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catcatb0y · 5 months

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This is the same op. The same post. Just edited.

I entered the notes expecting a TERF block list, but I was instead greeted with thousands of accepting and understanding queer people echoing the initial statement. Butch lesbians loving being called 'boyfriends', casual women enjoying "dude," or "bro," or "man," people embracing he/him lesbians, an abundance of love for drag kings, and people being incredibly supportive of gnc and genderfluid people.

But the edited post. Is TERF bait.

Like, taking it at the value that it's at (we should hate men because they can fuck with gender but we can't) is outrageously hypocritical??

Misandry (a predjudice/hatred of men and masculinity mirroring that of misogny) is not going to solve the demonization of masculinity within the queer community- which is a large part of WHERE the issue originates. The queer community and the non-queer community have two vastly different divides (which is important when considering the 'legitimacy' around discussions concerning misandry)

The reason [non queers] push or accept femininity in gay men is because of misogny, because it allows them to push a homophobic stereotype of gay men being 'basically women' and therefore [basically (lower than) men]. Gay men reclaim this stereotype by embracing said femininity, but that does not exempt them from the misogyny that they face as gay or gnc men*.

Because of that misogyny outside of the queer community, the people who use femininity to demonize gay men are appalled by the idea of using masculinity to empower queer women.

If this were the standard case within the LGBT community, it would already be rectified by the very people who have claimed to create a community haven.

But it's not.

Because the LGBT community has created a reactionary space based on the same principals that demonized them, but in reverse.

The reason that LGBT people aren't accepting of he/him butches or drag kings or masculine gnc women is because a large part of them has pushed out that masculinity and created a stereotype of femininity being the epitome of comfort and queerness. Gay women who attempt to co-opt any sort of masculinity are demonized by the (fear) of [the patriarchy] in the form of men, and their femaleness does not exempt them from the bioexistentialist misandry that has been birthed of TERF ideology*.

Because of, what's boiled down to radical reverse misogyny (which leads to reactionary misandry), the people who use femininity to (humble) and claim gay men as "safe" via are appalled by their very own Peak Of Goodness (women who are Pure and Good, who Only Love women who are Good and Pure) co-opting the very thing they have claimed to build a haven from.

(*It's the same principle in reverse. Feminine gay men still experience misogny, and masculine gay women still experience misandry. There is no predjudice that ONLY harms it's attempted target. Ergo: misandry would NOT help gay women who want to act masculine or to be a man.)

Misandry and butch lesbians cannot coexist. Misandry is the thing that gets trans women assaulted in women's bathrooms. Misandry is the thing that gets transmasc nonbinary people turned away at the door to queer spaces. Misandry is the thing teaching young lesbians to parrot "All men suck," like 'Polly wants a cracker'- because wild concept. Women- espeically wlw- who don't like men. Won't be welcoming and accepting of people like them (women (who love women)) co-opting the language of the people they hate.

#misogny #misandry #the way they intersect #seriously though how is demonizing men and masculinity #going to positively impact people who are masculine or take comfort in a percieved (man's) identity #if your campaign is against he/hims #that affects he/him lesbians as well #if you want to bully people who call themselves men #you will bully lesbians and nonbinary people and girls who take pride in being 'like a man'#if you demonize the idea of masculinity #you are hurting butches and transfemmes and tomboys #prejudice and hatred don't combat prejudice and hatred #the people who don't support he/him lesbians are the people who think aligning with maleness is a poison #the people who don't support butch lesbians are the people claiming trans women are just men #the people who turn their head at the mere mention of manhood are the people who fight tooth and nail to erase trans men's existence #the people who are stand the most against lesbian kings are the ones howling at the craze targetting our girls #the people who are appalled by women having fun with masculinity are the ones claiming that wlw who have only been cis wlw are golden #the LGBT hatred of masculinity was not born by the standard hatred of femininity

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chronicallyzagreus · 5 months

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I know like, logically there are lots of differences between Catholics and protestants but it didn’t like,,, process for me just how different the experience is

I stumbled across some discussion of recent converts—what’s the appeal?

As a recovering former catholic, Protestantism seems less… painful? I’m know the rhetoric is just as damaging as the rhetoric I was taught, but like, why willingly take on all of that guilt?

#the rage and hatred seems. easier on the soul if that makes sense?#catholicism #religion #howling

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multific · 5 months

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Of Lit Fire and Silk Sheets

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: Aemond arrives back to his room late at night, when you are already long asleep.

When Aemond came into your shared bedroom it was already very late.

His duties as Prince kept him up almost all day, barely allowing him to take a break or even eat.

Aemond let out a long sigh as he took off his jacket.

The fireplace in his room was lit, illuminating the room.

On his bed, you slept.

You, his beautiful wife.

Aemond stopped by the end of the bed and looked at you. He has seen you sleeping plenty of times, but he was always right next to you, or he was too tired and went to sleep immediately as he got back.

But now, even if he was tired, he still took a moment to just stop and look at you.

You looked breathtaking, the warm light from the fire illuminated your face and shoulder as you slept on your side, facing his empty side. Your arm reaching towards his side, trying to find him but failing.

Aemond allowed a small smile to form.

Oh, how you both hated the idea of being married, and yet here you both were, completely and undeniably in love.

Aemond could still recall the moment your eyes turned from hatred to the soft look that you now have for him.

He could also recall the moment he realized he was in love with you when a Lord dared to speak ill of you and as a result, lost his head.

Aemond takes no chances when it comes to you, his wife.

He believes it is his duty to fully protect you from anything. Let that be his own family, a few lords with choice words or even himself.

Aemond takes no chances, much like a predator, he prefers to act first and think next.

He didn't use to be like that.

He was always very calculated, just not when it came to you.

Love, as they say, is a stronger force than anything, greater than fear or even dragons.

You stirred slightly in your sleep and Aemond moved. Removing his clothes and putting on the comfortable pants and shirt he preferred to sleep in, he quickly moved back to you and laid down.

His muscles relaxed against the silk sheets and comfortable pillows.

He wanted to pull you closer, but he was afraid to wake you.

Aemond just laid there, watching you sleep as he contemplated his next move. He knew he would not be able to sleep fully without having you in his arms or have you closer.

But he didn't have to, you instinctively still asleep, moved closer to him, placing your hand on his chest as you continued to sleep.

Aemond let out a long sigh as he closed his eyes. He felt you moving beside him as you soon placed your head on his chest, got comfortable under the covers and fell right back to sleep.

His hand moved to find yours on his chest as he fell asleep.

Not even the howling wind outside would hurt you, he will make sure of it.

Taglist: @castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou @mandoloriancookie @brascaris

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

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red-velvet-0w0 · 6 months

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Killing his teammate, barely having won,

Grian, the traitor, flew too close to the Sun,

His devotion and compassion, leaving him marred,

Scott, the gentleman, born to be a Star.

Waiting in her tower, with hatred and gloom,

Pearl, the witch, howling at the Moon.

With a clock ticking down, and his hours sparse,

Martyn, the warrior, fighting with Mars.

Winning in secret, hated and cursed,

Scar, the villain, crying to the Earth.

I genuinely don't know what this is but I came up with the idea and now I'm posting it so its your problem now.

#secret life #traffic smp #traffic life #trafficblr #life series #grian #goodtimeswithscar #pearlescentmoon #dangthatsalongname #scott smajor #martyn inthelittlewood

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killerpancakeburger · 4 months

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Bluebeard's wife

SUMMARY: On a visit to your boyfriend, you end up having to deal with a creep on base, but Soap and Ghost's methods of resolving your problem are... far more drastic than yours.

PAIRING: Soap x f!Reader (and BFF!Ghost)

TAGS: Dark content, Badass!Reader, Established relationship, Dark! a bit yandere! Soap, Dark! a bit yandere! Ghost.

WARNINGS: Canon violence, blood mention, sexual harassment, insults. Soap and Ghost are acting creepy but not towards Reader.

WORDS COUNT: 1,1k words.

A/N: Was thinking about how high the risks of sexual assault are in the military for women + about how much the Task Force could get away with (Soap's mohawk is NOT standard issue lol), but it turned out kinda dark. Not my usual kind of content. This is my first time writting those characters, pls be indulgent.

Your elbow connects with the man’s nose with a satisfying crack.

Immediately he howls, pressing his broken nose with one hand, blood dripping between his fingers.

“FUCK! What the fuck! You broke my nose, you crazy bitch!”

