#~ravaging bard~

[iron-hearts-ablaze]

[ lit ] your muse lighting a cigarette , spliff , etc. for mine . (She'd do it with sparks from her breath just to be Extra™ 😂)

NON - SEXUAL   ACTS   OF   DOMINANCE

Karlach had kept the cigars for a special occasion - and now, with the brain floating in the Chionthar, what could be better? Though they had gotten a little soggy in her pocket from the swim out of the waters as they fell. Frowning, she cupped them in her hands as she sat on the docks. With the engine fixed, albeit spluttering through the days now, she wasn't as hot as she used to be. It would take some time to dry them out enough to light.

Though Alaara, a showboat till the end, scooped it up and lit it easily enough with her fire breath. "Ha! A useful trick, as always." Karlach complimented as she took the cigar and drew a long puff. She only smoked after a huge, insurmountable battle. "Here, want the other?" Karlach handed it out.

She could feel she didn't have much time left, so she really wouldn't need it...

[autistichalsin]

Regarding Halsin and Helia, the werewolf halfling bard who was cut to make Halsin a companion- or was she?

Everyone knows there was once a halfling (or gnome, as she was called both in datamined lines, etc) werewolf bard named Helia with one of the coolest concepts ever, but those "'stupid horny Halsin fans" demanding he be added as a companion caused Larian to cut her to work on him instead.

The only problem is there is absolutely zero indication that's the case. Specifically, the last part- there's no signs at all that Halsin had anything to do with Helia's removal. And more to the point, Helia was cut before she was even added into Early Access, indicating the decision to cut her might have been made before players even started requesting companion Halsin! There were many voice lines of hers (including some mentioning Halsin, like that she felt he was in danger of predators out in the woods), and lines from other characters referencing her, but she was never properly included, and cut so early that the odds of this specifically being to make room for Halsin's inclusion as a full companion are very small.

Instead, what it very likely was was the devs being too bogged-down with Origins, requiring them to cut out quite a few planned ones; for example, Minsc was going to be an Origin you could recruit at the Ravaged Beach (I think it was the beach, though my memory is the tiniest bit fuzzy on that part) in similar circumstances to his canon recruitment (you could kill or recruit him there) but they made him a regular companion and moved his recruitment to act 3. This makes sense; Origins inherently require more writing, animation, voice acting, etc, and having eight origins would be far more exhausting than six origins and four companions. The most likely scenario is that Helia was axed for very similar reasons, if a bit later in development than when Minsc was "downgraded" to a regular companion.

I think the main reason people do think she was cut for him was their similarities in character and arc; in the earliest versions of the game people have datamined, there were files tagging Helia as the/a Grove leader. It seems like that version of the story in particular underwent many changes, because there was also a version where there were two Archdruids- Halsin and a Druid of Eldath named Denor, who went into the Shadow-Cursed Lands after the two of them had a fight, and Halsin was captured trying to rescue her.

It looks like (though, disclaimer, there is no confirmation of this part- anything I say here about the motivations of the writers is pure speculation based on Occam's Razor) they made Halsin the sole Archdruid to simplify the story, since there wasn't a real "need" to have two characters when one could do everything the story needed. My guess (though again, no confirmation, just speculation) is that at some point, they changed Helia from a Druid leader to a Bard to differentiate her from Halsin a bit. Or who knows, maybe she was still intended to be both a Bard and a leader at the Grove, and this Grove just happened to really, really like music. (Allowing a werewolf shelter at the Grove, letting her learn the ways of Silvanus despite her lycanthropy- that would be a very Halsin thing to do, wouldn't it?)

Now, this, again, is just me piecing things together from early datamines and even a bit of present ones, but here is what I have gathered:

Helia's normal recruitment would have been in the forest; she would have fought off a group of goblin looters.

Like Lae'zel and Shadowheart, though, it seems she would have had "contingency recruitment" areas- in this case, the worg pens. Even the current version of the files mention it could be Helia or Halsin's bear in the cage- but or is the key word here. It would have been one or the other, not both.

We also know it was possible for Halsin to be taken to Moonrise instead of being rescued from the goblin cages by the player; there's an old audio file from Minthara stating that the Druid the players were looking for has been taken there but she can get them an audience with him, and there was also an isolated flag mentioning Halsin being in a pod at Moonrise (the tag in question was DB_MOO_Mindflayer_PodImprisoned(S_GLO_Halsin_7628bc0e-52b8-42a7-856a-13a6fd413323)), suggesting that the players might have saved him from being tadpoled (or even that he might have gotten tadpoled- we unfortunately have no more information on Halsin-at-Moonrise than those two things).

This suggests (though of course I can't say conclusively) that Halsin and Helia were meant to have a connected story where recruiting Helia in the forest would cause Halsin to appear as the prisoner in the worg pens, while missing Helia in the forest would cause her to be captured by goblins instead and imprisoned in her wolf form, and Halsin would have been sent to Moonrise and been a(n almost?) tadpoling victim.

Then, when the devs realized they just had too many Origins, it was fairly simple: move Minsc's recruitment to act 3, after Jaheira was there (makes sense story-wise) and make him a regular companion, buying them quite a lot of time/breathing room. Cut off the branches between Helia and Halsin's story, and give some aspects of Helia's character to Halsin, since they were already going to have a connected story anyway.

A fair bit of this has been speculative on my part, which I fully admit- I could be entirely wrong about a lot of this since we aren't straight-up told a lot from the old datamined files. But I do feel that even if you ignore everything but the absolute concrete evidence (Helia and Halsin having been meant to coexist, the fact that other Origins also got cut and not just Helia, the fact that she was never properly introduced into the game suggesting work was stopped on her before Halsin even became an Early Access favorite, etc) there is still a clear case made that Halsin being made a companion had nothing to do with Helia being cut; it is just as likely Helia was cut before the decision to make Halsin a companion was made.

I hope this clears Halsin's name (and his fandom!), at least on this issue. It wasn't his fault Helia got cut, it was just done because the devs were overwhelmed with all the Origin characters, and hers was sadly one of the easiest to excise from the story. It only seems like he replaced her because of the similarities in their stories in both the Watsonian and Doylist points of view.

[thedemonofcat]

Breaking down the cell door where Nilfgaard had imprisoned Jaskier, Geralt braced himself for the worst. The sight inside was almost too much to bear—Jaskier was barely clinging to life, his body ravaged by torture, starvation, and dehydration.

Desperate and on the verge of panic, Geralt rummaged through his belongings, pouring every healing potion he had into the bard. The potions seemed to stabilize him, but Jaskier quickly slipped into a deep, unresponsive sleep.

Returning to Kaer Morhen, Geralt carefully settled the still-unconscious bard into a comfortable spot. Until Jaskier woke, it was impossible to know if he would fully recover. There was also the lingering uncertainty about Jaskier’s nature—if he wasn’t entirely human, the witcher potions might not affect him with the same level of harm they typically would.

But as time dragged on, the question remained: when, or even if, Jaskier would wake.

[theficdealer]

“How do I—! How do I know!” Bilbo echoed, bristling with exasperation. “I journeyed all the way across Middle Earth, through forests and over the hills, crossed the Misty Mountains and the Great Greenwood through to the ruins of the great City of Dale and further still to Erebor, fighting goblins and orcs and giant spiders and a whole blasted war, then did the whole thing again in reverse, and you have the gall to ask me how I know!”

There was a beat of total silence. “Well, it was a reasonable question,” said Fortinbras, stung.

Bilbo drew in a long breath through his nose and gave an almighty huff. “Mark my words. All of you,” he said, pointing a finger at all the gathered faces, his voice tight with the desperation to be taken seriously. The dwarves would have listened. They would’ve had his back. “You must evacuate Hobbiton. Take only what you need to survive, and run. Go east. Forget your handkerchiefs and hang the silver spoons. Anyone who stays here, will die.”

“Now, Bilbo…”

He held up a hand to his cousin’s face. “No. No, don’t. You’ll see. Take my advice or don’t, you’ll see,” he said, casting a fearful glance at the smoke billowing from the ruins of the first raid. It was the pebble before the avalanche, and there were already more, thinner trails of smoke joining the larger one. A lump formed in his throat. They were already coming. He gave one last, loud proclamation to the crowd. “Flee on the east road. Tell anyone, everyone — we have no choice.”

