#reclaim your vote

[viperwhispered]

So, as much as I love a dom Jamil, I do also love the idea of him calling me you mistress/master in bed.

Whether he'd be actually willing to do that is another matter, though.

So, I'm curious. Assuming an established relationship where they're comfortable exploring kinks together,

And to clarify: I'm not asking if he'd try it once, but rather if it's something he'd have be a part of their repertoire with his s/o, so to speak.

#twisted wonderland #jamil viper #as much as I'd love to answer yes I kinda suspect it's actually a no #not that that's gonna stop me from enjoying the idea but still #on the other hand there is that concept of reliving/reclaiming your trauma through kink so... #and I still do stand by my assessment that a gentle dom could be really good for him #someone to just take care of him and take charge without overriding him or making him uncomfortable #anyways #curious to see how others view him in this regard #ner talks #eta: apparently because I made this on a sideblog even I can't see the results before voting #thanks tumblr

[bg-brainrot]

Failed Every Insight Check and Fell all the Harder (Astarion x GN!Tav)

Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav

Series: Fits into Love at First Knife, AO3 link here

Companion piece to: Failed a Dex Save and Fell for You

Summary: After a few months of traveling together, Astarion has begun to experience some new feelings around you. After one fateful day in Moonrise Towers, he finally figures out what those feelings are.

Tags: Astarion POV, POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Awkward Fluff, tw: mentions of astarion's past and all that comes with it, tw: mentions of araj scene, Feelings Realization, Jealousy

A/N: here comes the awkward, fluffy Astarion figuring out his feelings Valentine’s special. He’s a hot mess, of course. (happy Early Valentine’s because I will be busy on Valentine’s) And thanks to everyone who voted for this one!

Word count: ~4.8k

Ever since your group entered the Shadowlands, something has been bothering Astarion. He hadn't noticed at first– or rather, had tried his best to ignore it. But, as time goes on, he’s finding it more and more difficult to brush aside.

It had started out small. An odd pain in the pit of his stomach.

What was that? he'd thought, holding a hand to his abdomen in concern. Perhaps he was just hungry, but it certainly didn’t feel like the ever-present hunger in his belly. No, that was a dull, continuous ache. This? This felt like something was weighing him down. Maybe I’m ill. I shouldn’t mention it to anyone, lest Lae’zel slit my throat in my sleep.

Besides, the pain didn’t happen often. He noticed it a distinct few times.

Once, when you first entered the Shadowlands. He’d just watched you bend down, hands plucking at something off the side of the cursed lands’ road. He thought momentarily that he ought to stop you, that none of you knew what could be lurking in its magical darkness. But that tinge of worry was promptly replaced by that same gods awful pit in his stomach. 

Because there you were, presenting your party’s cleric with your spoils. You were gifting Shadowheart a night orchid– had remembered that she mentioned loving them. You bore the woman’s wretched joke with a smile. Disgusting, Astarion thought. No wonder my stomach feels uncomfortable, what a pathetic little exchange.

Like everything that had bothered him in the last couple of months since finding himself free of Cazador, he decided to forget the feeling. Life is his to take full advantage now, why let something like that affect him?

Or so he thought until the next time the feeling made its return.

You had just arrived at the Last Light Inn as a group, found shelter through the Harpers’ well-established safe haven. Astarion was quite happy to be rid of the shadows, content to cozy up in an inn. He figured, if he played his cards right, you may even let him partake in your blood or ask for a bit of fun.

Then your party found Dammon. Equipped with Infernal Iron and one blazing hot barbarian, Dammon made magic happen in a matter of moments. 

Astarion was glad. As much as the group was a bit much at times, he understood Karlach’s struggle with her body all too well. She deserved this small victory in reclaiming her body. 

His feelings of genuine sympathy were short-lived though because a moment later you were wrapping your arms around the tiefling’s body. It was a test, of course, to see if Dammon’s fusing had worked. But there it was again, the feeling in his stomach. This time it felt twice as heavy, a lead ball in his guts. Maybe I should let someone know, he thought. This can’t be good.

But the sensation was soon forgotten as your group settled into the Last Light Inn. Old allies were in some miserable new states– requiring even more help, gods– and new acquaintances were made. It was all rather dull for Astarion.

The one time Astarion perked up was when you went head-to-head with the head Harper. He chuckled under his breath when you outsmarted the old crone, Jaheira. That’s right, Harper. Don’t mess with my protector.

Your first night at the inn was capped off with a bit of revelry: a game of Truth or Dare. 

Astarion could sense your reluctance to play. You’d been acting odd all day, stiff and awkward around him. He saw this as the perfect opportunity to tease you to the high celestial plane– in fact, he already knew what he wanted to ask you. “You are going to regret this so much," he'd said to you from across the table.

Then the game began, and the deep, uncomfortable feeling never left his core.

Each and every companion received your attention throughout the game, in one way or another. Even that damned smith, Dammon, was given a dare from you. And Astarion just sat there, not even earning a glance, his mood growing more and more sour.

When, at last, he was able to taunt you with his question, you were far too in your cups to give a proper response. He sat on your lap, placed there from one of Shadowheart’s dares, staring into your surprised, open eyes, wishing that he'd thought of an easier question for an inebriated version of you.

The group had shooed you both out of the game upon seeing your state, though Astarion didn't mind. He'd much rather leave the lot of them and tease you by himself.

Once you were alone, you answered his question. That he, Astarion, was your favorite and for all manner of incredulous, unbelievable reasons. He’d expected you to say him. He’d asked to hear your praise, confirm your attachment in the name of his plan to seduce you. All the same he was left uncomfortable, juggling the sudden and unabashed flattery. Being praised for his looks was one thing but for being… himself?

The feeling in his stomach grew. Suddenly his lungs felt it, his undead heart felt it. What in the sweet hells is the matter with me? he thought, as he helped lay your drunken, passed out form to bed later that night. He hadn’t felt a sensation like this before– he hated it. 

Then you reached out to him in your sleep, and he froze. Something about the touch quietened the pain under his ribs, and so he extended his fingers, gently touching your brow as you fell asleep. See? I’m fine, he assured himself. I truly am just ravenous.

__

He continued this way for several days in the Shadowcursed lands.

One moment, he was perfectly fine, hacking and slashing at a Shambling Mound with abandon. The next, he would look over at you, see you laughing at something Karlach said, and it felt like an iron ingot had made its way into his insides.

Damned tiefling woman. I’m far funnier than her, you know, he thinks, resheathing his knives with a little too much gusto. The sound of your laughter rang in his head for the rest of the evening, as if he were being driven to insanity by it.

The next day, you had fought a horde of Meazels. At first, Astarion thought the fight was delightful fun– the tiefling woman and the cleric kept getting teleported against their will and after his recent annoyance with both of them, he found it quite amusing. That is, until you found yourself garrotted, teleported as far away from him as possible.

He was on you in mere moments, ripping the creature off of you with his blades. It was almost as if he’d reacted instinctively and, as someone whose instincts typically led him away from danger, he found the sensation quite off-putting. Nevertheless, he'd freed you, asking, “Are you alright, darling?”

Astarion couldn’t remember what you’d even said because once he saw the marks the creatures left on you, the pit in his stomach dropped. Where there had been a heavy pressure before, there was now a sharp feeling. His eyes carefully trailed over your injuries, trying his best to focus on you and not the phantom pain building inside him.

You had been fine, nothing that a quick heal from Shadowheart couldn’t fix, but that feeling stayed in his stomach the rest of the day. It’s simply the Shadowlands, he'd thought. They not only play tricks on the mind, clearly they’re playing tricks on my body.

It was a few days later, as you helped the Harper’s deal with their lantern problem that the sensation shifted again.

Astarion watched, eyes glued to your form, as you dispatched the hideous drider, your twin blades piercing the creature in its most vulnerable spots. He’d seen you kill many monsters before, hundreds likely at this point. But something about the way your body moved in the Moonlantern’s glow, the way your face lit up as the creature’s body crumpled to the floor, caused the vampire to stop and watch.

This time, he’d felt the heavy sensation move up, somewhere just below his throat. He tried against all odds to gulp it away, but nothing seemed to work. We need to finish our business here and get out as soon as possible, he thought now, convinced it was the shadows warping his senses…

But as your travel continues, the feelings never go away. 

It’s a different pressure, it builds, it ebbs, it flows between his heart, his stomach, his torso– and each time he brushes it off. Stewing in these uncomfortable feelings, Astarion spends the week in a hazy mire, not unlike the shadows that surround you all.

Then your group finally infiltrates Moonrise.

__

Moonrise Towers, the seat of the Absolute and a once grand fortress. 

Now, Astarion can’t help but think it seems rather underutilized. Your group is walking along the empty parapets outside, which are woefully missing any sense of grandeur or ornamentation. “Darling,” he says, leaning into you slightly. “Don’t you think we ought to just kill everyone now and take the place for ourselves. Might be quite fun.”

You bark out a laugh, which he feels proud to have produced, and reply, “Maybe later. This is an infiltration mission only. Besides, once we defeat the Absolute, I’m sure there will be a vacancy.”

Astarion laughs back at you. Gods, he enjoys this. The way that he can say something that others would balk at and you will miraculously not only appreciate it, but also play along with it. Having fun with them is so easy, he thinks. And look, I’m still wearing all of my clothes! What a novel idea.

The thought is cut short when your group walks through an outside doorway into a room that can only be described as grotesque. Whoever works here clearly has some knowledge of arcana, if the ingredients and alchemical tools are anything to go by, but it smells utterly foul to Astarion.

It’s when you spot the drow woman hunched over a table in the corner that he realizes where the stench is coming from. Hells below, that woman reeks of something truly awful, he thinks, recoiling. He’d grown used to following behind you closely, but as you step forward to speak to the woman, he finds himself taking a step back instead.

The woman introduces herself as Araj Oblodra, a trader of blood– a rather poor trader, by the smell of it. She takes note of Astarion, who shuffles back instinctively, before you and her go about some kind of business with your blood. Astarion contemplates speaking up, shooing you away from her, but decides to stay back, as far away as he can remain without arousing suspicion. They can handle themselves.

Then, after the woman looks back toward him one too many times, he hears you snap, “And why are you so interested in my pale friend?” 

“Ah, yes. Perhaps there’s one more thing we could discuss,” she begins, her voice a dangerous drawl. “He’s a vampire, no? Or one of their spawn at least.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Astarion says, all-too-ready to fill his role. “We’re all friends under the Absolute. I won’t bite.”

“Oh, I’d prefer if you did,” she’s quick to respond. Her eagerness picks at Astarion’s nerves, and he raises an eyebrow at her. Araj doesn’t deign to give him another moment’s look though, as she turns back to you. “I assume he belongs to you?”

“Excuse me?” Your voice sounds offended– on his behalf, Astarion wonders? “He’s his own person.” Your words cause the feeling in Astarion’s stomach to flip, and, as much as he wants to come to his own defense, he finds himself quite content to hear you do it for him.

“I’m sure he really believes that. How utterly adorable,” she says with a snide chuckle. 

Adorable? he thinks, but he’s unable to interject before the woman continues to barrel forward.

The blood trader turns back to Astarion, face wrinkled with distaste as her tone changes to something a bit more confrontational, “Do you have a name, spawn?”

Her sudden shift in attitude, the proud tilt to her head, it all throws the vampire off balance as he goes to answer, “Astarion, b-but hold on!” Astarion holds up a hand to try to slow this woman’s tirade, all to no avail.

“Good. Now, Astarion, I’ve dreamt of being bitten by a vampire since I was a young girl,” Araj begins, laying out the scene for her request.

Too bad that the scene sounds quite ridiculous to Astarion. Surely he heard her incorrectly? “I’m sorry, you want to be bitten?”

The woman goes on a new insane diatribe– something about dancing with death– but Astarion can hardly be bothered. All he needs to know is that she’s offering some measly potion for being bitten and, gods, does he not want to bite this woman’s disgusting neck. Or wrist. Or really any part of her. “I will have to decline,” he says, with a gracious little bow. Your group is still infiltrating the towers, it wouldn’t do to tell Araj exactly how horrid she smells.

It’s entirely more grace than she deserved, that much is clear because she presses him again. Again, he refuses. “I gave you my answer.”

The drow scoffs, turning back to you once more, “Can’t you talk some sense into your obstinate charge?”

You, for your part, look confused. There’s a line of concern in your forehead as you look between the woman and Astarion, wondering what it is that you’re missing. “I’m surprised, Astarion. I thought you’d enjoy an opportunity like this.”

What?! he thinks, a sudden, sharp spike of anger shooting through him. He tempers his immediate rage and speaks to Araj with that same, false pleasantry she doesn’t deserve, “I’m sorry, but could you excuse us a moment?”

