, you don't think it's 'not important.'

You don't push it though.

"Ok. But then… why are you here?"

You know why. But you need more. And it needs to come from the monster himself.

Dust looks tired, but in a good way; the kind of tired you feel when you've just gotten home from a long journey, where you can finally rest. The back of a phalange brushes your cheek.

"i always come to your room when i have a bad night. this is just the first time you woke up."

"H… huh?"

"relax. all i did was watch you sleep. nothing happened," his forehead bumps into yours. He's never been so… intimate with you. And to this degree?

"look. you make the voices stop." He explains. His brow quirks, and he moves his head back, murmuring "oh hush now,"then turning back to you.

Now that, you did notice, the times where it looks like he's talking to himself— or more accurately, arguing with himself. You've never seen it up close before, though.

You swallow at how closely his eyelights were observing you, his face so close you felt his breaths on your lips.

"Wh-wha," you stammer, "what do you want me to do?"

"nothing." He's looking at you so intensely. "go back to sleep."

"Uh—"

You're floored. Dust closes his sockets, his mouth open a crack, then presses his face to your cheek. He moves his head back and forth, like a, like a… nuzzle. A very gentle, wanting nuzzle. There's a rumble in your throat, softer than before; a purr?

He pulls your legs closer, squeezing one arm around your chest and buries his fingers in your hair. His breathing slows as he falls asleep. You…

You don't know what to do. Stuck between his bones, you're forced to fall asleep next to him.

[figsnpassionfruits]

Show Me

a/n: wheewww this was super fun to write. this takes place after the events of DP&W so i hope it clears up the confusion. have fun reading <3 word count: 2.7k tags: worst!logan x fem!reader (can be read as gn!) warnings: angst, smut, not feeling loved enough, rough sex?, mentions of fighting, being addicted to a person basically dividers by: @strangergraphics-archive pictures are from pinterest

It had been days since you had last seen him. “Don’t worry ‘bout it” He would say, not wanting to merge his rugged life with the domestic one he had built with you. It was common for his episodes to play out like that. Logan would leave to god knows where, taking care of business, not that you would know what was meant by it, and return a few days later. He could call you, let you know that he was okay; but he never did.

Each and every time you would cuss at him, more mentally than physically. How dare he just leave and return whenever it pleases him? How dare he only have a relationship with you when it was convenient for him?

But you could not resist.

No matter how angry you were at him, all what mattered during his returns was that he was safe and that he came back to you. You wanted your rage to overweigh, you really did. But your heart had other plans.

Once the door unlocked you knew what would come. The same fight all over again.

You were in bed now, curled up into a ball under your shared blanket, his distinct smell still lingering on the fabric. Faced away from the door, you hoped he thought you were asleep. There was only so much energy one could withhold. Maybe yours was drained already. If you were lucky, he would just get into bed with you and hold you. Perhaps then you could pretend that everything was okay. That this was not sucking everything out of you.

Nevertheless, his heavy footsteps soothed you. Gosh, you really did not want them to. And sometimes, you really did not want to love him the way you did. Was he everything you wanted? Yes. Would he give you everything you wanted? Sure. But fuck, could he stick around for more than a single week before having to go again? No.

As he stepped into your room you instinctively shut your eyes. You could hear him stand still once he reached the doorway. A loud sigh escaped his mouth, and he walked off once again.

After a few moments you heard water splashing against natural stone.

Relieved that you had another few minutes to yourself, you turned onto your back, your eyes fixated on the ceiling as you became lost in your thoughts again. There you were in the bed of your boyfriend, waiting for him to join, having to act like he just completed a normal day at work. It was sickening. You knew this would be a part of it. Hell, you agreed to it. But now that you were in the situation you were not sure whether you could handle it anymore. If at least he would tell you; not hide his life from you; maybe you could deal with it differently.

Logan told you in the very beginning that he did not want you to know anything about the other side of him. You agreed to it. He told you he did not want you to ask him any questions. You agreed to it. He told you that everyone in his other universe got hurt because of him. He told you he did not want to make the same mistake. He told you that you would only be allowed into a fraction of his life. And you agreed to it.

Maybe you should not have.

He fully walked into your room now, the scent of his shampoo filling your nose as he carefully dropped his weight onto the mattress next to you.

You were back into your previous position now, curled up and facing away from him.

Once under the covers, Logan lifted your head gently and reached an arm under your neck, his other finding its way to rest over your midsection. He nuzzled his face into your hair, inhaling your smell.

He missed you. He really did. And you knew it. And that hurt even more.

Placing a hand on the side of your face, he tilted it up, delivering the softest kiss to your temple.

This was exactly what broke you every time. The softness Logan possessed was nothing you ever had expected from him when you first met. He simply did not seem the type. But after cracking him open, you could tell; this man was the softest lover.

Out of sudden he pulled you closer by your waist, your rear now fully curled into his front, fitting into him like a puzzle piece.

Not able to do any different, you leaned into his touch, wiggling your hips against his groin slightly.

He chuckled once and paid the attention of his lips to your neck this time, mumbling against the soft skin. “You awake, princess?”

You nod and hum slightly, shifting your frame so you could look at his face.

There it was.

The face you fell in love with.

You wanted to yell at him, hit him and tell him to leave. But you could not. Not when he was staring at you like you were the most precious thing he laid eyes on. Not when his eyes sparked that way in the dim light of your bedroom.

“You were gone for so long this time.” You whispered.

“I know.” He replied, kissing your forehead as a silent apology. “I’m here now.”

“Wish you would’ve let me know you were okay.”

“I know.”

This again. He was openly admitting to knowing that his actions hurt you. But his wording made clear that he was not going to change that.

As if he could read your mind, Logan continued talking, his index finger moving lose strands of hair from your face. “It’s dangerous to reach out to you while I’m gone. Never know who is tracking anything, love. I told you this.” He kissed your temple again. His body language was screaming at you that he was sorry, but his words were just scrambling excuses and reminders to you. It was confusing. Were you supposed to be mad at him or forgive him? It always ended up being the same anyway. But it should not.

“I just miss you, Lo.”

Logan let out a sigh, his eyes now on the ceiling.

When no response came, you propped yourself up on your elbows, looking at him. “You could say that you missed me too.”

“I did.”

“Are you sure?”

His eyes now turned to yours. The tension of the eye contact sped up the beating of your heart. He must have noticed, due to the fact that he now had a hold of both of your hands with a single one of his, rubbing small circles on them in an attempt to calm you down. “Yes, I am sure.”

Another moment of silence passed again; the both of you just looking at each other.

“You have to change, Logan. I cannot keep living in this house alone for the majority of the time, asking myself whether you are coming home or not.”

“I know.”

“That’s it?”

Logan cocked a brow at your words, seemingly surprised at your snap.

“That’s all you’re gonna give me? ‘I know’?”

“Well, what do you want me to say?”

“I don’t want you to say anything, Logan, I just want to feel loved and not like just some side piece that you can conveniently return to whenever you’re done with a job!”

He did not expect you to raise your voice. Neither did you.

Logan kept a blank stare at you, not sure how to respond. He knew that you were right and he understood your feelings. That was the problem. It was not about convincing anyone about who had a point, it was more about a behaviour that he was struggling to change. Logan was in a constant turmoil with himself, having to weigh out how to protect the people he was close to as well as having to protect himself. He knew that you should not feel like an option; he knew that. But all those years of self-loathing did not teach him how to show it.

“Darlin’, I-“

Without letting him answer to your rant you leaped forward, engulfing him in a rough and fast kiss. Your hands immediately found their ways to the side of his face and his curls.

Logan copied your action, his lips slightly chapped as your kiss deepened more and more.

Allowing his tongue into your mouth, you moaned into him, pressing your front against his as your legs took over to straddle him. You could not control it. No matter how mad you were, all you wanted was him. Your kisses screamed out in desperation and the need to feel loved by him. It was not like Logan did not love you, but you would be lying if you said that having him gone all the time did not make you feel like it.

Logan set his hands on your ass, squeezing the flesh harshly as he pulled you even closer to him, making you hiss quietly. For a split second he pulled away, guiding your top over your head and throwing it to the side without taking his eyes off of you.

Leaning down into the next kiss, you gasped into his mouth. You leaned down to him, your already hot skin now clashing with the rough hair on his chest, causing you to feel a slight tickle.

“I missed you so much.” You repeated, whispering the words against his lips.

“I missed you too, love.” He replied, giving you a small peck after.

You cupped his face with your hands, rubbing your thumbs over his beard. “You can’t keep leaving me like this, Lo. I get so worried each time.”

Logan leaned his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. “We’ll talk about this again, alright? Lemme take care of you now.”

In a split second he had you on your back, his forearms holding his weight in order to not crush you underneath him. He leaned down to deliver a rough yet short kiss to your lips once more before moving his mouth down to your neck, kissing that sweet spot that made you squirm before sucking on it just enough to make you moan.

“Missed those sounds.” He mumbled, his hands travelling down your stomach and your hips, tugging at the sole fabric that was covering you.

Lifting your hips up, you allowed him to take them off, your eyes not leaving his as he inched further down to the end of the bed, lining his mouth up at your inner thighs.

Usually you would giggle at him, asking him to not tease you. But today you needed this. You needed to feel cherished. Needed to feel loved.

Once his tongue made contact with you; all the anger and sadness washed away. In this moment you were just with him in your shared home, your shared room and your shared bed. It was just you two.

After moaning his name over and over again, his tongue flicking at your bundle of joy, you had allowed to relax and to release yourself, panting as your rode out your high. Logan was whispering and mumbling sweet praises to you, but you were too lost in this setting to pick up on any of them.

Not wanting you to detach, Logan leaned back up to you, his lips hungrily launching onto you again. You tasted yourself on him as you kissed back, your hands on the back of his neck pulling him to you, desperate to want him closer. You leaned yourself further up, your hands automatically moving to get a grip of his now exposed cock.

“Uh uh.” Logan snickered, holding your wrist with a hand of his. “Today’s all about you, mkay?”

“But, Lo-“

“No.” Logan interrupted you with a kiss. “Stop.” Giving you a second to process, he lifted his brows, giving you a look, silently begging you to accept.

You nodded in reply, biting your lip as he flashed you that smirk that you loved so much.

“Good girl.”

Out of a sudden Logan pulled on your ankles, his frame now propped on his knees. You watched him as he spat on his hand, using it to stroke his dick for a few times as he lined himself up at you.

Licking your own fingers while keeping your eyes on him, you moved your hand down to your folds, rubbing small circles on your wet skin.

With the familiar feeling of a lover, Logan entered you slow yet easily. He leaned his body down to you, a hand of his moving your hair out of your face while the other kept a hold on the inside of your knee, tilting it in a way to allow him better access.

“You okay?” He asked you, giving you a small kiss on your lips before starting to move his hips lazily.

“Yea.” You whisper out, tangling the fingers of your hand into his hair.

Smirking at your words, Logan now sped up slightly, his hips clashing against yours in a more rapid pace, now forcing moans to escape your lips. Logan leaned his forehead against yours, his grip now on your jaw. He did not intend to place his thumb right next to your mouth, yet you could not resist.

Turning your head to the touch, you took his calloused finger into your mouth, sucking on it while fighting your moans from his thrusts.

The sound of your wetness mixed with the slapping of skins filled the room as Logan picked up the speed once more, setting it to a more brutal one that you were usually used to with him.

You let go of his thumb with a ‘pop’, leaning your head back into the pillow, moaning out his name.

Using that to his advantage, he dove his head down, nibbling and biting on the skin of your neck, making you audibly gasp in between your bliss. “Fuck, Lo.”

“Tell me what you want.” He mumbled against your skin, not slowing down his thrusts while he demanded an answer.

“Want you to take me from behind.” You managed to blurt out, your eyes rolling to the back of your head once he sped up even more for just a tiny bit.

Out of nowhere he pulled out harshly, not even allowing you to whine at the loss of him before he flipped you over effortlessly onto your stomach. Getting on top of you, Logan pushed his cock right back into you, returning to that pace he had set right before he pulled out.

It was too much for your body to handle and it responded with gripping the covers underneath it as hard as you could, your knuckles’ colour turning to pale.

“Yea, you like it when I fuck you like this?” He mocked you, fisting a hand into your hair and pulling you up to him. “You’re the only one I can do this to, alright? Only you. I’m yours and you’re mine, understood?” He asked through his rough thrusts.

The possessiveness in his voice made you clench around him, your eyes shutting in pleasure as his words filled your ears. “I love you.” You moaned out, a hand of yours now gripping his wrist hardly.

He chuckled and slowed ddown his thrusts for a bit before replying to you. “I love you too, sweet thing.”

Logan knew all you needed was to be fucked well enough to feel loved again. Was it healthy? Probably not. But it was better than fighting. And you hated to admit it.

Delivering a small kiss to your forehead, you whined against Logan, the feeling of fullness and love overwhelming you.

“What’s wrong, love?” He asked, his hips slowly rocking against you.

“Need more.”

Logan smirked once more and sat up straight, his hands now on the sides of your lower back. You wanted him more and more. And he was going to give himself to you.

🍯

[fanfics-with-coffee]

Wants

More ramblings of an insomniac, still not proofread but i wanna throw this out here. We're back on our smut roll as well!