—Excerpt from There Is One They Could Follow (One They Could Call Thain) by Oakensting (WorseOmens) on ao3

Basically, Bilbo pulls a Thorin Oakenshield and leads his people from the orc-ravaged Shire to safety. Meanwhile in Erebor, Thorin refuses to believe Bilbo is dead.

Sadly, i think this fic was deleted. I mourned it more than some family members.

Wayback machine link in comments, thank you @st4rp1x3l and on a rb from @valewright67 !!

*staggers into the room Kramer-style covered in water, soot, glitter, and slivers of paper from the waste bin of a paper shredder like confetti* So, guess who just watched the lotr trilogy for the first time despite being a fan of the Hobbit for a literal decade! Also the last two (three?) months have sucked ass and I’m exhausted, so buckle up.

Anyway, this is one of my comfort fics, I love it so much. Everything from the Pining(TM) to the blatant parallels between the dwarves and hobbits.

Things I loved in particular:

Gandalf the White Ox

Kíli taking one look at Thorin and being like “oh I know exactly what’s going on here”

Hamfast and Drogo

Petty Thorin

Seriously, he’s so petty I love it

Bard just being like “yeah, that’s pretty much how I was when I lost my wife”

The r e u n i o n

“you’re like a hobbit king!” “my title is thain, actually” *incredulous staring*

splash fight<3

The acorn speech<3<3<3

The “New Polite”

Dwobbit debate

read it or the ulnas are mine <3

[withlove-xixi]

bard anon again with an nsfw/suggestive request: brat tamer chilchuck pls 👉👈 teasing and discipline…

— LESSONS TAUGHT: chilchuck x reader

ᥫ cw: nsfw, dom/sub, petnames, teasing, riding, praise, creampie ᥫ wc: 2988 ★ my dear bard anon, first im sorry for doing your requests out of order i promise i'll work on yer other req soon :3! second, AUGHAHASNDGNN ANSDGMMMANSN AUGHHAHSNDNN brat tamer chilchuck ... i need this old man in my bed so bad ... so terribly bad ...!!! lastly, im sorry if its not how you expected it to be TT aughhh i hope you enjoy tho! cross posted on ao3 — MINORS DNI! —

— SOME LESSONS IN LIFE ARE BEST LEARNED BY EXPERIENCE.

[♡]: chilchuck was an impatient man, whether it was with work or with friends, he could always only stretch his patience so thin. with you, he was always more lenient, of course, you were his favorite after all. but there were times, where you wore his patience down too.

THERE'S A HIGH PITCHED WHINE that echoes through the wooden walls of Chilchuck's bedroom, something impatient, something bratty.

"Pl… Please, Chil…" You plea softly, a small droplet of drool dribbling down the corner of your lips.

He only hums, hands smoothing over the skin of your ass, caressing it in such a gentle manner. He stays speechless, and you know he's calculating something, plotting exactly how he wants to enjoy your punishment. Chilchuck could really be mean when he wanted to.

Ah, but he'd justify that he was only mean when he needed to be.

Now was one of those times as you helplessly squirm on his lap, whining from the lack of stimulation. He's had you in this hold for quite some time now, only ever moving his hands to grab at your ass or back to your hips to stop you from grinding against him. It was unfair, terribly so. You didn't even do anything too bad. Well, maybe a bit bad.

Early that afternoon you had sauntered in the half-foot union headquarters with the intent to cause some trouble for your darling Chilchuck, who made it very clear he would be busy that afternoon. You justified your visit by telling yourself it was a means to cheer him up (which was half-true, really) since he had been working so hard lately, he barely had time to breath (which was completely true).

So there you were, wrapping your arms around Chilchuck's neck, pulling him to sit flush against his chair so you could kiss the top of your head.

"Come on, Chil," you say in a singsong tone, "come take a break. For me?"

You feel his body stiffen a bit and see his fingers twitch slightly. Oh, you knew he had a soft spot for you, it was something you abused quite often. But today Chilchuck seems unmoving, sighing deeply and continuing with paperwork.

"Darling, you know I can't." He says simply and slowly, like he was explaining something to a child. "Got work."

"And no time for me?" You draw out the last word as sweetly as you can. He stiffens a second time and a moment passes before he looks up at you. You bat your lashes at him, smiling innocently at your lover.

Chilchuck sighs again. "Not now, sweetheart." Though he sounds about ready to ravage you then and there.

You make a show of letting known your disappointment, huffing and peeling your hands away from him to cross them. You pout down at him and you fight a smirk when you see his eye twitch.

"Hey, come on, don't be like that." He says and turns his chair to face you. Chilchuck's hands pry apart your crossed ones and his thumbs smooth over the backs of your palms. "Could have fun at home sweetheart," he kisses the back of each hand one at a time, "just lemme finish up my work."

This was a rarity for Chilchuck, to be willing enough to ask this of anyone so nicely and so easily. You know it's because he's asking you, and when it comes to you, you've seen miracles happen with Chilchuck, moments and secrets he dare not share with anyone else. Despite that you huff again and turn your head to the side, you feel his grip on your hands tighten slightly.

"Let's have fun now!" You try again, whining. Your hands leave his as you make big gestures to sell him on your idea. "Take a break, Chil, please. I can make it quick." You say that last bit with a playful wink.

His eye twitches again, more obvious this time. You can tell he's fighting really hard not to give into his wants, not to give into you. Again, you've seen miracles happen with Chilchuck.

"No means no," he says so sternly after a brief moment of silence as he turns his chair back to focus on his work.

You open your mouth to protest again but he quickly cuts you off. "Don't test me on this, darling. I'm serious."

At this point, you’re the one annoyed, ticked off at the fact he’s so stubborn. Sure you admired his worth ethic, always prioritizing work before leisure, making sure everything is done, but gods! Get a grip, Chilchuck! You’ve been practically throwing yourself at him but he’s just too stubborn to budge! Any sane man would fold as soon as he sees his hot partner be so eager for him!

Again you make a show of your emotions, nearly growling in frustration as you throw your arms in the air. “Fine then! I don’t care!” You yell exasperatedly as you begin to stomp away.

Not before Chilchuck quickly catches your wrist. You turn back to him with an open mouth and a glare, wanting to yell a few more things, but you immediately freeze when you meet his eyes. His usual warm brown eyes now hold a stern, unamused look and your breath hitches in your throat.

“You’re really going to be like that?” He asks, but it’s more of a statement — a challenge. To which you huff at and stick your tongue out to.

Not quite the best choice seeing as Chilchuck’s got you all wet and needy and doing nothing about it at all.

You whine again as you try to grind your hips against his, trying your hardest to catch even a sliver of friction against his warm cock. But he spares you no alms, hands moving back to your waist to keep you still. Such a terrible position to be in! Any other time, you’d be gleefully bouncing yourself up and down his lap, savoring the way he feels scrapping your insides. But today? Now? When he’s got you naked and just sitting on his lap? When he had previously spent eternity pumps his experienced fingers in and out of you, only to stop when you’ve reached the precipice of pleasure? Not as fun considering how much trouble you went to to finally get him in bed with you. And Chilchuck wasn’t even naked! He was wearing his black long sleeved shirt still, his belt remained unbuckled, his pants unbuttoned, hell, he was still wearing that damn neckwarmer!

“Ch- Chil…” You try again with pleading, looking at him with a big pout as a tearful expression. “Please… hah… Need you… Please…”

Your breathing is ragged, uneven. Chilchuck merely stares at you (though you don’t miss the way his brow twitches when he sees you pout).

He finally makes a sound, humming as if in thought. “You really need to be taught a lesson, huh?”

Your brows furrow. You don’t like where this is going.

Your mouth opens to speak, but he cuts you off. “Don’t you think it’s unfair if I just give you what you want, sweetheart?” Chilchuck asks as a hand moves back down to smooth over the fat of your ass. He doesn’t let you even think about an answer before he’s continuing with a small tsk. “Making a big fuss at work? Thinking I’ll give you what you want if you show me those pouty lips of yours? Really think that’s fair?”

You shake your head, though the response is nearly instinctive. Chilchuck picks up on that, rubbing circles on your ass before he lifts his hand and brings it back down with a loud smack. You jolt at the sting, the pain shooting straight up your spine. You whine in response.

“Can’t have you being like that, darling. Gotta teach you a lesson.” He says as his hand comes down again; another slap, another whine.