Astarion, not waiting for her response, pulls you aside, away from the drow’s nosy eyes and ears. Once you’re alone, he turns to you, his voice a hiss, “Are you actually asking me to do this? Trading me for some-some-some potion?”

“What’s the matter? Why would she be different from any other enemy?” you ask, leaning toward him.

Your voice is full of genuine worry, and some of his anger abates as he meets your eyes. Of course, they don’t know what they’re asking. How could they know? “Because there’s something wrong with her blood. I can smell it from here. Ugh, it’s rank.”

Now your brows furrow, and a sharp edge enters your eyes as you ask your next question, “What do you mean? What’s wrong with her blood?”

“I can’t say. It just smells… wrong. Unnatural.” His words sound pathetic to his own ears. 

Of course that’s not an excuse, Astarion laments. What am I even thinking? The potion is clearly useful. They are going to make me do this, and I may as well prepare myself. I’ve put up with worse after all.

So, he stands straight once more, ready to put on the performance of a lifetime. His tone takes on a resigned tone as he continues, “Drinking it wouldn’t kill me, but it would not be pleasant.”

You both hear a sigh from behind you. “I don’t have all day, True Soul,” Araj calls, impatiently.

Your eyes remain focused entirely on him, ignoring the woman’s irritated sigh, her entitled words. “Astarion,” you begin, and he takes a breath in preparation for your other foot to drop. “Don’t do anything you don’t want to do. And if she refuses to take no for an answer again, we’ll simply have to start our assault on the towers a bit early.”

The breath leaves him.

"Alright. Uh, thank you,” he says, feeling the tension drop from his shoulders. He’d been prepared to acquiesce, to do exactly what you’d asked of him. But this? This is something he hadn’t been prepared for. 

In a daze, Astarion makes his way back to Araj, putting on as polite of a facade as he’s still capable of making, “It's still a ‘no’, I’m afraid.”

“How very disappointing,” the blood trader says, shooting you both a disgusted look. She turns away in a huff, leaving your group alone to recover from the exchange. And leaving Astarion floundering in another new sensation.

Because once more, the feeling in the pit of his stomach has reared its ugly head– only this time it shoots through him like a bolt of lightning. He's not sure what it is, but it's stunned him into slipping off his carefully crafted mask. He turns to you once more, voice soft around its usual edges, "Thank you. I… appreciated that.”

"You have no need to thank me. It was always your choice, Astarion."

Huh.

The feeling sinks into him, settling deeper and deeper as you continue through Moonrise.

__

That night, you go to bed in your own bedroll, leaving Astarion to his meditations with a smile and a wave. It has been a long day for all of you, and it's clear from the way you take a glance back that you're worried about him.

Gods, he's worried about him.

After dealing with that vile drow woman, you'd all continued about the tower, ingratiating yourselves with even the most repugnant of creatures to appear faithful to the Absolute. But Astarion paid attention to almost none of it.

He'd stabbed when you told him it was time to stab, he'd joined your side when you called him to you, but his mind had been wholly preoccupied.

They didn't make me do it, he'd thought, as he unlocked some chest.

Well, isn't this exactly what I wanted? he'd thought, following you down some stairs.

Clearly they just fell for my charms, my masterful seduction, he'd thought, flanking a prison guard for you.

So why do I feel like this? he'd thought, staring at your back as you led the way before him.

Now, he lays here in his tent, staring at the fold of its ceiling in a rapt fascination he doesn't feel. The feeling in his stomach has stayed all day, tethering him to his thoughts with its continuous pressure.

When did I get to the point where I would follow them anywhere? Is their lack of self-preservation contagious? he asks himself, eyes narrowing in frustration. I shouldn't have gone into that horrendous tower in the first place. Then I wouldn't feel like this.

But he had.

And you'd not forced him to do so.

You'd not forced him to do anything.

They're a fool, an utter fool. I could have bitten that drow, as easy as breathing, he thinks, rolling his eyes at the thought. Close your eyes and push through, that's what I always say.

But did you want to? something in the back of his mind asks. 

Of course not, but when has what I wanted ever mattered– 

It may not have mattered under Cazador's grip, but it has always mattered to you. You're nothing like that evil man. You'd always been there for him, had managed to find trust in your heart for him, and had been genuinely kind to him.

The now-familiar feeling in his stomach seems to spread to the rest of his body, a warmth that doesn't quite feel warm. It bleeds all the way to his face and his lips curl up into an involuntary smile at the thought of you.

You– you, who had only ever been meant to play a bit role in the tragedy that is Astarion’s life. You, who had transcended your part, leaving Astarion contemplating every aspect of you in the stark solitude of his tent. 

Your beauty when you're covered in blood after a battle, the mischievous glint in your eye when you're teaching a child a sleight of hand trick– even when anger pulls your brows together and you're yelling at him for saying something particularly naughty. Each and every one makes his smile grow wider.

You, his chosen protector, are so much more than just that.

They are incredible. The thought comes to him unprompted, truly as easy as breathing.

His eyes widen in alarm, staring blankly at the tent above him.

The feeling in the pit of his stomach wasn’t an illness. Nor was it hunger. No. It was guilt. It was jealousy. It was…

Oh fuck, Astarion curses to himself. Am I in love?

Now that he has a word to the sensation, that the feeling is in his grasp, he knows he's right. He doesn't have a lot of experience with love, if any– he'd never had the luxury under Cazador's cruel gaze and he can't recall much from before that– but he knows he's right.

And hells does he wish he could crush the feeling in his hands right here and now.

Gods, you complete and utter imbecile, he thinks, hitting his head against the floor. You have things to do, goals to accomplish. They were only supposed to be a means to those goals, not a – a–

Astarion’s mind blanks as he thinks of you again, your charm, your wit, your damnable caring.

Not a companion. Not a friend. Not a lover. When did those late night trysts turn from an obligation, a part of his simple, perfect plan, into something more?

Even now, as he thinks of those nights, he brings a hand to his lips, recalling a night where you had simply stayed in his bedroll. You had kept all of your clothes on, as had he, and simply held each other as you fell asleep. Their kiss that night was delectable, he recalls, tracing the line of his lips, as if he could still feel the ghost of yours on them.

Fuck, he thinks again, dropping his hand in frustration. How could I have been so blind? How did I not nip this in the bud before it got to this disgusting pining?

But he hasn’t nipped it in the bud. The feeling has grown, unfettered, quick as a druidic plant growth, all unbeknownst to him. It has been nurtured by your attention. It has been watered by your kindness. It has become unruly in the safety of your arms.

Now what? he thinks to himself bitterly, wiping a hand across his face with a sigh. What use are these feelings when everything they were built upon is a lie? You are, after all, still playing the role he set out for you.

He considers overlooking the feelings, just as he has inadvertently done in his ignorance. It wouldn’t be of any use to tell you, of course. You could hardly feel the same way about him as he does you, and he’d rather not add another nuisance in the fight against the Absolute.

Besides, if he told you, he would have to fess up, explain his entire plan to you. What would even be left of the two of you after that?

But, he thinks to himself. Let’s say I did tell them. What could they possibly say…

“I was pretending all along too.” – gods, that would break him. That much is all too apparent from the way his undead heart aches at the thought, with a pain he couldn’t possibly feel.

“I like you, but not like that.” – maybe this was worse. Actually, it was definitely worse. He may never recover. His ego would certainly never recover.

“I have someone else that I love.” – honestly, reasonable. What did he have to offer you after all? A bloodthirsty master and the occasional snarky comment? He wouldn’t be surprised to find you in Karlach’s tent at this very moment…

“I hate you.” – he might be able to take this the best. You should hate him. He’d done nothing but lie and manipulate his way into your bedroll. Hate, well, that he understood.

“I love you, but…” – every single 'but' cut like a different, jagged blade. But we’re in danger every day? An excuse, surely. But you come with too much baggage? True, but not something he would be able to resolve. But I don’t want to be with a monster? Again, reasonable, but out of his control.

Astarion runs through scenario after scenario, each one playing with his own emotions in a new and horrendous way. In the end, he all but slaps himself out of it.

No, I cannot tell them. I absolutely must take this to my second grave, he determines, shaking the thoughts away with a few hard blinks.

But the feeling in his chest is more persistent than ever. As if giving it a name and meaning has given it a new, annoying life. He laments to himself aloud, "I may never feel like myself again.”

If this is what love does to a person, he wants no part of it.

__

The vampire didn't have a restful night's reverie, that much is apparent. His mood is foul, his body tense, and his eyes are trying their damnedest to avoid yours. 

No way, he thinks as you all set off for the day. I spun myself into a frenzy last night. Clearly. I feel absolutely nothing–

Then you turn back to him, concern lining your eyes as you address him. What had you just said? He had found himself somehow lost in your eyes, your lips, the turn of your nose… 

Shit, he thinks to himself. No, get back in control. You have only just reclaimed yourself, you can't lose yourself to something as cruel as love.

But, try as he might, his eyes can’t avoid you. 

All morning, he continues to sneak glances your way. Despite his roguish nature, he finds hiding his stares to be impossible. After all, you are the group’s leader. You are at the front, you are at his side, gods, you are everywhere. This feels like some kind of divine punishment…

You catch him looking, of course. And each time, he curses himself, gods, you idiot. You may as well broadcast your feelings to the world. And hells, how long have you felt this way?

Astarion tries futilely to act normal. This is just another day with the group in the Shadowlands. He’s not thinking about holding your hand in his. He’s not thinking about the way you look when you sleep. And, above all else, he is not thinking of your lips or the way that they move when you say his name.

Despite his inner turmoil, the world moves on. You lead the group through the Mason’s Guild, and you all manage to clear the place out easily enough.

The vampire thinks he’s finally reaching some sort of peace. Yes, this routine work he can do. No problem at all.

Then, you say something kind to Karlach, that infernally charming woman, who continues to support you at your side. Who, for all intents and purposes, should be the person who warms your bedroll at night, now that you can touch her. Not him, the man who can only make your bedroll colder. Who, even now, is avoiding your every glance.

Oh hells, he thinks, face dropping. The realization that he’s right is too much for him to bear.

Astarion stalks off, annoyed at himself and his thoughts, needing a moment to recollect himself. I can do this, he thinks. I can do this. I can–

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath once he knows he’s alone. “You’re supposed to get over this, you stupid fool. Shit. Gods dammit.”

He hears your familiar footfalls approaching and freezes, his shoulders tense with anticipation.

You find him in a pool of shadows away from the others, and he can’t help but feel like a beast that’s been cornered. He’s certain his face reflects that, reflects every bit of emotion he’s feeling as plain as could be, but your patience with him has apparently worn thin for the day. Your voice is less kind than usual when you say, “Do you need to talk?”

Seeing the anger in your face, the way that your hands are placed on your hips in annoyance, he knows he can’t keep his feelings to himself. He’ll only continue to push you away, into the strong, red arms of another.

No, he thinks, in a panic. I should– I need to–

He needs to do something about his feelings, unwanted or not. Really, he needs to tell you, regardless of what your response may be. If not, he may regret it for the rest of his undying life.

Now that he is in control of his own choices, he supposes that means all of them, for better or worse. That means even the most difficult ones. This is one of those difficult ones, isn’t it?

So Astarion swallows his pride, his anxieties, his insecurities, and settles his fate.

“Later,” he says, barely getting the words out. He blinks, and tries again, pleading with you with his eyes, “Please, just come by my tent later.”

Later, I will tell them. Everything.

#astarion #astarion x tav #fanfic #astarion fic #astarion x reader #rogue + rogue #astarion fanfiction #astarion fanfic #astarion fluff #astarion x gn reader #astarion x gn!tav #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion pov #astarion is bad at feelings #astarion feelings realization

[maybege]

What If - Part One

Summary: Tensions between the clans are high so to ease the reclaiming of Mandalore, an old tradition is reintroduced.

Pairing: alpha!Paz Vizsla x omega!fem!Reader

Wordcount: 6.0k | Rating: E (18+ only!)

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics, explicit sexual content, size kink (Paz is big-big), finger sucking, oral fixation maybe, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk and loving verbal humiliation, exhibitionism (lite)

Here we are! Last year, April did not go so well for our favourite Big Blue so I decided the only way I can get over it is by rewriting That Episode in a way that I find acceptable. Naturally, that also meant adding A/B/O dynamics.

Joke aside: I love love love my Calmer AU and I love love love it even more if we can pair it with a fix it AU so this is what that is. However, I won’t be super stringent with adhering to the rest of the canon either. Both because I am here for the vibes only atm and also because I still haven’t seen the S3 finale so I have no idea how it actually ends. lol

Anyway, I would be very happy to hear what you think in a comment or a reblog, those really do give me life.

masterlist | crossposted on AO3

“This is a joke, right? This has to be a joke.”

You watched as Axe Woves, captain of the privateers and the most insufferable alpha you had ever met, looked at Bo-Katan as if she had lost her mind. And to be fair you could not really blame him. When her suggestion had first been made public knowledge, everyone had thought she had lost her mind.