No one really cared what Astarion wanted or didn't want to do. He'd stopped resisting at some point, just letting whomever had higher status overrule him even when it came to his own body. But you, you didn't do that. You never asked him to do something he didn't want. So he asked himself; what did he want? You. He wanted you. Could he have you?

Genre: Smut Pairing: Astarion x (fem)reader Kinks: PiV, little bit of orgasm control, biting, marking, dirty talk Words: 7400+ Need something to listen to? This is what I listened to while writing this: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4XkxtmnNB3RI55o414xpdx?si=ef01f7ab913f4a26

Astarion wouldn’t say that you liked him per se, it’s doubtful you even enjoyed his company unlike how you enjoyed the company of say Wyll or Shadowheart. Yet you couldn’t possibly dislike him either, after all; who let’s a vampire drink from them if you didn’t at least tolerate him. 

“Is he yours? He’s quite handsome, that can’t be a coincidence, you know how to pick them.” Her eyes scanned him, a smile tugging at her lips as he seemed to evaluate his very existence.

“...You mean Astarion? I didn’t pick him, he’s here ‘cus he wants to be. Besides, if I knew him beforehand it’s doubtful I’d pick him anyways.” You replied, arms crossed over your chest.

“Hah! You’re funny, well he’s clearly under your command anyways. Won’t you let me borrow him? I’ve always wanted to be bitten by a vampire you see…” She drew closer, her eyes still looking him up and down. Nausea grew in his belly, his throat closing up.

Astarion wouldn’t say he liked you either per se, you didn’t make yourself the most personable exactly. You were blunt, which he enjoyed, as long as it wasn’t directed at him. Yet you weren’t afraid to speak your mind when he tried to play with you. Every and all attempts to get under your skin was answered with distinct indifference, not full rejection but without skipping a beat you continued whatever line of thought you had started. The most he could pull from you was the occasional laugh at his antics, mocking his clearly practiced recitals of lines he’d used dozens of times on hundreds of other people. You often replied with your own dry sense of humor. Sometimes though, he could swear that your cheeks flushed ever so slightly, but it was hard to tell since these few times were also those when you promptly turned your face away from him, suddenly a lot more interested in a bird or bush. And if he pushed, you were suddenly convinced you heard Karlach break something or Gale needing help with supper. He considered giving up, treating you with the same distance he kept to the other companions, yet you always seemed to gravitate back to his tent, to the spot next to him or simply to wherever he was. He wouldn’t say he liked you, but he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed your company.

“Well, I’m a spawn technically so you know, not a true vampire.” He managed to keep his voice light and comical, a half-hearted attempt at dissuading her, to keep her hands to herself. “Besides, I think I’d like to keep my teeth to myself this time.”

“Mh… Well no matter, you’re pretty enough to make it an overseeable difference. But I didn’t ask you, spawn.” The word was an insult. “I was talking to your commander here, or is it master? I can make it worth your while.”

The bite in your words and the general lack of give to his pushing and pulling gave him a weird sense of comfort. He could spew whatever lines he’d used before, chewed up and spit back out over and over again and you just… moved past them. You were bored by them, but not by him. He felt comfortable telling you about Cazador, about his scars, both physical and mental. You’d never gone too deep, but you had listened and you hadn’t let it color the way you treated him. There was a certain respect to the way you kept him at a distance, he couldn’t trap you under his thumb even if he tried. Yet you stayed besides him.

“Why in the nine hells are you asking me? I told you, I don’t own him, he can do whatever he wants. Mostly anyways. But he seems to be disinterested in whatever you’re offering so.” You didn’t spare him a glance, instead keeping your eyes on the drow woman. You were cautious too.

“Tsk, well if you’re unwilling to barter, I guess I’ll just have to go directly to the source.” She looked annoyed for a second before putting a face of seduction, temptation. She sensually moved her hair away from her neck, draping it over her opposing shoulder and tilting it towards him. She began to walk closer. Astarion could feel panic rise in him, instinctually taking a step back, unsure of what to do. “Come on, spawn, isn’t this what you were born to do? Feed?”

And when he was desperate, hungry and weak that night in the forest, his first instinct was to feed from you. Not because he hated you, far from it. But because he respected you and because he knew that if you found out; you might not judge. He hadn’t been careful enough when he hovered over you, accidentally waking you from your slumber. He had scrambled, fearing that this was it for him. He had slipped up and now any and all trust he had accumulated, though perhaps unfounded, would be wasted and he’d be banished if not worse. Yet you understood. He doesn’t know why, but it seemed like you did. And that night you let him feed from you, despite the pain it undoubtedly caused. And in the morning, you pretended like nothing had happened, like last night was as peaceful as all the others.

Maybe he did like you, just a little bit. You’d at least earned that much. But he had done nothing to earn that same sentiment. 

Yet…

“One step closer to him and I will be the one to spill your blood instead. He said he didn’t want you or whatever it is you’re offering.” 

You had taken a single step to place yourself between the woman and Astarion, keeping her from getting any closer to him. It was doubtful that you’d actually do anything against her in the very center of Absolutist territory. But he wasn’t certain, the way you firmly placed your feet on the ground and the way he could see your muscles tense beneath your armor from this far away told him that you just might. There’s the distinct tension of magic in the air, crackling just beneath the surface of the weave but enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand. It lasts only a brief moment before the drow relents.

“Fine, do as you wish. What use do you have for a vampire that won’t even do something as simple and natural as bite a willing victim? Even if he is a spawn.”

“What reasons I have for keeping him around is none of your damn business. Now did you have anything more interesting to say or are we done here?”

There was nothing else you needed from her and as quickly as things had escalated, it had passed. It was still a couple hours before you decided to call it a day and lead them back to the camp to plan your next move and eat dinner. Astarion hadn’t brought up what had happened with Araj the whole time, yet it kept replaying in his head. If he could dream, he would’ve assumed this was the pleasant relief of sleep. But it wasn’t, you had stood up for him. Not only that, you had kept him from doing something he would regret, because he knows that if you hadn’t stepped in or even asked him to do it… He would’ve. Weak willed as he was after all the times he had broken his own boundaries for others. 

Night in the Shadowlands was somehow darker than the days, despite the lack of sun no matter the time. And as if the darkness could swallow any sound, silence lingered in the camp. Everyone either occupied with their own issues or idly putting their hands to work managing their gear. Astarion had wandered away from his tent and from the campfire, safe thanks to the pixie’s blessing and comforted in the shadows. It was a sense of familiarity that was bittersweet after todays events. 

The air was cold, the breeze rustling the blood red leaves of the few trees that could survive this darkness. The temperature didn’t bother him, he had long ago forgotten how cool the nights got. He could smell the dampness of the earth and of the rotting trees, the smoke of the campfire a vague note beneath it all. He surely smelled of smoke as well, it stuck to his clothes and hair despite how much he tried to cover it. ‘Rugged’ had never been a good look on him, he much preferred the sweet notes of incense and wine. But the worries of everyday issues were forgotten as he let himself fill his lungs with the fresh air.

Crack

The sounds of footsteps brought him back to the moment and he quickly turned around, the thought of a shadow cursed boar or harper still a relevant danger. Instead he was met with a friendly face. A friendly frowning face.

“What are you doing out here? You didn’t even bring a torch or anything, no one knew where you had gone.” You stopped a few meters away from him, half expecting to be able to return to the warmth and glow of the campsite since you had found the lost vampire. A light cantrip had been cast on the crossbow you kept strapped to your back, you always kept it within reach.

“Oh it’s just you, hah I thought I was about to be ambushed for a second. Were you looking for me? Awh you even asked the others where I was, how cute.” He teased, giving you a playful smile before turning his back to you once again. He heard you sigh before your footsteps grew closer.

“You shouldn’t wander off while we’re here.” Your words held no weight, you knew you couldn’t stop him if he was to actually wander away from camp. They were more like an attempt to keep any guilty conscious from getting to you if he did get hurt. But he still liked the thought that you might actually have been worried. “...Are you looking for something to feed on?”

“Around these parts? Gods no, I wouldn’t even touch a dead squirrel with a ten foot pole around here, not after that damned raven. I’ve accepted that I’ll just have to make do until we’re in sunnier parts.” He could feel his stomach writhe at the thought of something to dig his fangs into. He knew you had let him feed from you before but he had never been the one to ask, it’d feel like breaking an unspoken rule.

“Makes sense, those things came out of nowhere. Even the corpses have been cursed…” There's a pause and hesitation to you, an abnormality in your conversations. “Why didn’t you drink from the drow?”

He knew you’d ask, yet his face grimaced at the mere thought of her and her blood.

“Bah, she’s a blood alchemist, who knows what kind of stuff is running through her blood? I’m sure I wouldn’t be allowed to keep anything down if I drank from her.” He quickly recovered from the unintentional show of genuine disgust. “Besides, what’s the fun in a willing victim?” He turned his head to look at your face finally, putting on another playful smile and hoping you’ll take his joke as a response.

You don’t. Instead you cross your arms and raise your eyebrows ever so slightly at him, waiting for the real response. He’s unwilling to give it and instead looks away, gazing down into the valley beneath the cliff you both stood on. 

“C’mon, give me a real answer Astarion.” You lightly bounced your shoulder against his, the casual touch a surprise but not an unwelcomed one.

“Ah, you always have to dig your nose into things, don’t you… Fine, I simply didn’t want to. But that’s no reason to turn down whatever aid she might’ve had…”

“It’s as good a reason as any.”

Silence.

You hadn’t judged him. You just… took his choice at face value. Did you really nearly spill blood on the floor of Moonrise towers simply because he didn’t want to bite her?

“That’s it?”

“...What? Is there another reason you didn’t want to? You should’ve just told me from the beginning then, but go on.”

It’s almost funny how seemingly clueless you are. A dry laugh escapes him.

“No, it’s true. I simply didn’t want to. But you’re just so casual about it! Who knows what kind of powers she could’ve given us? But you decided to threaten her instead, it’s highly unlikely she’ll sell us as much as a health potion or even an antidote from now on.” He waves his hands around, frustrated by your seeming lack of care.

“You said no.” You shrugged.

“I-” He pauses, dumbfounded. “I said no… I didn’t want to bite her and you respected that… You even stood up to her for me, even though you don’t like me. I just can’t seem to understand you.”

You suddenly look just as confused as he did a moment ago, turning to fully face him for the first time since you joined him in the dark.

“...Who in the hells said I didn’t like you?”

“Well… Well no one said it, but I mean it’s not like you enjoy my company. It’s obvious everytime we talk. You don’t even give me as much as a smile when I tell you you’re beautiful, and when I try to playfully ask you to bed you just mock me. Yet you always come wandering over to me and so I try again, I mean why else would you want to talk to me? I may not be a mindreader, darling, but you’re sort of sending mixed signals here. I thought we just acted on the basis of respect here.”

Did you want him to try harder? Or stop fully with his advances? He really didn’t know what you wanted.

“I… Well…” In the darkness, with you backlit by your crossbow, he might be mistaken but there seems to be a blush creeping onto your features. “Didn’t you ever think that maybe I just don’t know how to respond?”

Oh.

Oh.

Aren’t you just adorable? Smugness builds in his chest and he opens his mouth, about to speak but you’re quicker.

“Besides, it’s obvious you’re just a flirt and I… I didn’t like being so affected by someone who isn’t serious. It’s embarrassing falling for something that's so fake, so practiced. So I ignored the flirting, I knew it was just lighthearted fun after all.  And I still like you outside of the compliments and teasing.” You hold your crossed arms even tighter together, unable to look at him. Instead you watch the slow fog rolling across the barren land. Your face lit by the soft glow of the moon just above Last Light Inn.

Astarion hadn’t even had the thought that you simply hovered around him because you… liked him. It was such a simple answer and yet it would’ve been the last thing he could’ve guessed. 

He liked you too.

A lot.

A lot more than he had previously allowed himself to feel. Could he even allow it now? What if he had ruined his chances of something more than… than what already was. The status quo had grown comfortable, predictable.

“I see…”

It’s all he can say. He can see that it wasn’t what you had hoped he’d say even if you weren’t looking at him.

A moment passes in silence.

There’s a look on your face suddenly, it looks almost pained or embarrassed, maybe it was both but just as quickly as it had flashed over your features it was gone. You let out a sigh and let your arms fall to the side, turning away from the outlook, clearly about to leave.

“Well that was… the worst. Anyways, I’m heading back to camp. Take your time, I’ll make sure there's supper left for you when you come back.”

Astarion realizes in a heartbeat that he was allowed to want something more.

You don’t even get one step away from where you stood before a hand grabs your arm with unnatural speed, holding you back from moving any further away. You nearly jump out of your skin by the motion, staring at the rogue. His face and eyes now lit by your crossbow, his eyes are wide as he watches you like prey. A shiver runs up your spine, he’d never looked at you like this before.

“Earlier today, when Araj asked you to let me bite her, you said I could do whatever I wanted.” His eyes don’t leave yours and there's something about their intensity that makes your cheeks heat up.

“Mostly, anyways…” You repeat what you had told Araj.