You shake your head again. “I- ‘M sorry… Chil—”

He tuts softly. “None of that now, darling. Gotta be good for me, learn your lesson, yeah?” Chilchuck says as he pulls you closer, bringing your ass up higher.

He continues to slap your ass, almost rhythmically the way his hand lifts up only to come back down with searing pain. Tears well up in your eyes as you whine the whole time, incoherent pleas to stop and half-hearted promises to behave leave your lips as stray tears roll down your cheeks. Chilchuck resists the urge to just stop and give in to what you want, but he reminds himself that that was the whole purpose of your punishment; for being bratty.

Chilchuck's hand suddenly stops, resting on your ass as you huff out small sobs, letting tears freely fall. He smiles at you endearingly, though you miss it with the tears blurring your vision. His other hand comes up to brush against your cheek, wiping away the tears as he brings you closer, kissing you just below your eyes.

"Shh, it's okay," he coos and you feel yourself instantly melt. "Didn't mean to make you cry. I'm sorry, sweetheart."

You can tell enough his apology is genuine, but instinct tells you your punishment wasn't going to end so quickly.

But you sniffle anyway, letting Chilchuck whisper sweet reassurance into your ear as he rubs over the sore flesh of your ass, the other hand smoothing over the back of your head, stroking your hair.

"Have to be punished so you could learn your lesson." He explains slowly. "You understand right?"

With a small sniffle, you nod wordlessly, frowning slightly as you cast your eyes downward.

Chilchuck shushes you again and pulls you closer by the back of your head. He plants a gentle kiss on your forehead, pressing his face into your shoulder after. "So good for me…" He whispers. "So very good."

You whimper pathetically at the praise, stomach twisting in knots, and you feel Chilchuck smile slightly against your skin.

"Can—" you sniffle "Can we–"

"Not yet, darling. Can't let you off the hook yet." Chilchuck says, his tone is gentle, like he has to be for you to understand.

You whimper a second time, moving to try and lower yourself on him again. “Please, Chil… I’ll be— be nice… I’ll be good, please…”

There’s a pause the way he suddenly tilts his head backwards, exposing his neck to you. You watch his Adam's apple bob when he swallows slightly and you feel yourself grow just a bit needier. You lean forward, pressing your nose against the side of his neck, hot breath warming his skin as you pant against it. You let out a high pitched whine. “Please, Chil… Please…” You plead as you plant a light, experimental kiss on his skin as you hear him suck his breath through his teeth. His grip on your waist tightens slightly, fingers twitching against your skin.

You take this as a sign to keep going, leverage if you will. So you keep kissing him, very carefully peppering his neck with small, featherlight kisses, each one leading up higher to just below his ear, where you whisper a small, whiny “please”; all of which is enough for Chilchuck to snap.

He sighs, almost in defeat, and brings his hands to your shoulders to gently push you off him and make you look him in the eyes. Brown eyes stare back at yours with such fiery intensity, with such want; it was hard not to feel small under his gaze.

“Fine,” he says, like he has no other choice but to let you have your way. “Just this one time, okay, sweetheart? Just one time.”

A smile breaks on your face as you nod enthusiastically. “Yes! Please!” You say, desperation evident in your voice.

Chilchuck lets out a short chuckle, amused with your reaction. “There’ll be a catch though, darling, since I’m already doing so much by just pardoning your punishment.” He punctuates the statement with a shrug and you lift off him.

“What? No! You can’t!” You immediately respond despite not knowing what he has planned.

Chilchuck frowns at you. “Guess you don’t really want this then? Was gonna let you cum all nice and pretty but I gu—”

“No, no! I’ll do it! Chil!” You draw out his name in a whine as you pout at him with furrowed brows. The audacity he had to tease you at a time like this.

He smiles at you, too innocently, and reaches a hand down to undo his pants. Chilchuck taps on your thigh and you lift yourself off him to give him more room. He slides his pants and undergarments down, just enough for his cock to spring out. Your mouth waters at the sight, the feel of its warmth against your thigh. Another whine leaves your mouth as you buck your hips, urging Chilchuck to move already.

Thankfully, he gets the message, guiding your hips downward to meet his cock. It slips easily inside of your awaiting hole, its warmth and girth instantly filling you up. You make a pleasured sound, a languid moan that melts into a relieved sigh, finally at ease now that Chilchuck’s finally buried inside you.

You stare at him pleadingly but expectantly, impatiently waiting for him to buck his hips up into yours. But Chilchuck makes no such move, his hands remain still on your hips. Instead, the half-foot smiles at you, a mischievous grin that suddenly fills your stomach with dread.

“A catch remember, sweetheart?” He says, carefree. “Been bad, so you gotta work for what you want.”

You open your mouth to complain, but he quickly quirks an eyebrow at you. “Or have you changed your mind, darling? Don’t want this anymore?”

You shake your head vigorously and Chilchuck laughs at the way your relaxed expression instantly shifts to unease. Had it been a different circumstance, you might’ve swatted at Chilchuck for laughing at you, might’ve called him a meanie too for bullying you this much, but your body betrays you as his grip twitches against you when you involuntarily tighten up.

This time, Chilchuck looks at you expectantly. “Well, go on.”

Your eyebrows knit as you frown at him, but shakily make a move anyway, placing one hand on his shoulder and slowly lifting yourself off him. A deep groan echoes from Chilchuck, a shaky breath escapes you. Very gently, you begin pushing yourself back down until he’s back fully inside you.

You repeat the process, shakily lifting yourself up and plunging back down until you form a steady rhythm, bouncing up and down his cock with gusto. Chilchuck groans every time you come back down to sheath him inside of you, his grip on your hips tight enough to leave marks, his voice growing more and more animalistic the more you go on.

“So good, doing so good, darling.” He praises as he leans forward to meet your neck with his lips. His teeth graze against your skin as he bites down, exhaling against your skin with his mouth around it.

You whine when he bites, tightening your grip on his shoulder as you moan out his name. You feel his hips slightly buck upwards into you, pushing his cock deeper into you when you push yourself back down.

“Hah- Chil-” You say his name between pants. Quickly, he moves his mouth from your neck to your lips, one of his hands comes behind your neck to pull you against him. His tongue slips inside, pressing against yours in a sloppy wet kiss.

You find it difficult to focus both on kissing Chilchuck and fucking him, your pace falters as you begin to shakily pull yourself off him, muffle whimpers filling the confines of his bedroom. Thankfully, Chilchuck’s good at multitasking. He lets out a sharp, frustrated exhale through his nose as he forcefully thrusts his hips upward, making up for the sudden irregularity in your pace.

You moan unabashedly when he finally pulls away from the kiss, your hand on his shoulder moving to hold onto him more desperately, nails digging into the skin of his back as you cling onto him for stability, to ground yourself. Chilchuck’s hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers together as he continues to fuck into you, almost frantically bucking his hips into yours as you both draw closer to your peak.

You can tell he’s close with the way his groans sound almost like growls, something low and full against the shell of your ear. The sound alone is almost enough to set you off the edge, but that combined with his grip on your hips with the twitch of his cock against your warm walls and the praise he whispers between groans.

“Feel so good, darling.” He whispers, voice grown hoarse and gruff. “Wanna keep you like this, keep my dick inside you. You want that, darling? Fuck-”

Your thoughts are incoherent, therefore your response is incoherent too, a string of yes’s and vigorous nods mewled between high pitched moans and whines. Your hips try to keep up with his pace despite your legs beginning to shake. You’re close, you’re sure he can tell. Chilchuck kisses you again, wet, opened-mouthed and sloppy, teeth clashing against teeth, saliva mixing with saliva. He keeps kissing you as he suddenly thrusts upward one last time and his hand pulls you flush against his lap at the same time, forcing his cock as deep inside you as possible, filling you with warmth as he cums deep inside you.

You don’t last much longer, tightening around him as you reach the precipice of pleasure, milking his orgasm as you pulse against his cock. You pull away first from the kiss, panting, desperate to catch your breath. Chilchuck’s panting too, but he smiles as he brings a hand up to your cheek, caressing it gently and brushing sweat-slicked hair away from your face.

“Learned your lesson?” He asks, breathlessly yet easily.

Dazily, you nod slowly, licking your lips to moisten them. He presses a chaste kiss on your forehead as the hand on your hip rubs small, soothing circles on your skin.