Well, almost everyone.

“You want to reinstall an ancient rule just because these primitives cannot control their emotions?”

“It is not only about them controlling their emotions,” Bo-Katan pointedly interjected, her arms crossed in front of her chest. You had heard a lot about her but the actual experience of seeing her and hearing her speak was … underwhelming. “It is about bringing the tribes closer together.”

The alpha scoffed, clearly unimpressed and you scrunched your nose, not really liking the scent he emitted. As an omega, you were used to having strong-scented alphas all around you but there was a difference between a casual run-in and standing in a small room with the alpha leaders of opposing tribes. The difference being that under any other circumstances, you would have been able to escape the stench of this arrogant alpha.

Now, though, you were stuck between what felt like a rock and a hard place.

“It might be ancient for you but it is not for us,” The Armourer said calmly.

Your eyes flitted to the alpha leader of the clan that you had only gotten to know as a “cult”. She had a very demanding presence, one that almost rivalled that of Briggs. Which you knew he noticed by the way he shifted his weight from one leg to the other.

“What do you think?” Sluice asked you. Briggs was standing next to her, looking as stoic as ever and you knew it had to be serious when they rested their decisions on you. Not that they never asked you for your opinion, you were a respected member of the council, after all, but it was your first term as the voted omega representative and you had relied on their guidance a lot when it came to decision-making – especially on this scale. But now it seemed they were relying on yours.

You looked back at your fellow council member and friend, Chants, who gave you a slight nod.

“I think I would do anything to get us peace,” you said, finally, highly aware that next to your friend you were the only omega in the room and the person who everybody’s eyes rested on, “And the ancient rules lasted for centuries for a reason. They worked then and I cannot think of anything why they would not work now.”

“Maybe because they will use any chance they get to exploit the innocent omegas of other clans.”

You frowned, not liking any of Axe’s implications. Were omegas of Djarin’s tribe not innocent? Did he think you were incapable of defending yourself?

You were about to think of a retort when another alpha across the room stood up from his seat. He was clearly from Djarin’s clan as he was wearing a helmet and smelled so offended, you had to fight the urge not to snap at Woves himself. What startled you most, however, was how big that man was. You had thought him to be standing already with how tall he was and he was even taller when he actually stood up, his figure demanding a lot of space and everybody’s attention.

“I am not sure how you were raised but where I come from we respect our omegas,” he thundered, his voice deep and cracking through the beskar barrier, “And especially our calmers.”

Axe Woves looked as if he was biting his tongue not to say anything and you had to suppress your smile when you saw the strict look on Bo-Katan’s face. She was obviously trying her best to keep everyone in line.

“It is decided, then,” The Armourer announced, “We will collect the names of those willing to be calmers and distribute them amongst our tribes. This is the way.”

*

It did not come as a surprise that the desire to be a calmer in these times was … almost non-existent. You knew Sluice and Briggs did their best to present a united front but it was hard to convince omegas across all clans of something by having their highest-ranking alphas making decisions for them.

Still, given the circumstances, you were glad to find that a decent number of omegas seemed to be at least willing to hear you out.

You and Chants had been the first ones to volunteer, figuring that if you, as omega representatives of the council, chose to volunteer, it might assure other omegas who were still on the fence. And it had a surprisingly positive effect because, from all clans, omegas signed up. And the more omegas signed up, the more they seemed to encourage other omegas to sign up as well.

Soon, the sun had settled over Nevarro and a few fires had been made by which the Mandalorians of all clans huddled together. Crates and ship pieces had been pulled to create some circle-like shapes and make-shift benches and once the foundlings had all been sent to bed, the announcement began.

One after the other, names were drawn, pairing an omega with an alpha. You watched friends, acquaintances and strangers make their way to the centre when their names were called, before walking away together.

When you heard your name called, it was like you were in the clouds. Far away from everything and everyone. Maybe you could still say no, maybe you could just go and disappear forever. What if you were paired with someone horrid? Would people be angry if you decided to leave even though you were the first to volunteer? What if you weren’t good at the whole claiming thing at all and your failure resulted in a war that was to last centuries?

“ … Paz Vizsla.”

The giant of a man stood up and your heart stopped. That was the man from the council meeting, the one who had spoken against Woves. The one whose head had almost touched the ceiling and who was wearing a blaster on his thigh even now. There was nothing on his body that looked as if it could not be used as a weapon. If this was how he was in his home, how hostile was he in places he did not know?

Your heart raced in your chest as you walked towards him, uncomfortably aware of everyone looking at you. You felt sick to your stomach and your breathing had to be abnormally loud. What if everyone could hear how nervous you were? How panicked? What if that was reason enough for other volunteers to change their mind and then it was all for nothing?

When your hands touched, his proximity pulled you back down to Nevarro.

You followed him wordlessly to the back of the group, passing a few couples that already seemed to get acquainted. You tried not to look at them, the same way you tried not to look at him for fear that his giant stature would terrify you into leaving.

Paz Vizsla was a warrior through and through and it showed in the way he was sitting too. He took up almost all the space on the little bench and even when he was sitting down and you were standing up, he seemed so much bigger than you.

“Hello,” he said and you were taken aback by how gentle he sounded. He did not look gentle. He looked dangerous. He looked like he could snap you in half. He –

“Hello,” you replied shyly.

He tilted his head and you reminded yourself to look into his visor and not take in his very large presence. Was he as large underneath the plates of armour? What was that colour all about? Did it mean anything?

His hand tugged on yours and it took you a moment to realize he wanted you sit to on his lap.

Careful not to come too close, you perched yourself on his knees even though it resulted in his knee pads digging into your thighs uncomfortably. Ironic, considering you were about to get to know this man in the most intimate ways.

“I don’t bite, you know?” he sounded surprisingly amused, his legs spreading under yours and you squeaked, throwing your arms around his neck to keep your balance.

“I suppose the helmet would make that very hard,” you replied, not thinking about how you wanted to keep this alpha happy and not risk antagonizing him.

But to your surprise, the alpha warrior roared with laughter, sounding nothing like the stern and dangerous man you had imagined. You smiled a little, loosening your grip around his shoulder and allowing yourself to truly rest your weight on him.

“What is your name?” he asked, his big hand running over your back before coming to rest on your lower back. The heat of his touch did not feel unpleasant and you took a deep breath.

“What is it to you?” you asked right back, keeping your tone even as you kept your eyes on the front of the fire where the announcements continued to pair up calmers and alphas.

“Do you not think I should know the name of the omega I am about to make very happy?”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at his flat joke but the corners of your mouth tugged up nonetheless. “Aren’t you going to call me omega all the time anyway?”

“Yes, but as an endearment,” he stated, his helmet resting next to your cheek, “Not because I won't know your name.”

That was weirdly touching.

You told him your name, then, and your body shivered as he repeated it in a deep voice.

“I gather you have more experience in this than I do,” you shifted, “What, uh, how … how do we proceed?”

“However we want to,” he replied as if that was not easier said than done, “There are a few things I need to know first, though. Are you here out of your own free will?”

“Of course, I am,” you protested, “I was the one to agree to this whole scheme if you recall, why would I not be here of my own free will?”

“Because I don’t want to hurt you,” his voice was calm and his second hand brushed over your arm up to your neck where you could feel your pulse race, “And because you smelled … hesitant.”

“You can smell me with that helmet on?”

“You would be surprised at the things I can do with that helmet on.”

You raised your eyebrows, feeling your cheeks heat up at the innuendo. This man was nothing like you had imagined at all. He seemed ... funny, oddly enough. And kind in a way you had not expected. And gentle, too, with the way his hold on your body was strong and supportive but certainly loose enough that you could leave any time you wanted to.

“Are you wet?”

“Uh, what?”

His voice dropped an octave and his gloved hand brushed over your neck, barely brushing your scent gland. “Are you wet, omega?” he repeated his question, “Does your body react to my scent? To my voice? To my touch? Do you like the idea of being close to me?”

“Maybe a little bit,” you admitted, shifting your legs and trying to ignore the low pulsing in your core. How could a voice be so enticing in a man? 

“Good,” he grunted, “Open your mouth.”

You did, opening your mouth for him and feeling your heart skip three beats at once. He pulled off his gloves, revealing thick, weathered hands and fingers. There were inked designs on them, tattoos whose meanings you did not know but you wanted to. You wanted to ask him and listen to his stories while putting your nose on his neck, just close enough to the edge of his helmet so you could smell him. And scent him, maybe, if he would let you.

Shocked at your own daydreams, you tried to focus instead on what you could see and not the images your brain came up with. Every one of his fingers had at least one tattooed knuckle but his ring and middle finger had the most designs on them, some of the lines already a little washed out from age. Much like the rest of his body, his hands and fingers were big and thick. And despite your best intentions, your mind instantly wandered to what it would feel like to have them on your body.

“Wider,” he instructed you, his hand flexing, and you glanced around, wanting to make sure that no one else was watching. But you were his calmer and you wanted to calm him. Even if it meant other people saw you in a more vulnerable position than you would prefer.

Not to mention that the way he rumbled out instructions as if you were the best thing in the whole wide galaxy made the wetness between your thighs spread.

Something in his voice made you want to please him and so you pushed out your tongue, just the tiniest bit but it seemed to be enough. “Stars,” he hummed, thick fingers settling on your tongue and pushing down, “I think we are going to have a lot of fun, aren’t we, omega?”

It was instinct to suck on his fingers, coating them in your saliva and you closed your eyes, trying to think one thought at a time. Like how big they were in your mouth and how heavy. How he did not move them at all, before gently pushing down on your tongue. You followed his silent order and opened your mouth again, your eyes fluttering open when you heard the rumble in his chest.

You could not see his eyes through the visor but you could feel his gaze on you, heavy and intense. He did not say anything when he pulled his two fingers away. Your eyes followed the movement, spotting the wet trail that connected them to your bottom lip, still, and found yourself wishing for them back in your mouth.

What had this man done to you?

He put three fingers together, then. His ring, middle and pointer fingers landed on your tongue before pushing inside, deeper than before. You took a deep breath through your nose, feeling the touch tickle at the back of your throat and you swallowed around the digits, trying not to gag.

The alpha hummed, his legs moving and thus jostling you in his lap. He pulled his fingers away again and you whined, your mouth following him as if you could pull his fingers back by the power of sheer will alone.

Heat collected in your cheeks and between your thighs at the realization that you liked this. You liked him in charge.

You looked around nervously, trying to gauge if anyone had seen this moment of weakness. And it seemed that no one had, except for the alpha that had put you in this position in the first place. “No one is watching us,” he assured you, pushing his fingers back in your mouth, “No one is looking at you, omega. Wanna know how I know?”

Relaxing your throat so he could get his fingers deeper, seemed to be answer enough.

He tilted his head, a pleased hum leaving him when you swirled your tongue around his fingers. “Because everybody knows I don’t share my omega, and that includes seeing how beautiful you look drooling on my fingers like it is my cock.”

His fingers were pulled from your mouth again, only to be pushed back in and you realised what he was doing. “Open your mouth for me again, sweetheart,” he said, “Let me see how good you take my fingers.” Like they are my cock.

It remained unsaid but the thought that he was … fucking your throat with his fingers made you wetter than you would have admitted. But you opened your mouth for him nonetheless, letting him see how his fingers glided over your tongue, playing with it before pulling out, dragging over your bottom lip and leaving a drooly mess behind.

“Thank the stars it was you,” he whispered, running his wet fingers over your lips, “I hoped it would be you.”

His words caused something in you to stir. Confusion, mostly, but also a feeling of flattery that he seemed to have noticed you before. That it wasn’t just duty for him. That, maybe, it wasn’t just duty for you. Not when he caused your blood to stir like that with just his fingers in your mouth.

“Can you open your dress for me and still be comfortable, omega?” he asked, his voice almost drowned out by the crackling of the fire, “I want to claim you once out in the open. So everyone can see what a good calmer you are.”

“What if I’m not though?” you heard yourself ask. Your voice sounded way too small to your liking, not at all teasing and flirting like you wanted to but insecure and a little hoarse from where he had been using your throat.

“I know you are,” the alpha replied steadily, his thumb pressing into your bottom lip, “I know it from the way you try to be so good to me. Know it from the way you don’t recoil from me. Do you have any idea how long it has been since I smelled someone as beautiful as you?”

Beautiful, his voice echoed in your head and you looked at him with wide eyes, the desire to touch him growing stronger.

“To be honest,” he murmured, his fingers running over your cleavage, playing with the top button of your dress, “I don’t think I ever smelled an omega that I wanted to claim as much as you.”

“Then you haven’t met many omegas,” you replied, trying to ignore your trembling hands as you undid your dress. The fabric fell open on your middle and you could see the way his chest moved a little heavier.