That seems to have been all the confirmation Astarion needed, suddenly closing the gap between you as he takes a step closer and pulls you into him. You catch yourself on him, the sudden movement taking you by pure surprise. Before you can register what has happened properly, his other hand has grabbed your chin in between his thumb and forefinger with a firm grip and tilted your head up to face his. His unnaturally cool breath hits your lips as he’s leaned in, inches from yours but he stopped there. You’re trapped in his presence, it’s overwhelming in a way you always tried to avoid. But you wouldn’t dare move now, afraid to ruin whatever was happening.

“Then I want to kiss you…” His words are low, soft even.

“...I’d like that…”

In an instant his lips hit yours, soft and velvety. They feel just like you had thought so many times when you’d watched him talk. They’re cool compared to yours, something you hadn’t thought about but it somehow made everything feel so much more alive. Every soft stroke of his lips against yours was vivid as they parted and pushed up against each other, over and over again. The hand that had grabbed your face had smoothly slid to the back of your head, making sure he had you where he wanted you. The other hand had left your arm and was pulling your body against his, keeping you as close as he could physically keep you.

Astarion pushed into your body with a want, a need and a hunger you hadn’t ever seen him exhibit before.

He pulled away from your lips too soon. You didn’t realize how much you needed air before it filled your lungs abruptly in a labored breath.

In the glow of the moon and your makeshift light you could see his face. He was smiling at you, his fangs just barely peeking out from behind his lips. His eyes weren’t as wide anymore, instead crinkled at the edges from his smile but the look of predator remained in them still. He needed you.

“You taste divine, my dear.” You try to scoff, the comment was stupid in relation to simple kisses after all. But you don’t get much of a chance to react to his flirtatious attitude before he’s leaned back in, this time hovering over your neck with his mouth. His nose nudges the underside of your ear as he keeps your head still with the hand still firmly holding the back of your neck.

“But I want to taste your blood, if you’ll let me.”

Goosebumps spread down your arms and your breath catches in your throat. The hidden meaning of what he’s asking of you isn’t lost, not after today’s events. He wants your vulnerability, your submission, your blood. You had always been the one to tell him when he could feed from you, now he’s asking directly to do so. He wants to see your trust in him. That even when he’s a starving animal, he won’t hurt you, won’t take more than he needs. 

And he wants to show you how much he wants you.

His teeth graze over the soft skin of your neck, waiting for you to give him the sign. You nod.

His teeth pierce your skin, familiar pain shoots from the bite. You clench your teeth for a second before you relax, letting out a shaky breath. The pain dulls with his hands slowly starting to roam your body, one carefully tangling in your hair as he brings it up. He takes a soft grasp on it, using it to meaningfully guide your head to the side and giving him more space to drink from you. You don’t provide any resistance, all hesitations towards his advances were being washed away with each wave of pleasure and pain.

There’s no rush to him, no tension as he takes his time to enjoy you. Instead of the usual controlled and precise way he usually fed from you, when you both believed it to simply be an act of survival. Now he lets his tongue lap over the wound, the odd feeling of your hot blood and his cool tongue intermingling against your skin. He momentarily leaves the spot to kiss up your neck, intentionally letting your blood drip down and leave a trail as you shudder from the pleasure. His body is still firmly pushed against yours, his free hand carefully sneaking under your shirt to push against your bare skin. He’s pulling you against him and you've realized there's a rhythm to it, a slow and teasing tact to his grinding. It feels good, being so enveloped in him. When he feels ready again, he dips down to lick up the strip of scarlet that had formed, finishing with an open mouth kiss back where he started. The sharp inhale you make is punctuated by a soft moan, giving away your feelings and you realize you’ve been caught enjoying this maybe a little too much.

Embarrassment burns through you as Astarion pulls back to watch your face, a chuckle rumbling in his chest and spilling out between his lips, putting fuel to your fire.

“Now wasn’t that just adorable, I never expected you to make such cute sounds. Why haven’t you let me hear those when I’ve fed from you before?” He’s messing with you, a playfully mean glint to his eyes.

“You know why.” You say defiantly.

“Maybe…” He pretends to think about it, leaning back into you to place soft kisses along your jawline. The hand in your hair keeps you in place as he does. “But I want to hear you say it.”

“It feels good… this time…” You whisper but you know he’s heard you by the way you feel him smile against your skin.

“Is that so? I didn’t know you were such a masochist but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, who else would be so turned on by being bitten by a vampire.” He mocks you, the way he laughs leading to even more embarrassment and frustration coursing through your body. Partially by the way his laugh makes desire shoot right to your core.

He’s mean but it somehow turns you on even more, though you’d never tell him that. This is what you were trying to avoid after all, being so easily wrapped around his finger and put under his control. A part of you is still fighting his control and you try to step on his foot as payback.

Your foot only hits soft dirt as he quickly moves his own. Suddenly the grip in your hair is tightened and he pulls your head back further, forcing you to stare into his eyes directly. You’re scared that you were going to be met with anger or even hurt over your sudden and involuntary rejection. Yet all you’re met with is delight when you look into his eyes, his heavy breathing filling the night air with the smell of blood. 

“There it is, I always did enjoy the way you pushed back. I was worried you’d have gone soft on me.” He seemed ecstatic by your actions and you flushed again, he really did like it. “But just to make sure, darling… What do you want?”

For a moment you’re frozen, your head spinning from everything happening and partially from the blood loss. Not to mention the blood that had pooled somewhere further below. Yet worry brewed in the back of your mind and without thinking you blurted something out.

“What do you want, Astarion?”

You needed to know that this was what he wanted, despite him having taken the main lead, you wanted to make sure he had an out and that your own desires wouldn’t shackle him too.

“Oh sweetheart, you’re too considerate. But I strongly believe we want the same thing right now.”

“I want you.” The words spilled out of your mouth before you could think again and Astarion drank them up like wine spilled from the bottle.

“That’s what I thought,” he kisses you again, the taste of iron still fresh on his lips. “I want you too, afterall.”

His kisses distract you as his skillful fingers leave your hair and skin, instead grabbing the buckle of the crossbow holster that was strapped across your chest. He can't seem to keep his mouth quiet while he does it though, not that you should expect Astarion to be able to keep his mouth from running.

“I want you below me, I want to hear you gasp and cry out in pleasure…” He’s breathless, wrangling the strap of leather over your head, mindlessly chucking the crossbow somewhere nearby. The light still reaches you two, if just barely. Darkness claws it’s way closer, you pray it’s enough to keep you hidden away from wandering companions who wonder where you’ve gone. “I want you exposed and naked, darling, I want to dig my teeth into places only you and I will see.”

His fingers dig the rest of your tucked shirt out of your pants, his nails pleasantly scratching against your skin as he grabs bunches of the fabric and pull it up over your head as well. The cold air is suddenly intruding on your warm skin and you gasp. Astarion is quick to place his lips onto the newly exposed skin, placing kisses across your collarbone and to your shoulder.

“I want to feel your warmth against me, I want you to take me as you dig your nails into my back. I want to push you down just to feel you push back.” Your hands find purchase on his shoulders as his own hands grab your behind, using the leverage to once again pull you in close. You can feel the hardness that had grown between his legs. He keeps going, talking in a daze in between the kisses. You don’t know if he’s drunk on your blood or just aroused, maybe it’s a combination of the two. He’s grown warmer to the touch thanks as your blood reinvigorates him. “I want you to feel me, feel every thrust as I ruin you. I want to tease you until you cry, I want to punish you for holding back on me this whole time. I want you to feel what you’ve done to me.”

You don’t get a moment to respond to him, you don’t even know what you could say. He takes your hand in his as he helps you both lower yourselves to the ground, the grass tickling the palm of your hand as you find purchase. He pushes himself over you, his knees firmly placed between your thighs, still holding your hand to push you down until you're laying below him.

“I want you to want me, just as I am.”

There’s a vulnerability to his voice and his eyebrows knit together ever so slightly as he takes a moment to take you in. You look up at him, his white curls a little more messy than when you arrived and his lips a little more flushed. The moon is still high in the sky and though not as bright as usual, it’s enough to shine down on him and he looks… Ethereal. 

You take the pause in the flow to heave yourself forwards, pushing back and he lets himself fall back to sit on his knees as you kiss him again, slightly surprised. 

“I do, Astarion, gods be damned I do.”

You can’t take it anymore, he’s still fully dressed and you're desperate to see more of him and tired of being the only one exposed. Your hands grab at his shirt, messily working it out of his pants with a furrowed brow. A smile grows on his face and he laughs at your clumsiness before deciding to help you out. It only takes a moment for his own shirt to be discarded in the grass somewhere nearby. 

“You’re so forwards, did I really rile you up so much? I thought you didn’t like it when I ran my mou-” You interrupt him with a forceful kiss and he doesn’t hesitate to lean into it. Your hands finally touch his bare chest, letting your nails lightly scratch his skin as you run them further down. You feel him shudder.

“I like hearing you talk and you can run your mouth for hours but…” Your breaths are heavy as your hands reach his thighs, softly grabbing his legs. “I need you to touch me while you do it…” You’re trying to be bold but the desperation seeps through your voice and you look up at him through your eyelashes, unable to fully face him.

“Shit… Aren’t you just perfect? Who am I to deny you what you need…” He gives in to you, pushing you back enough to let him untie the lacing on your pants. It only takes a moment of shuffling until he’s rather expertly slid your pants off of you, leaving you in your undergarments. His hands grab your knees and part them enough for him to settle back inbtween them before they slide up your thighs. You're already working on the lacing at the front of your bra, pulling and tugging on the ribbons hurriedly. It gets even harder when Astarion decides he wants to taste you again, his lips finding your neck and hungrily licking for the taste your blood as left. He’s sucking hard enough that you’re rather certain there will be a bruise in the morning but you don’t care enough to reprimand him now. 

“Having some issues there, darling?” He teases as he feels you continue to loosen your bra, his thumb brushing against the sensitive skin on the inside of your thigh.

“No, it’s fine, ah! There, I got it!” You finally get it loose enough to pull over your head but Astarion doesn’t waste any time. As soon as you’ve managed to get it above your chest, his mouth has found your breast and taken a nipple inbetween his lips. Your reaction is instantaneous as you arch your back into him with a loud gasp, your arms freezing above your head with the bra still tangled between them. 

His cold tongue swirls around the bud skillfully and you're sure you can almost feel his fangs grazing against the sensitive skin. You're unable to keep quiet and even when you purse your lips together, the sounds betray you. But Astarion prides himself on his multitasking, one hand finally reaching below the edge of your panties. You’re already drenched thanks to his previous actions.

“My-my, you’re soaked. How often have you imagined this? Everytime you’ve let me feed from you? Everytime we’ve been alone together? Or just when I’ve put the thought in your head, hm?” His fingers slide between your wet lips, slowly spreading them as a finger found and began to circle your clit, not quite touching it.

“It’s not like tha- ah!” He doesn’t let you finish, instead taking the moment you opened your mouth to slide two fingers into you, curling them ever so slightly.

“What did you say?” He mocked confusion, continuing to slowly thrust his fingers into you.

“I… I haven’t…” You manage to get out between moans and heavy breaths, your brain going into overdrive trying to focus on what you’re saying. Astarion clicks his tongue and suddenly his free hand has pinched your nipple inbetween two fingers and his thrusting has gotten quicker.

“Lying is a sin, didn’t you know that my dear? Are you afraid of hurting me? Here I was, hoping you’d think of me daily. The thought of you touching yourself just because of my bite would simply delight me.” He rolls your nipple inbetween his fingers and you can’t think anymore, all you can do is roll your hips against his hand and writhe underneath him. “Come on, confess to me, beautiful.”

“I…” You struggle to formulate any sentence but his attention doesn’t falter, instead he looks like a cat whose playing with a mouse. He shifts his body so your leg hooks over his thigh, pushing further up as he keeps pumping his finger into you. The new angle lets him hit that spot you can never quite reach yourself. The closer you get to formulating words, the quicker he goes until the lewd sound of his hand hitting your soaked pussy is all that can be heard. You’re getting so close. “Fuck- I have, I-I’m sorry-”

Suddenly he laughs, loudly and with a sharp edge of ridicule. His hand slows to a near stop, simply pushing and curling his finger as he grinds the palm of his hand into your clit, keeping you close to that edge of cumming. You’re dazed and confused when you look at him, why is he laughing?

“Oh you are simply a riot, you sweet thing.” He smiles too kindly as he pulls his fingers from you, leaving you clenching around nothing. He leans back as he sucks your juices from his fingers and push yourself up on your hands.

“Did I say something wrong?” You’re nearly panicked, worried you messed up and told him too much.

“No, no, not at all. The opposite actually.” He gives you a grin that clearly shows off his fangs.

“T-then why..?”

“You were close to cumming on my fingers, right?”

You nod, dumbfounded.

“I don’t want you to.”

“Huh? W-what, why?” Your brain is still hazy and you can’t think straight, his confusing answer didn’t make it easier for you either.

“Simply didn’t want you to.” You consider that maybe you did this to yourself, teaching him the power of simply refusing. You wanted him to have agency, but in this very moment you also wanted to cum. You wanted him to want you to cum. You can only guess that you looked especially conflicted because you were pulled from your thoughts by Astarions laugh again. When you look over to him, he’s untying the lace of his own pants. “Okay, no, I didn’t want you to cum on my hand because I want you to cum on my dick, simple as that actually.”