This. This is why you didn’t want to meet the Task Force on base. There was always one brainless fucker who didn’t get the memo that, no, despite having breasts, you weren’t here as a comfort woman.

The private is glaring at you with a hatred as deep as it is sudden, one that screams murder.

The only good side of the situation is, with how loud he’s being, you won’t even need to call for help. Already most of the soldiers nearby are staring at you, muttering among themselves. Not that you can’t beat this guy up on your own, but the military tends to frown upon civilians roughing up their members, you learned it at your expense quite early. On the other hand, soldiers settling accounts between each other was… well, not exactly authorized, but it was way less trouble for you.

He grabs you by the collar, his rage only exacerbated by your composure. The action stains your clothing with his blood. You mentally grimace. You’re no stranger to blood, but the idea of this repulsive individual’s bodily fluids being anywhere on your person is disgusting.

“Are you listening, you dumb bitch!? I’m gonna fucking kill-”

The venom-filled verbal onslaught stops dead as a hand takes hold of your assailant’s wrist.

“Now, now, at ease, soldier. Ya making a spectacle of yourself.”

The thickly accented voice of your boyfriend sends a wave of warmth in your chest.

Your harasser hesitates a second too long, so Soap makes the decision for him, tightening his grasp until the soldier winces, and finally takes the hint, letting you go and taking a few steps backward. Johnny immediately positions himself between the two of you, shielding you.

He’s been smiling the whole time, but it’s the kind of dangerous smile you wear when you’re about to give an asshole a righteous beating.

The private looks partially sheepish, but not defeated, indignation burning in his eyes. He lets loose a torrent of justifications and excuses, actively painting you as the villain, not caring if he contradicts himself in the process. You don’t pay attention to the details of his speech. It’s always the same “she was asking for it” kind of diatribe. The fact that he sincerely believes that there’s a chance that Soap will take his side instead of yours is laughable, but not surprising.

You wonder how long this will go on, until the private notices something next to you, and all blood seems to desert his face as his voice deserts his vocal cords.

You turn your head and, to no surprise to you, Ghost is there. He stands so close to you that your arms are almost touching. Clothed entirely in black, which brings out the white skull on his mask, his presence is as menacing as ever; all he needs to do is scowl at lesser soldiers to make them cower in fear. He doesn’t look back at you, but his support for you is so obvious through the rest of his behavior that he doesn’t need to.

Soap takes advantage of the newfound silence to turn to you.

“Ya good, yeah?” He asks, cradling your cheek tenderly, and stroking your cheekbone with his thumb.

The question is futile - if you were hurt, he would have noticed right away. But it’s still cute to see.

“Yeah. Not a scratch.” you smile.

“That’s my girl”, he smiles back. “So, what the bloody hell happened here?”

You glance at the private behind him. He’s shaking, and the look he sends you back is begging for mercy. Remembering the first words he addressed to you earlier, you realize you’re all out of mercy for today. Thus, with a sadistic little smile, you recount the events.

“This man came to me complaining that I was unfairly privileging Sergeant Mctavish and that he wanted his turn. Then when I explained that I wasn’t some kind of free-for-all buffet, he took it the wrong way and put his hands on me. That’s when I exploded his nose.”

By the time you finish your explanation, Soap’s expression has darkened considerably.

“I see.” is all that leaves his mouth. Anyone familiar with him would know that for him to start talking by monosyllables like Ghost, something must be very wrong.

Pivoting again, he faces the private and, as the latter opens his mouth to plead for forgiveness, punches him right in the face. Blood gushes, drops of it landing on his face. You mentally count until three, one for every blow, and when Soap still doesn’t stop punching, you frown, disturbed and worried by his conduct. He’s never been one to remain impassive in the face of injustice, easily riled-up even in critical situations and despite his superiors’ orders, but you’ve never seen him go this far.

You’re about to intervene when Ghost beats you to it, putting a hand on his sergeant’s shoulder. That’s right. Ghost, the voice of reason, the paragon of self-control, their cold-hearted leader, will fix everything.

However when you hear the next words that leave his mouth, it’s like the world tilted on its axis.

“Not out in the open, Johnny.”

The words are whispered low enough that only Soap and you would have heard. They send a cold shiver down your spine. Rattled and unsettled in a way that they never made you feel before, you contemplate the situation in silent incredulity.

“Aye, L.T.”, replies Soap with an abnormally monotonous tone.

Before you can ask what the fuck is happening, he proceeds to punch the soldier so hard in the stomach that the latter collapses without a sound, except for the muffled noise of someone winded. The scene makes you increasingly uncomfortable. You feel like Bluebeard's newest wife, having stumbled upon the one room you were forbidden from entering, having witnessed something you weren't supposed to see, and now you can never go back to how things were before.

You counted on Soap and Ghost’s intervention, sure, but you expected them to put an end to the fight, maybe intimidate the guy a little, and ultimately end things here. You didn’t expect… whatever this is.

Staring in shock at the two Special Forces, you shake your head to get a grip and come closer.

“Alright guys, I think he’s had enough-”

Ghost interrupts you with a hand on your shoulder. The Ghost touching two people in less than five minutes? Yes, something’s seriously wrong. Looking at him, you try to convey urgency with your gaze…

“Simon, this isn’t-”

…but his next words make you lose hope of winning this argument.

“Easy there, love. Johnny’s takin’ care of it, ya don’t need to worry ‘bout a thing.”

The next thing you know, he presses a hand against your lower back, making you leave the premises, completely ignoring the way you stare at him in utter disbelief… and growing apprehension.

He had never called you “love” before.

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inkskinned · 1 year

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one of the things that's so frustrating is how often the arguments against us are actually happening to us. we said - you need to watch out, this will evolve into allowing fascism into legal statute. and we were told: you're a sensitive snowflake. you're annoying and stupid and have no concept of reality. nobody really believes that stuff.

but it's indoctrination for kids to even see queer people. it's grooming for kids to even be around queer people. it's disgusting to even put rainbows on kids clothes. it's inappropriate, shameful, still-an-argument. like any of this is new - we know already. for you, even seeing someone unashamed is the same thing as "forcing" it onto you. because god-forbid you confront any internal thought you have. because god-forbid you practice empathy. rage is better, i guess. it keeps you pretty.

this has always been the way of some people - a while ago, it would have been "sinful" for my white mom to marry my hispanic dad. once, in the year of our lord 2015, someone told me that "mutts" deserve a woodchipper. that one particular insult stayed with me - not because it was the first or last, but because there was something so unbelievably violent about it that i couldn't figure out how to hold it. the idea that someone is so assured of their bigotry and rage that they would paint this kind of a picture. even jokingly, even with the anonymity of the internet, it kind of centered things for me. a sense that, for some people, their rage burned so unimaginably large that it blocked even the basic fact of my humanity.

at one point, while i still had enough fire in me to get into long arguments, one of the bigots i was "debating" (being harassed by) said: to be honest, it's about the sex, not the love. between you, me, and the four walls of this blue hellsite, i actually didn't really care for "love is love" as the slogan of our community. it seemed so placid, so gentle, so ally-focused. where was the vitriol? where was the hours i spent agonizing over myself? where was the quiet moments of my life, filled with the sound of other people's hatred? this static that settles over everything; even for the action of holding her hand.

the world is unfair. i am an adult, and without the veneer and small-pond syndrome of my teenage years, the slogan has started sounding more desperate. the more places i went, the more people i met. love is love. love is defending him on a rooftop bar. the drink she throws at me goes down into my shoes while i stand there, wishing i had a better retort than what the fuck. love is both of us, keeping our heads down, the black SUV full of frat boys (?) pulled up next to us, howling, for five whole blocks, until we both gave up and had to stick our bare legs into the thicket by the side of the road, giving over into tick country rather than let it go on any longer. love is a lazy spring afternoon, my hand on her belly, the fan spinning overhead. did you hear the whole thing about target?

did you hear about being the target? that's a fun little parallel, isn't it. it almost feels like the game that-is-about-me is being played without-my-participation. someone wants to set fire to my life, and i have to wait for a response from a capitalist institution. i am watching a tiktok where a white woman under white lights complains about adult swimsuits, even though i think a lot of people would benefit from having swimming options that are not "instagram-inspired bikini" or "impossible to move in but otherwise pretty".