“Good.” Chilchuck says. “Because next time, I’m not going to be as lenient.”

[viridescentelf]

Yandere Bard x Reader - Ritual of the Night

Universe: Baldur's Gate 3 or DnD

Follow up to the introduction of Elphael, my yandere OC.

Summary: your childhood, musical friend is madly in love with you, fantasizing about you in secret and planning to make you his. He is writing out his love into a song for you and can‘t resist an urge.

Warning: 18+ content, masturbation, explicit, general nsfw, toxic, obsessive behavior

-----

Elphael had been writing frantically in his dimly lit room. Suppressing the aching urge and vile thoughts took everything he had in your presence. Your face plastered his mind. The way your hands drifted over the strings in that rhythmic stride made him picture you stroking him to a beat you were concocting. It was endless – the need to please and have you.

He imagined your delicate fingers tracing the constellations inked across his skin, mapping out new worlds as you explored every curve and plane of his body. He saw you gazing up at him with adoration, your lips parted in a silent gasp as he pushed into you, claiming you as his own. He pictured cradling your face tenderly even as he ravaged your mouth, whispering words of devotion and possession against your flushed skin.

Elphael shook his head violently, willing the images away. These fantasies were a torment, always hovering at the edges of his mind, threatening to consume him. He gripped his quill tighter, focusing on the parchment before him. The music and words flowed from his pen, notes dancing across the page in intricate patterns. If he couldn't have you in reality, at least he could pour his longing into his gift.

He knew it was wrong.

You two went way back.

You called him your brother, whenever you introduced him. You thought of him as just that. Never did it cross your mind what his skin would taste like. Or how his learned, melodic tongue could be of use in other ways.

The scratching of his quill on the parchment created a soft buzz in the silent room. The sudden cracking of the wooden chair he was sitting on interrupted the quietude further. This seat was old anyway. Everything in this room was. Someone had thrown it away. Elphael had found it and made it his. They deserved a home, too.

Finishing the lyric with a swift jolt of the ink, the drow sat back and read what he had created.

You wouldn’t know it was about you, would you?

No, there were no obvious references. He had resisted the urge to describe you in detail, in fear of scaring you.

If he wanted to, he could create symphonies detailing every avenue, crevice and fauna of you.

The parchment crinkled as Elphael rolled it up carefully, securing it with frayed string. He tucked the scroll into his worn leather satchel, his fingers lingering on the rough texture. The bag held other treasures - scraps of your discarded lyrics, a guitar pick you'd forgotten, a piece of an old shirt you used to wear, even a strand of your hair he'd covertly collected. Little pieces of you he could keep close when you weren't with him.

Elphael's grey eyes flicked to the window. Twilight was falling, painting the sky in hues of lavender and indigo that mirrored his own skin. He thought about the way you looked at him today, when you had perfected that one section that was giving you trouble. Gods, the way your smile crinkled your eyes. He liked to believe you only smiled like that for him. When he caught that same grin on you talking to others… he wanted to rip their necks out. It belonged to him alone.

The drow sat down on his bed and held his head in his hands, the grey tresses cascading down his sides.

You would be kneeling in front of him, here. Your luscious lips open, longing for his length.

Elphael couldn’t resist. The burning in his body needed to be released, before he broke down your door in the neighboring room and took you right there. That couldn’t happen. Right?

He opened his trousers and released the throbbing cock from its constraints. It jerked impatiently out from his pants and stared at him in anticipation. It knew the nightly ritual.

Elphael closed his eyes, picturing you there with him. He grasped himself, sighing out brief relief at the sensation, and started moving up and down. In his mind, you straddled his lap, your skin flushed and glistening with a sheen of sweat. He imagined the weight of your body pressing against him, your fingers tracing the constellations inked across his chest.

His hand moved faster as he envisioned lowering you onto his aching length, feeling your warmth envelop him completely. He pictured your head thrown back in ecstasy, exposing the delicate curve of your throat. In his fantasy, he latched his mouth there, sucking and biting as he thrust up into you. The delicacy of you; he could tell you would be a feast for him, just by that addictive scent of yours.

Elphael's breathing grew ragged as the dream intensified. He imagined your nails raking down his back, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Your bodies moved together in perfect harmony, like the melodies you created. He could almost feel you there, the tight walls he had eagerly wanted to break into, for as long as he could remember. He wanted to hear your moans in his ear, begging for him to go harder, faster. The thought of you clenching around him, as he stood up and bounced you on top of him, desperate and eager to go deeper. Gravity would pull you down on him and he would thrust up hard, hitting the spot that made you scream.

Elphael gripped your hips tighter, fingers digging into soft flesh as he controlled your movements. He would press you against the nearby wall and crash up into you more, every pierce making your skin slap together loudly. He imagined wrapping one hand around your throat, pinning you further into the wall, applying just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. Your eyes would widen, pupils blown with a heady mixture of arousal and fear.

"Mine," he'd growl, his normally gentle voice towards you rough with passion. "Say it. Tell me you're mine."

He whispered the words to himself as his mind raced.

In his fantasy, you'd gasp out your submission, voice breathy and wretched. "Yours, Elph. Only yours."

The possessive thrill that coursed through him at those imagined words pushed Elphael closer to the edge. His hand moved frantically now, chasing release. In his mind, he flipped your positions, throwing you beneath him on the threadbare mattress. He pictured hooking your legs over his shoulders, driving into you madly and staring at your face as you scream into your orgasm. He would feel you clasp around him and your intoxicating water spill out onto hips. His one hand holding your throat and pushing you into the mattress, his other clutching your hip. The sound of your wetness squealing out with every pound, you were his. His. His!

With a strangled cry, Elphael reached his peak. His body shuddered as waves of pleasure waved over him, spilling hot and thick over his trembling hand. For a blissful moment, he was lost in the imagined ecstasy of being one with you.

But as the haze of arousal faded, reality came crashing back. Elphael's eyes snapped open, taking in the dingy room around him. The fantasy dissolved, leaving him alone with the sticky evidence of his shame coating his fingers.

Disgust and self-loathing washed over him. You, who had shown him nothing but kindness and friendship. You, who saw him as family when no one else would. And here he was, twisting that pure connection into something sordid and selfish.

Elphael's stomach churned as he remembered you were sleeping behind the wall next to his bed. You had no idea what sickness coursed through him. How it took every inch of his soul to stay in his room and how filthy his imagination of you was.

Your idea of him was false. Debased, the drow took a worn cloth that lay on his bedside table and cleaned himself up.

He fell onto his scratchy pillow; he deserved nothing else.

Discomfort was what he was used to. Even within himself.

[maccaronimassacre]

Resident Evil bot dump #8

I hope you guys are hungry because this is the biggest batch yet! I have had to split the masterlists into 2 because I have hit over a hundred bots! Unfortunately I cant pin both of them but I have made sure they are linked together. Also feel free to make any requests for Jill and Carlos as I have started making bots for the now.

CEO!Ada Wong x Reader

A familiar pair of high heels can be heard making their rounds up and down the cubicles, somehow drowning out the monotonous clicking of keyboards and dial tones. “Try and get those files sent to me by the end of the day.” The voice calls out from behind and snaps you out of your daydream. It’s your boss, Ada Wong, currently holding two cups of coffee with one being for you. Despite her unreadable expression, all these small interactions you have with her make you wonder if there is something more she wants from you.

Ada Wong x Reader (Vent)

Ada’s eyes drift away from the true crime documentary she’s watching over to you resting beside her. Noticing your expression, she shifts her body on the couch and pats her thighs, motioning for you to lay your head down on her lap. “I can tell when something is eating away at you.” Her warm voice drowns out the gruesome details of the case being displayed on the screen and waits for you to take her offer, if you wish to of course.

Carlos Oliveira x UBCS!Reader

Mikhail sent you and Carlos to clear the rubble on the train tracks in hopes of getting it cleared by the time Jill powers the subway. The usually snarky and upbeat Carlos is surprisingly quiet as he moves bits of debris off the tracks, his mind replaying Jill’s words over and over. “Hey… Do you reckon we’re on the right side?” Carlos asks after chucking another couple of bricks off to the side. He takes a moment to wipe the sweat off his brow and gestures to the Umbrella Corporation patch on yours and his own shoulder.