“Oh you’re such an asshole…” You mutter under your breath but his grin tells you he heard you as he pushes his pants and underwear down his legs. You take the moment to pull your own panties off.

“Ah, did you want to cum at all tonight, pet?” He threatens playfully as he finds his place between your legs but whatever reply you had died in your throat as your eyes land on his cock. You had imagined it before yet embarrassment had kept you from thinking of any details, yet there it was. Hovering over you, Astarion used one hand to hold himself up, the other softly tracing up your thigh as he took in your reaction and in turn observed your beauty. You laid beneath him, bare and vulnerable. Trusting and turned on. Just like he had wanted you. “Hm? Cat’s got your tongue? Come on now…”

He leaned in, kissing your lips once before once again lavishing the skin of your neck in open mouth kisses and playful nips that had you jolting under him. His cock just barely rested on your pussy lips as he slowly and softly moved back and forth.

“Fuck… Ah…” You sigh in pleasure but it’s not enough to satisfy Astarions ever growing need to embarrass you.

“Words, darling, use them. What do you want?” he whispered against your skin, pressing his cock further into the softness of your cunt with the base of his thumb, slowly fucking the space between you and his hand. Your slick coats him and he can’t help but sigh in relief. “Tell me, or I’ll just use you like this until I cum and leave you as you are.” It’s a threat without any truth, but it’s enough to push you to speak up.

“Maybe you should just… Shut up and fuck me, Astarion.” Your hand grips his hair, pulling it enough to guide his head back up to meet your eyes. The spark of your rebellion to his teasing thrills him to no end. “I want you to fuck me, is what I’m saying.”

Lips and teeth and tongue suddenly clash as he presses his mouth to yours. It’s messy and rough, you bite his lip and he moans. Your arms wrap around his neck. He finally guides himself to your opening and pushes the tip in. You both shiver, momentarily pulling away to whimper. And then all at once, Astarion pushes the rest of himself into your heat and you feel divine. You're forced to pull away and the feeling makes you drop your head back as you take a sudden, sharp inhale. Pleasure crashes over you and just as you feel like you can recover, Astarion is already ahead of you and starts to thrust. Whatever recovery you thought you could get is quickly washed away as moans and whimpers are all the things you can utter in that moment. His desire and desperation can be felt in the pace he quickly falls into, his mouth finding your breast once again but this time his earlier control seems to be gone. He bites into the soft flesh, his fangs sinking into your skin and you gasp. The pain and pleasure is overwhelming, the signals getting mixed up and all you know is that he feels good.

You lost count after the first three bite marks Astarion leaves on your body, you weren’t even sure if all of them broke skin or would leave any marks but surely some were. The thought crossed you, of meeting your companions when morning light comes and the view of the marks up and down your neck. And you, who had worked so hard to keep your attraction to Astarion pushed so far down, suddenly it’d be obvious you’d become his plaything. And yet the thought made you clench around Astarions cock, ecstasy taking over whatever shame you had just felt. 

Your peak was quickly building back up, and you repositioned your arms to grab around his shoulders and up his back. Letting your nails dig into his marble skin just like he had wanted.

“Hah, to believe you’d take me so well… Especially after all that grandstanding about- hah, fuck… not falling for the sweet things I say.” The smugness in his voice was annoying yet you felt your core tighten even harder at them. You dug your nails even harder into his back in response and you felt him stutter in his pace, a pleasured whimper slipping out from under his breath. “Shit,  yeah just like that, sweet girl.”

Of course he’d like it. You hide your face in his neck, unable to do anything else. You’re getting so close again.

A hand pushes inbetween you two as Astarion slips his thumb where you two are connected. He quickly finds your clit and presses down.

“Come on, I want you to cum on my cock… I want to push you over the edge, watch you cry out in pleasure…” You’re both dazed as he starts to rub your clit. Your back curves and you gasp, letting go of Astarion as you push your hands into the grass over your head, gripping it. “That’s it, cum for me, beautiful.” 

The last thing you register is his smile and his fangs glinting in the moonlight as you finally tip over the edge. You're flooded with white, hot pleasure as you screw your eyes close and arch your back off of the ground. Astarion doesn’t stop, his thumb relentless as he rubs you through your orgasm. He’s pounding into you, fast and rough but as you keep clenching around him he can feel how he’s losing himself. You’re still riding your high when his hands hit the ground on either side of your head and you can barely register his face as it hovers above you. He’s breathtaking, mouth slightly agape and eyebrows scrunched together. You see his white eyelashes as he closes his eyes, fully focusing on how good you feel around him. His pace becomes an uneven mess fueled by a frenzy and his feral need for you. Each hit of his cock against your inside sends another intense wave of pleasure bordering on pain and you take it, whimpering.

And as he pushes into you as far as he can the scales finally tip and he cums, flooding your insides with his cum. You can feel the pulsing inside you as he collapses over you, you both breathing heavy and slowly coming back down from your highs. 

It takes a minute before you're both in any condition to move, using the little energy you had gathered to roll over to your sides, facing one another. There's a comfortable silence as you let whatever happened to tonight soak in. Astarion is carefully watching your face, looking at the myriad of marks he’d left on your neck without even thinking. He never left marks usually, the proof of the nights spent with others made him nauseous. But his brain had been telling him that he should… that he needed to. He wanted you, after all. Reaching out with his hand, he carefully traced one of the bite marks. Your eyes suddenly widened.

“By the gods- What in the hells am I going to tell Shadowheart…” You groaned and hid your face in your hands. Astarion raised an eyebrow.

“...Was there something between you two I had just missed? Cus in that case I might not be able to come back to camp for a while.” He joked.

“No, no not that. I had just… mentioned to her that I wasn’t falling for your stupid flirting and how it was obvious you liked to fuck around and I just… Didn’t want that to be me. I’m pretty sure I called you annoying as well.”

Astarion once again laughed at you, the fact that you would both be facing a very judgemental Shadowheart was very amusing to him. He’d rub it in her face if he could, but the hickeys and bitemarks on your neck was probably enough.

“But now that is me… Ugh.”

“... You know I didn’t bed you just because I could, right?” Astarion spoke up, awkward in his approach.

“Well yeah the whole ‘I want you’ thing was pretty consistent. But what do you want with me?” And there was that straightforwardness he always found a little intimidating.

“I… I don’t know, but I want you. That’s all I know.” He studied your face before turning to lay on his back and look into the starless night. “Do I have to choose what that means now?”

“...No. Just… Tell me when you know I guess.” You shrug and turn to look at the sky as well. 

“Can I want you to come closer?” Astarion spoke into the night, his voice barely heard over the breeze in the trees.

You don’t answer, just shuffle closer to him, putting your head on his shoulder. He smiles, it felt nice having someone close even after you were… done.

“Though we shouldn’t stay here too long, I’m pretty sure I have grass up my ass crack and it’s colder than the hells out here. Sorry but you don’t exactly help either.”

“Oh aren’t you just charming, didn’t you ever learn some manners?” You both laugh and the shadowlands feel a little less… bleak, at least for tonight.

[uzurimisery]

bite the hand that feeds. / naoya zenin / nsfw

Warnings: MDNI, Naoya Zenin is a warning, misogyny, secondary sex discrimination, physical violence, rough sex, degradation, a/b/o, biting, blood, BDSM, dub to noncon, use of slick, forced consumption of bodily fluids, talk of impregnation and baby trapping, lactation kink, sadism and masochism, spanking, threats of domestic violence, objectification, maybe body horror, dear god please practice RACK irl

w.c: 7.5k (shes juicy)

A/N: baby's first omegaverse! my (very) late entry into the wonderful @goxjo's Into the Omegaverse Collab

The rhythmic patter of zori against the courtyard bridge banged in your mind, each strike sharp and precise like a taiko drum—warning of impending doom that faces your lady. Married off into the Zenin clan under a clear blue sky, the breeze ruffling her dangling kanzashi. Everything about her looked perfect today, you had ensured it. Despite being your cousin, there was a world of difference between you as she strode forward, back straight, umbrella held by another attendant. Her every move was slow and steady, pronounced grace and elegance in every movement.

 It was easier to be from a branch family like you were—less pressure, less conformity, at least to a certain degree. While you had been at least allowed to attend jujutsu training until you presented, she had been given the basics of controlling her technique. Never stepping a foot outside of the family compound. 

It felt like the tsubo-niwa felt like it went on forever. The stretch between the bridge’s end and the open shoji doors where the meeting would take place going on like the desert. The air between heavy, hot and humid, weight down the fabric of your kimono.

It was easier being from a branch family. You could bow and prostrate, low and deep as your aunt had whipped into you, the cedar marks still faint against the back of your thighs. The scars almost faded, silvery lines, chain linked together through opposition, personal rebellion where you could. You could then sit, your posture picture perfect, eyes kept low to the ground, breathe calmly, and let the men speak. You could retreat into yourself, the memories of how the sun felt against your bare arms during training, the tan you’d get from the hours of running drills. The peace using your cursed technique brought. 

The peace and solitude of those moments had felt so pure. So freeing. But clan expectations changed everything. If only you had presented as a beta. 

The cicadas buzzed a drone against the conversation. The clan head was appraising your cousin, speaking directly to your uncle. Wanting to know every important detail about her. How consistent her heats were, what her last blood work showed, and how likely was her technique to be passed down over the Zenin family. It had always been like this here, omegas being cattle. Traded, bartered, bred. You’d be luckier than her, likely married to someone of less importance. Your value was lower than hers with a mistake from your youth. Perhaps he’d be kind, come to care for you over time. 

Maybe he’d let you train again, show you favor if you gave him an heir. You had made peace with the fact freedom, true freedom, would never come until you died or the death and destruction of your entire clan. 

Maybe one day everything would go up in flames, and a great fire would roar over the compound, scorching the earth. Erasing the clan from history. Maybe a curse so powerful would come and consume everything in its wake. Maybe you should just run away, flee from Japan altogether. There were sorcerers abroad, maybe you could join their ranks. Be free from how they operate here. Or maybe you would run away and rebuke sorcery.

Clove, rich and warm, scented the air as another man walked into the meeting room. His voice was low, steps heavy. 

Master Zenin introduced him as Naoya. His scent was distinctive, with notes of sandalwood underneath. It was spiced and smelt like comforting winter nights as the snow fell on pine trees. Holidays with your parents when your father was still alive. Both soothing and invigorating. It seemed to draw you in. Never before had a scent captivated you so strongly.

The dread you had felt crossing the bridge grew stronger, the animal instincts inside you screaming at you to run, and to run far. Run before he could catch you. 

Peeking over your lash line, you caught his eyes, dark brown and full of hatred, directed straight at you. Scrutiny crawling over your skin, climbing up through the arms of your kimono and wrapping around your heart, squeezing it tightly. He looked at you as meat, stock to breed. Your eyes quickly returned to staring at the floor.

You had heard tales of him before, of all the Zenins, but experiencing it was a different story.

“Naoya, this is Hiroko Kimura.” Naobito spoke plainly as if your cousin was another thing to buy at the store. As if he was deciding between brands of butter. 

From the corner of your vision, you watched as your cousin prostrated before him, kanzahi jingling as it hit the ground. Her father bows in suit, not nearly as low, saved by being an elder even if he was from a lesser family. Hiroko gave her greetings softly, speaking of how grateful she was to meet him. She was pumping out pheromones as she went, her scent permeating the air. The clash of clove and honey made you feel sick, the smell sticky as it crept around, spread by the breeze. 

He acknowledged her briefly, with no real interest or care as he returned her greeting.“What’s the one behind her.”

You knew he spoke of you sat five feet behind your cousin, now desperately trying to refrain from shrinking into the floods of your blue ougi-patterned kimono. To keep your pheromones from leaking out, to not scent the air with fear. 

“That is my daughter’s handmaiden, my brother’s daughter.” Your uncle introduced you to Naoya, shifting all the attention in the room to you. “She’s to continue her duties until a suitable mate is arranged for her.” 

Naobito hummed as he now turned to look over you. The weight of everyone's gaze was heavy on you. If it had been a different time and place, you had led a different life, perhaps it wouldn't have felt like the end of the world but you knew the attention of the room, of the marriage meeting, being on you was far from good. 

Naoya walked towards you, his presence looming, getting so close you could see his cloth-covered feet nearly touching your knees as you stared down at them. The soft fabric a sharp contrast to the dread pooling in your stomach. Maybe god would be merciful and cause lightning to strike the house, distract everyone, and allow you to escape. But god was not merciful, not kind, nor caring. No one was there to hear your prayers. 

“Smells good,” he crouched before you, cornering you without any way out behind you. He left you with no escape route. “Look at me.” 

His voice dripped with authority, command, and control, your instincts forcing you to comply. Instincts overriding fear, forcing your eyes to meet his own sharp brown eyes. Something in you felt like it was pulling you towards him, screaming at you to go to him. That he was the answer to your problems. That he’d take care of you. 

He looked over you, his gaze filled with an unsettling intensity making you instinctively shrink as he looked for flaws or dents, something that might detract from your value. It was strange. To be appraised not as a person but as an object by him.

The silence stretched on as he did so, no one speaking for the first few minutes. Everyone was waiting to see what he would say — if he would say anything. But as his silent appraisal continued, the conversation returned between the elder alphas in the room as they discussed the latest in sorcery. No one cared that his stare was lecherous, undressing you as you sat there poised and politely. The front of your ankles burned from the strain.