sometimes it just seems so fucking stupid. like, just to check, the rage you feel and the hatred - you could really just avoid all of that by minding your fucking business. sometimes (and this is true): it's not about you, and people don't need your permission. like, i don't understand any obsession with sports, but it seems to make other people happy. american football literally results in grievous bodily injury - and yet there are onesies for babies that say future quarterback. i personally don't love it, so i just don't buy that stuff. i walk by it, and don't let it bother me. there have been so, so, so many times that i was told - "so what if he's a little bit homophobic, if you don't like him, don't watch his movies." "so what if they fired her. don't buy their product." "so what if they wouldn't make a rainbow cake. just don't support them."

sometimes i feel the meaning of it scud against my body, an orca whale inside of me, threatening the boat. it is too large to see from my place; this shadow of a thing that dwarfs my petty other-concerns. i need to find a dress for an event, and florida is passing more anti-gay legislation. i need to text my friend back and confirm our plans, and someone is throwing beer bottles to the floor in a walmart because a different case had rainbows on them. it is a long fall, if i look down into it; this sense like the bottom doesn't exist. like i have only ever dipped my toes in.

sometimes i am unbelievably tired of talking about it. it feels like it has become too trite in my own poetry - queer writer complains about the state of the world! how original! - and then something else happens, and i am here again. i remember that it isn't a moment. i remember it isn't a scattered population of cartoon evil-doers, intent on world domination from behind handlebar mustaches. it is a concerted effort of real people with real power who really-do want to see my end. it is a lifetime of dodging the beercan as it sails out of the back of the van. it is a lifetime of not-kissing once we leave the apartment. it is a lifetime of watching someone protest our existence and then, very slowly, giving them the finger. it is a lifetime of holding my friends' hands and hearing the same agony in their life that i lived through. it is us, together, our faces turned upwards, the night sky so vast, milky way overhead like a lacework zipper.

it is a lifetime of staring down woodchippers.

#writeblr #this got away from me #i love you #whereever you are. u are mine. i am yours. i am sorry this is happening

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deadtired-highkeyenergetic · 2 months

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I Am Here Now

And we are back with more hurt/comfort!

Thank you to all those posts about this particularly heartbreaking scene from The Last Unicorn and that one post about how it would fit Astarion and that one comic that made it come to life with pictures. Here's my contribution to it with words.

Summary: Even though the two of you push each other away, you always find a way to come back to one another.

He’d thought you had left him alone to die. Even after all the sweet things he’s said, about how he trusts you, how he knows you will be there for him, he still doubted you when it counted. Captured by vampire hunters, he’d been held in a cage for so long that he’d lost count, or perhaps it was the torture his captors had decided to inflict upon him that had made him lose count. At some point, he had lost all hope of you coming to rescue him, believing himself to be unworthy of the effort needed.

And then you had shown up in all your bloody glory, howling with rage and cutting down any hunter who had stood in your way. He had never been happier to see you again, and never been angrier.

“Where have you been?” He chokes, collapsing into your arms the moment he is free of the accursed cage. You silently hold him tight, gaze downcast. Rage rekindles within you when you see how broken the hunters have made the one you love, and you wish you could bring the hunters back just to make them suffer over and over again.

“I am here now,” you whisper, hoping to comfort him. You should have searched harder, hunted fiercer, found him faster, prevented the whole kidnapping in the first place. It was your naivety that had landed him in this situation, it was all your fault.

“And what good is it to me that you’re here now?” Astarion hates that you’re seeing him with his walls shattered, his broken heart laid bare before you. Self-hatred overtakes him, spewing venom meant for himself at you. The words tear him apart and pierce your heart, shattering it but you still hold onto him. You’ve finally found him after such a long and anxious search, you’re not letting him go any time soon.

“Where were you twenty years ago? Ten years ago? Hells, a hundred years ago?” He cries, clawed fingertips digging into your skin. The fabric of your top crumples beneath his fingers, tears dampening the cloth. His voice breaks, words dissolving into sobs as he buries his face into your chest, wanting nothing more than to disappear, dissolve, be anywhere but here. Yet you hold him close, wrapping him in your warm embrace despite the daggers that have embedded themselves in your heart courtesy of him. You let him vent it all out, giving him the space he never had even though each sob rips at your heart further.

“How dare you,” he whimpers once his tears have sapped him of all his energy, “how dare you come to me now, when I am this?” He hadn’t been the best person back when he was alive, corruption ran deep in the city he was magistrate of perpetuated by his truly, but at least he had been as normal as any elf could be. Now he was a vampire spawn, weaker than true vampires but with the same weaknesses. He had fallen so far down, a slave to both sanguine hunger and Cazador, a creature sealed in darkness lest he be dissolved by the sun, a monster despised by all.

All but you.

You let him weakly hit you, the punches lacking malice as they lightly connect with your skin and sobs continue to wrack his body. Running your fingers through his hair, you pull him as close as you possibly can and rest his head on your shoulder.

“I wish you had never come.” The words leave his lips in a whisper. The words he never meant, the words he wished he could take back the moment he spoke them, the words that hurt the most. You flinch at the words but tell yourself that he doesn’t mean it, that the words just slipped out on accident, that it was the self-loathing and trauma that spun these words, right?

“Why did you come now?”

You feel him go limp in your arms, slipping into unconciousness as exhaustion takes hold of him. As Halsin moves to carry him back to camp, you reach up and touch something wet on your face. Tears. Something catches in your throat and you tell your companions to head back to camp first, you’ll catch up with them later. Despite the looks of concern, they do as you say at Jaheira’s behest, the older woman knowing that you needed some space.

You mindlessly walk in the opposite direction of the camp, the warmth of the sun a distant feeling despite it blazing high in the sky. Numbness envelopes your body, sending chills down your spine but nothing can overpower the pain in your heart. His words have cut deep, even if you try to convince yourself otherwise and the freshness of the air that you usually enjoy does nothing to alleviate the hurt.

With a sigh, you collapse against a tree trunk, sucking in a deep breath at the twinge of pain that shoots up your side. Shit. Blood has soaked through your tunic on your left side and lifting up the cloth reveals a nasty gash courtesy of a rogue’s dagger. You let out a ragged breath, chest heaving as you rip your tunic off and press the cloth against the wound, hoping to staunch the bleeding before you die of blood loss. White hot pain shoots through you the moment the cloth makes contact and you bite your lip to suppress the yelp, willing yourself to remain strong until you can stagger back to camp and get the wound healed. Knocking back the last healing potion in your pack, you force yourself to stand once more, limping in the direction of camp and past the concerned stares of your companions straight into your tent where you collapse once more, this time unable to bite back a cry of pain when the action tears at your wound. You down more healing potions, a groan of relief escaping your lips as you feel the wound stitching itself together, your body feeling lighter with each mouthful.

Shadowheart peers into your tent but you wave her away, muttering something about wanting some space and she obliges, but leaves a few more healing potions behind just in case. You tuck yourself into your bed roll, something you haven’t done in quite a while now ever since Astarion took it upon himself to be the one to make you comfortable, and the thought sends another twang of sadness through your heart.

Did he want you back? You wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t, it was your fault after all that he got kidnapped. You had been the childish one, yelling at him to get out of your sight after he had been trying to get you to take a break, going as far as to push him out of your tent physically and slamming the tent flap shut, completely missing the flash of hurt in his eyes. The next time you had left your tent, wanting to apologise, Wyll informed you that Astarion left the camp some time ago and had yet to return, panic setting in when Gale pointed out Astarion had disappeared for half a day. You were the one who had driven him away first, it was only fair that he returned the favour.

Pulling the blanket over your head, you bury yourself in the darkness, tears pricking the edges of your eyes again. You had hurt him, perhaps more than he had hurt you, made worse by your prior promise to never hurt him. He didn’t deserve you, he deserved someone who could perfectly love him, cherish him, give him everything he needed and more.

“Y/N?” A quiet voice calls out but you remain still. You recognise the voice, why was he here?

“I know you’re there, darling. You can’t hide from me that easily.” His voice is louder now, coming from next to your bedroll but you stubbornly remain where you are. You hear a shuffling sound and something impacts the ground — he probably seated himself on the ground.

“I…I wanted to say that I’m…I’m sorry.” The words feel like thorns in his throat but he forces them out anyways. He knows he has to, Karlach had encouraged him to in all her usual enthusiasm and had filled him in on what he had missed while unconscious. His immediate reaction was to check up on you from a distance, but Karlach had pushed him towards your tent, giving him a thumbs up which pressured him into going in.

You keep silent, mind struggling to form a sentence as he pours everything out to you once more, carefully lowering his walls to let you in again.

“I know I said things that hurt you, and I should not have said any of it. You rescued me, even though I thought you would never come for me and I pushed you away instead of thanking you.” He pauses, taking a deep breath he doesn’t need. “You deserve better.”