“Stand up,” he instructed you, meddling with a little pouch on his thigh. Your eyes fell to the where his legs had shuffled apart even more. He was not wearing a codpiece, you noticed, and the bulge in his pants was huge. Or, when it came to him, proportional.

At the thought of him putting that … thing inside you, you squeezed your thighs together. You had never been with an alpha before, and certainly not an aloha of that kind of size. Not even your toys to help you through your heats were this big.

“What is that?” you asked, watching as he pulled a little tube out of his pocket.

“Lube,” he explained, holding the little bottle up, “I am big and I don’t want to hurt you.”

Your entire body tingled with desire and you shuffled your legs again. The cool evening breeze reminded you of your state of undress and you glanced around nervously.

“No one is watching,” he reminded you. “Now,” he put the bottle down next to him, petting his thighs, “Up you go.”

Your dress fell open and just like that, you were completely bare to him. It did not make you as nervous as you had thought it would. Knowing this strange man was looking at you, touching you, did not fill you with a sense of dread. Because he did not feel like a stranger. He felt … familiar.

The way Paz Vizsla was touching you only made your entire body thrum with pleasure, like he knew exactly just where you were most sensitive.

His bare fingers brushed over your chin, down your neck, between your breasts down your middle until they just barely grazed your folds. You rocked your hips, just the slightest bit, to get him closer but the alpha pulled his fingers away.

Then he repeated the motion, touching you but avoiding the places where you wanted – needed – him most.

Your mouth fell open, your tongue slipping out in a moment of weakness. But as soon as you noticed what you were doing, you closed it again, hoping he had not seen it. But of course, he had.

The warrior chuckled. “You want my fingers back in your mouth, don’t you?”

You swallowed, your eyes flicking to the tree line behind him in the hopes that he could not see the embarrassment so clearly written on your face.

“This is not the time to be shy,” he reminded you, his fingers tipping your chin up. You knew he was looking at you, could feel the weight of his gaze on you. And you also knew that he knew the answer already. There was no denying it. So, you nodded.

“Good girl,” he praised you, “Open your mouth for me again.”

Pushing out your tongue as he pushed his fingers back in your mouth, you allowed yourself to really enjoy it this time. Your cheeks hollowed as you sucked on them and it did not take long before you wrapped your arms around his neck in an effort to get closer to him. With you straddling him – and wearing barely anything – the cool night air made you feel cold and exposed.

Until his other hand was on your pussy again.

When his fingers brushed over your clit, gathering the wetness between your folds, your entire body tensed. His fingers felt thick and calloused, a stark contrast to what your own fingers felt like and you breathed through the initial stretch of having two of them pushed inside you. Your toes tingled with pleasure as he edged them deeper and deeper, his movements slow and controlled until you felt like you were blinded by pleasure.

He crooked his digits inside you, rubbing over a spot you could only reach on the rare occasion that you took a lot of time for yourself.

Now though, it seemed like it was effortless for him.

“Paz,” you mumbled around his digits, your voice muffled.

“Deep breaths,” he instructed, “Open up for me, sweetheart, let me in that pussy.”

Surprisingly enough, his words got you to relax and you sucked on his fingers again. Focussing on the weight and the feel of them on your tongue like he was not fingering you surrounded by dozens of people. No one is looking at me, you remembered his words and they felt safe. They felt true.

He kept moving his fingers, working you until three thick digits were stretching you further than you had ever been stretched before. Your walls were already fluttering around him and you could feel the wetness seeping down his hand.

“You're ready,” he stated, pulling his fingers from your pussy and your mouth. You were not sure which loss you mourned more.

You looked down between you, observing as he opened his pants, freeing his cock to your eyes. He was big, that was no surprise. But it was a surprise how thick he was. His shaft bobbed between you, the weight of it almost dropping him down.

How is that supposed to fit inside me? you wanted to ask How am I supposed to take this?

His hand wrapped around himself, pumping his shaft a few times and before you knew what you were doing, you reached out, your fingertips brushing over the head of him. He felt hot and soft. Paz groaned, the sound beautiful in your ears, and his hand reached for yours, helping your hand wrap around him.

Your fingers barely met around him and you let him guide your hand up and down his shaft, letting him direct the strength of your grip. “Stars, that feels good,” he murmured, moving so his cock bumped against your folds, running it through them again and again until it met your clit. You jerked at the touch, your pussy clenching.

Deciding to take matters into your own hands – literally – you continued to hold his cock, rubbing your thumb just under his head before grinding on top of him. The touch of him against your wetness was everything you needed as you started to rub yourself against him. Your breath came faster and you could feel how dripping wet and needy you were for him.

And Paz felt it too.

He seemed completely at ease and if it were not for his rock-hard erection between you, you would have wondered if he had been affected by you at all. But when you whimpered once again as his head rubbed over your clit, you could see his hand reaching for the little bottle of lube, squirting a generous amount of fluid on his fingers before reaching between you and spreading it on himself.

“You ready, omega?” he asked you and you could not nod quickly enough.

With a racing heart and a dripping pussy, you lifted yourself up to your knees, the wood of the bench digging into your joints. But you could not care less as your pebbled nipples pressed against the cold beskar of his armour and he leant back, allowing you to rest your weight onto him.

This position gave you almost all the control and you appreciated it. You appreciated it even more when his warm hand slipped under the dress covering your back, landing just above your butt.

 “Go on,” he encouraged you, holding his shaft for you, his tip breaching your entrance as you first started lowering yourself into him.

“Oh shit,” you gasped, sinking down on him a little more, “A-alpha, you’re – you're –“

“Big, I know,” he teased you, his fingers digging into your back, “But you can take me, sweet omega, I know you can.”

And you did.

It took minuscule thrusts and encouraging hums paired with his thumb drawing circles into your skin but when you felt his thigh plates under your legs, you were fuller than ever before. Not even the toys you had to keep you company through your heat filled you like this.

And yet here you were, seated on the biggest cock you had ever taken, facing a faceless alpha whose hands had shifted to your hips, his fingers brushing circles into your skin as if he was just as in awe of what was happening as you were.

“There we fucking go,” he praised you, his voice gentle even through the helmet, “Look at you, taking such a big cock almost all the way.”

The glow of the fire was warm against your back. You felt tense and full, your body constantly trying to adjust to his size. With how your legs were spread around him, you felt like you were barely holding on and you did not know how you could possibly take him to the base.

Which was exactly what you said.

But Paz only chuckled, the sound warm and you sighed when one of his hands drifted up to your neck, brushing over your scent gland. Your back bowed in pleasure and you took a deep breath in, tilting your head so your nose could run over his wrist. His scent was spicy and comforting and you breathed in deeply, feeling your thighs relax.

The alpha beneath you made a soothing noise, his thumb brushing over your scent gland again, just enough to have you clenching on his cock.

“Relax, omega,” he whispered, his helmet tilting forward, “Relax for me.”

“Easier said than done,” you murmured, tightening your arms around him, “I’ve – stars, I’ve never felt so full.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” he rumbled and you snorted out a laugh. You could smell how pleased he was with himself for the joke and you leaned forward, burying your head in his neck and in his scent.

“I bet I can make you take it all the way,” he said, his hand on your back pushing you just a little bit closer.

“Feeling cocky, huh?” your joke ended in a hiss as you wiggled your hips, his cock shifting inside you.

“One could say that,” he rumbled, jerking his hips as if to prove his point, “So what do you say? Wanna take the bet?”

“What do I get if I win?”

“You get to come.”

“And if you win?”

“I get to make you come.”

“Seems like a win-win,” you gasped, trying your hardest to lift yourself up. Your legs were straining with the effort and despite how wet you were, he was big inside you and any movement felt like it would end you in the best way.

Paz put his hand between you, his fingertips gently circling your clit. Another hiss left your lips and you could feel your walls clamping around him. Or trying to clamp around him. He was so big it felt like all you could do was simply sit there and take whatever he gave you.

Another shift, You could feel his legs move beneath you and you squeaked in surprise when he spread them further apart, your weight suddenly no longer supported by his legs. You tightened your grip around his neck shifting just that much lower on his shaft that had your walls pulsing.

His big hands gripped the soft flesh of your thighs, helping you stay up. It took you a second to realize that he wanted you to relax like this, that he wanted to help carry your weight like this, and you frowned.

“Trust me,” he murmured as if he could read your mind, “Let me lead, omega, I promise it will feel good.”

Before you could protest, he started to move you, lifting you up until only the tip of him remained in you. Your fingers dug into his until you could feel the blood leaving your knuckles. But Paz did not let you fall. Instead, he slowly sank you down again, just a little bit, before lifting you up again.

You gasped out a breath, his slow and shallow thrusts opening you up for more. Soon, the first few inches did not feel like they could ever be enough and when you wriggled your hips in his grip he let you sink lower until you felt like there was nowhere left to go.

“See?” he whispered, grinding you down on his cock, your clit rubbing against him, “This is how you relax, omega, all you needed was a little help to take my cock all the way.”

“Alpha,” you whimpered, trying to get him to move, “Please – please –“

“You know what I think?” he asked you his voice cool as ever as he moved you on his cock, “I think you don’t even want to win the bet,” he revealed, the coolness of the beskar against your cheek, “I think all you want is to come on my fat cock and get all cock drunk on me.”

“I have,” you gasped, your body opening up for him even more, “I have never been cock drunk.”

“First time for everything,” he teased, his hands gripping the back of your thighs even tighter, “Now rub your pretty clit for me,” he instructed, “Let me work you on my cock and you get to come all over me, hm?”

It was not difficult to get your fingers on your pussy, working yourself into a frenzy that was only helped by the way he lifted you up and down on his cock like it was no work at all. You felt like a toy almost, in his hands, letting him move you this and that way so that his cock hit a spot inside you that made you see stars.

The squelching noises told you how wet you were and they made you even wetter still. It had never been like this for you, giving up the control of your pleasure and yet you did not want it to change. On the contrary, you wanted to revel in it.

You wanted to see how big he was inside you, wanted to see how he split you open, how small you were against him, how his knot would swell against you. The images made you clench around him and the man underneath you let out a grunt, his hips thrusting up against you.

His movement hindered yours and so you decided to relax against him, leaving everything completely up to him except for the fingertips working on yourself.

His thrusts were forceful and your tits bounced with the movement. Your fingers continued to circle your clit and you could feel yourself edging closer and closer to your release.

“Prettiest omega that ever sat on my cock,” he praised you, “I can already tell you were made to calm me. Made to take my cock.”

“Y-Yes,” you nodded eagerly, thinking of how the next days were going to be filled with nothing but taking his cock over and over and over again. Stars, you were lucky.

“Are you gonna be good for me?” he asked, working his, “Are you going to take my cock like a good little calmer? Sit on my knot all day? Take my come when I need you to?”

With your mouth open in a silent moan, you could only nod again. You had never felt like this before, this free and shameless. Like all that mattered was your pleasure and his because you felt like his pleasure would give you more than you had ever imagined.

The images his words caused in you made your walls pulse even more. You could see yourself spending most of your days just like this, full of his cock and breathing in his scent. Or kneeling between his legs, trying to swallow all the he could give you.

It was no surprise that with your fingers on your clit, his fantasies in your ears and his cock in your pussy, you felt your orgasm rapidly approaching. And with the way his fingers tightened on you, he was close too.

“Want me to come inside you or on your face?” he asked, his voice sounding hoarse, “Or I could come on this pretty pussy? Make you play with it?”

“Inside,” you gasped, throwing your head back when his thrusts started to speed up, “Stars, please – please inside me.”

His groan slipped from under his helmet and when he hit a particular spot inside you, your vision went white. You could feel your walls spasm around him as pleasure rippled throughout your entire body. Everything tingled, from your head to your toes, and something shifted, like the world was suddenly … different.

Paz’s hands held you down on him, burying himself as deeply inside you as he could and as you sagged against him, your chest against his beskar chest, you could feel him pulse inside you.

He really was filling you to the brim.

Where before you had hardly been able to focus on what was going on around you, now you were only left with your heartbeat in your ears and the silence between you.

Hone hand swept over your back, up to the back of your neck and you leaned into his touch.

“How was that?” he asked quietly, his fingers once again seeking out that sensitive spot under your ear, “How are you feeling?”

You ran your nose over his scent gland, taking comfort in the smell that was already becoming familiar. The contact made him twitch inside you, again and again, and you swore you felt another spurt of come filling you.

“Tired,” you admitted against the fabric of his undershirt, “Tired and full and great and …” you trailed off, taking in another breath, “Good. I feel good.”

His body shook under yours in a warm chuckle. “I’m glad,” he replied, “Though it sounds like you need a good night’s sleep before the meetings tomorrow.”

“Sleep sounds good,” you mumbled, “Sleep sounds wonderful.”