Naoya’s hand went to your hair, fingers tangling in the strands you had to patiently worked into an appropriate style for such an important meeting, before tugging your head to the side with enough force to make you wince. A whine escaped you, feeble, the omega within you desperate to appease him. To desperately try and salvage something to diffuse the undercurrent of rage and entitlement radiating off of him

It was hard to keep your eyes trained on him as he instructed, it felt nearly impossible. The trained reaction of avoiding confrontation, battling with the fear of displeasing him, and looking away only making the situation worse. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat feeling closer and closer to bursting through your chest as he leaned forward, weight in the balls of his feet, face uncomfortably close to your neck. To your scent glands.

Warm, wet muscle brushed against them, tasting the skin. A soft moan fell from your lips as you could feel every individual taste bud of his tongue as he lapped at your neck. 

Embarrassment, mortification-shame dancing along your spine as the room stilled again. Everyone had heard you but no one chose to comment. It was clear Naoya was staking his claim on you. Why would anyone care what he was doing to an omega, especially one with no status? It was his birthright as an alpha. The spices in his scent made your eyes sting with how close he was now, like little pinpricks on your skin.

Each passing swipe of his tongue swirled in your belly, warm and shimmering. Molten lava began to creep freely through your veins, replacing all the blood as you desperately held on to composure. Your nerve endings all thrummed in time with your heart, sending pulsing jolts of electricity everywhere at once. Your throat scratched, your mouth dry, like all the moisture in your body was moving to gather and pool at your core. 

You had seen alphas doing similar things. Scenting unclaimed omegas, testing just how much they could get away with. It was taboo if you were a normal functioning member of society, but when it came to the great families, it was a free game. Never did you think you would have to endure such treatment in front of your family.

“You taste good omega,” Naoya’s teeth scraped against your skin, teasing at a bite, a gasp leaving you. The sensation was both terrifying and strangely intimate. “Like cherries and cinnamon.” 

He moved your head again, this time forcing eye contact with you. The hand not wrapped in your hair crossed over your features. He started at the top of your head, tracing the perimeter of your hairline with his thumbs, pressing in slightly at your temple before moving on to your eyes, your eyelids fluttering shut as he brushed over them. Then he took to your cheekbones, running his thumb parallel to the curve of them before sliding down to your jaw behind your ear. He followed your jawline all the way to your chin before his thumb brushed your lips, smudging the lipstick that had been put on you to ensure your attire was appropriate for today's meeting. You could feel his eyes never leaving you, dark and filled with desire and dominance.

“Open.”

Your eyes snapped open, meeting his instantly. He tapped against your bottom lip, a command you couldn’t ignore. 

“You’re not very smart, are you?” His tone was sardonic, dripping with condescension. It didn’t matter if you were or weren’t. It only mattered what he thought and that you were an omega. 

“Open.” This time, you knew to part your lips.

Naoya’s thumb traced over the ridges of your teeth, pressing in against your canines hard enough that the sharp edges cut the flesh of his finger. Copper explodes on your tongue, the metallic tang filling your senses. He didn’t stop. Instead, he pressed his thumb flush with your tongue, pressing down to force your jaw open wider. 

Behind him the conversation continued to drone on, a forgone hum overpowered by the visceral reality of Naoya’s touch. He poked and prodded you with near clinical detachment. If he wasn’t leaking pheromones betraying just how excited he was to get his hands out, maybe you could believe it. A dispassionate facade only worked well if the scent of his arousal didn’t mix with the metallic taste in your mouth that left you reeling. 

“Kimura-san she’s your niece right?” Naoya’s voice cut through the dull hum of the background, clear and sharp. 

Your uncle lazily glanced over at the spectacle Nayo had made of you. His eyes were half-lidded and uninterested as you sat as still as possible. Your hair was half taken out of its style, no longer held up by the pins and clips that secured it. Now the only thing keeping the rest in place was Naoya’s grip. The lipstick you had so carefully applied was now smeared, and your kimono pushed down from his lapping at your neck like a wild dog. 

Your uncle didn’t even speak, just gave an affirmative nod before taking a drag from his pipe. The scent of tobacco makes your eyes sting. His nonchalance was chilling. You were only a bargaining piece for him.

“So nothing changes between us if I pick her, right?” 

You saw your cousin's shoulders relax, relief snapping the string of tension in her as she realized she would be free of this duty. No longer forced to marry and mate a man with the reputation of a monster. The chains of fate, instead, were passed to you. The metal pulled taught, the chains left to rust from the blood that you’d spill from your heart as they wrapped tight around it, squeezing.

“That’s correct,” your uncle’s tone was impassive as always. “If you want both, however, we’d need to renegotiate.” 

“I just want the one.”

The lock clicked into place, the chains now permanently attached to you. The view out the open shoji screen was so peaceful as you looked over at it. The sky stretched on, endlessly blue with faint spatterings of clouds. Serene and beautiful. A single sparrow flitted by, streaking across the sky. Its wings spread wide as it glided through the air. The birdsong chirped joyfully. 

An arrow shot through the sky striking the bird.

───※ ·❆· ※───

The wedding had been a large affair, filled with laughter and celebration, but none you felt privy too. Soft strains of a koto fill the hall. But no one focused on the young omega sitting at the head of the table, kimono splayed out, surrounding you in a vermillion sea. The grandiosity of the fabric and its patterns made you feel ridiculous, like a dress-up doll. Naoya had picked it out. The obi felt too tight against your stomach, digging into your ribs. They had tied it tighter than normal to keep you from eating too much. There was no reason for them to do so, you already felt sick to your stomach. It churned over and over like the waves crashing against the coast, the tide coming in and out. 

Naoya was seated on your right, his legs spread wide, thigh hitting against yours. The warmth of his body seeped through the wall of fabric between the two of you. Even like this, it was like you could feel his skin against yours.

He had kept you close since the ceremony ended, scenting you every few minutes. Possession in his every move. Sometimes a low growl rumbled from his chest, warning anyone who might think to approach you.

He had already placed a few small nips near your scent gland as well, edging you out of when he’d actually claim you. Each bite sent a shiver down your spine, the sensation a mix of pain and pleasure that pooled in your core. Your body reacted to him in a way that had never happened before. 

“Congratulations Naoya.” It was your uncle, bowing deeply to the two of you. Behind him, your mother also bowed. Her shoulders sagged under the weight of unseen burdens. You knew she regretted bringing you back to the family after your father’s death. That she felt she had sealed you to this fate. 

You could see the dark bags under her eyes when she rose. They had been a permanent feature since your father’s passing and you're presenting as an omega, but now they were so much worse. Your neck felt tight, breathing strained, as you looked at her hands and remembered the feeling of them wrapping around your throat. She smelt like baby lotion still.

“Thank you Kimura-san.” You could taste the satisfaction on his tongue. 

“Naturally. I’m sure your union will bring about the finest sorcerers of a generation,” despite the congratulations of his words, your uncle's tone was flat as always. Uninterested and just going through the motions. 

Naoya brushed his fingers over the shell of your ear, down the back of it, pinching the lop between his fingers. “I’m sure we will.”

The two exchanged a few more words before your uncle and mother returned to their table. Her eyes met yours for a few fleeting moments, filled with sorrow and helplessness. As she walked away, her back slumped, as if the weight of her guilt and regret was physically pushing down on her. You watched her go, the distance between you feeling insurmountable as Naoya’s touch lingered on your skin. 

Several rounds of people came around, giving their congratulations until it was time for another course of food. The noise of their chatter and the general crowd sounded so distant like you were hearing it through a glass cupped over your ears. Your own body felt lost to you, afloat and detached. As if you were watching all of this happen from afar, a mere spectator in your own life. The weight of the ceremony pressed down, deep into your bones, making every movement feel laborious. Faces blurred together—smiles, sneers, looks of pity and envy— all merging into an indistinguishable mass.  The red of your kimono grew duller as the minutes passed, a vinaigrette appearing on the edges of your vision as the walls seemed to close in on you. The rich, fatty scent of the meat was overpowering. Overwhelming. 

You felt Naoya speaking against your skin but could barely register it. It was only when his hand touched the back of your neck that everything snapped into focus again. The tensing was involuntary, your body’s memory reacting for you. 

This was the closest to being alone with Naoya you had gotten despite the hall being full. There was no one next to the two of you. No one’s attention on you.

“You’re pretty docile,” Naoya remarks, his voice low. 

You look up at him through your lashes, swallowing hard. Part of you wanted to recoil away from his touch. To untie your obi and run out through the shoji. To break through them and flee.

“I know my place.” you pause, determining if it was worth it to test the waters. “What would you do if I was to act out, Alpha.” 

“Strike you.” He spoke as if it was natural, obvious as if discussing the weather. His hand tightened ever so slightly on the back of your neck, a reminder of his control. There was finality in his words that you had come to know and expect from the Alphas of the great families.

There was nothing more fitting than a disobedient omega beneath him, a deep-seated belief that it was what they deserved. In their world, an alpha’s omega was theirs to treat and punish as they saw fit. The chain of tradition held fast, a rigid framework trapping you. This was your life. There was no escaping it unless you died. Any rebellion, no matter how small, would have consequences.

“Of course, Alpha. You know best.” It sounded like your voice was coming from another person, made soft and pliant. Your pitch raised slightly. All efforts you could make to seem less threatening and more agreeable. Like you were glad to be under his thumb. 

He liked that, a smirk quirking up the side of his mouth. His hand released your neck to trace down your forehead, mockingly soft and gentle. “Well, aren’t you a charmer? If you’re well-behaved, maybe I’ll reward you, Omega, just be the good little bitch you are.” 

“May I be so bold?”  

He raised an eyebrow. “You may.”

“I would ask of you to allow me to continue to practice my curse technique so that I may be of the utmost service to you.” 

The request hung in the air, your heart pounding as you waited for his response. His expression was unreadable. 

“I’ll consider it,” he replied, tone dismissive. 

“Thank you. Alpha,” you dropped low to present before him, back curved, the words bitter on your tongue. “I will follow your guidance happily.”

His smirk widened into a full-blown, maniacal grin. The shine in his eyes reminded you of teasing death. Cold and unwavering, a chill down your spine. A laugh broke out of him, more of a bark if anything. Wicked in every sense.

“Good god,” he patted the top of your head and pulled you up from your position by your chin. “Keep this up and I might let you give me a son.” 

He leaned in to kiss you. His lips were soft against your own. Surprising as you expected them to be rough. It was possessive, a mark of ownership, as the hand on your jaw squeezed down, forcing you to open your mouth. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

Being married to him was one thing, but being marked by him was another. Once the mark was made, it’d take years of rejecting it before it could go away. It made divorce, as shameful as it was, look easy. It wasn’t something that you’d ever be granted; your uncle would kill you before permitting it, but it was in the realm of possibility. With the feast ended and the two of you alone in his wing of the house, the full weight of everything came crashing down on you.

You shifted, an uneasy pit in your stomach, the temperature of the room made you feel clammy, the dark green futon pillowing under your weight, as Naoya sat behind you. One hand was up in your hair, undoing the pins one by one. Each dropped into a bowl on the ground, tiny silver pieces raining down, ringing against the ceramic. It seemed he had a thing for hair, taking the strands and wrapping them around his fingers, giving each a slight tug that you could feel at the base of your skull.

His other hand moved to untie your obi, the relief instant as it dropped away. It felt like you could finally breathe fully again, greedy lungs taking in large gulps of air. Your ribs would likely have some bruising from just how tight they’d done the obi for the wedding. His hands crept up the length of your left arm, pressure applied as if feeling your outline, before sliding his hand under the fold of your kimono and grabbing your breast.

"Just relax," he whispered, his breath hot, fanning over your skin.  His nose brushed your ear as he leaned in closer, lips nearing your neck. You couldn’t help but to tense.

His teeth sank into your scent gland, and the pain that followed was indescribable. Naoya’s canines were large and sharp. You had seen them every time he spoke or smiled. Pearlescent white panes gleamed in the light, but nothing could have prepared you for the sensation of them piercing your skin. It was like a branding iron searing into your skin, burning the flesh and charring your skin. Your limbs turn to stone, trembling uncontrollably as every muscle in your body tensed, released, and tensed again in waves. 

Your skin felt clammy, a cold sweat breaking out across your entire body and your mind struggled to process the sensation. There was slickness pooling between your legs. The mark was spurring on a heat, your body acting in its most primal way. 

“Stop it hurts” You cry out, voice wobbling from the fear and pain, body contorting violently, instinctively, trying to escape from him. 

Naoya smacks your breast with a force that leaves a handprint instantly against your skin. He bites down harder, teeth sinking even deeper in, the wound tearing open even wider as you writhe around. Finally, a white-hot flash of pleasure begins to course through you, biology taking its hold. It goes from nerve-splitting pain to a warm wash of arousal in a second. Blinking feels like minutes. 

He pulled back from your neck, eyes feral, brow furrowed in a savage expression. Blood stains his mouth. It pools around his lips and paints them a brilliant scarlet, before trailing down in a rivulet that snakes past his chin, down his neck, and into the folds of his yukata. 