“You’re the one who deserves better.”

Astarion blinks, sitting up straight as you shift, getting out of the bed roll.

“You’re the one who deserves better,” you repeat, unable to meet his ruby gaze. “I was the reason you were kidnapped in the first place, if I hadn’t snapped at you, shouted at you, driven you away, you would never have left the camp, the hunters would never have found you and —”

“It’s not your fault.” He places a finger on your lips, eyebrows furrowed.

“But it is!” You push his finger away. “I hurt you just as much, no, more than you words ever hurt me because I promised to never hurt you! Yet I did!”

“You didn’t mean to.”

“It doesn’t excuse anything! Stop taking everything just because you don’t want to lose this relationship!”

“But I don’t!” He yells back. “I don’t want to lose this! I don’t want to lose whatever we have!”

“I don’t want to lose you.” His voice cracks as he stumbles over the words that shut you up. “If…if you don’t want me anymore I will —”

“When did I ever say that. You’re my entire world, why would I not want you?” You cut him off. He raises an eyebrow at you, searching for hints of deception but all he sees is genuineness, a fierce love for him burning within you and above all, a deep yearning for him and nothing else.

You move closer to him, cautiously reaching out with a hand that he clasps in his cold undead ones and you can’t help but smile. This brought back memories — the first time you ever hugged him, the first time he ever felt a physical touch that wasn’t sex or abuse. He puts an uncertain arm around your waist, waiting for you to do something and you lean into his touch, putting your own arms around his waist, hand holding long forgotten in place of hugging him. He pulls you in, nuzzling you and lets out a small sigh of relief.

He didn’t lose you. You’re still here. You still want him.

As much as you are his light in the darkness, he is your guiding beacon. He is the reason you continue pushing on each and every day, and you want him to know that. Tilting your head up, you meet his lips with your own, a sweet gesture that never grows old and conveys everything in your heart. He kisses back, fingers tangling in your hair and revels in the moment, wishing it would never end but alas, you need to breathe.

“I love you.” It’s the first time you’ve said those words to him.

“I love you too.” It’s not the last time he’ll say those words back.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion bg3 #astarion x durge #astarion x reader #baldurs gate astarion #astarion romance #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion ancunin #astarion #bg3 angst #bg3 x reader

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klausysworld · 1 year

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Hey, I was hoping I could make a request for a Klaus story?

Idk if you’ve ever written Omegaverse but I was thinking Y/n is an Omega (something that’s a rarity in this time) who’s hiding as a Beta by using suppressants. No one knows she’s a Beta except her mother who helped her hide it before she died.

Klaus and his family settled in Mystic Falls after that business with their mother and Klaus meets Y/n and immediately knows what she is, he can smell her as not only a very strong Alpha but a hybrid. He knows she’s meant to be his, as in over 1000 years he’s never found an Omega that calls to him like she does and his wolf screams and howls in his head for him to take their Omega.

He’s obsessed and desperate for her, leaving her flowers and gifts with cards that make it obvious that he knows what she is which scares her until he introduces himself. She’s instantly taken with him knowing that he’s her Alpha but the needy feeling is scary for her since it’s never happened with anyone else, though he lets her know it wouldn’t have because he’s her Alpha, no one else (Possessive Klaus). Yet she takes comfort in his caring gestures and urge to provide for her (maybe he brings her food often to ensure she eats, constantly trying to touch her in soft ways to scent her and kiss her cheeks, nose, forehead, etc, always trying to snuggle close and holding her close in his arms when she drifts off to sleep in his presence).

Some smut when he finally wins her over would be perfect?

I don’t see much Omegaverse stuff with Klaus (which is odd considering he’s an Alpha wolf) apart from one other blog so I really hope you like it🤞🏻🤞🏻

Instincts and suppressants

A thousand years ago there was a mix of alpha, beta and omega wolves within a pack.

Omegas were generally kind, shy, sweet, smart, and hard working little wolves that would typically be claimed by an alpha wolf or a very lucky beta. They tended to gravitate to alphas more though for their instincts told them that they would take better care of them.

However through the years, due to the hatred and wars between vampires and werewolves, the bloodsuckers found that killing an alphas omega was the best way to destroy a pack’s stability. An alpha who loses their omega becomes a shell of who they were and the whole pack will suffer in grief and torment.

And the more scarce omegas came, the more sacred they were. Packs who had an omega would lock them up, keep them safe and protected at all costs. But it only gave the wolves a main weakness.

And so the wolves themselves found it best to kill their own omegas if they had one to ensure that they were not tortured in later life and that the pack would not fall because of one death.

As the years passed by, being an omega was no longer a wonderful but instead something that parents feared their children would inherit.

Most parents who had an omega child would want rid of it.

And y/n’s father was one of them but her mother couldn’t let that happen. She wouldn’t lose her baby just because she was a little different from the other wolves. The pack banished them but it meant nothing to y/n’s mom. She had witches make suppressants to hide her little girls traits.

Y/n’s scent was no longer as desirable as it should’ve been, she was unable to produce that lovely purr and her heats were taken away. Her mother knew that it was risky, if y/n were to stop taking the suppressants then all her pheromones would be a amplified massively. Her first heat would hit her hard and both alphas and betas would instantly recognise her.

And as y/n grew up, she understood the importance of keeping herself away from other wolves, to hide herself and be quiet as to not drag herself into any trouble.

When her mother passed away, it made y/n’s life all the more harder.

It meant that she had to take care of herself entirely and that meant going out into the world and facing society. And it turned out people were just as scary as she had imagined.

———————————————————————

A thousand years ago Niklaus used to watch the wolves turn and treat each other as family. Something within him called out to them and he longed to have the relationship dynamic that he saw with so many of them. He loved how an alphas omega would cling to their side and depend on them.

Over the centuries Klaus had tried to find an omega but with his wolf side locked away, they didn’t have the instinctual need for him. They weren’t as connected as they should have been. He didn’t feel as though he deserved to take an omega wolf away from their pack just for his own needs and he couldn’t bare the thought of an omega hating him for taking them away.

He regretted his decision regularly when the breed seemingly died out. He missed his chance. Or so he thought he knew.

Which is why when he saw her, everything changed.

———————————————————————

One inhale was all it took and his wolf was going absolutely mental.

His head spun and his limbs grew heavy, his bones ready to snap and let his wolf take over if he didn’t move immediately.

Get her. Get her. Get her. Get her. Get her.

His wolf cried over and over, howling through his mind like a siren.

His eyes landed on her quickly.

She was swift as she made her way past people, avoiding contact or conversation as she hurried on by. He followed from a safe distance, watching her rush into her home and triple lock her door. She closed her curtains immediately and he heard her heart thump away as she paced the length of her kitchen.

Omegas need to be pampered.

His wolf told him and he agreed.

She needs to feel pretty. Loved.

Klaus was quick to get her some flowers. White lilies and daisies to symbolise innocence and sweetness, purity and lasting love.

He listened to the light pattering of her footsteps as she came to the door after he rang the bell only to find nobody standing behind it. Her heart raced in her ears and anxiety washed over her. She tentatively lifted the flowers in their pretty box and breathed in their natural aroma. Her teeth nibbled her lower lip lightly as she slowly backed into her house with the gift in her arms.

He was a little worried of how easily afraid she was but also found it to be a level of adorable to how innocent and shy she was to the world surrounding her.

He found that she only left her home when she absolutely needed to, he sometimes wondered if perhaps she was mute with how silent she was each day. He would hear the chatter of her tv and the change in pace of her heart but rarely her voice. Only when she was being polite to those at the shops or when her neighbours gave small conversations. She was so softly spoken, so timid in each thing that she did that his wolf was screaming to have her in his arms. To tell her everything’s okay, he’ll keep her safe.

To begin with he was certain that his presents were an added joy to her days but he noticed how her anxiety would peak with each passing note that mentioned her kind, pure soul. How she didn’t tend to eat the treats he left for her out of presumably fear that they contained something harmful. He understood to an extent of why so was so scared but he didn’t want her to be, not of him. Not of anything while he was around.

So he tried a less…creepy way of getting her attention.

A more normal way.

———————————————————————

“Hello love” he spoke as soft as he was able as to not frighten her off, trying to be less intimidating which was something he wasn’t sure how to do exactly.

Her head raised to look up at him and her eyes shone golden for a brief second to which his reflected back.

Like a switch, the fear was back.