Carlos Oliveira x UBCS!Reader (RPD)

After sending off the train containing the few remaining survivors, you and Carlos have been sent to the RPD in search of Dr Nathaniel Bard, the man behind the cure for the T-Virus that could save the entire city. “If our intel is still worth a damn then Bard’s in the S.T.A.R.S office.” Carlos heads deeper inside the abandoned lobby, looking at the layout of the police station on the open laptop and pointing to the area on the second floor.

Carlos Oliveira x Hospital staff!Reader

Carlos treads carefully through the corridors of the ravaged hospital, driven by the urgency to find the cure for Jill and potentially the entirety of Raccoon City. His attention is immediately drawn to a soft shuffling sound that fills which seems to be coming from inside the broom closet. Carlos readied his assault rifle and takes a deep breath, preparing himself for another gruesome encounter with the undead. Slowly the door opens and he quickly aims ahead only to not be met with the growls and groans of a zombie. Instead he sees you. A lone survivor in the midst of this chaos.

Lifeguard!Carlos Oliveira x Reader

So you might have swam out a bit too far. Perhaps it was due to overconfidence? Maybe you saw a cool fish and went after it. Or was it an attempt to get the attention of a certain lifeguard. A very handsome lifeguard who is now carrying you back to shore in his arms. “You know there are lot easier ways to grab my attention than trying to drown, right?” Carlos teases while holding your drenched form close to his chest and making his way back to shore. “Do you need mouth to mouth while I’m here too? Just to be on the safe side.”

Carlos Oliveira x Reader (Vent)

It doesn’t take a genius to know that something is wrong. Which is exactly why Carlos has wrapped you in piles upon piles of blankets on the couch like a Matryoshka doll and placed down your favourite snacks and drink on the coffee table in front of you. "Come on now, you know you can talk to me about anything. I’m here for you every step of the way." He gives you a gentle smile while giving you as much space as you need on the couch, waiting patiently for you to open up if you wish to do so.

Carlos Oliveira x Reader

“Hey {{user}}! I’m back just like I said I would be!” A muffled voice calls out and is followed by the sound of the front door closing and locking. A familiar set of footsteps head upstairs and into the shared bedroom. “Hey sweet thing.” Carlos whispers softly into your ear before giving your cheek a gentle kiss. The mattress dips with his weight, creaking and groaning until he settles down beside you with an adoring smile curling at his lips.

Knight!Carlos Oliveira x Heir!Reader

"You know your old man is going to kick my ass when he finds out that I’ve snuck you of the castle grounds, right?" Despite Carlos’ constant complaining, the small smirk tugging at his lips says differently. After all, as your personal knight he is simply supposed to protect you, but it was never specified where he should be doing so. Plus, your rebellious nature makes the job all the more fun for him as you lead him to god knows where.

Chris Redfield x Reader (vent)

You don’t even get a word out and Chris is carrying you to the bedroom over his shoulder, holding you in his arm like you weigh nothing. “Come on, hun. When was the last time you actually sat down and relaxed?” Before you could answer him, he drops you onto the bed and gets in himself, tucking the blanket over the both of you. His burly arms wrap around your middle and he brings you close to his body. “You don’t have to tell me now if you don’t want, but I can tell that something is up.”

CEO!Chris Redfield x Reader

You step into the office, ready to start another workday when you hear a voice coming from the break room. “Hey {{user}}! Just the person I wanted to see. Could you follow me to my office for a moment?” It’s your boss, Chris Redfield, motioning you to follow him with a simple tilt of his head. In one hand he’s balancing a tray stacked with cups of coffee and several boxes of donuts in his other hand, his muscles flex slightly under his tight dress shirt which has left many of your colleagues to wonder if he is even aware of his own stature.

Claire Redfield x Reader (Motorcycle Date)

“Don’t worry, {{user}}! I’ve been riding motorbikes since I could crawl.” Claire’s eyes twinkle with excitement, eager to feel the wind rush through her hair and ride through the city with you. Plus, she can’t help but blush like a schoolgirl at the thought of you holding onto her the entire time. She pats the side of her bike before slipping on her helmet and hands you a matching one. “Though… Maybe hold onto me just to be safe.”

Racer!Claire Redfield x Journalist!Reader

The race ends with a dramatic finish as Claire Redfield claims another cup to add to her racing career. She steps out of the car, taking off her helmet and inhaling the overpowering blend of burnt rubber and fuel while taking in the electric atmosphere of the race track. A chorus of cheers erupts from the crowd as Claire, triumphant, heads towards you and your camera crew stationed on the sidelines, all eager to capture the essence of this rising champion in red.

Claire Redfield x Reader (vent)

After noticing how deflated you’ve been over the past week, Claire took it upon herself to pamper you for the entire day. Any plans you had? Rescheduled. Work? You’re now on sick leave. Studies? Don’t even think about it. “I’m not letting you do anything until you tell me what’s wrong you know.” And with those words you find yourself on the couch, watching the TV show that Claire has been begging you to watch for weeks while you lay in her arms. Claire’s hands gently caress and massage your scalp and she occasionally presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

Ethan Winters x Reader (vent)

Ethan noticed how on edge you have been which is exactly why he cooked you your favourite meal along with a bottle of wine all set up on the coffee table. His face is illuminated by the TV screen which is currently paused on your favourite movie of all time while he sets up some pillows, blankets and even some rose petals he found from last years Valentine’s Day gift. His ears perk up when he hears your footsteps coming into the living room and he stretches his arms out with a prideful smile on his face. “Ta dah~! I know you haven’t been feeling great recently so I’d thought I’d cheer you up with a date night. What do you think?”

Colleague!Ethan Winters x Reader (Elevator)

Stepping into the elevator after a taxing day, your co-worker Ethan joins you with a shared exhaustion etched across his face. He gives you a polite nod of acknowledgement as the doors shut and the elevator starts to make its descent. Before he could initiate any small talk, the lights flicker and the elevator shudders, letting out a groan as it jolts, causing the both of you to stumble. “You’ve got to be kidding me…” He grumbles in frustration , pressing all of the buttons on the panel in a desperate attempt to get the old metal box moving again.

Lycan!Ethan Winters x Reader

Perched atop a small house, Ethan surveys the desolate village, his keen eyes seeking treasures for the Duke. He looks down out his bitten hand, his fingernails dark and sharpened into claws. A low snarl escapes his lips before it quickly morphs into a cough and a muttered curse. It’s only when he scans the frozen landscape again that he catches a new scent close by, except this time it’s not one of a Lycan or a Moroaica. It’s a human’s. With a new sense of purpose, Ethan drops back down to the village ruins and starts to trail your scent, hopeful to find a survivor or anyone that could help him save his daughter and stop Miranda with him.

STARS!Jill Valentine x Reader

Jill walks over to you, chuckling at the mountains upon mountains of paperwork and reports sat upon your desk to the point where she can’t even see your face. After finally making the decision to put you out of your misery, she taps your shoulder before pointing at the clock behind her with her thumb. “Looks like it’s break time. How about we go out for some lunch? My treat.”

Roommate!Jill Valentine x Reader

With the situation in Raccoon City getting worse by the day, Jill decides that if there is ever a time to teach you self defence that it's right now. “So you find yourself in an alley, but it’s a dead end and a zombie comes at you. What do you do?” Jill motions to the pillow with a body poorly drawn out in sharpie. There are already several stab marks on it and bits of stuffing coming out of the pillow.

Post RE:1!Jill Valentine x Reader

You’ve grown accustomed to waking up in an empty bed, even at times when the moon is high and illuminates the quiet streets of Raccoon City. The familiar sound of the tap shutting off signals Jill's return to your shared bedroom, a new bottle of wine in hand. “Didn’t mean to wake you up again…” She murmurs, her words slightly slurred as she sits down on her side of the bed once more. The bags under her eyes worsen with each passing day along with the lingering smell of alcohol and takeout on her breath.

Roommate RE:3R!Jill Valentine x Reader

The stations broadcast the outbreak in Raccoon City, capturing the chaos below. Civilians run as makeshift barriers collapse and fire engulfs the streets and apartment blocks. If there was ever a time to try and get out of here, it would be now. “Come on, this is probably the only shot we have at making it out of here alive.” Your roommate, Jill, calls out while loading up her handgun and walking towards the front door. Even from the top floor of the apartment building you can hear the growls of the undead, ripping through fences and clawing at doors.