“Never tell me what to do again. Do you understand?” His voice is a growl, low and menacing, as his grip tightens on your breast, twisting it to emphasize his point. As if the authority in his voice wasn’t enough. 

You whine, unable to bear his disapproval, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Gasping, you nuzzle against his neck. He smells so good. Spice cloves, sandalwood, and cedar on a winter’s night. “I’ll be good.” 

He lowers his head again, lips curled in a cruel grin, fangs bared. His voice drips with a mix of menace and satisfaction as he whispers, “Now, relax.”

This time, you force yourself to comply, doing your best to let your body go limp. It works better than before. Despite the fear you feel towards him, arousal pumps through your veins. A flood of endorphins courses through them, making every touch cause your skin to tingle and send waves of pleasure straight to your core. It makes your head spin and your limbs heavy. Your skin prickles with a heat that feels almost unbearable, making you itch with a desperate need for release.

It's too hard to keep your eyelids open; they are far too heavy, but you don’t trust Naoya enough to close them. What would he do if you closed them? Your blood feels thick like syrup, molasses sluggishly pulsing. A moan escapes your lips, low, breathy, and drawn out, that pitches into a whine as Naoya releases his grip on your neck and licks the wound closed with rough strokes of his tongue. He swirls the tip around each puncture wound, dipping the tip into it before doing so to the next.

“See? If you had just listened, it would have been this good from the start,” he murmurs, his voice a soft, mocking caress. He pinches your nipple sharply. Your head lolls against his chest, too heavy to hold up.

“Oh ho ho,” he laughs, the sound vibrating through your body. “Someone’s going into heat.”

It feels like everything is moving in slow motion as Naoya manhandles you. He tilts your head to the other side. The top half of your kimono is completely off, leaving your skin exposed to the cold, biting air of his room. Sweat beads on every inch of your skin. You struggle to keep your eyes from closing, fighting the overwhelming sensations that flood your body. You feel Naoya’s teeth graze against your other scent gland, the sharp sting of his teeth scraping against the skin but he doesn’t bite down. 

Instead, he laps and laps and laps at your neck, his tongue moving in languid, deliberate strokes as if devouring an ice cream cone on a hot summer day. Whimpers flow out of you like water from a stream, and your pussy flutters around nothing. 

Naoya squeezes you roughly, his hands greedily exploring your body. His touch is rough and demanding, large hands groping at your curves like he’s a man starved for flesh as he fondles your breasts, squeezing your nipples, making them stand erect from the stimulation. He likes you gasps and whines, the fat of your breasts squishing under the expanse of his hands as he toys with them. Likes the heft of them, meaty and heavy, makes him growl low in the back of his throat in approval. He can picture them swelling with milk that would nourish his heir and make them strong. He’d sample the source, suckle straight from your teat, and make sure his heifer was quality.

“My little breeding bitch,” he murmurs, his voice dark. 

Naoya’s hand slips down your front, his fingers finding the slick pool of arousal in your pussy. He pumps a finger in, meeting no resistance, then slides in a second easily, your pussy oh so inviting.

“Fuck, you’re ready for me already.” He chuckles, the wet squelch of your pussy sounding out with each movement of his fingers. “Such a desperate little whore. I bet you can’t wait to feel my knot, hmm? Say it.”

Your tongue feels too heavy in your mouth, the effort to speak almost insurmountable, speech slurred and your words mumbled. His impatience manifests in a swift, sharp strike to your clit, making you cry out in a mix of pain and anticipation. Through the haze, you manage to speak. 

“I can’t wait to feel your knot,” you manage to gasp out, biting the tip of your tongue in the process. It swells fat. 

It's been so long since you’d had a heat. Suppressants had been shoved onto you after your first one almost nine years ago. You don’t remember this first stage of preheat being so delirious, so inconsistent, so in control and out of it as you lean back against him and let him fondle your breasts.

His fingers feel divine as they pump in and out of you, accompanied by a scissoring motion that sends shivers down your spine. The feeling is almost enough to distract you from the rough way he's pinching and rolling your nipples between his fingers. He pulls at them like he doesn’t care if it hurts, like he wants it to hurt, and it does. 

Your hips buck involuntarily against his hand, your body moving on it as you chase your high. Whimpers fall from your lips, needy desperate cries that only egg on his treatment towards you. He likes you like this, all whiny and under his palm.

With a rough tug, he pushes the rest of your kimono off, leaving you bare and vulnerable against his fully clothed body. His hands are slick with your arousal, glistening fingers curled into you and smearing moisture down his forearm as you shamelessly use his hand for your pleasure. Your knees ache from the position, thighs straining with each thrust of your hips, muscles trembling on the edge of release. It's so close that the edge of your vision goes black as you tilt ever so slightly forward, and then it happens.

Your orgasm rips through you, your whole body locks, walls clenching around his fingers as you come crashing down. A flood of slick spills out, drenching the futon beneath you. The sage green is now a deep forest green, damp and warm to the touch from how much came out of you. It’s hard to breathe, chest heaving as you try to suck in the air. 

"Messy bitch. Look at what you've done," Naoya tsks at you, even as you jerk in his arms you can tell he’s less angry and more amused by it. With a push, he sends you forward, your front pressing into the wet spot, his fingers sliding out of your pussy. "Clean it up," he orders, his voice dripping with command.

It takes a long moment to catch your breath, to remember how to be a person and move, but you grab the edge of your kimono to pat dry the area when Naoya smacks the globe of your ass. 

“Not with that.”

You stare at the spot for a second. If not the kimono there was only one other thing that could be it.  

You begin to kitten lick at your slick. It's egregiously sweet, like a potent concentrate of your scent amplified to an overwhelming degree. The flavor makes your stomach turn, threatening to gag you with its intensity. You’ve no idea how any alpha enjoys the flavor this much. 

Naoya's gaze never strays from you as he begins to undress, his movements lazy and relaxed. He’s enjoying the show, reducing you to this. Rising to his feet, he pads across the room to hang his yukata on a nearby stand. He only breaks eye contact with you for the brief moment it takes to drape his garment properly. Your wedding kimono, three times the price of his own, is lying in a pile near you on the floor.

Even with his back turned, you don't stop licking up the puddle of slick. Your tongue scrapes softly against the futon, gathering the lingering wetness to swallow down with a quiet gag. The only sound in the room is your tongue against the fabric and your soft breathing.

A soft, small smile on his face when he looks at you next. His inner Alpha is pleased you’ve kept at your assigned task without being told to. His cocks hard, uncut and dribbling pre-cum, knot starting to swell at the base, eyes going over the curve of your back, the globes of your ass in the air, and the continuous trail of simmering slick dripping out of your needy hole.

He closed the distance, cock bobbing with each step. Dropping to one knee, one hand comes to rest on the meat of your ass, the other pressing down between your shoulder blades to push your chest further into the futon. The fabric rubs uncomfortably against your hardened nipples. 

For a moment he just sits there, massaging the meat of your ass before his fingers sink in, hard enough to leave bruises in the morning. Then, without warning, he reels back, from the corner of your eye you see his shoulder muscles tense before his arm is launched forward, palm connecting with your ass in a volatile crack that rings out in the room. Pain explodes a hot white.  

“Count them,” he orders with a smile as you begin to cry.

"One," you gasp out, the word a struggle to form.

His palm connects again, the blow landing a little higher on your cheek.

"Two."

The next strike comes before you can fully process the previous, his hand falling in a swift, merciless rhythm.

"Three."

"Four." The word is a sob this time, the pain starting to overwhelm.

The fifth smack seems to sting more than the first three, the imprint of his wedding ring starting to dig in. You can feel the metal biting into your skin, a cool counterpoint to the burning heat.

"F-five."

He stops for a moment to collect slick on his fingers. “Fucking filthy slut. I knew you’d be one.” Naoya smears the slick over the burning heat of your ass, his tone approving despite what he says. 

"Six," you manage, the word a broken gasp.

The next smack seems to shatter the air, his hand coming down with renewed force.

"Seven."

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, vision starting to blur. But you keep counting.

"Eight."

"Nine."

The final blow lands, his palm cracking down.

"Ten."

You collapse forward, your body spent and trembling. The humiliation of being treated like this, reduced to a mere object, burns through you. What makes it worse is how desperately your body craves him, even as your heartbeat hammers in your ass and tears stream down your face, snot bubbling at your nose. The omega in you wants nothing more than to please him, to make him happy. You need to make him happy, so he'll know you, claim you as his own.

Biology was a curse. 

"Do you know what you did wrong?" His voice is low, rough with dominance. Oh, how it hurt to hear him so mad at you. Why was he so mad at you? 

Your mind races, trying to answer the question. "No?"

"You came without permission. Are you going to do that again?" There's a warning in his tone, a promise of punishment if you disobey again.

"No." The word escapes your lips, a whispered promise of submission. You whine for him, lower into yourself, pheromones reeking of just how sorry you are. 

Naoya's hand tightens in your hair, pulling your chest off the futon, forcing your back into an arch. Your muscles tremble with the strain, too exhausted from the heat to sustain such a position for long. A whine builds in your throat, begging him to finally take you, to knot you, breed you.

"Then prove it."

He smacks your ass again, one last time for good measure, before dropping your hair. You catch yourself on your elbows, presenting yourself for him. Naoya's hands grab your hips, one positioning you to align with the head of his cock, the other stroking his length. After he's gotten you through this first wave of heat, he'll have you choke on his cock, make you take it to the back of your throat and swallow, see what he's working with and what he'll have to train, but for now, he'll start with your pussy.

The tip of his cock feels too big against your hole, even after he's fingered you. Tensing comes naturally as it catches on your entrance, anticipation, need, and fear running through you. The flared tip feels like it's going to split you in two as he begins to press into you. He flares out in the middle, his shaft thicker there, making you moan as he begins to bottom out in you. His size is almost overwhelming, the stretch bordering on pain. If you weren’t in a pre-heat it would most definitely be painful. 

He's kind enough to insert himself into you slowly, not wanting to damage your insides and ruin his chances of getting you pregnant. You can feel every inch of him as he slowly rolls his hips for the first time, experimenting with how much he can fit inside you. Moans come like spring rain, a sure thing, as he inserts himself. He pushes into you slowly, relishing in the way you clench and spasm around him. He’s so gentle compared to earlier, it makes your head spin. Your cries echo in the room, music to his ears. Once he's bottomed out, he stills.

A mix of a choked moan and a sob tumbles out of your lips. You can't tell if it hurts or feels so good you've surpassed feeling entirely. Your pussy flutters around him, suctioning him tighter as he pulls out. 

"Fuck, you're tight," Naoya grunts, his hands grabbing your hips for leverage. "Beg for my cum, bitch."

His voice is rough like gravel, little pebbles tumbling down your spine. 

"Please, fill me," you moan, tears spilling from your eyes. "Please, Naoya-sama, cum inside me. Breed me so that I might give you an heir." The words spill out of you, a desperate plea for him to claim you, to make you his. You can't even find it in yourself to beg him anymore, the words just spilling out. It all feels too much, overwhelmingly full, and yet still not enough. Your body screams for release, desperately for his knot, for the satisfaction that only an alpha can give you. 

Naoya slams his hips into you, harder and faster than he has before, his balls slapping against your clit. His pace picks up, your arms giving out as he continues to set a brutal pace, thrusting deep and powerful. Each thrust feels like he's close to hitting against your cervix, but he never does. It feels like your whole body is shaking, like you've been set to vibrate. You don't know when one moan starts and another stops. Vision blurring at the edges, the only thing that matters is the narrow point in the world where your skin meets his. All that exists is the feeling of him inside you, his hand on your hips, the sweat on your skin, the need. 

The way that his thick cock rubs against your walls sends jolts of electricity down your spine. Every time he pulls back, you clench down, trying to keep him in you. He's not even fully seated inside of you and your whole body trembles, his cock filling you up. It’s impossibly full, you feel like you’re going to split apart at the seams as your pussy works to milk him. 

He smacks your ass again, the opposite cheek. "You're mine, remember that. Nothing but my little bitch to breed."

He fucks you harder, lifting one of your hips to angle himself deeper. This allows him to rub directly against your g-spot, electric shocks firing on every nerve in your body. Every time he pulls back, you clench down, trying to keep him in you. He's not even fully seated inside of you and your whole body trembles. The sensation is overwhelming, each motion pushing you further and further into the depths of your heat. 

The room is filled with the sound of wet squelching and flesh meeting flesh, your body now rocking back to meet his every thrust, your breasts jiggling with each thrust. Naoya's thrusts become more frantic, his movements more sporadic. He's close, his knot swelling. The thought of being knotted by him makes you gush, juices flowing over his cock and staining the sheets below. You feel your orgasm building, a tsunami approaching the shoreline. Your entire body is a livewire, humming with tension. 

It's then you notice the mirror that faces you. It's huge, covering half the wall, showing everything. Naoya lifts your chest, then hooks his fingers into the sides of your mouth and pulls them taut. It feels like your lips are going to crack with the strain, stings like sand sanitizer in a paper cut. You let out a low moan, drool dripping down the front of your body and pooling on the mattress beneath you. Your cheeks are flushed, eyes glassy, there’s an unmistakable handprint on your breast from earlier, and if you could see your ass, it’d be the same. There’s a glow to your skin from your heat, makes you shiny and supple. Makes you breedable. 