“Let me get you to your bunk, then, love,” he whispered, gently untangling himself from you. “I will see you in the morning.”

#maybege writes #paz vizsla x reader #paz vizsla x fem!reader #smut

[incorrectmahabharatquotes]

Genuinely curious, because you seem to hate the Ram Mandir... or how you think one party/ruling government is using it for political gain/votes or how it's wasting money etc.

What do you have to say about the Waqf board act? Or the infamous Shah Bano case and the way the Rajiv Gandhi government went against the decision of the Supreme Court to favour Muslim patriarchy. Or the fact that the Congress government banned books like the Satanic Verses to please a certain community. Is this not politics of appeasement?

You say that the ruling party is playing politics over religion, but hasn't every party done it? It's not like BJP was even hiding it, they've been campaigning for the Ram Mandir rebuilding for decades. It doesn't make it automatically a bad move.

Besides, Ram Mandir is built through devotee donations, so why so much vitriol against it? If Hindus are giving money to construct a temple, it's solely their own decision. I genuinely don't understand why there's so much hatred for it. If a community is reclaiming their holy land, which had been forcibly ruined and rebuilt into another type of building, it's not a bad thing. Plus, a big chunk of land was given to the Sunny Waqf board to build a beautiful mosque in Ayodhya itself, which has begun construction this year (iirc). Both communities will have their interests restored.

Why can't we move on and celebrate the Ram Mandir rebuilding and inauguration? Is decolonization and reclaiming of a place of cultural significance not important?

(I know that some people are being too aggressive about it, but the majority isn't. They're simply celebrating and praying. And some of them actually got attacked for it.)

Okay. Since you're genuinely curious, I'll answer this.

"Why am I criticising the current ruling party for playing politics of appeasement and not any of the other parties?" I'm criticizing them BECAUSE they're the ruling party. They have been in power for close to 10 years now. That's more than 1/3rd of my whole life. This is a hilarious question because I would've been criticizing the same action if it would've been taken by any other political party. I don't have a problem with the party, I have a problem with what they're doing. All citizens are SUPPOSED to do this, my friend. Criticizing your government on what they're doing wrong is a fundamental part of a democracy.

"Politics of appeasement." I hope you understand the difference between appeasement and religious nationalism. The ruling party isn't appeasing anyone. Their acts are guided by their political ideology of Hindutva. I fundamentally disagree with their ideology. I do not agree with them when they say being Hindu is integral to being an Indian. I do not believe in maintaining a Hindu hegemony in India. I simply refuse to accept an ideology that was LITERALLY INSPIRED BY FASCISM AND THE IDEAS OF RACIAL SUPERIORITY.

"What do you have to say about so-and-so?" You know, I would've criticised things I believe are harming our country and power when the governments you speak of were in power. Unfortunately, in certain cases I was not alive then to criticize them and in a few cases, I was a child and I did not know how to form complex sentences. I do not believe in essentialism, you understand? I do not believe that any religion or political party is essentially good or bad. I believe in judging them for what they do.

"They've been campaigning for the Ram Mandir for decades. It doesn't make it automatically a bad move." It's imperative for you to understand this, it is politically a good move and in all other ways a HORRIBLE move. They get the support of all the Hindus who make up the majority of the population? Decent political move. Who could begrudge them for using DIVIDE AND CONQUER as a strategy? But in doing so, what kind of monster have they created? Have they created a billion people who think religious-nationalism is an okay direction for the country's future? Is that a good move, I ask you.

"Ram mandir is built through devotee donations so it's okay." That's close to ₹1,800 crores. (Estimated amount because of course, there's no transparency in the donation system so that we know who donated what amount.) Do you seriously believe all that money came out of the pockets of average working class Indians? Or did the ultra wealthy businessmen fund this religious project and get massive tax breaks in the process? But yes, I'm sure there's no fuckery going on with the money because it's out of DEVOTION. That makes it okay, I guess.

Now we come to the part that is the worst part of this anon message, according to me.

"Reclamation and decolonization." You use these words so lightly and I find that offensive. These words are HIGHLY tied to power structures. Who has the power right now? Is it the mythic evil Islamic conquerors of 400 years ago? Or is it a political party that believes in hindu nationalism and is funded by the ultra wealthy billionaires because said party helps them get even richer? Who is reclaiming what here? I want you to ask yourself this. Can a powerful majority claim reclamation when they tear down a building to build another building there?

"They tore down the temple and built a mosque there" And now you've torn down the mosque and built a temple there. Congratulations, you've won the game. Where do we go from here? Will everyone be happy now? Has peace been restored? A great evil destroyed? What story are we telling ourselves here? Will the religious fanaticism go away now? Will the hatred that has been cultivated in the hearts of Hindus against Muslims be sated? Or will it find more avenues to spread itself?

Decolonizing the mind, right? I wonder why we're only focused on decolonizing against the islamic past and not anything else. But it's okay that India is currently colonising Kashmir. We don't believe in decolonisation when it comes to Kashmir. We don't believe in decolonizing from the system of capitalism that is choking the lives out of us. HELL, WE DON'T EVEN BELIEVE IN RECLAMATION SEEING HOW WE HAVE A PROBLEM WITH GIVING THE BARE MINIMUM RESERVATION TO CERTAIN COMMUNITIES AS A REPARATION FOR THE HARM THEY'VE HISTORICALLY AND CURRENTLY SUFFERED AND ARE STILL SUFFERING.

I don't want people to talk to me about reclamation, reparation and decolonisation before they accept their own hypocrisy.

Anon, you say have so much vitriol and hate towards a mandir. I should let people celebrate. Did I stop you personally from celebrating? Did I beat up somebody for trying to shove their religious agenda on me? All I did was talk about how sad I am that this is what we've decided to do with our country's resources. Why is one voice of dissent such a big deal to you? Do you want me to shut up and fall in line? Will that be acceptable?

- Mod S

#mod: s #ask reply #mod replies

[ghostsprettymama]

HIS PRINCESS

Headcannons for Erik kilmonger (N’jadaka) in a new series coming due to voting.

Erik loving when you use the Theluji version of Xhosa (the same but its more rich, yet soft and fierce)

WOULD START ARGUEMENTS JUST SO YOU USE YOUR NATIVE TONGUE

He knows xhosa fluently, but pretends to not know it when you confess to him in xhosa.

USING HIS BIRTH NAME !!

it makes him bonkers.

Like. Deadass he loves you addressing him as N'jadaka, using any other name would make him think youre mad at him. you only used that name on him since you were four.

He likes the way it rolls off your tongue, would make you moan it during sex js to make him do what you want

"please Erik i need it please." "use my right name, you what to say baby." "fuck me nice n good N'Jadaka !" n he listens

WEAK SPOTS FOR U

He has a weak spot for when you wear your dresses and formal wear.

likes seeing you all high and mighty, HE LOVES. a woman in control

Making you cry in bed is his turn on, out of bed he gets so soft for you. " dont cry angel, youll get sick. dont let nobody make my Princess cry but me. just let me know who and ill handle it."

his love language?

Okay this man is so confusing

he switches love languages alot

like more then he should.

He would bring,make or buy gifts for you out of love and wouldnt expect anything back. this man will have statues carved for your beauty.

He reclaimed his title as one of the princes of wakanda , which equals to many women being envious, but Erik dresses you nice, then shows you off.

deffinently big on praising and physical intimacy.

for a "scary" guy he LOVES holding your hand or holding you in general, not a love language hes just an ass

EXTRAA

he indeed does sing

an amazing voice too

only sings you to sleep though

Fic : His Princess

#shawtytharula #black reader #mcu shuri #erik killmonger #shuri black panther #tchalla #letita wright #micheal b jordan #erik kilmonger x reader #erik killmonger smut #n'jadaka #black panther fics #black panther smut #mcu smut #mcu fluff #mcu angst #erik kilmonger fic #black reader smut #spotify

[robertreich]

Republicans Don’t Own Patriotism

Republicans claim they love America.

But they sure don’t seem to like the American people.

They consistently oppose reforms that a majority of Americans believe would make their lives better, like raising the minimum wage, paid family leave, and student debt relief.

And these supposedly America-loving Republicans also seem to hate American cities, which is where 80% of Americans live.

So they must love rural America, right?

Ehhh…not so much.

Republicans have historically tried to block Medicaid expansion and cut its funding, which rural Americans have especially benefited from. They’ve sought to slash funding for rural infrastructure and development. They’ve sided with big ag over independent farmers. And they’re continually trying to cut food stamps, which rural Americans depend on — even more than those in cities.

So maybe it’s the land itself they love.

Except that while in office, Donald Trump rolled back more than a hundred environmental regulations, making it easier to pollute America’s air, water, and land.

And he opened about two million acres of federally protected (and culturally significant) land to oil drilling.

Rather than conserving our land, they seem more interested in conserving Big Oil profits.

And sadly, Republicans are increasingly rejecting America’s core principles. They’re attacking freedom of speech with book bans. They’re attacking freedom of assembly with laws restricting protests. And they’re rejecting the separation of church and state.

Republicans are even shunning democracy itself, denying election results, passing laws that make it harder to vote, and kicking out legitimately elected lawmakers they disagree with.

It’s time to stop letting Republicans claim the mantle of patriotism without actually being patriots.

Patriotism means loving freedom: the freedom to make your own health care choices, the freedom to choose who and how you love, freedom of speech, freedom of assembly, freedom to unionize.

Patriotism also means wanting Americans to be free from the fear of gun violence and free from crushing student debt.

Above all, patriotism involves strengthening our democracy. True patriots don’t put loyalty to their political party above their love of America. True patriots don’t support an attempted coup.

Now is the time for the rest of us to reclaim patriotism and affirm its true meaning.

#youtube #videos #video #patriotism #politics #republicans

[andscene-if]

NOTORIOUS BARTENDER Z LAO ONCE AGAIN UNLEASHES A VERBAL STORM ON PAPARAZZI: "F*CK OFF!"

Surprise, surprise! Z Lao, the fiery bartender from one of the hottest celebrity hotspots, found themselves on tape once again, unleashing a torrent of profanity that would make even sailors blush.

But wait, there's more—in a shocking twist, they managed to snatch an innocent paparazzo's camera right out of their hands. Cue the chaos as all four paparazzi present attempted to reclaim it, but alas, victory eluded them. It took the intervention of two bystanders to wrestle Lao into submission as they defiantly declared, "I'll f*cking destroy your sh*t!" Witnesses say this mantra echoed like a broken record.

While Z Lao might not be winning any popularity contests with the paparazzi, there's no denying their magnetic pull on the high-profile nightclub crowd, who can't resist the allure of the bar, even if it comes with a side of drama.

Nepo baby Russel Grier, interviewed just outside the club last night, responded with laughter and some slightly intoxicated swaying when asked about the recent incident. "They're badass. We love them. In this f*cked up place with you f*cked up people following our every move, Z's got our back."

Chalk it up to the alcohol talking, my lovelies? We all know the paparazzi play a crucial role in keeping people like him relevant (cough cough nepo babies), so we won't take those inebriated words to heart. After all, you've got our back, right?

If you're feeling the love, show some by voting, sharing, and commenting on our social media pages 'PinkCelebTea'.

Stay fabulous, XOXO.

***

Ready for the full show? CLICK HERE to catch the video of the Z Lao altercation and relish all its highlights!

#characters #Z Lao #PinkCelebTea

[ay0nha]

hello :3

i can't stop thinking about nanami being readers biggest cheerleader but on the down low...imagine that reader is outspoken and always gets introuble and because she's a girl is never taken seriously so she gets into trouble for something big and is now "shadowing" nanami to know how to be a "proper" sorcerer !!!! but nanami is pining for reader and does everything to make her "punishment" bearable...can be smut if you're comfortable! but either way I love your writing and what you can do! hope you read this!!!

uwu thank youxxx

PAIRING: Nanami Kento x f!reader (sorcerer)

WORD COUNT: 3K~

WARNINGS: angst, canon-typical things, mentions of blood, death, injury, etc, innuendos, blink and you'll miss the slight fluff, rushed ending, hope it isn't confusing, etc.

A/N: I ADORE this ask!! I got a little more angsty than I thought with it and @hatsunemitskislobotomy and I have talked LONG about the entire world that could be created around this idea. SO, I think I'm going to make a second part to this (maybe three parts total? we'll see). Thank YOU for your patience. Enjoy.

“Answer the question.”

The brief and concise statement thrown at you mimicked the ones prior. Your reluctance to answer was anticipated; everyone seated before the Jujutsu higher–ups reacted similarly. But the jury surrounding you didn’t have the same empathy for you.

“The answer is obvious, isn’t it?” You were oddly relaxed in the stiff wooden seat. The eyes on you hadn’t made you nervous but instead energized your subtle rage. “Or is our system that dull? Have you truly failed to see who is behind this?”