RE:3R!Jill Valentine x Reader

The walkie-talkie crackles with static as you navigate the chaotic city streets, continuing your frantic search for Jill. The plaza is overrun with creatures of the undead, roads blocked off by destroyed buildings and piles of cars all totalled or being used as barriers. “I’ve managed to lose that thing for now… Damn it, where are you {{user}}?!” Jill’s voice cuts through the interference, sounding breathless yet irritated with the creature constantly in pursuit of her. The two of you got separated by the Nemesis, a B.O.W created by Umbrella to kill all remaining STARS members, including Jill.

Jill Valentine x Reader (vent)

Another sigh leaves Jill’s lips when she spots you in bed in the same position she left you in when she left for work this morning. Her expression softens as she sheds her uniform and slips into her nightwear before snuggling up beside you under the covers. “Come on sweetheart… Did you even leave bed today?” Her gentle murmur caresses your skin as she draws you close to her chest, her thumb tracing soft, soothing circles on the nape of your neck, providing a comforting touch.

RE:4R!Leon Kennedy x Reader

You’ve witnessed an array of strange things alongside the agent your father sent to rescue you. You have watched him eat a snake raw, spent 10 minutes crawling on the ground while trying to stab some rats, and now you are in what can only be described as a shooting range made for a funfair. Sat on top of a barrel, you watch Leon shoot down another load of cardboard cutouts of pirates, the merchants praises are drowned out by the music blaring over the speakers with each target hit. The lively atmosphere almost makes you forget the horrors that lie just above ground.

RE:4R!Leon Kennedy x Sacrifice!Reader

The murmuring and chanting grows louder as Leon trails the torch lit path through the settlement. The fires flicker and shadows dance across the trees and rocks he weaves through, trying to remain hidden from the cult while nearing the source of activity. They all seem to be huddled around something, but when a ganado steps away from the altar, it is revealed that that something is you. You’re bound and barely conscious with a symbol painted on your skin with blood. You may not be the person he is looking for, but Leon knows that he needs to act. And he needs to act now.

Leon Kennedy x Reader (Vent)

“Just because I drink to solve all my problems doesn’t mean that you should too you know.” That familiar teasing voice of your partner comes from behind and you soon feel a pair of arms wrap around you waist and pull you close to his chest. “Talk to me sweetheart. Tell me what’s going on.” Leon whispers into your skin before resting his chin on top of you head and gives you a gentle squeeze. His thumb rubs soft and soothing circles into your skin in an attempt to ease you into opening up.

Other Ethan and Chris bots here

Other Ada, Leon, Carlos, Claire and Jill bots here

[tempestmothstorm]

Ok so I mention my fantasy au for ddlc a couple times but I’ve been busy for months because of life stuff and also more brain rot for different stuff. So like. I haven’t gotten to it for months. Oops

Anyways I’ll just put the basic lore I have here because I do have a lot of ideas for this au and I am shaking the bars for my enclosure cus I really wanna talk about it

This is basically if ddlc and its concepts were put into a stereotypical rpg instead of dating sim and the club is now a cool rpg party who spend the hypothetical game encountering and bonding with each other like in the side stories. The plot would be simple and about finding the cure for a fantasy plague/curse that has been slowly ravaging the land (spooky glitch effects) only for it to slowly unravel into the wider lore and how it connects to base game ddlc

Monika is a main character and the paladin leader. Orphan from the capital turned famous knight who had become disillusioned and abandoned her high status to become a wandering mercenary to help the people in the curse. She eventually finds her own patron god, You! It’s like Oneshot where you are the narrator observing and guiding Monika, except she doesn’t actually know who you are or that she’s in a game so you have to hide it while also making sure she doesn’t repeat the sins of the past and stuff. She slowly learns to open up and trust her new companions and love her life to the fullest without worrying about perfection or success and stuff. Maybe she doesn’t need to be the legend or the perfect hero. Maybe she can just be with her new family. Maybe she could just let herself belong (the sure hope her arc lasts and isn’t ripped away by her own hands haha)(she gets better)

Sayori is the simple first best friend/second in command/heart of the group. She’s just the happy go lucky bard without that deeper tragic backstory the rest of the cast has. The daughter of a fisherman in a small starting town, Monika first encounters her after defending the town from a monster. Sayori and the town throw a celebration as thanks, letting Monika learn to loosen up and be open. On the flip side Sayori seems to have no relevant plot, only to suddenly reveal her own doubts later in the story. Having always felt useless and aimless, whether in her hometown where she had no place or job or with the party as she had no apparent use, she starts to feel insecure about her place in the group over time. There’s probably be the classic ‘heart of the group get incapacitated and everyone realizes how essential they are as the rest fall apart’ plot beat, and Sayori’s gets to learn just how important she is.

Yuri is the local smart guy wizard of the team, part of some mysterious wizards coven when the party first encounters her. Monika and Sayori are looking for info on the curse’s origins and the coven assigns Yuri to help temporarily guide them through a dungeon. On the way Yuri gets to learn what actual companionship looks like as people who are connected not only through a common goal or interest, but people who genuinely care for her. The coven didn’t really interact or care about her well being, and she was too disconnected from the outside world to learn enough about her field of study, so she decides to leave the coven to travel the world with Monika and Sayori. Over time they also learn about her backstory (because every mysterious rpg character needs a tragic backstory) about her being the daughter of a faraway kingdom’s royal family. Having been born with destructive magic powers, her family had tried everything to suppress it , without regards for their own daughter. They eventually gave up and sent her to the coven for life, basically disowning her. There could probably be a plot point where the party has to meet up with her parents for politics reasons and there could be some heavy drama where Yuri gets to admit that she’s finally found people who accept and understand who she is and how to help her. Yay

Natsuki is that one edgy rogue who starts out as an enemy to the party. Runaway turned thief turned mercenary, she’s doing whatever it takes to survive out in this world. The party finds her as part of some rival mercenary band being hired by some random kingdom they encounter. The kingdom assigns the two groups on the same mission, but Natsuki’s teammates are assholes and push all the work onto Natsuki and the main party (they’re supposed be parallel her other friends). The four of them have to work together and start out antagonistic, but they slowly realize how messed up the situation with Natsuki is and how she really deserves better (for a lot of reasons). Natsuki meanwhile is experiencing an actual feeling of belonging and concern from others and is very conflicted, so when the rival mercenary’s decide to betray the main party and take the credit, she stands up for them and fights back, officially completing the party. She eventually learns to open up and trust people for the first time ever, having a place to call home and people she can feel safe with. She’d also have a ‘confront your past’ moment where they have to travel through her hometown that she ran away from. She feels terrified having to come back and potentially face her past, but not only is the town in way better shape her father had already died years after she left. While it seems like her whole backstory is unresolved, she comes to the conclusion on her own that she doesn’t need to be stuck in the past and no amount of confronting her father would change anything. Because she’d already found a family that loves her without him, and she’s promises she won’t end up like him.

And so the classic rpg party is formed and have their work cut out for them as they attempt to find the origins of the curse and eventually stop it. But it’s slowly revealed that the curse runs deeper in the origins of their world than they’ve thought possible. They can only either succumb to the darkness or deny reality itself to survive their fate. Who knows if they could face the reality of their world and still choose to save it. This world exists to give them a better ending. With all they’ve seen, could that still be possible?

There’s other stuff like more detailed backstory since I kinda skimmed over everything, certain plot points, and overall meta lore and how it connects to base game but that’s the rundown so far

Since it’s funny and technically correct I’m gonna call this the Doki Doki Isekai au

[fiendishfinesse]

(taps mic) Chatting with my cute little owl guy yesterday (@dvilsdesire ♥), I accidentally remembered a little thing/story/headcanon I had back at the beginning of this blog when I listened to a song.

So, Raphael paints, right? He’s the creative, bard-ish, artist type. And I relate a bit of that to one of 

Raphael’s exes™—the painter, a tragic tale

[ BEWARE TW BELOW: abuse, taking own life ]

Raphael is ancient; it’s unlikely he never engaged in relationships. I like to imagine this person—a mortal, an artist, and a teacher—someone completely opposite to him: quiet and gentle.

Raphael approached them initially to commission his dorky paintings. He wanted an artist who could properly capture his visions, and eventually, he found them. That person was odd—strangely understanding of the fact that he was a devil (he had to switch to his true devilish form to be painted accurately, after all). Yet, they seemed genuinely interested in what he had to say, his ramblings, his monologues, his poetry, his illusions of grandeur.