She took a step away from him as her wolf whined within her. For some reason her wolf smelt his and something inside her wanted to breathe more of him, but that familiar feeling of the need to run away was engraved into her brain. Her wolf wolf would protect her before it gave into this alpha.

Klaus anticipated her actions to run “have been getting my gifts?” He asked quickly and she froze, he showed her his hands to be empty, no weapons or anything to be scared of. “I have no intentions to harm you sweetheart, an innocent gesture” he assured but his words meant little to a girl who had been warned a thousand times owner to not trust other wolves. “Don’t be afraid little wolf” he encouraged gently.

Her eyes searched his face, his eyes held nothing malicious which soothed her worries a small amount. She couldn’t help but look at his lips for a moment as he said something more but that common ring in her ears blocked out the sound as her mind ran into panic

Klaus frowned a little at her lack of attention and noticed her eyes watching his mouth. Perhaps she was deaf? He wondered, it would make sense why she only spoke few words so he signed something to her but she only looked more confused

“I’m sorry I don’t speak sign language” she whispered slightly embarrassed. She didn’t notice the way his face lit up at her voice

“Forgive me, I wasn’t sure you could hear me” he explained and she made an ‘oh’ sound in realisation.

“I’m…I’m sorry I really need to get home” she told him gently

“I can walk you” he offered and she swallowed thickly

“I-um I don’t think that-“

“Please my lovely, I don’t want you to be snatched up by someone” he murmured and the fear of something happening just because she denied a nice person the chance to walk with her scared her more than the possibility of him being the bad one.

“Okay” she whispered with a nod.

It began quiet, and few words were exchanged

She doesn’t like to talk. Let her listen.

His wolf directed so he complied and spoke to her about random things to take her mind off of the elephant in the room.

He avoided any mention of supernatural or her soft natured personality.

She was rather grateful to have him treat her like a normal person rather than an object like she assumed alphas would act towards an omega nowadays.

By the time he got to her house she knew it were time to address the situation.

“I don’t have a pack” she told him “I’m no threat or a necessary target, killing me won’t benefit you” she tells him in hopes of him leaving her be. The sad look in his eyes flicked between both of hers

“I wasn’t planning to harm you” he said quietly “omegas…they are a rarity that should be protected and cherished. I only want to be a good alpha for you, I will keep you safe” he promised

“I’m not a possession” she whispered with a sigh and unlocked her door hurriedly

“Of course not- that’s not what I meant…I just meant that you- well you want to be taken care of don’t you?” He asked confused

“No” she lies. Thankfully her suppressants stopped her wolf from throwing her at him. His scent was so strong and rich.

Klaus frowned at her a little and looked down briefly which she took notice of and an immediate flow of guilt travelled through her. “I don’t mean to scare you, or make you feel uncomfortable” he murmurs while she steps inside her house “If you change your mind, perhaps you would call me?” He offered and put a strip of paper with his number into her hand “I can sense the suppressants you are taking, I understand why of course but I do hope one day you may feel safe enough to stop and allow your wolf to be free” he whispers with a small smile and slowly retreats back to his own home.

Y/n would be lying if she said his words didn’t have an impact on her. She wanted nothing more than to let her instincts drive her and to melt into a strong alphas arms but her trust wasn’t known to be given out.

She continued to receive little tokens of his affections. Sweet poems and love notes complimenting every thingy detail about her. She soon found it more comforting than scary which was a first but it didn’t feel wrong. For once something felt right.

So she decided that maybe texting him instead of ringing him would be a small step in the right direction.

And Klaus couldn’t have been happier.

———————————————————————

A few weeks later and y/n was getting more comfortable with Klaus by the day.

The first few times he initiated physical contact made her freak out and she didn’t want to see him for a couple days after. He tried his best to be patient and careful with what he did, she was more damaged than he had originally expected but it was nothing he couldn’t handle.

He moved nice and slow for her until eventually she would sink against his chest and welcome his embrace.

Soft touches were her kryptonite and he made sure to give her unlimited access.

His hands would stroke and pet her hair, brush his fingers along her arms gently while small kisses are peppered from her shoulder to her jaw. Kisses was another step in their little relationship. His forwardness could frighten her from time to time so he made sure to let her come to him when she wanted to kiss him.

His arms were wrapped around her loosely when her lips ever so lightly pressed to his, as soon as she took the chance to deepen it she had handed the control over. From there he poured every ounce of his admiration into their shared moments of affection.

After a couple months y/n was succumbing to her omega needs. She began to rely on him more and more.

Soon enough Klaus had asked if she would ever stop taking her suppressants

“Maybe…I don’t know…I would be hit full force with years of feelings and experiences” she told him quietly

“I would be here with you, take care of you and everything you long for” he promised her

She blushed a dark pink and leant against his chest “I’m not sure that my needs are manageable” she whispered shyly

“I wouldn’t worry about your heat sweetheart, I would take perfect care of that” he whispered back with a knowing smirk on his lips. His fingers ran down her back lightly as she nuzzled his chest to hide her embarrassment. “Don’t be too shy my little love, your alpha will please you just perfectly” he teased

“Stopp” she whined making him chuckle and pull her into his lap

“Hush sweetheart, you know how much I adore you” he murmured “you mustn’t be embarrassed with your basic instincts, I crave to provide for you”

“You do so much for me already, my wolf would drive you mad” she whispered

“No madder than my own does, I assure you”

(Gonna do a separate part for the smutty side after she stops taking her suppressants;))

(Also I too cannot believe the lack of omegaverse for Klaus, you would think there would be more. Gotta love alpha klaus!!)

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arcielee · 6 months

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Zȳha lyks

Summary: You find an ally with the second son of King Viserys. Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Plus Size Reader Word Count: 2.4k+ Warnings: AFAB Reader, fat phobia, kissing, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v, overstimulation, loss of virginity implied. Author's Note: This story is based on this request:

I definitely tweaked it a bit but I hope you enjoy it.💜 Thank you to my beloved beta reader @annikin-im-panicin for your insight with this peace and to @azperja for your emojis 💜 Valyrian translations: Zȳha lyks is his peace 💜 Dividers by @saradika-graphics 💜

It was your father’s ambition to weave himself in the inner circle of the crowned princess that pulled you away from Claw Isle, leaving your brother behind to step into the role vacant for House Celtigar. During your journey, your father would repeatedly impress the importance of absorbing the tutoring of the maesters, to learn of your ancestral history before it had been so diluted by the blood of Westeros…but he was also adamant that you were to take advantage of your social seating, to make worthwhile and lifelong allies while in King’s Landing.

You were quick to note the marionette strings that Prince Aegon held, allowing the Strong bastards to hold their heads high with their snide comments on how they found you, “pleasantly plump enough,” or so they supposed.

It cut through your skin and burrowed into your heart, but your face never betrayed your anger nor your hurt. Instead, you went to your father with your heartache but his response was almost flippant about your torment.

“Our blood stems from the veins of Old Valyria,” your father now spoke of this as a fact, as something without any room to argue against. “They are our kinfolk and we seem destined to intertwine our blood with the blood of the dragon.”

But on this day you pushed aside your father’s words the moment you saw Prince Aegon and his puppets shift their collective cruelty onto the second son of King Viserys, Prince Aemond Targaryen.

He was a quiet, sullen boy, who always seemed sunkissed and kept his large, lavender eyes downcast. You saw how his pain curved his posture, a hooded melancholy draped across his slouched shoulders. He blanched as the boys retrieved the Pink Dread, his freckles stark on his porcelain skin.

Their gibe laughter echoed within the Dragon Pit and it boiled your blood, urging your steps forward to push past the brunette pair of princes and towards the puppeteer. Aegon’s brow raised, amused with your flushed fury that was staining your features, quick to sneer his comment on how, “–perhaps this swine could be mounted in–” but it stopped once your balled fist cracked into his nose.

Your satisfaction trilled up and down your spine with the pop of cartilage, watching as he cupped his face and the crimson that poured between his fingers. His wounded howl called back the Dragonkeepers and the White Cloaks assigned to them, all horrified at the sight. You were in trouble, undoubtedly, feeling the large hand that curled around your wrist to drag you back to your father. You dared look at Aemond, catching the upturn quirk of his mouth, the glitter in his eyes that met with your own.

It began a bond with the foundation of a mutual disdain, a hatred that would be solidified with events at Driftmark.

The events that followed that fateful night were flurried: the crowned princess all but fled the capital with her new husband and children, while your father decided to uproot and follow after. This had been halted by the queen’s request, behest of her daughter Princess Helaena, asking if you would remain as one of her ladies and confidants.