“Be mindful; your responses have repercussions.” The Jujutsu Commander warned. His position saved you from a scornful vote against your innocence. Yet, those who looked on weren’t too far off. “Were you or were you not responsible for what happened at the Kokuritsu Kokkai Toshokan?”

The framing of your trial was spectacular. All evidence was vindictive, and the story was so perfectly skewed there was no way to worm your way out. Your fate was already sealed.

“You lot ask the wrong questions.” Your laugh was bitter.

“Your admission. Only.” His patience was running thin, his politeness only formality as his tone opposed it entirely.

The truth was a volatile thing. Children were taught that it was essential in life, valued so highly that corrupt justice could manipulate it so finely that you almost believed it yourself. 

Lying, therefore, became a habit. It came naturally as if it was second-hand nature.

The twitch of your lip was poisonous. “Guilty.”

The others murmured at your feigned candor. The whispers were silly, as anonymity never existed for those behind the walls. Every face was bared, burned into your memory by resentment.

—

Your wrists itched. 

It was as if phantom threads tethered you down. When the knots tightened due to your resistance, you became a marionette for those who put you in your place. You’d move with dexterity as a puppet controlled by those ranked above you. 

Your exhaustion created a silly—delusional— image. Your cheeks were rosy with red paint, and your eyes brightened with Pierrot-styled tears. You performed on a stage silently, an alienated observer of the mysteries and shadows of sorcery.

You took on a second life, reciting an alert, troubled, swaying, and deliberately uncertain verse. It didn’t matter if the audience understood; they considered what you said genuine art. Then, when it all ended, the standing ovation wouldn’t bring you joy but the flowers that waited for you. 

It wasn’t until the third time your name was called that you acknowledged its source. 

“What do you see?” Nanami’s tone was sterile, but you knew he was fighting frustration at your languidity. 

The stone walls were icy, and the lack of sunlight within the church nurtured the cold. Nature started reclaiming every pew, and the stained glass became disfigured. Its evidence of abandonment seemed uneventful—normal. 

“Graffiti.” Your response was dull. 

Effort was a comical notion.

Sorcery required it at times, just as breathing did. The effort now felt good, worth it. The icy air that reached the ends of your lungs stung. Yet, each breath was quieter, the effort only coming in the form of physical mechanics of pushing a warm breath back out that the air around you marked.

Although studied meticulously, its real trait was its vitality.  It shifted and molded. Evolved.  It made even more concrete things seem like rubber, rejecting electricity with an uncanny ability to mold into shapes unknown. It was the type of thing that could be so exciting to happen just to become something so vague that it no longer held value to it.

You felt childish, undermined really, but you knew Nanami was following orders. Yet, your core frustration came from being in the countryside. The higher-ups slowly pushed you out of the city with each mission you were attached to. 

Away from real problems, you were no longer deemed theirs. That distance kept you busy with the unwanted chores of dealing with low-grade curses who were scared of their own shadows. 

“No.” Another wrong answer.  “Look closer.” Nanami urged you, hands tucked away and nodding ahead. “The carvings are in a pattern. Do you recognize it?”

It was an ancient incantation, one that’s effectiveness lessened by time. Most charms were for protective measures, but the spiraled swirl of lettering was fresh. You traced your fingers across the symbols, feeling their lingering heat, only freshly scorched. 

“Cursed user?” Your breath was just shy of being transcribable in the air. 

The temperature was dropping by the second. Something dense settled on your skin in warning. The cursed energy came from multiple points, not able to find a convergence point. Instead, its disharmony grated against itself, creating such a pressure its purpose became overt. 

 In hushed tones, you were careful with your words. “Something is trying to get out.”

“Precisely.” Nanami’s voice echoed lightly, as did his footsteps.  “It has been entirely overlooked…” He explained leading you to the heart of the church. “...I’ve been monitoring this place for months—  

“So this is where you disappear to?” You bubbled, Nanami unintentionally drawing a smile out of you. Your laughter started to grow gently. “…and here I thought someone—a man like you, of your stature, would have—well, you know.”

“I don’t follow,” Nanami answered absentmindedly. His focus was still set on following the etchings and hoping to find any residuals.   

“You value your privacy,” You weighed earnestly. “I don’t blame you for handling your more intimate business away from, well, everything else.” 

Nanami paused. 

After a few heartbeats of hesitation, he caught onto your implications.  There was no reply save for a subtle re-texturing of his breath, the gap between inhalations infinitesimally smaller, the length of his exhalations protracted.

It was nearly imperceptible as Nanami fought to smother it. It may have gone unnoticed, mistaken for concentration. However, to an experienced eye, you watched your words ripple an ever still puddle of emotions.  

With a gentle clear of his throat, Nanami quelled your suspicions. “You’re the only other that knows this exists.” 

“Not even those old conservatives?” You were impressed by his discretion. “Breaking the rules for me, Kento?” 

It was as if you knew how your words tickled Nanami’s sides. They taunted him with childhood memories that made the tips of his ears heat. However, your words cemented that you siphoned your humor through affection. 

Nanami remained practical; any endearment had to be taken at face value. 

“Our visit is to resolve this before they find out.” He ignored you, reaching for his blunt blade. “Now, stand back.”

Cursed energy fluidly surrounded his stature as he conjured his technique.

With sharpened eyes, you took Nanami’s presence in. The suit he wore was filled well.  Even late into the evening, he was always so poised. Professional.  It worked silently, exuding from his presence alone. That magnetism couldn’t be credited to sorcery but to how he evolved, becoming pointed and moving without fault. 

It channeled well into his movements; the swipe of his blade was swift in finding the wall’s weak point. Everything was so well calculated, Nanami remained standing, untouched by the debris that floated around you. 

“Stay close,” He instructed, knowing curses fed off the unanticipated. “Please understand this is for information only.” 

Very little light penetrated the swamp of shadows. That gleam revealed etchings of connected hands. They were conjoined by a thin tongue of brilliant flame that wound its way around the hands like a red-hot wire.  

You stepped carefully, tracing the path Nanami created for you. He mumbled warnings that always came with the unknown, but his voice slowly warbled into a tune you could barely make out. The walls seemed to pull you in, their dissonance filling your senses. 

“It’s warm…” You noted, the oddity furthering your curiosity. Your fingertips burned against the markings.  “It’s like the cursed energy is…is it? It’s–It’s moving.” 

“It’s growing.” Nanami stated. There was a feeling of regret bubbling behind his words, as if reprimanding himself for thinking aloud.  “These confinements can no longer hold it.”

The continued touch burned. 

You flinched, drawing your hand to your chest. The walls were upset by the action, groaning with age and anger. It was sharp and tonal, lacking an echo, its mournful cry resonating with despair. 

“Do you hear that?”  Your question dissipated lamely. Although words were spoken, the sounds around you overlapped. It created a deep and thunderous sense of urgency. 

The noise was luring you into a past that never was. This was the moment before a ship could crash onto the rocks. Your arms felt like lead, weighing down with poisonous consequences. 

The cursed energy pressed into your abdomen from all directions; the air was pushed from your lungs, your rib cage about to crack; your eyes felt forced back into your head; your eardrums swelled pounding within your skull, and then with a crack like a whip you—   

“Are you alright?” Nanami watched you return to yourself. He called for you, but you were lost under the curse’s lure. It wasn’t until he reached for your palm that you sucked in air. “What do you hear?”

You felt a needle of pain in your nose like you were near tears. “It’s—crying.”

The missions on the outskirts were always more condensed. The fresh air was too pure for the deadlier cursed spirits. Their strength had little to latch onto without a dense population to feed on. 

This, however, deviated at the core. It was a mistake that relied on the distance to stay hidden. It was an anomaly that should have never been touched. And yet, it found its new prey. 

Nanami’s grip on you tightened with regret. “This was a mistake—

“No, wait…” Your brows furrowed as you pulled away. “There’s something in here,” You continued, hands reaching for the inner wall’s deterioration. The walls became silent, unwilling to guide you any further.  “We need to exorcise this—

“This was to survey only.” Nanami checked his watch, the hands taunting the idea of overtime. A sinking feeling swirled in his chest. “Exorcising an unknown, most likely, unregistered curse is too unpredictable.” 

A quick solution was never appealing when you were capable of unearthing hidden answers. That novelty fed your reputation of being offensively bold. Even now, as you moved through the unknown, you weren’t afraid of the repercussions. 

Although you were still present, Nanami watched you flee. Your guard returned stronger, but he didn’t regret his words. Nanami’s eyes were pleading, and you went to chastise him, but you found something distinct there. You didn’t know what to do with it, but to muse a buried thought. 

“Why did you bring me here?” The anger you carried felt foreign, rarely, if even, had you directed it towards your counterpart. “Pity? To make me feel better about being benched?”

“You know that’s not—

Years worth of vexation simmered on the surface of your skin. “Save your lecture.”

You weren’t lucky like the others. There wasn’t a defining moment that made you who you were, or something so tragic that its vengeance led to motivation. Your birth was uneventful, your existence logged by a series of numbers and your childhood consisting of mediocre memories. 

Even now, the memory of arriving at Jujutsu Tech was muddled with an indifference put upon you.  It wasn’t for a lack of enthusiasm, but for the way even there, with its rarity and quaintness, you were ignored so blatantly. 

There was never any demureness in how you spoke out.  You dissected the obvious flaws of the teachers and higher-ups, but your voice wasn’t considered the way others were. Your presence only became perceived insolence. You hadn’t cared about the threats offered, even when you were removed from the curriculum entirely.

The lack of lineage attached to your name and rare technique led to reprimands even in adulthood. Your presence with Nananmi was one of them. 

Although not on an official mission, Nanami’s current company was obligatory. Where he went, you were required to shadow, to learn from your mistakes and behave like that of a true first-grade sorcerer.   

After a so-called catastrophe, you were put before the higher-ups. Every grievance was brought forth and judgment determined you were unfit to even advocate for yourself. It was then, those imaginary-thin strings wound around your wrists with permanency. 

You pulled at them the further you ignored Nanami’s warnings. 

“This is why you brought me…” You reminded him of your punishment. For you, even this, was to keep an eye on you. “...isn’t it?” 

With Nanami’s cemented frown, his intentions were further concealed. It didn’t have the capacity to speak of the trip’s impulsivity. It ignored the uncharacteristic apprehension that created knots between Nanami’s shoulder blades; new to the sorcerer celebrated for composure. 

It was rash, but the innate desire clear; Nanami wanted to be behind your reprieve. 

“There are rules and regulations. ” He swallowed any lingering remorse. “They don’t stop for you.”

He mistook his demeanor for bravery, but his true bravery formed by being across from you. The only barrier seemed to be Nanami’s incorruptible moral code, a space where you couldn’t quite freely exist.

“Nanami Kento, the reluctant hero…” You tutted with tender sarcasm. A hand rested above your heart, the same way the elderly read the headline that exploited your name, “...how kind of you to pity a recluse like me.…” 

Your words carried back to Nanami’s core, becoming distant as you furthered into the mess he’d created. The darkness succumbed to your presence, your cursed energy steady as it unknowingly created space for the spirit that lurked. 

Nanami’s lips shaped your name, but all you could hear was a mild ringing, a buzz. Your anger dissipated into a murky haze, the harder you blinked the more the argument dissipated. Even if you had held onto it, the lump in your throat wouldn’t allow it to exist. 

The longer you lingered with the feeling, your surroundings slowly morphed. 

All you could hear was your shaky breaths, and all you could see was a faint familiarity with your surroundings. Even your stumbling steps forward felt practiced. 

“Keep up…” A disharmonious voice called for you. It was airy, like a child filled with excitement. “Hurry!”

The environment was damp, still reflecting the country’s dreariness. It was a good hiding place to play, to sneak, and for you to abuse. But the fog in your mind started to swirl. The colors became deeper, more like shadows that soon transformed into familiar figures. 

The curse’s magnetism was a warning you ignored, causing your pupils to blow large at the burden before you. 

The scene was explicit—nothing could be saved from the carnage. 

There was no use in prayers. The gore set the air with dust that could never settle; a blood-warm heat had set into your marrow, never to be forgotten; it had been dragged to your doorstep like a cat bringing in fowl. 

You recognized your own body from the anguish in your shoulders. Hunched over Nanami’s body as you held him tightly, that lump formed in your throat again. 

The fabricated illusion scratched at subconscious emotions and controlled your movements. Your sentimentality was your weakness. Even your stubbornness couldn’t block the overwhelming flood of anxieties and longing.

You watched yourself stuck in a loop, hand rhythmically gliding across the fabric of his shirt in hopes of softening it. To revive something that was determined to remain still.  Its structure was that of a fever dream, its kaleidoscope quality provoking you to interpret it. 

“Nanami?” You couldn’t tell which version of you spoke. Regardless, his name was like torture. “Nanami—please.”

Your defenses damped, your cursed energy draining the further you succumbed to the hallucination. 