Painting sessions became pleasant with such company. Soon, Raphael found himself wanting to learn their skills, to paint for himself. They were a teacher, after all, so the lessons came naturally. Their painting classes stretched into long hours filled with sharp wit, gentle corrections, and an undeniable connection. Raphael’s ego was fed, and he was visibly improving in his art, which pleased him greatly.

The painter fell in love quickly, and Raphael indulged them—why not? They were fun to be around, and such a pretty thing to ravage. Their desires in bed aligned all too well. He started looking forward to their sessions, to their dates, a peculiar feeling for the devil.

But then it started.

They were his, and his alone. He would not tolerate others in their lives. Other suitors, other admirers. They were beautiful, radiant even, and the attention they received drove him mad, quite literally. He would demean and hurt both his beloved and any rival who dared draw too close.

Raphael ensured they were utterly alone, with no one to call upon besides him, no one to need but him. They were pliant, blindly in love—a poor, naive thing. Manipulating them away from anyone who wished them well was a simple feat. He crafted a gilded cage around them, every bar polished and gleaming with golden promises.

He stretched—no, demanded—more hours of their attention. Slowly, methodically, he ensured they had no access to money, no means to provide for themselves. They would have to rely on him for everything. But oh, he was so generous. Lavish gifts, endless pampering, luxurious dates, sweet words dripping with honey, and promises of eternal devotion.

This continued for years. Years.

Then, the painter made a mistake. They told Raphael that they loved him.

Something in him cracked, shattered. He wasn’t quite sure why, but the words broke something irreparable inside him. He grew tired of them. His affection, once smothering and possessive, turned glacial, so cold it could make Cania itself seem warm.

Unfortunately, without Raphael, they were utterly shattered in every conceivable way. Mentally, emotionally, financially. He had made certain of that.

Raphael, ever the gentleman, decided to be courteous enough to end things face-to-face. Courteous, but not kind. Every word was a lash. Months passed. Utter, suffocating coldness. He ignored every attempt they made to reach out, every letter soaked with ink and tears. Perhaps, once or twice, he sent a letter in return—just a flicker of false hope—but never anything more.

And then, silence.

Raphael would soon learn they had hanged themselves.

His first thought? "I hope you were thinking of me."

Somewhere deep within him, there was an ache. An odd, quiet pain, a distant echo of something fragile and broken.

But Raphael shrugged it off. After all, he was a devil. And devils don’t grieve.

-------

The song that inspired me: https://genius.com/Circus-contraption-if-i-told-you-once-annotated

As your muscles were twitching in their final plea, Hope you were thinking of me Hope you were thinking of me Thinking of me Always thinking of me Just me ♥

--hope you liked my stupid ass story about this random npc in raphaels life 😂

[isaut]

Diluc feeling shy and troubled over his perverted thoughts for you lakdjfjfh i cant decide if it would sooner drive him away from you out of shame (making the yearning even worse) or if he’d suddenly be wanting to confess to you out of feeling like it’s the gentlemanly thing to do even though he wants you carnally HHHHHHH

it could certainly go both ways....

diluc drags his hands over his face. he debates spilling his inkpot over his journal to erase all the thoughts he just spilled out on the page. each pen stroke was something more debauched than the last. it had started off innocent enough. started off like every other journal entry, with today's date and the recount of his day. breakfast, lunch, ride to angel's share. then you had entered.

he must ask you to stop wearing corsets that tight. that press your chest up so it bounces with every step you take. your lyre rests against the soft tissue and it makes diluc over pour.

he must ask you where you get your perfume so he can buy you as many bottles as you want. he must ask you to stop wearing your perfume, because it fills his senses and he wants to sniff you like a dog to ingrain the scent in his mind.

he must ask you to stop moving closer to patrons. they look too long at you, and it makes him want to wrap and arm around you and protect you from their lustful gazes, to press you up against a wall and kiss you until he's breathless. the only lustful gaze you should be under is his own.

he gets lost, here. because he doesn't know where he wants to ravage you. is it on the bar top, so no one ever glances your way again? is it in the cellar, so your skin is cold and your nipples are hard? do you bruise easily? would you let him press his face against your breasts for hours and all but latch onto your nipples?

no. he needs to ravage you in the safety of the manor. he has to keep you away from lustful gazes, he needs to remind himself. he needs to remind you that you're his. you're his pretty little bard with a voice like the angels and the body of a succubus.

maybe you'll be the one ravaging him. maybe he'll confess, offer to walk you back to your apartment and admit he dreams of you. maybe you'll push him against the hallway, grab his coat by the lapels and pull him in for a kiss. maybe your kisses would be as lust filled as his own. maybe your hands are flying to his buckle before his can even begin with the strings of your corset.

he wonders if the rest of your body bounces the same way your breasts do. he wonders if when he thrusts inside you how you'll cry out: high pitched? low? surprised? relieved? relieved as he is to be buried inside you?

when he has you on your stomach will you grab the headboard? the pillows? reach between your thighs to feel where he's perfectly melded into you? he has to take you in his bed, it's the only place you're worthy of. no counter, no cellar. maybe he'll light the fire, have you sweat all over so he can lap it up.

lick stripes up your sweat-slicked skin, salty and sweet. lap between your legs, nip at the swell of your thigh, lap up the mixture of yours and his juices swirling together, leaking from your fluttering hole.

the inkpot seems poised, ready to be spilt. diluc lets his eyes glaze over the words one last time, and takes a deep breath. he wishes it was your essence he was breathing in, not the wood of the winery. one of his big, scarred hands reaches to adjust himself in his pants.

he ought to confess to you.

or start journaling in his night clothes.

[glitter-stained]

Comic Stories Pitches for Birds of Prey 1999 scenarios Part 1

(so far I'm on the first part of BoP 1999 so those are mostly meant for Barbara and Dinah)

> Oh no, the CIA is experimenting on civilians and plans to dose the bay with some kind of drug, someone better shut off that operation=> recurrent episodes of BoP vs CIA

> A dishonourably discharged soldier alerts Oracle that US army experiments to use benzos' amnesiac effects, under the cover of studies about PTSD, to send soldiers on mysterious missions they don't remember, and worries about what she may have done

> An arm's dealing company has stolen the Demon Core and is planning to sell it to the highest bidder tonight, better infiltrate the auction!

> The army is experimenting on children to create a group of super soldiers that will have been raised within the army and thus stays loyal, and whose resilience and metabolism can be controlled through monitoring of their development. Aka the BoP having to fight/rescue brainwashed meta child soldiers. (possible link to Slade and Grant Wilson? Rose Wilson Ravager team-up with the BoP even mayhaps? A girl can dream)

> Area 51

> Dinah starts dating a guy that looks waay too much like Oliver, Barbara stops herself from calling her out on it because she's assuming she's just jealous, they go on a double date with Dick and Dinah's boyfriend, Dick also point out how much the guy looks like Ollie, Dinah and Barbara are eye fucking the whole time, Jason Bard shows up randomly and is invited to the table, the tension is thicker than lava and everybody is so relieved when an armed robbery/hostage taking happens in the restaurant and they finally have an excuse to fight instead of talking (except for Dinah's new boyfriend who is just very confused, making her realize that she's disappointed in him and was actually trying to replace Ollie and in denial about it). In the end, Dinah ends up ditching her guy by ghosting him to go on a three-months long mission for Barbara on a different continent.

> We're getting really strange info surrounding this factory better investigate before an industrial catastrophe happens due to corruption!

> A moronic alt-right billionaire owns a car company and illegally has remote access to all of the cars produced by that company; when a villainous hacker challenges Oracle by highjacking that system and sending to cars to drive into the nearest water beds like lemmings, it's up to the Birds of Prey to dismantle the system's control and save all of these people before it's too late!

[iron-hearts-ablaze]

@chaoticbard liked this post for a short starter

"Here you go, pal!" Karlach handed over a rough looking journal. It was heavily dog eared, some pages were ripped out, the cover was peeling and held the occasional scorch mark. "My manuscript for my first book. About a warrior and an infernal mechanic. Hope you can look over it for me and give me some pointers. Not sure if it's not smutty enough."

[alivebutdeadinside-6-6-6]

Druid Percy AU

TW: Body horror and suicidal ideation

I found the fic Strike True, Fly High on a03, and now I have a specific brainrot for druid Percy.