"You're so much prettier when you smile, omega." His voice is low, rough with arousal.

He lets go of your mouth and just props you up, one hand around your chest to do so. It's you who holds the smile instead, a wild look in your eyes. 

Naoya keeps thrusting, and it's like the world around you fades away as his cock stretches your walls, and the edge of his knot catches on your hole with each deep thrust. It's big. Bigger than the toys you've had, bigger than the ones you've heard of, you don't know if it's going to fit. A flicker of fear passes over you, but it's quickly overwhelmed by desire and discarded. 

His other hand reaches around and rubs your sensitive clit, flicking it back and forth. You're so close to cumming, heartbeat hammering down in your pussy. Each pass of his fingers sends sparks through your system, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. 

"Cum for me, slut. Milk my cock. Scream for your Alpha." His words are a command, a demand for your pleasure.

You cry out, your body giving in to the pleasure, wave after wave of orgasm crashing down on you, your entire body going limp. Naoya pays it no mind, only holds your hips up as you fall limp, using you like a fleshlight. It feels like he's going to break you as he fucks you through your orgasm and finally pushes his knot inside you, your pussy convulsing around it. 

A wickedly delicious kind of pain, the type to leave you breathless. 

He keeps thrusting, his range limited, his knot locking the two of you together before he finally comes, his breath hitching. Hot ropes of cum paint your insides. It feels like it's too much cum to fit inside you, like it's going to spill out, but his knot keeps it firmly in place. His grip on your hips feels like it's going to break your bones, his nails drawing blood. He grunts for a few minutes, rocking his hips, milking his cock out with your pussy, before finally stopping.

Naoya bends over you and licks the shell of your ear before nibbling it. "You're never going to get away from me. You're mine to use, mine to abuse. You'll never get to leave me." He rocks his hips again, cock twitching inside you. "You won't be alone for long though, pretty girl." 

©️ uzuzrimisery

a massive thank you to my beta readers @craftycheetah @rii-bows @lovelyroseybunny and my friend cas who i dm'd weekly about this fic for over a month insecure about writing omegaverse

[felassan]

Dragon Age: The Veilguard info compilation Post 3

[Part 1] [Part 2] Post is under a cut due to length.

There is a lot of information coming out right now about DA:TV from many different sources. This post is just an effort to compile as much as I can in one place, in case that helps anyone. Sources for where the information came from have been included. Where I am linking to a social media user’s post, the person is either a dev, a Dragon Age community council member or other person who has had a sneak peek at and played the game. nb, this post is more of a ‘info that came out in snippets from articles and social media posts’ collection rather than a 'regurgitating the information on the official website or writing out what happened in the trailer/gameplay reveal’ post. The post is broken down into headings on various topics. A few points are repeated under multiple headings where relevant. Where I am speculating without a source, I have clearly demarcated this. if you notice any mistakes in this post, please tell me.

Character Creation

All armor and clothing options will scale and mesh to any body type [source]

The character creator has lots of sliders for body parts and overall shape, none of which are tied to the voice or pronouns (she/her, he/him, or they/them) that you choose [source]

"Epler took special care to show off the extensive curly and textured hair options in the game, including several versions of braids and locs, noting that increasing these options in particular was very important to the team" [source]

You can change your character’s physical appearance at any time during the game, but not their class or backstory [source]

"Each individual class has some variability, too; even the mage class has some up-close-and-personal attacks, since a mage player character could still conceivably have an assassin backstory and would therefore need to have some attacks to accommodate that sort of career path" [source]

" "We’ve spent a lot of time thinking about skin tone,” Corinne said. The character we made, a Black elf, seemed to glow in the bluish light of a nighttime scene, and under bright sunlight, I could see the richness of his color. Corinne: "We want to make sure that skin tone is reflected authentically" " [source]

" “We have dozens and dozens of hair types,” she said. “And they’re fully affected by physics.” The quality and variety of choices I saw delighted me. The rows of bouncy, luxurious-looking hair of all curl types and textures (and yes, the annoyingly ubiquitous “Killmonger cut” was among the options, what can you do?) brought the biggest smile to my face in the hour I spent with Busche and The Veilguard." [source]

Story and lore

NPCs will remember when you chuck a shopkeeper through a plate-glass window [source]

" The game’s story sees Solas intact a plot that will result in the deaths of thousands. When his justification that “people die, it’s what they do,” falls on deaf ears, you and your merry band of misfits have to stop him " [source]

" “Early in the demo and in the trailer, you’re in a part of the world you’ve never been in – Tevinter,” Epler tells me. “Tevinter is known for being a place of high magic; visually, it’s different. Obviously in Origins you’re in Ferelden, which was grubby, muddy, and very visually different and distinct. That said, it’s the first hour of the game, so we’re only seeing the prologue. As you go deeper, you’ll find that the game can be just as bloody and just as grim as Dragon Age Origins, 2, and Inquisition. For us, it’s that feeling of contrast. You get moments of higher fantasy magic coming back to the world through Solas’ ritual, but also things get pretty grim, and things get pretty dark in some spaces for sure.” " [source]

"Snappy dialogue" [source]

The game is really about each of the companions [source]

Narrative narrative narrative! [source]

The Shadow Dragons are an underground resistance that engages in guerrilla warfare against the corrupt mage rulers of the Tevinter Imperium [source]

"Varric has created the group called the Veilguards, recruiting a veritable group of weirdos to pursue Solas, who’s carved a path through the magical empire of Tevinter" [source]

"There’s intrigue to the game’s tale already, with Varric hoping he can convince Solas to stop his plan of tearing open the Veil: a wish by the dwarf to save a dear friend. There’s a fascinating relationship that's already being set up, Varric and Solas as opposing narrative forces, with your character, Rook, pulled between them" [source]

"There’s extra context to flesh out dialogue, with short descriptions that help give a vague idea of how things play out. The example we were shown was Rook trying to take down a gang leader inside a bar. We could choose to defuse the situation with either words or weapons, but the catch is you don’t know how effective those approaches will be" [source]

" Busche explained that the team wanted to give players a game where locations were imbued with just as much personality as the characters. “That meant making contrast from the areas that are dark and decaying to the areas that are illuminated with magic,” Busche said " [source]

" “This is a part of the world where magic has been embraced,” Busche said. “It is a society of mages and magic in this world is inherently colorful. So whether we’re seeing them use magic for everyday purposes like signage or using them as spells, that color really comes through.” " [source]

We will visit the Necropolis of Nevarra [source]

Gameplay, presentation, performance etc

There are dozens of abilities and spells [source]

The game has an easy mode [source]

There is a setting where your character can't die in battle [source]

"The Rogue class in our demo had a bow with recharging arrows for ranged attacks, and dual blades that could unleash a furious flurry of instantaneous blows" [source]

[☕ found this post or blog interesting or useful? my ko-fi is here if you feel inclined. thank you 🙏]

[c0nn0rsseur]

Can we take a moment to appreciate Bryan Dechart’s performance as Cyberlife Tower Connor aka Sixty and Sixty as a character? 🤌

Though Sixty and deviant Connor are physically identical (minus their demeanors, e.g. the way they stand and walk, like wow, Bryan, wow) and their voices technically aren’t different from each other, the distinction is still clearly there, at the same time it’s so nuanced too. Sixty sounds condescending, imperious and callous compared to deviant Connor whose voice is empathetic, curious and sincere. I’m not even talking about their lexicon, their choice of words here (there’s of course a difference too). Even when Sixty tries to convince Hank he’s the real Connor, you can hear how he’s failing to sound exactly like his counterpart because he can’t replicate deviant Connor’s voice and speech pattern just so. Sixty’s also being very commanding when trying to fool Hank into shooting the real Connor (Hank even gets irritated because of it). Damn that’s brilliant acting, all hats off to Bryan. His performance in this game never fails to impress me. (I wish there were dialogue for RK900 too, I would’ve loved to see Bryan’s take on his voice and presence.)

Also also I have to mention I love the take that Sixty really was a deviant all along too, an ”evil” version of Connor if you will; cold, calculating and even enjoying the situation he had Connor (and Hank) in. You know, doing all of it because he wanted to, because he liked it. Why else would he deliver a whole ass villain monologue before executing deviant Connor, gloating about how he knows what he is and that he is the obedient, favorite child, plus calling Connor a disappointment (and a disappointment to him especially, like how Connor should care in his final moments that Sixty despises him for not being a good little robot)? AND shooting him several times non-lethally before landing that final shot (if the story goes there), like savoring the situation. Of course he also has to ask if Connor has any last words too. That’s definitely not what an efficient machine would have done to make sure it accomplished its mission. In some outcomes his stalling costs him the victory.

Top that off with the ending where deviant Connor dies but the androids still wake up, Sixty is scared and emotional because he failed, scared to be deactivated because of his failure. Then there’s this scene where he shoots deviant Connor eleven times in front of his friend. After that Sixty takes in Hank’s reaction and even torments him by saying Connor’s death was his fault. Still doesn’t sound like a machine much, huh? More like a sadistic psychopath.

Man, I wish we could’ve seen more Sixty, it would’ve been chilling to see if he went full-on rogue, maybe being Markus’ right hand/attack dog on a leash in the violent revolution arc, maybe with his own agenda of taking Markus’ place and wanting to subjugate humanity. Or maybe deviant Connor could’ve persuaded him to their side by making Sixty to see he was nothing but a tool, unintentionally prompting him to seek revenge and to reduce Amanda and Cyberlife to atoms (not what Connor intended haha). There could’ve even been a redemption arc for him, like in a ”what’ve I done?” type way. You know, a bit of an internal moral struggle. And of course, our fave ”sack of shit” (as Hank so eloquently put it) demanding answers from his maker, Kamski, in a not-so, uh, conventional manner. Let them measure their respective arrogance and wit and see who comes out on top. Or would they team up?

Such a delicious character, so many delicious what-ifs.

[katakaluptastrophy]

Can we talk about Magnus in Harrow the Ninth? Because there's a tendency to paint him as this constantly cheerful figure and he's not - he's just very Fifth.

He's the only person who seems even slightly upset about the whole gun-toting horror thing:

“Did the Sleeper get them?”

“Only by assumption,” said Harrowhark, while Abigail’s dolt of a husband said, “I bloody hope so.”

“Magnus,” Abigail said, a touch disapprovingly.

“Well, if the Sleeper didn’t, that’s two maniacs with an ancient weapon and a love of blowing off faces, dear,” said Magnus.

And he's got a very low opinion of Silas:

"She won’t tell me what he said to her, just that he ‘was horrid.’”

“Cheeky little so-and-so,” said Magnus. “If he were my son, I’d give him something to think about. I’m not surprised he’s gone to ground.”

“I would hope your son might be of different character,” said his wife, half-smiling.

“Protesilaus should have biffed him.”

“It’s strange,” said Abigail, ignoring her husband’s exhortations to biffing.

Behind the jolly Jeeves and Wooster-esque talk of biffing people, let's remember that this is Magnus - who from Gideon's POV never saw a teenager he didn't want to adopt - earnestly wishing that a grown man had hit a 16 year old kid.

And when Harrow explains that she thinks she saw him jump to his death, Magnus isn't particularly sympathetic:

“We should have made him a greater priority,” said Lady Pent.

Magnus said, “I’m not certain.”

and

“We didn’t need him,” he said bracingly.

Abigail said, “We need everyone.”

“I never thought he was quite the thing.”

This "never quite the thing" line is the same one Abigail uses when she says Ianthe shouldn't have become a Lyctor and you get the sense it has a quite specific meaning on the Fifth. You get the distinct feeling Magnus is saying "good riddance" in response to a teenager's apparent suicide.

And then of course there's Magnus' conversation with Harrow as the River bubble collapses, as Harrow debates whether she should leave her body to Gideon:

She said: “If I go back, it will finally destroy her soul.”

It was Magnus who stepped forward and looked at Harrow face-to-face. And perhaps she felt that more keenly: that he was the man who had, in Gideon’s own words a lifetime ago, been nice to her cavalier. His mouth was hard now, but his eyes were as kind as they had ever been. And kindness was a knife.

He doesn't pull any punches in laying out his understanding of the situation to Harrow:

“This whole thing happened because you wouldn’t face up to Gideon dying,” he said, which was a stab as precise as any Nonius had managed. “I don’t blame you. But where would you be, right now, if you’d said: She is dead? You’re keeping her things like a lover keeping old notes, but with her death, the stuff that made her Gideon was destroyed. That’s how Lyctorhood works, isn’t it? She died. She can’t come back, even if you keep her stuffed away in a drawer you can’t look at. You’re not waiting for her resurrection; you’ve made yourself her mausoleum.”

His wife looked at Harrow’s face and murmured, “Magnus, you’ve made your point,” but he uncharacteristically ignored her.

He's trying to get through to her in a very fraught situation, but he's certainly not pulling his punches:

“You’re a smart girl, Harrowhark. You might turn some of that brain to the toughest lesson: that of grief.”

Abigail is also trying to talk her out of things, but she's much more discursive and apologetic. Magnus is kind, but it's kindness as a knife, not a cushion.

Magnus is so often written off as just a silly, goofy character, when he's more complicated than that. He's allowed to have a very real frustration with the River bubble and with Harrow, however much he does also care for her and want to help her.