“You can’t leave me—” The wails you let out grated against your skin, unrecognizable as your own. “I can’t do—please, Nanami!”

There was a disillusioned passion you felt. It grounded you within the false reality. Even if your mind wasn’t your own, your body moved with muscle memory. Your cursed energy crawled from your core to your fingertips, using the little amounts to start your technique. 

The blue energy extended like nails. You stalked forward until they met your second-self’s back, piercing through your back until you could feel the breeze on the other side.  

The puncture flashed an image, revealing the truth of your damage. 

The spell you were under broke. The veil no longer misguided you. 

“Nanami—” You cursed his name as he grunted in pain. Your hand was warm with his blood. “Fuck. Fuck—” The words tumbled from your quivering lip. You couldn’t think of anything else, repeating the curse. “I’m so sorry—I—

Guilt crawled up your throat when you recognized his hold on your wrist. Nanami’s grip was the only thing keeping your strike from being lethal. Your mouth was dry, shallow breaths passing your lips with a bargaining plea.  

“No, no, no—” Your vocabulary became limited the further you panicked. “Nanami—

Nanami’s breath struggled, but there was determination on his brow. The copper taste took over his tongue, any warning could never make it out in time. 

Your body froze, more aware of your surroundings than your mind. It happened too quickly to realize the position you put yourself in; in a flash, you pushed Nanami to endure the hit from the curse that had forced your hand. 

The moment your head snapped back against the stone wall, everything went black.

#q #nanami #kento #nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x f!reader #nanami kento angst #nanami kento fluff #nanami kento x you #kento nanami #kento nanami angst #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami x f!reader #kento nanami x you #kento nanami fluff #jjk #jjk kento #jjk nanami #jjk kento nanami #jjk nanami kento #jjk request #request

[doodle-pops]

Tears of the Sun

Maedhros x reader

A/N: Since this came in 2nd on the poll, you all can have the treat you've been voting for. You all have no idea how long I've been dying to release this :) 🙈

Warnings: 3rd Kinslaying, death, blood, heavy angst, hurt and not an ounce of comfort (the bucket is dry), major character death

Words: 1.6k

Synopsis: We always regret the things we do when the worst happens, and Maedhros finally seems to have enough.

His body moved with less grace and more aggression, leaving behind a trail of victims struck down by his ruthless blade. The horror and grief in the eyes of each lifeless body meant nothing to him; they were just obstacles on his path to his ambition. Their deaths only fuelled his determination, pushing him further up the hill and past the point of no return. His once–pristine armour was now stained with splatters of crimson, matching the colour of his hair and sword. His usually well–kept hair was matted and frizzed from the chaos of the battle, and his helmet lay discarded in the heat of the mindless fight. None of his opponents were formidable enough to engage him in a true battle of skill; they were merely obstacles to be obliterated.

He found himself growing bored with the resistance he encountered. He had come for his treasured heirloom, and the stubborn defence he faced only made him scoff. He swung his sword recklessly, striking down anyone who dared to challenge him. If kindness couldn’t win him what he desired, he would take it by force. The last shreds of sanity that had held his emotionally compromised heart together had shattered, leaving him with no option but to resort to raiding and plundering. Blood was his familiar companion—it was what he had come to know intimately, the colour of his hair and the blade he wielded. The hand he had been dealt in the losing game of life resembled his sword’s hue: crimson.

Existence was his only reality, a reality driven by the notion that death wasn’t yet ready to claim him. He existed because he couldn’t die, and death toyed with his life as though it were a mere game of chess. One moment he was a pawn, the next a bishop, then a king, and back to a pawn. It was a cruel dance of fate, and he had long accepted his role as its unwilling participant. In this twisted game, he found a perverse pleasure in taking what he believed was his by-right, regardless of the consequences.

But you changed everything. You brought light into his world, giving meaning to the bleak and dreary existence he had grown accustomed to. A smile, a look from you, and his heart would soar, mending itself and allowing him to experience the simple joys he had been denied. With you, the cage he had felt trapped in was shattered, and he no longer felt like an animal awaiting its inevitable demise. You gave him purpose, a reason to believe in something greater than the cycle of violence and death he had become ensnared in.

A scoff escaped him as he remembered your influence on him. He wiped away the blood that had trickled down his brow, the metallic scent of iron filling his nostrils. The smell was familiar, a reminder of countless battles and massacres he had orchestrated. Despite the carnage around him, this was a relatively minor raid, akin to dealing with a few dozen orcs. Most of his men had switched sides to prevent further destruction, but those who had stood against him now lay lifeless, their bodies strewn across the ground. The balance between valuing his soldiers’ lives and discarding their lifeless forms after insubordination was a precarious one, and in his current state of mind, the line was blurred beyond recognition.

He continued his macabre dance, his temper a raging fire that consumed everything in its path. Lifeless bodies, once vibrant with vitality, now littered the streets. The urge to be repulsed by the sight was a fleeting burden; he was too consumed by his frustration at his failure to reclaim the Silmaril.

“Háno!” A pained voice, his brother Maglor’s, reached his ears, and his heart clenched with dread. After coming this far, losing another of his kin—his last kin—would be the final blow, shattering what little remained of his fractured soul.

He rushed forward, his steps heedless of the broken bodies that lay in his path. He cut through the streets of Sirion with a single–minded determination, following the urgency in his brother’s voice. What he found was a scene of sombre desolation. Maglor stood there, his sword hanging limply in his hand, his shoulders slumped, his legs wobbling, and his head bowed in defeat. A pit formed in the depths of his heart as he approached his brother’s broken form, his own anger momentarily forgotten.

And then he saw you, lifeless. Your body leaned against the wall of a nearby home, your form covered in your own blood. Your expression held a haunting mixture of pain and resignation.

He didn’t want to accept what he was seeing. It felt impossible, like a cruel illusion playing tricks on his senses. You were supposed to be safe, wrapped in comfort and far from the clutches of death and destruction. This had to be the work of darkness, a sinister fabrication that twisted reality into something nightmarish. This couldn’t be you lying lifeless before his eyes; it had to be some twisted trick, a distorted reflection of his fears.

Convincing oneself of falsehood, even in the face of an unfathomable and horrifying sight, was a coping mechanism that allowed one to shut their eyes and turn away. He chanted to himself repeatedly that what he saw couldn’t be true—it couldn’t be you lying there lifeless at the cost of his hands. His footsteps, once soundless, turned into thunderous beats as he rushed toward where you were slumped against the wall. The scene before him was surreal, and he desperately needed some kind of proof that what he was seeing wasn’t real. His trembling fingers inched closer to touch your form, seeking that moment of realization that would tell him the world had deceived him.

His eyes were narrowed in disbelief, his brows furrowed, lips pursed, and fingers trembling as he gingerly reached out. His boots made contact with your foot, and he half–expected to hear your familiar ‘Ouch’ in response, a playful reaction you often had to his touch. But there was no response, no movement from you. Your eyes were cast downwards, avoiding his gaze, avoiding him. He knew that after your last bitter exchange, you wouldn’t want to look at him. He understood that. Yet, the sight of blood staining your clothes and your lack of breath sent a spike of panic through him.

He blinked back tears that threatened to spill, his teeth gritted, nostrils flaring. Slowly, cautiously, he extended his hand to touch your head. He crouched over your lifeless form, keeping a respectful distance as if he feared that even in death, he was intruding on your personal space. His hand made contact with your head, and when you remained unresponsive, he slid his hand lower to cup your face, lifting it to meet his gaze. But your head lolled limply in his hold, and the puppet–like motion of your head sent waves of terror through him. A cold heat engulfed his body, sending shivers down his spine.

The motion of your head was unnaturally limp, like that of a puppet with its strings cut. His hand quivered as it cradled your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Y/N?” he called, his voice cracking with anxiety. The silence that followed was deafening, and suffocating, and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

“Háno, they’re dead—” Maglor’s words were met with a feral growl that erupted from the depths of Maedhros’s chest. He snapped his head in Maglor’s direction, his eyes blazing with a mixture of rage and desperation. A mere glare and a low, menacing command silenced his brother’s words.

Sinking to his knees, he carefully gathered your lifeless form into his lap, cradling you close. He adjusted your position, holding you as you liked to be held, your head resting against his chest so you could hear his heartbeat. His mutilated hand cradled you, his fingers gently caressing your skin. He rocked you back and forth, murmuring soothing words in a broken symphony of promises that he knew he might never be able to fulfil.

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” he whispered, his voice a fragile melody of reassurance. He pressed rough kisses to the top of your head, his lips brushing against your hair. “I’ve got you now, I’m here. I’m going to keep you safe when you wake up.”

The juxtaposition between the past and the present hit him like a wave of sorrow. He remembered the times he had pushed you away, the harsh words he had spoken, and the pain he had caused. And now, here he was, holding you tightly, his heart breaking with the weight of his regrets.

“This will be over soon,” he promised, his voice laden with emotion. “You’ll be safe and happy. I promised you that, didn’t I? I’ll keep my word, my love.” He continued to sway with your lifeless body, refusing to acknowledge his brother’s pleas for him to accept the reality.

He whispered to you over and over, his tears mingling with the blood and sweat on his face. The saltiness of his tears against his wounds was a numbing sensation, a reminder that he was still capable of feeling something amidst the darkness. He was hollow, consumed by the curse of his actions, bound to live with the consequences of his choices—he took your life with words. A simple command and you fell innocent to his sword.

The cycle of violence and suffering that he had perpetuated had led him to this point, where he held the lifeless body of the person he loved more than anything. He had pushed away his chance at happiness, his heartless actions sealing his fate.

In his arms, he clung to you, the only source of light in his life, hoping against hope that this was just a nightmare, that you would awaken, and that the blood on your skin was nothing more than an illusion. But deep down, he knew that he was living the nightmare he had created, unable to escape the prison of his own making.

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @mysticmoomin @rain-on-my-umbrella @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @sakurayaxd @ladyenchanted @stormchaser819 @aconstructofamind

If you would like to be tagged, click the taglist link.

#maedhros x reader #maedhros angst #maedhros imagine #maedhros scenario #maedhros and tears #maedhros #silmarillion imagine #silmarillion x reader #silmarillion fic #silmarillion scenario #silmarillion angst #middle earth imagine #middle earth x reader #middle earth fic #middle earth angst #nelyafinwe #maitimo #russandol #house of feanor #feanorians #sons of feanor #angst with no happy ending #angst with a sad ending #angst with no comfort #hurt/no comfort #bring your tissues #x reader insert #tw: major character death #silmarillion #doodlepops writings ✨

[colorisbyshe]

you can't vote a slur is "thoroughly reclaimed" while 1/4th of your community says it's still a slur and hurts them. you can't just... write off your own community.

also you can't vote a slur is "reclaimed" but "only the lgbt community can say it" why can only the lgbt community say it? is it because it's a fucking slur??

some of y'all are not only heartless (writing off a large portion of the community's pain because you like a shiny word) but also fucking stupid

#what do we call a word only a specific community can use... because it's offensive outside of t hat context #are you eprhaps saying only lgbt peopel can RECLAIM IT #what kind of words need to be reclaimed...?? #are they perhaps... slurs???

[miracles-and-butterflies]

The fourth part of the Ride the Cyclone AU.

Ready, player two?

Reblog is now posted with the song.

The previous part in case you need a recap.

Comments are always appreciated.