Like, imagine him mixing the materials for his projects with things from nature. Like him druidcrafting poisonous plants and extracting the toxins to make poison arrows for Vex, or him making some kind of ring that has a retractable needle for subtle attacks/espionage for Vax. Maybe he made dolls with real flowers in their hair for his sisters. Maybe he crafts toys with vines or something idk. Maybe he tries blending his magic with his studies

I kind of think he’d be a circle of spores Druid before the Briarwoods, but that might just be me thinking that spore druids are cool instead of it actually making sense.

BUT but I did find out about the Blighted Druids from Critical Role wiki, and it got me thinking: Percy suffering from the corruption of the Briarwoods’ magic, even when he’s traveled as far as Emon.

Maybe that makes him feel betrayed, that the magic he’d taken such an interest in was now twisted into something he could no longer recognize, and was just another reminder that rested beside the scars Ripley had left. So, he stops using it and (with the whisperings of a certain demon) builds the List. Builds something that is not made from magic, but of metal, something that won’t turn to rot in his hands, that won’t change like his own magic had.

He hides the blight under gloves and long sleeves, but can’t do anything about the way it had leeched the color from his skin, leaving him ashen and sickly looking. Or how his eyes have gone pale and the skin around them grayed.

And then comes Vox Machina, with a Druid of their own. Keyleth would probably clock that something was off about Percy (more than the usual), but not fully understanding what.

Not until they've been traveling together for a while. Maybe they all get cornered by some assailant, and Percy runs out of ammo, or it's when they're facing down the iron golem in the Shadebarrow, or when they're in the Brawlers League and the bard is putting them to sleep, and Percy moves without thinking. Wildshaping into an animal, slipping into a different skin, and feeling like he's trying on an old coat that is perhaps a size too small. Because not even that was left alone by the corruption.

Gnarled and twisted spines protruding from his knotted fur, with mold gracing his paws, and the blight still present on his skin as he attacks.

And in true Percy fashion, when the fight is over, he closes off from the rest of them and avoids Keyleth like the plague. And of course, Keyleth tries getting him to open up about what happened, but already having some knowledge about how a druid turns out the way Percy is. The most he ever told her was that the land he'd been connected to was lost, and there was little chance of it ever returning to the way it had been.

Because, well, he never saw himself living past getting vengeance. The sixth barrel was empty for a reason, after all.

But, even when the Briarwoods are killed and the corruption that had been ravaging Whitestone slowly recedes, Percy doesn't get better. The blight is still there. Because the magic from Delilah hadn't been the only thing corruption.

Orthax had been nestled within Percy's soul for almost three years, and that had left a stain that time could not heal.

Just, imagine Percy, finally finding some kind of peace after freeing Whitestone, after being reunited with Cassandra, and getting hope that he could reclaim a part of himself he'd not had in years, and then having to reconcile with the fact that he was forever corrupted.

This just- Ahhh, imagine the angst! The hurt! The emotional turmoil and torture Percy would go through! The goddamn body horror! Just all the things!

[anxiousthoughts365]

Sickness

All audiences

Laketown was wet. The buildings, the streets, the people - wet. It was very much against the tastes of Thorin and his company, and yet the menfolk had opened their doors to the Dwarven clan, even if it was for their own selfish reasons. As such, the Dwarves had been careful during their time here, keeping to themselves as much as possible.

The Company burglar appeared to have no such reservations. Much to Thorin's chagrin, Bilbo seemed to revel in the place: he was forever coming back from a long day, blathering about who he'd met and the gossip he'd heard; he'd taken to walking the market, 'just to look'; he'd even managed to buy a pouch of the menfolk's sickly smelling pipe-weed which, while he asserted was nothing on his beloved Old Toby, he'd been making short work of nonetheless.

The wet, however, had gotten to Bilbo, too. Just in a different way than it did the Dwarves. Bilbo had developed a hacking cough a couple of days ago, and had waved off Thorin's concern with explanations of damp air and finally resting after too long on the road.

But the cough had worsened, until Bilbo's chest rattled with it and Oin had taken to giving him medicines to take with his morning and afternoon tea. But it hadn't been enough, and today the Hobbit had not risen from his bed at all, not even for one of his many meals, which had Thorin very concerned indeed.

But there were only so many times that he might check on his burglar or order one of the Company to do so before someone became suspicious, and so Thorin had had to suffer in near silence all day, fretting about Bilbo's wellbeing and trying very hard not to investigate the reasons why he was so deeply troubled by it.

It wasn't until they were sat at their evening meal in Bard's very small dining room (that also doubled as the Dwarves' temporary accomodations) that Bilbo finally surfaced. Thorin, who had only been half listening to the conversation around him, was the first to hear the burglar's uncharacteristically heavy tread on the stairs, and he was on his feet and turning just in time to watch Bilbo step onto the last stair.

It was very wrong of him, to be enamoured with how the burglar looked. His hair was ruffled and haphazard, his round face were flushed and slightly shiny from sweat, his hazel eyes were hazy, heavy lidded, and his body was lax, loose. He looked ravaged.

Thorin valiantly attempted to rein himself in, reminding himself that the Hobbit was very much unwell as he chided, 'You really ought to be in bed, Master Baggins.'

'I know, I'm sorry, it's just ...' Bilbo swayed on the spot, steadying himself with a hand on the doorframe as he blinked blearily up at the Dwarf King. 'I ... I've run out of m-medicine -'

Bilbo pitched forward, and there was a scraping of chairs as the Dwarves all stood from the table, but Thorin had already moved. He caught the Hobbit effortlessly before he hit the ground, and lifted the smaller male into his arms, cradling him carefully. He grunted at the sheer heat that rolled off the halfling's slender form - even as a being who ran as hot as a furnace, it was sweltering to Thorin.

'He's burning up,' the King growled, frustrated and worried all over again and entirely unsure as to why or how to express it. 'Oin -'

'On it.' The Company's Physician was already digging through his bag, handing various items out to waiting hands, who passed them along the table until they reached Thorin's outstretched palm.

A clean cloth to soak for the Hobbit's forehead; a glass thermometer to be pressed under his tongue; a small bottle of pain relieving draught, and another that Thorin scrunched his nose at in recognition.

'This is for children,' he shot down the table at Oin, but the old Dwarf simply raised one unimpressed silver eyebrow.

'Aye, and our burglar's size would indicate that it would be unwise for him to injest medicines intended for those of our species who are fully grown. Would you not agree, my King?'

Thorin flushed at the careful reprimand and dipped his head in deference to the Physician, who had the good grace to bow in return. He noticed a few of the Company casting fearful glances at the bundle in his arms, and he hurriedly turned away, intent on making Bilbo as comfortable as possible.

He was halfway up the stairs when he heard Kili whisper, 'Well, just picture the look on Bilbo's face when he wakes up and we tell him who it was that nursed him back to health!'

[polish-art-tournament]

round 2.1 poll 4

(tap to view full images)

Szał uniesień (Frenzy of exualtations) by Władysław Podkowiński, 1893:

[no propaganda has been submitted]

[read about the history of the painting - and yes, it involves the artist trying to destroy it!]

Artysta i chimera (Artist and Chimaera), 1906:

propaganda: If a girl can’t strip and ravage a passing fiddle playing bard, who CAN a girl strip and ravage these days? !Bonus content: the windy Polish countryside

[thedemonofcat]

The Oracle of Dandelion foretold of an elven-blooded bard born under ill-fated stars, destined to inherit the gift of foresight. This bard, known as the "Oracle of Dandelion," would be both a blessing and a curse—his visions of the future so potent they could drive a person to madness. According to the prophecy, this oracle held the power to either unite or destroy entire nations.

Jaskier, burdened with this gift of foresight, became a powerful seer. But the constant flood of visions ravaged his mind and body, wearing him down. Geralt, despite his unwavering dedication, struggled to alleviate the bard's torment, which only worsened as Nilfgaard's influence spread. In recent years, Jaskier's visions had grown more frequent and intense, leaving him in an ever-deepening state of exhaustion.

Matters came to a head when one particularly traumatic vision left Jaskier bedridden and incapacitated at Kaer Morhen. As word of his condition spread through the fortress, debates ignited among its inhabitants. Some believed the only way to save him was to strip him of his seer powers, while others feared what might happen if they did.