It was something that could not be denied and you found yourself alone with Helaena, her first request was for you to bring a book to her brother, who had since been boarded up in his room to recover.

“Am I to read to him?” You peered up from the cover to Helaena. “What if he does not wish to see me?”

“I believe this book and its company would interest him,” she glowed with her sweet smile, “I believe he would enjoy the change in narration, as our maester is rather monotone,” was all that she offered.

At first, Aemond had been hesitant of your company, bashful of the bloodied bandages that required to be tended to, but you showed to be steadfast, unflinching, but with a sense of empathy without the effortful pity that came from everyone else. You saw how he warmed as your visitations turned habitual, with you joining with his lessons and remaining when the maesters left. Helaena would slyly dismiss you for the day and this allowed Aemond to help you practice your shared ancestral tongue, or listen to whatever tome caught your attention in the library, even delving into bits of gossip or updates that pertained to his dragon.

“Vhagar flies over once a day. I assume it is to check on you,” you informed him one afternoon, “and she rests on the outside of the city walls, overlooking the bay.”

His cheeks pinked with his shy admittance, “I can feel her.”

You could not help your smile in return. Whereas Helaena was always sweet and always kind to you, and even Aegon had a newfound respect in your regard, you found it was the second son of King Viserys that allowed you to find a sense of comfort that you thought had been left at home.

Aemond recovered, as you knew he would, and you still remained at his blindside as he reacclimated to his new depth perception. He began to wear an eyepatch over his scarred socket, its wrathful red line curling above and below, along with his apprehension to the whispers of the court about the marred Targaryen prince.

“You are the rider of Vhagar, with the blood of the dragon in your veins,” you reminded him, your own blood rising to the surface. “Pay them no mind.”

Aemond listened to you, as he always did, focusing his determination on relearning his world with his handicap. You watched as he grew tall, his sinewy frame becoming taut under his fitted tunic and slacks, a result of the countless hours he spent training with Ser Criston. He matured with a severity etched into the marble he seemed to be chiseled from, though you still would see a perpetual smirk that would play across his lips.

Your heart fluttered until it bruised against your breastbone when he shyly asked that you would walk on his right side. “I wish to be able to see you,” he murmured and you burned with his words. Aemond showed consideration to match his gait with your steps and you enjoyed the heat that seemed to permeate from him; his large palm would cover your own, tucking it into the crook of his arm to keep you close at his side.

Worthwhile and lifelong allies, your father’s mantra repeated in your mind, but on his eight and tenth nameday, you felt the thrum of an unknown emotion vibrating within you with his close proximity.

His mother had gifted him a sapphire stone that was carved to fit where his eye once been, and when he focused his bicolored gaze on you–how the blue was brought out in his lavender eye with the complement of the gemstone, its amber flecks in the shine from the candles lit–did you feel the air pull from your lungs.

You had never cared for the vicious tittering of the noblewomen and would find yourself arguing how Aemond was handsome still, as it seemed a quality trait that most Targaryen men possessed. But in that moment, as the warmth flooded your features from his steady stare that now bore through you, you began to grasp it to be so much more for you.

Aemond misread your reaction, flinching to pull on his eyepatch with his apology: “I would never want to offend you–”

Your hand reached with its own volition, touching his elbow to stop him. He paused and looked at you and you took a breath before you could manage to say, “Aemond, you are beautiful.”

You burned from your boldness that was spilling from your tongue, your realization of what began as a mutual hatred for his nephews was on the precipice of something you knew you could not ignore.

Aemond watched you, his eye flitting over, before he tucked his eyepatch into his pocket and then offered his elbow to you. “Come, Lady Celtigar, we should not keep them waiting,” his voice low, and only then did you notice the rose hue that touched his cheeks.

After his celebration, it would be romanticized how the prince disappeared, taking Vhagar to fly to Claw Isle and demand your hand in marriage, against the Lord Hand’s protest for a more strategic pairing. Aemond would not be deterred and he returned with the intention to have you as his wife, which you graciously accepted. The ceremony that followed was intimate, steeped in the tradition of Old Valyria and sealed with a kiss that tasted of iron.

It was then you felt a new shyness that swept through with your muted mortification of the intimacy that was now expected of you, that Aemond would see all of you. He always seemed to take pride with how you were dressed in your finery, gowns stitched to complement your buxom figure, but you soon learned that Aemond much preferred what was beneath the silk and lace.

That night he would show you. He relished to peel away your layers, his mouth ravenous to taste your skin, his tongue licking to follow the natural slopes of your breasts and to the valley between. Aemond was panting with his anticipation, placing hot, opened mouth kisses to cherish your every curve, with gentle nips of his teeth that left blooms of rose as he continued towards your soft stomach and lower. He savoured your taste and how your body responded, how you were breathless, flushed, writhing beneath him.

“Aemond,” you gasped as he nestled between your plush thighs.

He shushed you, his breath warm against your silken folds, and it tickled in a way that caused you to squeeze his head between. His pleasure spilled with a low, guttural groan that rattled your bones beneath, but he would never pull away, as you would learn.

Your fingers combed through his silver hair as he began to tease you, sparks licking the base of your spine as he drank your essence. His gentle touch fell in tandem with his tongue, a pacing that was harmonized with your sweet sighs, only quickening with the flutter of your walls. The sparks of pleasure flashed white with your peak shuddering throughout, pulsing around his digits that remained knuckle deep, coaxing you to completion.

When your breath finally returned, you felt him grinning against your cunt. You found the muscle strength to tilt your chin down and meet with his eye blown, the shine of you on his smug expression. “One more for me, pretty girl,” his tone was low, commanding, his lips feathering your now swollen bloom of nerves.

You were boneless and quivering from your second release and only then did Aemond shift to move on top of you, melting against the softness of your skin, fitting in a way that you never realized before was missing from you.

He captured your mouth, his gentle thrusts filled you, completed you, and he trembled with his own reserve until you finally begged, “Aemond, my love, please, I need you–” that he rolled his hips against you, burying to the hilt with a rhythm that grew desperate. The litany that spilled from your lips as you clung to his shoulders, the flashes returning but with color from this new pleasure rekindling deeper within you.

That night, Aemond showed you the dragon that you were always aware thrummed beneath his practiced poise, something insatiable and wanting. He played the perfect gentleman in court, though his large hands always reached to touch, to grab whenever eyes were turned. You were his peace personified, decorated with love bites of your passion shared, the lifeline to his sanity that balanced on the edge of the coin flipped by the gods.

And it was tested when the crowned princess returned to argue for the claimant of Driftmark.

That night, the dinner had a palpable tension that the minstrels tried to drown with their music. Aemond held his gaze, piercing, loathsome, waiting for a moment to lash out, and that moment came served on a platter: a suckling pig that crackled still from the flames it had been removed from.

You first noticed the crass snickering of Prince Lucerys that was followed by the swell of your husband’s anger, something you quickly abated with the gentle press of your hand to his forearm as you pushed to stand. The room halted, the attention trained to you as you made show to hold up your gilded cup. “Final tribute,” your sickly sweet tone began, “to the health of our nephews…”

You knew that Aemond was watching, his agitation holding him rigid in his seat, his curiosity browed as you continued your insincerity, stating all three of their names with emphasis, “...each of them handsome, wise,” and your lips, stained by the wine, curled upwards, “Strong.”

It was a rippled effect: the shock of the queen, the sharp eyes of the Lord Hand, the heated glare from the other end of the room, but it did not stop you. Instead you looked for the perpetual smirk that was now playing across your husband’s mouth.

“Come now,” you gestured again with your goblet and even Aegon, with a dark chuckle, raised his own, “let us drain our cups to these three Strong boys.”

“I dare you to say that again.”

Aemond pushed to stand, his ire returned with a force as he moved to wall you away from Jacaerys. “You dare raise your tone to my wife,” his wrath cut with each word, the fire in his blood pouring from him. “She only meant to compliment you… or do you not think yourself Strong?”

It ended as quick as it had begun with Jacaerys thrown across the floor and a throaty chuckle from the back of Aemond’s throat. The clash of dragons was split apart by the White Cloaks and you watched your husband with a pride blooming in your chest, knitting with the love you now realized you had always carried for him: he was truly beautiful, squared off and fearless, his severity now furrowed onto his features that showed golden from the candles lit.

You held your head high as you walked to grab his sleeve and his attention returned to you, to your touch, though his scowl remained splayed on the sharp edges of his face. You pulled him to leave, to return towards your bedchambers; Aemond brimmed with a passion that you knew needed a release and you would forever be willing to be that vessel for your husband.