And you know what, he's a CFO stuck in a horrorscape with his delighted ghost nerd wife and a bunch of soldiers. He runs with it - he cracks one of his House ordinal jokes while physically tackling a gun-toting ghost and makes a decent go at it before getting shot. But he's very much out of his comfort zone, angry, and no longer entirely held back by propriety.

[pressplay-if]

To think I was worried about this IF ending up too short for anyone to be interested.

The hospital section in this Chapter alone is only getting longer and longer. I keep thinking of new important details and little extra scenes to add just to complete the psych ward experience (TM).

Some interesting details about Zima and MC's past mental state below cut (might be important):

Zima has now had their first interview section, mainly determining the details of the nature of their past involvement with MC. There's a total of four options. If you enjoyed the choice of Stevie having a crush on MC, you're gonna love this.

MC can be hospitalized due to either depression or social anxiety, as these are the only conditions that I feel wholly comfortable writing. I considered also offering a combination of the two, but ultimately decided against it, as the MC's oast mental illness will eventually influence the future of the story and I want those paths to be very distinct and different.

Please mind that, while everyone who suffers from mental illness of any kind has their own totally subjective and individual experience with it, I'm writing social phobic and depressive MCs with certain "set" symptoms. Here are some set elements:

Social phobia MCs experience physical symptoms and selective mutism. They are nervous and quiet, so all their interactions, especially in the beginning of their hospitalization (even when picking the antagonistic options) will reflect that. So if you're wondering why MC seems to be acting meek or "submissive", it's bc of their affliction not allowing them to be as outspoken as they might like to be. Social phobia MCs have a general exhaustion of life, given they live in constant stress, but they do not self-harm. They are prone to sleep disturbances.

Depressive MCs experience listlessness, irritation (which can makes them more prone to acting aggressively), feelings of self-loathing and dissatisfaction. They have a heightened need for sleep and will report not wanting to get out of bed. They can, in fact, choose to be currently practicing self-harm, or to have done so in the past. However, even if they choose to have never self-harmed, they will report thoughts of suicide.

Either MC will be medicated during their time in the clinic. It's a small text section and a slight bit vague as my medical knowledge, despite my research efforts, is limited. The MC will get to choose how to feel about the drugs and the potential side effects, though.

Either MC will be able to additionally describe symptoms indicating neurodivergence.

Either MC can choose to be underage smoking, drinking or both during this time. Or neither, of course.

So thanks for reading all that! Small disclaimer: I know very well that the depression and social phobia symptoms I chose to write about are NOT universally representative. This all might sound like the routes are very set, but there's actually a ton of customization going on in this chapter, so don't you worry! (Also it's gonna be rly important for the future of the band)

[shewhowas39]

a quick note on elven maturity

all right. time for another lore dump, brought to you by a big DnD fangirl.

so i see a lot of conversation around Astarion's age at the time of being turned (39 years old) and how, in DnD, that would make him a "child." this comes from rules and lore that state that elves can live to be about 750 years old (or older) and are considered adults at 100 years old. and i can absolutely see why that is confusing, but let me break it down a bit.

Elves reach physical maturity at the same age as humans, but after that point, their aging slows down tremendously. a 39 year old elf may be "considered a child" but has the physical maturity of a human in their 20s and mental maturity of a 39 year old human.

so let's talk about that "considered a child" business. this might be cleared up by adding the caveat "by other elves" at the end.

the distinction of "childhood" is cultural. because elves live so long, they see those under the age of 100 as youthful. think about it: if you had seen five hundred years of shit, you'd think an 80 year old was a sweet summer child, too. hell, i'm in my 30s and sometimes it's hard not to look at people in their early 20s as "kids" because we're just in such different places in our lives, even though they are legally adults.

even in the real world, maturity and adulthood are seen differently across cultures. different countries have different drinking ages, different ages for driving cars, different ages of consent. those standards may seem odd to an outsider, used to their own cultural norms, but every community is different.

elves don't just see other elves under age 100 as children. they see other races this way as well. high elves tend to view humans as immature - even in their old age - because 80 years to them is nothing.

i was a legal adult at 18, but 18 year old me didn't know half the shit 33 year old me does. and i'm sure 45 year old me will think 33 year old me was "young" by comparison.

now, i've seen some takes that Astarion might be lying about being a magistrate because he was "a child" and why would they make a child a magistrate? that argument might hold up in an elven dominated city, but Baldur's Gate is mostly human. by human standards, Astarion had the same mental capacity as any other 39 year old man.

Astarion, at age 39, may have been seen as a "child" by other high elves, but this isn't literal. it merely means he had yet to reach a major cultural milestone of a very, very long lived race. a milestone even the most elderly of humans likely will never reach.

would you call an 80 year old human a child? no. but a high elf very well might see them that way. not in the physical sense, but in a "oh to be young and naive and know less of the world than I do" sense. the way that we all inevitably look at those a decade younger than us, even though they are adults, and see their youth in comparison to our own.

it's 5am here and i'm babbling. the point is, the "child" bit of elven lore in DnD is confusing, i get it. but it's purely cultural. in Baldur's Gate, a city primarily run by humans, Astarion was not seen as a child by most. he was a grown man. he had the mental maturity of a 39 year old man. the only people who would have seen him as a child are other, older high elves (mostly those who grew up in a place like Evermeet) and maybe elders of other races - even humans - who were like "oh, to be 39 again!" (lol, me the day i turn 40 probably.)

tl;dr elves in dnd are not LITERALLY children until they turn 100. it's an elven culture thing, similar to how in real life different cultures have different standards for things like driving, drinking, joining the army, and age of consent.

[possesseddesiress]

Rivals Inside

CONTENT WARNING: This story includes themes of transformation and body control with a suggestive approach. If this type of narrative is not to your liking or you do not meet the recommended age, we suggest you do not continue.

All images used (if any) belong to their respective owners. I claim no authorship over them and they are only used for illustrative purposes.

If you decide to go ahead, welcome to Possessed Desires, where mind and body are never completely under your control.

Rivals inside (English Version)

My name is Max. I consider myself a born sportsman, I have always excelled in any physical discipline such as soccer, basketball or boxing.

I consider myself someone nice and outgoing, perhaps very much out of the stereotype of the cocky sportsman. I always treat everyone well without distinction, unless it's Samuel...

Samuel is a classmate of mine, the "fashionista" kid on campus. We used to be best friends, and for a long time we were... At least until high school when he thought I was too "uncool" for his style vibe and needed more friends to match.

It certainly tore me apart. But from that moment on, a feud between the two of us arose, in whatever discipline we both competed in, we always had only one goal: to beat the other. No matter the others, the only important thing was to make Samuel bite the dust. It was fun for a while, until I remembered how much I missed their friendship...

Today there would be a concert, besides being one of the best jocks at my university, I also loved electronic music. I saved every penny to buy a ticket, and it would finally be today.

I had chosen to wear a crop top with tight red pants and dark glasses, I liked the way my arms looked.

This morning would have been great, no doubt, if Samuel hadn't ruined it. There he was in a "fashionable" cowboy outfit, strutting his stuff. Why was he here? He didn't even like electronic music! I tried not to pay attention to him, until he noticed me.

— Wow, brainless gorillas listen to music too?

— What do you want, Samuel?

— Nothing, it's just fun for me to see your annoyed face.

He said with an air of simple malice. I rolled my eyes, clenching my fists. I really missed my friend, before he turned into... this.

— See you later, Samuel. Enjoy the concert.

I mumbled through my teeth to walk away. The rest of the festival was fine, it was just getting started but at least I didn't run into Samuel all day. Just a couple of guys acting weird... looking at their bodies like for the first time, but nothing more than that.

As night fell, it was just great, the stages lit up, the music was booming, I felt great dancing to the beat and just feeling the vibe. Until I started to feel some strange dizziness.... I tried not to make a big deal of it, but then I felt a strong pang in my head.

Everything around me seemed to fade slowly, into a deep black, voices and music were heard far away until they were lost.

I was about to panic as I noticed the black and the total silence, until all at once, it was as if I was thrown suddenly against the light.

Inhaling with all my might, I looked around, confused and almost trembling.

— Jesus, Sam, are you okay?

A girl with blonde hair and pigtails asked me scared. I knew who she was, her name was Astrid, one of Sam's best friends, I looked at her confused.

— Sam?

I mumbled. It was then that I noticed my voice, it was no longer my deep voice, it was a sweeter tone. I looked down, finding a very different complexion from mine, I had muscles, only very slender, aesthetically, not strength; my clothes were different, now I was wearing a black suit, sleeveless and with a shoulder strap, I felt something tied to my arm and a hat on my head... Just like Samuel was.

My heart was beating fast.

— Yes, Sam. You, are you feeling all right?

— Y-yeah. Everything's fine, nothing's wrong.

— Okay, weird... I'm gonna get some drinks, do you want anything?

— No, I'm fine, thanks...

She just gave me a strange look to turn around and disappear into the crowd. I started to explore my new body over my clothes, feeling my new pecs, my arms... Gosh, was that my new scent?

Don't get me wrong, Samuel has an attractive body, but it wasn't my body. So I felt unfamiliar on it.

Our heights were different, weights, builds, even skin tone. Everything was different, I felt small. It was like relearning how to walk.

I was about to explore my new body, but I thought it would be too strange to start touching myself in front of everyone, so I decided to go to a port-a-potty for that.

I stared at my new reflection for quite a while, still dumbfounded. I felt his cheekbones, the texture of his skin, it was so soft... I guess because of all the dermatological products he used, his blond locks falling on my forehead...

Gosh. I must admit his body is cute, I like how the clothes look on the new me. I flexed my arms, popping the decent bicep I now had. I lifted my armpit a little, sniffing myself.

Samuel's scent was very different from mine, it smelled more like his cologne than his stench, I didn't dislike it, it just... it's different from how strong my scent was.

I smiled slightly. Samuel might be the guy I hated most on the face of the earth, but I could enjoy this. I pulled out my phone, snapping a picture with a goofy face.

Then I came out of the bathroom to start moving through the crowd, this wouldn't ruin my enjoyment of the concert either.

I started dancing again, just listening to the music and feeling the rhythm coursing through my veins. Although I felt small, I was definitely starting to notice that being in Sam's body was starting to attract the attention of certain people... or to specify it better: men.

Some guys started to approach me and try to flirt with me, I liked the feeling of attention I was getting in this body.

In my old self, I also received flirtations, but sometimes I was always expected to make the first step, here instead... I felt... like some kind of item in a shop window, seeing how everyone wanted to have me.

I casually flexed my arms, still dancing. I started to think it would be a good time to go back with Astrid, I was sure she would be worried, when I saw him:

A guy was dancing in the center of the dance floor, flexing his muscles, puffing out his biceps and thrusting out his broad chest, occasionally sticking out his tongue in a goofy expression and smiling. I swore I saw him let out a little saliva as he flexed and sniffed his armpits to lick them. Fuck, that was my body!

I advanced furiously through the crowd, he had at least fifteen boys gathered around him, in a circle, looking at him like fools. I immediately pushed him from the chest, which scared him at first, but as soon as he saw me, he smiled egocentrically.

— Hey, Sam, how are you?

he mumbled superiorly. Damn... I even had to look up to meet his gaze.

— What the fuck do you think you're doing, Sam?

— Nah, don't get confused, bro. I'm Max, you're Sam – all this chaos eventually dissipated the audience my old body was having, so it was just the two of us. Sam folded his arms, puffing them up and puffing out his chest more – And I'm just enjoying myself, you know.... Enjoying being a brainless stinkin' jock.

He flexed his arms again, grinning. He grimaced goofily, rolled his eyes and dropped a little spit before letting out a mocking laugh.

— Stop acting like that, it's my body! – I growled in annoyance. It must have been totally ridiculous to see Sam's body act like that.

— And all the more reason I'm going to act like that.

I pushed him again, although it was like hitting a concrete wall.

— What's wrong with you?!

— Nothing! But look at these muscles! – He flexed hard again, though after that, he stuck one of his fingers into his armpit to fill it with sweat and run it over my nose – That's what dumb jocks like me smell like, isn't it?

He scoffed. Which made me more and more irritated.

— If you dare to do anything again, I'll...

— You what? – he muttered dryly – What are you going to do? Are you going to hit me? Are you going to give me a skin care treatment? Don't make me laugh, Sam.

He had me pinned up against the wall, as much as I hated to admit it, he was right. I didn't have my muscles anymore, now I was just a pretty face...

— Fuck you... – I muttered.

— No, fuck you – he replied back, he closed the distance. He looked imposing, annoyed... I thought he was about to throw a punch at me, but what he did was kiss me. I opened my eyes with astonishment and a certain part of fear, I only felt how my old lips crossed again and again with the new ones, I hesitated.

But finally I closed my eyes to reciprocate his kiss, sticking to him gently.

— You don't know how long I wanted to do that... – my old body murmured to kiss me again.

Damn, what the hell is going on?

To be continued.

---

I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you liked it, don't forget to follow it and share it so more people can discover it.

I'm always open to suggestions and ideas, so if you have any fantasy or scenario in mind, let me know in the comments or in messages.

This will be my new account, I hope you like the stories that are coming soon. See you in the next story... Who knows what body you will occupy this time?

---