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#aemond targaryen #aemond taragaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #aemond targaryen x plus size reader #plus size reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x reader #aemond x you #Zȳha lyks #his peace

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mammonsrockstargf · 1 month

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The Brothers x Ghibli Movies

What Ghibli movie reminds me of each of the brothers.

Lucifer ⭑ Princess Mononoke

“This is what hatred looks like! This is what it does when it catches hold of you! It’s eating me alive and very soon it will kill me.”

I considered that this movie fits well with Belphegor also, but ultimately I decided to go with Lucifer because I think there’s a big theme of pride and how it corrupts the forest and the humans. I love this movie and the relationship between Ashitaka and Mononoke also reminds me of MC and Lucifer where there’s initially a lot of distrust but it eventually turns into love.

Mammon ⭑ Castle in the Sky

“He who turns and runs away can steal the treasure another day!”

There are sky pirates and treasure hunting. Also, Pazu kind of takes a protecting role of Sheeta and helps her get where she needs to be, much like Mammon with MC! (At least he tries to.) Despite that, I think if Mammon was in this movie he’d be a part of the pirate squad. Do y’all see the vision?

Leviathan ⭑ Ponyo

“I love Ponyo whether she’s a fish, a human, or something in between.”

Firstly, there’s the whole fish thing, Ponyo is a fish and Levi has fish-like qualities, his best friend Henry is a fish but I also think there's a parallel between Ponyo desperately wanting to be human and Sosuke helping her and Levi desperately wanting to be accepted by his brothers and MC helping him. (More with realizing he already is accepted, but alas.)

Satan ⭑ Whisper of the Heart

“You know, you read too many books”

This movie was what originally prompted me to make this post because it is just so Satan coded. A girl begins to notice a boy has always read the books before her at the library so she tracks him down only to find out the reason he reads all of these books is because he wanted to get her attention. What a nerd, I love it. Also, there are a lot of cats in this one as well as big themes of identity and finding yourself.

Asmodeus ⭑ Howl’s Moving Castle

“I give up. I see no point in living if I can’t be beautiful.”

Obviously, there’s the whole factor that Howl is vain as fuck and eventually learns that beauty isn’t everything to life, but I also think that Calficer and Howl sort of remind me of Asmo and Solomon? They both made a pact when they were young and didn’t really know what they were getting into and now they’re just kind of stuck with each other but they don’t mind. (I might have a WIP about this, wink wonk. >:D)

Beelzebub ⭑ My Neighbor Totoro

“Try laughing. Then whatever scares you will go away.”

This is a little silly but Totoro kind of reminds me of Beel. They both have that gentle giant thing going on for them. Besides that, the movie has some underlying themes and subtext about grief and loss which especially season 1 of OM has as well with Beelzebub feeling responsible for Lillith and Belphie.

Belphegor ⭑ Spirited Away

“I’ve gotta get out of this place. Someday I’m getting on that train.”

Spirited Away is a coming-of-age movie about big changes in your life and likewise, Belphie deals with a lot of changes throughout the game. He goes from being a bitter little shit to being, well… less bitter but still a little shit. (I say this affectionately.)

All graphic dividers are by @/cafekitsune

#headcanons #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me swd #obey me brothers #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me asmodeus #obey me beel #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie

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lorkai · 1 month

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.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: Hello Genshin fandom 🥺👉👈, how y'all doing? This is actually my first real time writing for this fandom but I've been reading so much sagau fics and they are all so cool that I wanted to write something too. Not really sure if I'm going to start writing for genshin but we'll see. Hopefully this is good.

"So... This is how it ends?" A last whisper leaves you as a coppery taste invades your mouth, a strangled half laugh escaping from your blood wet lips.

It was tragic. Still, a little comic how golden blood escaped from the giant wound in your stomach caused by Zhognli's spear. The whole world thought you were an impostor, someone worth killing and now time seemed to stop. The clocks hands stoping moving, the sand stopping falling inside the hourglass.

For a moment everything was static, unmoving, not even breathing.

The whole world was shaking, the winds started howling. You looked at them, eyes moving from face to face. And they had the audacity to look shocked, pale, nervous and anxious as you were dying.

The adrenaline had reached its peak, making any and all pain bearable, painless, but with an injury like that you knew what the result would be. You laughed again. After running away for so many months, being cold and hungry, and only knowing fear, you let everything you felt come out of your chest before your death.

You laughed till your eyes were blurry with tears. Tears filled with pain and hatred. You laughed till your throat was hoarse, the sound stretching till it was all but a hiss.

"Your Grace!" You heard Venti's panicked voice, smug smile wiped from his face as he had the audacity to come closer. Though he was far too coward to touch you, he fumbled anxiously. "No... How could this happen?"

Yeah, how could this happen? You thought bitterly. You were isekai'ed to this world but you were ok with it. And then the characters you used to love and cherish started hunting you.

All because of some kind of creator. You didn't even knew there was a creator in the game? There was one? You can't remember. Skipped dialogues, playing it through drowsiness, not reading the books. There was plenty of lore you could have missed.

It was too late now.

"Use your futile head once, bard." Was your reply, dry tone making him wince. "Write me a song while you're it."

"We thought..." Ei started. But a glare from you had her silent in seconds, imponent Shogun Ei trembling under your eyes.

"You thought but you didn't ask me for clarifications, you didn't let mm..." You coughed blood, a pool of golden coating your clothes and feet.

"You Grace!" Zhongli screamed, alarmed.

Your body became weak and you fell forward, your knees weakening and small tears running down your star like eyes, Zhongli held you, so delicate and with so much love. Once, you used wished for him to hold you like this, for him to cuddle you and share all this knowledge with you over tea but now it just left a sour taste on your mouth while you looked at those ambar eyes as the minutes go by.

"Please, don't leave..." A cry from Ei's wounded soul. Followed by Venti's regretful tears.

A god of freedom took the Creator's freedom, deprived them of it without using his mind like he used to do. And the goddess of eternity was sentenced a spend eternity alone, without her sister, her son, her creator...

Zhongli lips were moving, you could feel the vibration of his voice reverberating through his chest where your head rested. But the words became blurred and their meaning was lost.

The wind was swaying your hair so gently, caressing your face with its smooth invisible fingers.

In his arms, you died.

#genshin impact #genshin sagau #genshin impact sagau #impostor au #zhongli x reader #zhongli x y/n #zhongli x you #genshin impostor au #venti x reader #venti x you #venti x y/n #ei x reader #ei x y/n #ei x you

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l4long-winded · 28 days

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Would you ever write about Carmy and cum play? I just feel like he would be sooooo into it

no, no, no, this has been haunting me for so, so long! like, he would be more than into it. you have no idea the monster you let out in me while i was writing this!!! i hope you like it, love~

o.s. it's more like a fascination

summary: getting a glimpse into one of carmen's obsessive infatuations passionate fascinations (carmen berzatto x afab!reader)

reflection: this one... this one had me blushing. it kind of gave me brain rot. would be completing a task, and boom, thinking about carmy and his stupid oral fixation. this has to be one of my raunchiest fics yet. thank you, anon, for inspiring such an intense writing experience for me. i fear i will never be the same again. as always, feedback is appreciated! please enjoy!

warnings: no condoms (wrap it, tap it, you get it), cumplay (it's everywhere), marking, pussydrunk!carmen (he's obsessed, basically), fingering, cunnilingus, implied blowjob, somewhat dom!carmen, begging, dirty talk, cursing, p in v sex, longwinded descriptions, body worship, carmen's pov, spit, filth, cum eating (carmy is doing the most), multiple orgasms, lots of licking, no use of pronouns, (please let me know if there are other warnings i need to add)

word count: 1,989

( this work has been cross-posted to ao3 )

Carmen hates condoms. It’s not in the typical, cliche type of hatred that most men have. If you’re uncomfortable, he won’t insist. However, you’re more likely to encourage it. He prefers to be as closely bonded to you as possible, no rubber in his way, able to feel the squelch of every glide and the crushing pressure of your walls wrapped around his pulsing cock. The fever you stew him in. A condom doesn’t do that for him. Not in the same way. You’re far more sensitive without it, clenching your eyes shut, heaving pleasured breaths up against his shoulder you previously gnawed into for composure. That, or the depletion of his, he could never tell with how you flip between being all passive and docile to motivating his rough manhandling, ultimately placing you in charge and in control while he follows instinctual need.

He cherishes the moments where he pulls out and his cum spurts from his tip over your lower stomach, the milky and pearly substance just under your navel, seeping towards your pelvis. It’s lewd. A waterfall waiting to happen. His eyes blink hard as if they’re taking a mental snapshot. You’re delectable like this, chest rising and falling as your open legs tremble. Sometimes, there’s so much of his load to bear that it slides down your inner thighs, liquid opal skimming the cute button he’s teased with his digits and tongue earlier (as if it couldn’t get any fucking prettier), and into whomever’s bedsheets you’re both using for the time being. You look debauched, dazed, and proud to be marked as his.

Your tits make for just-a-great-a canvas, he’s found. If he props himself above your abdomen, one knee at the side of you, his foot drawing up at the other until his leg is at a right angle, his tip always lines itself at the inception of the valley between your breasts. He cautiously focuses his aim to paint your cleavage while resisting the urge to stripe your neck and chin, earnestly observing slack-jawed as some dribbles over your nipples. Would you judge him if he sucked his cum off while tonguing around your areola as a dual effort of cleaning his mess and pebbling your nipple to frenetic attention? The uncontrollable sounds of pleasure petting his eardrums don’t signify negative judgment, but Carmen wouldn’t be Carmen without believing in his self-doubt. And you, you fucking angel, you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t chase and stomp that out until its light dimmed. Sometimes that comes through words of reassurance and patience and other times it’s as simple as your howl of his name or your digits tugging his unkempt hair further into its tumultuous state.

It’s not uncommon for Carmen to see his cum pooling in your mouth, either. He likes the way it rests on your tongue when you stick it out to show him, the challenge he issues being in maintaining a drop doesn’t fall in your performance. But, although his habits are organized and pristine and he has concerning tendencies relating to an undiagnosed compulsive disorder, he particularly enjoys watching when it’s too much for you, when it’s sliding down your usually swollen (the result of sucking him off) lips and rounding down your chin. That’s more rare since you seldom let anything escape, the tip of your tongue catching him and drinking him back in.

“Get it all? Let me help you,” he says gruffly, applying the pad of his thumb to your face to scoop the rebelling stream into your mouth where it came from. The plus is the feeling of your approving humming vibrating on his flesh and your spongy taste buds licking along the indents of his thumb after.

His real favorite spot to finish is inside of you. Now, now, it’s risky for obvious reasons, but you’ve discussed birth control and there are rounds where you’re fucking begging him to and he’s not going to deny you, being the generous lover that he is who selfishly wants to pipe your cunt until it’s leaking. No, he’s unresisting to the way your legs wind around him and pull him in deeper, sloppily humping up into you and rutting and grinding until he’s gasping and flooding and drowning you both in stickiness. He rocks until the end, stilling above you as he’s throbbing and trying to regain a grip on himself. What have you done to him?

That’s how Carmen has you at the moment. Your legs unwrap from his waist and flop into the bed, and eventually, he retracts inch by inch, his ridges catching. He likes to extend his time inside of you, likes to live in the present instead of his head when you’re folded up like this. It’s a shame you’ve made him so sensitive. He wants to fuck his cum right back into you, but he requires a recovery period male anatomy failed him in. Your eyes flutter open in sensation as he finally slips out, closing after as you take the time to calm yourself and your body down from the high he’s propelled you into. He notices the way your face scrunches in discomfort, legs presumably sore from being corralled around his hips for too long. Carmen’s hands massage your thighs, promoting the feeling back within them by kneading the supple flesh there and lifting them into peaking mountains, heels on the mattress. It gives him the best view of his bidding, of the extra cream beading out of you, down to the crevice of your cheeks.

“Carmen,” your fucked out voice breaks him of the hypnosis he fell into. This can’t be all that pleasant for you, the seed of him drooling out of you while he holds up your thighs you’re not holding up on your own for a good reason. He’s aware of what you’re thinking. He’s aware of how you’re wondering how the hell he has more to give when you’ve got close to nothing left.

“I know, I know, I know,” his lips graze over your kneecap, toned stomach flexing while he shifts himself onto it. The next time you look into Carmen’s eyes, your thighs are framing either side of his head. His arms curl around them, and they end up over his shoulders, fingers drumming along your skin unprompted. It’s because he likes it when you lose yourself and wind up hugging his ears with your thighs. The downside is listening to the tune of those moans swathed up, but the upside is the heightened sense of touch it accords him. The noises you release vibrate all over your body, reverberating like the walls of a temple undergoing an earthquake while a beautiful harp dazzles it in devastating harmonic trills of its column strings. Or… in other words.

Your clit ripples with it on his tongue. What good is hearing you moan when he can feel it in his mouth through your pussy? What the fuck were those toothbrushes that played the music called? Whatever, it’s similar to that and it’s a pleasurable perk of living the human experience with you, if he had to name one off the top of his head. A nice dinner with you with some trashy television is another, but he’ll compile a list later. He’s busy staring at your sodden hole, intending to create more of a capacious mess than he already has. He means both of that gift between your legs and of you entirely.

Carmen laps beneath your twitching hole, capturing the glissading cum before it can fall further into the crevice where your ass begins. He tongues that sensitive area to make sure he gets it all, gliding the flat of the organ upwards and gulping its catch into his mouth. You’re trembling, and there you go, moaning out into the air. Carmen repeats the action until you’re no longer leaking, until the only cum left on you is still inside. He sinks his middle finger knuckle deep into you, checking to make sure of that fact, as if his cock didn’t guarantee it when he drove in deep to saturate and caulk you up, and yes, you’re tender and fucking heated and dewy around his finger as you grasp him tight and moan in a mix of surprise and overwhelming pleasure. He pumps and coils his middle finger, fucking that cum back up into you where it belongs, doing his best to locate that spongey spot you love so much to lubricate it with him, further claiming you from the inside out, all while he simultaneously peppers kisses around your outer lips.

“More, Carmy, more, please,” you say, and fuck, it’s like you know you’re going to get anything and everything from him in the entire world if he’s able. He ends the loneliness of his middle finger by adding in a second, his index joining into the fray. His middle finger is longer, but clumsier, doesn’t create as good a rhythm as his index does. It’s a true sentiment, further proven by how you arch suddenly and your thighs attach to his ears like magnets. Yeah, he found the spot, almost the very second his index finger navigated into your warmth. It’s a homing beacon.

He leans his head up. He didn’t swallow the cum he licked off you yet. He’s let the heat of his mouth warm it up, saliva pool in his cheeks with it, and abruptly, his lips part, spitting the combination over your clit in a glob that causes your hips to raise off the mattress, pelvic bone dangerously close to breaking his nose. The one hand on your thigh brings you back to earth for him, his fingers continuing the rubbing motion that’s got you whimpering sounds he selfishly wants louder. It’s not as pearly as it once was dribbling out of your slit, but it’s still a gratifying sight for him, and the lamp at bedside catches the remnants of the viscous substance splitting apart from his saliva. It’s like oil and water. Cum and spit. All lovingly blanketing your clit and seeping down where his fingers are taking care of you. And fuck, he can’t resist it, he knows what the fuck it’s gonna make him look like, but if you don’t judge him for splashing your tits and stomach with his seed, or kissing you deeply on the mouth to share it when you’ve just given him the crassest head, then he’s not going to hesitate any longer.

Carmen drops his mouth, licking it all back up. He prioritizes stimulating your clit with his tongue, but he’s not going to lie, he’s drinking it all back in. His cum, his spit, your wet arousal slick over his fingers and knuckles. He’s got you where he needs you, withdrawing yet another orgasm from your body that rocks you. He allows the gentle humping of your hips as you ride out that high, never slowing his fingers, bathing your clit with his lips and tongue for as long as you need it, and for as long as it tastes good. So… you have to brush a hand over the side of his face because to him, it never stops tasting good.

“Fuck, sorry. Too much?” He breathes. He kisses your inner thighs while you nod, dazed out and breathing heavily. Your chest falls and rises, breasts jostling in the action. Carmen continues to kiss your skin, slipping his fingers out slowly. You shiver, and your legs fall once more now that they’re not in his stronghold.

This is the other side. You’re spent. You can barely move. All you can do right now at this moment is watch Carmen sit back on his knees above you, observe as he drags his tongue over his digits, licking them unsullied. Because, sure, he’s got a huge thing for cumplay, but he’s also addicted to how yours tastes.

#l4l.writes #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #the bear fic #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto #it's more like a fascination #l4l.oneshot #phewwww

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