Warning, sensitive topics below, especially character death.

~~~~~~

That Fucked-Up Girl

“What a rush!” Dolores declared triumphantly, taking a deep breath. “Who’s next?”

On cue, the lights returned to normal and Dolores was back in her own dress, she stepped off the pyramid which instantly collapsed - the trio underneath her groaning - and wandered back over to her spot, incredibly proud of herself on her sales pitch.

“Perhaps now would be a good time to say that whoever is brought back to life will be brought back by a unanimous vote from each and every one of the contestants.”

Crickets.

All eyes fell on Dolores.

She froze, not blinking. “What?” She squeaked.

“Whoever comes back needs a unanimous vote from all the contestants,” the man repeated, his tone condescending.

You could almost hear the horrified realisation happening in everyone’s mind, but mostly in Dolores’. One of the others, presumably Luisa by the low pitch, snickered.

Dolores stalked up to him, “But if you wouLD HAVE TOLD ME THAT—”

“You wouldn’t have called every one of your potential judges a ‘loser’, crowing about your superiority in song, culminating in you standing on top of them in a human pyramid?” He questioned. Dolores took a step back, swallowing nervously; she looked incredibly guilty. “…That did strike me as an unorthodox strategy.” The man mused, reclaiming his microphone just before it slipped from Dolores’ defeated hand.

He turned away, leaving Dolores to do the same.

She tried to regather some part of her confidence as she faced the others.

All of whom were now back on their feet and in their own clothes. Luisa, the closest, was scowling at her. Camilo didn’t know where to look. Isabela was two seconds away from being sick.

“What?” Dolores tried, innocently.

“‘What’?” Luisa mocked. “You just told your best friend that her greatest achievement in life will be getting high or going to fucking prison!”

“I’m not too bothered about the jail bit, actually. Sounded funny.” Isabela commented.

She walked over to Dolores, grabbing her arm and pulling her aside. It didn’t escape Dolores’ mind that Isabela’s grasp was unnecessarily harsh and would leave a bruise.

“A drug addict?” She whispered. “…Is that really what you think of me?”

“Prima, I was in the moment… Sorry, Isabela! I promise I didn’t mean that was your greatest achievement in life.”

“That’s fine. It only kinda really super hurts but—”

“Do you want to know what I find ‘kind of really super hurts’?” Desconocida asked, suddenly directly beside Isabela. Her voice echoing around the room and porcelain head glowing under the light.

The pair moved away in sync.

“Maybe later, thanks,” Isabela snapped. Her frustration with Dolores slipping out to the wrong person.

Desconocida tilted her head. Isabela took it as her opportunity to leave, walking as far away from Dolores and Desconocida as humanly possible.

“Okay…” Dolores mumbled, also moving away. “So… what I did there.. is exactly the type of thing you shouldn't do in this competition.”

Nobody said anything.

“You guys know I love you,” she tried again. She ran over and grasped her cousin’s arm. “Isabela? I love you. We have been best friends since day one! Even with all the expectations and pressure we had growing up, we still had each to lean on and talk to about anything. All those wonderful memories; I wouldn’t trade them for anything.”

Isabela abruptly pulled her arm away.

Dolores changed course.

“Luisa?” The woman in question scoffed. “Oh, Luisa!” Dolores sang as she approached, not quite as sweet as she had been for her older cousin. “I love you. I mean… you challenged my preconceived notion that all lesbians were fun to be around.”

Luisa immediately went to hit her but Desconocida had seemingly reappeared and as soon as she caught sight of the headless doll, she decided that the comment wasn’t worth trying to smack Dolores over.

“Oh, Camilo! Camilo, I love you. You are my brother, who has done so much good for our town! How could I not be proud of that?”

“Well, yeah, I was gonna be an organ donor, so thanks,” he retorted, flat.

Dolores, though a little shocked, took the hint and stepped away.

“And—” she found that Desconocida had already moved, now right beside her, offering her headless doll. Dolores scoffed, turning to the suited man. “Her? I mean, this thing is actually going to get a vote tonight?” She cackled at the ridiculousness of it.

Quickly catching herself, her laughter turned more lighthearted.

“But I love her!” She insisted.

To prove the point, she bent down and pressed a brief kiss to Desconocida’s doll’s severed neck. As Dolores promptly then skipped off - her good deed done - Desconocida turned the doll to face her, staring at the lipstick mark in puzzlement.

“My song was a cautionary tale of hubris,” she went on to declare. “You guys know I love you?”

No response.

“I love you?” Dolores called.

Nothing.

“I love you?! I freaking love you guys!” She screamed, circling the contestants once more. “Okay! Okay! So for my real number, I will be singing a song about how much I love you guys.”

Dolores repositioned herself in the centre, standing as gracefully as any choir singer.

“This song is simply called… ‘I Love You Guys’.” She announced.

A spotlight fell on her and a piano began to play.

Taking a breath, she sang operatically, “I love you guys—”

“OH! FOR FUCK’S SAKE, MAKE HER STOP!”

They all turned straight to the one who had interrupted Dolores: Isabela. In a mix of confusion, shock and relief.

Before anyone could do anything more, the blue suited man spoke up again. “Isabela Cristina Rojas Madrigal. Born 7th August, Leo: the aggressive nature. Favourite ride: the bumper carts.”

As the lights changed again, the others left, leaving Isabela as the sole focus. While the others had gone willingly, Dolores moved much more begrudgingly and not without throwing a very betrayed look Isabela’s away. She had been the one to interrupt her moment of redemption.

Isabela sauntered around the space, admiring the various photos of her life that appeared. Occasionally gagging at the ones of her in pink and roses, hand-in-hand with Mariano, her ex-fiancé. The realisation slowly setting in that the majority of the photos were like that. The majority of her life had been a lie, that mask of perfection. She had been killed before she could truly live as herself.

The narration continued, “Early on in Isabela’s life, her parents realised two things. The first…”

There was a pause and Isabela was left stood, awkwardly alone. She was a little offended when she realised what he meant. Yeah, she gets it. Everyone worked out she was a lesbian before she did. He doesn’t need to rub it in.

“The second was her passion for all things competition. While other kids played house in harmony, Isabela was determined to be the best pretend mother in the playground. Perhaps, combined with the pressure from such a high status family, is what doomed her down a path of unmeasurable perfectionism.”

As this was being said Dolores reappeared, controlled, in some dark shawl, vaguely reminiscent of their Abuela. Camilo brought on a chair, setting it in the centre of the room, just behind Isabela. She had gone to take the seat herself, assuming that’s what it was for, but she found herself forced there by one of Dolores’ hands on her shoulder. The other hand repositioned her, keep her sat straight and perfect. Not a hair out of place. It way Isabela’s shoulders automatically setting themselves back and holding her head higher that sent a shiver down her back.

Old habits die hard, her mother use to say. Isabela wouldn’t know. She hadn’t lived long enough to truly break from them.

“Isabela was a model for her town and the hope for her future, when her abuela passed. She was to be the best of women, best of brides and wives, betrothed to the best suitor Encanto could offer her, Mariano Guzmán. A match that would have done so much for her family. A match that she failed to deliver on, disappointing everyone.”

Isabela snapped, “You can’t say that—”

She was completely ignored.

The next time she tried to open her mouth, she found she physically couldn’t. Just left to watch in horror - she couldn’t get up with Dolores still holding her in place - as the other placed disgustingly pink bouquets of flowers at her feet.

“Following the reconciliation of the family, Isabela tried hard to pull herself from the chains she had helped build. Determined to find herself as quickly as possible, either as part of a competition or refusing to delve into her feelings too much. The messy, flawed parts of her are buried under the mass of petals and praise that had become so customary. And so she remains, the rose without a thorn. Isabela Madrigal, the most perfect girl in town.”

The lights returned to normal, the others didn’t reappear instantly and so nobody came to collect any of the props surrounding her.

Isabela waited a moment for something to happen, but nothing did. The blue suited man seemed to be more interested in fixing the cuff of his sleeve than even looking at her.

She scoffed, “So that’s it then? I’m either a fucking drug addict or just some flawless angel?”

He hummed thoughtfully, finally flicking his eyes back onto her. “You sound upset. It’s almost like you have lost a competition or something - you don’t have to worry, it is not time to vote for a winner yet. There’s still time for you to plead your case.”

“Listen here, you fucking.. whatever you are, you don’t know anything about me or my life.” Isabela said, stalking up to him so quickly, she almost stripped over the stool leg. “You don’t know what it was like growing up in that family, with real gifts, in that town that kept us away from the rest of the world. I didn’t want to be some perfect flower girl and I wanted to fucking live! I wanted to love, I wanted to feel. I wanted to drink myself to death on the cup of life. You have just picked pieces from my life to share - no mention to my cacti or how I could have done better. Hell, no mention to me being a figure of beauty! Was that not interesting enough for your little narrative?”

The mysterious man barely even blinked at her.

“You judgemental dick,” she hissed. “Happily swanned over Dolores for being able to read a school book, but you have nothing to say for me?”

“You’re right. I feel that now is the perfect occasion for a song about the romancing of the Madrigals’ golden child,” he announced, making Isabela exclaim. Without warning, he handed her the microphone and sent her back to the centre of the warehouse. “Cue the harp, fresh from Isabela’s funeral!”

Somewhere out of sight, Luisa gave a response of “On it!”

Isabela looked appalled. “I don’t want to sing about that!”

“Oh!” Dolores squeaked, suddenly reappearing and running up to take Isabela’s place. “If she doesn’t want to sing, I will happily go again—”

She practically screamed in frustration. “Can you keep your beak out of it for one second, you nosy bitch!?”

Nobody said anything. Isabela took a breath to calm herself.

“Fine,” she supplied. Dolores huffed off, insulted written all over her face. “In my life, I was Isabela Madrigal, Señorita Perfecta of our small town. But… in my dreams, I played a different role. I was a normal woman, in post-war Bogotá.. a hooker with a heart of black charcoal.”

~~~~~~

14th September 1950, six hours before the accident

“Again! I almost had Luisa that time!”

“You wish,” Luisa muttered, ruffling Isabela’s hair as she passed through the exit.

“No, we aren’t going on the bumper carts again.” Dolores complained, rubbing at the back of her neck. “You’ve given me at least twelve cases of whiplash in the past hour, Isa. It’s someone else’s turn to ride with you.”

“You pulled the short straw, hermana. It’s what you get.” Camilo retorted.

Luisa clapped her hand together, making Dolores wince. “So! Where are we headed next? There’s still loads we haven’t been on.”

“I’m not going on anything. Not with Isabela.”

“Don’t be like that, Dolores. We’ve got the whole day to go.”

Isabela twirled on the spot, eyeing up each of the potential rides, stalls and games. If she wasn’t getting to go on the bumper carts again, she was determined to pick the next activity. If she left it to the others, she’d be dragged on something boring where she’d have no chance of demolishing Luisa like she—

“There! Let’s do some of those games!” Camilo pointed to the left hand side.

“I suppose we did promise to win something for Antonio,” Dolores mumbled, already following.

“What?” Isabela exasperated. “You’re just going to do Camilo’s idea?”

Luisa pulled an arm around Isabela’s shoulder guiding her along, “I’m sure we’ll come back to the bumper carts, Bela. I look forward to crushing you again.”

“Bold words coming from someone who was sweating in fear.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself.”

Isabela was expecting that the game stools wouldn’t be of much interest to her. The prizes sure weren’t - what would she do with some ballon animal or doll or plushie? But the bragging she could do if she beat Luisa on one of these, not all of them were tests of strength either; it would be a fair playing field.

Unfortunately for her. They weren’t as easy as they had appeared.

Camilo had given up after failing to knock over a tower of tin cans at one of the stalls, so Dolores had been made to take him to the various food carts, in the hopes of shutting or cheering up her brother. Isabela, always fuelled by competitiveness, refused to leave. And even if she didn’t care about the prizes, she was starting to get a little frustrated by Luisa’s growing haul of items.

Bruno looked very overwhelmed when they next ran into him.

“Um, what exactly do you plan to do with all of those?” He asked. Luisa just shrugged, arms full. “You’re going to leave me with them, aren’t you? Dolores left hers with me.”

Isabela spat out her drink. “Dolores won something?”

“Yeah, some toy ducks, one with a heart on it. She’s going to give it to Mariano later.”

“She probably cheated with her gift somehow.”

“All you had to do was hook the duck on a stick—”

“Nobody asked you, Luisa.”

Luisa burst out laughing, before going on to ask if it was okay for her to leave (at least some of) her winnings with Bruno for a bit. To which he agreed, if Luisa found a more transportable way of moving them.

As Luisa sped off in search of a bag, Isabela took the opportunity to wander around by herself. She wasn’t a child. She could go around by herself. It didn’t strike her as odd at first, but people just kept staring at her and she racked her brain for what exactly could be the reason. Everyone was use to her messy appearance by now, right? And then it hit her. She had never been out in public alone before - she always had Abuela or Mariano right by her side, holding her hand. Even now, she was always with Dolores or some other member of her family. What the fuck was wrong with people? Why couldn’t she walk by herself?

A hand slipped into her own and she breathed a sigh of relief. “Lola, you’re never gonna believe wha—”

She was abruptly turned around and made to face someone who was definitely not Dolores. He was shorter and awkward, and way too close into her personal space. Though he had aged since she had last seen him, she remembered the face of Bubo Marquez, an old classmate of hers and Dolores’.

“Um,” she said. “You’re not Dolores.”

“Oh no, definitely not. I’m Bubo. We use to go to school together?” He asked.

“Yeah, I remember - I know who you are. I’ve seen you around town and stuff…” she glanced around. The townspeople still seemed to be staring at her, though not in object horror as before. If anything they looked pleased. “Can I help you with something?” She managed.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you were alone here, so I thought that I might keep you company.”

“Thanks, but I’m actually with—”

She didn’t finish, attempting to look for Dolores. Or Luisa. Or anyone. Just someone who could help her. She wasn’t that far from Bruno a minute ago. Why couldn’t she see him?

“It’s okay,” Bubo was saying, when Isabela started paying attention again. “You don’t have to be embarrassed about being seen with me or anything. I spoke to your mother and abuela yesterday, they were both okay with it.”

Isabela couldn’t breathe.

“Okay with what?” She whispered, unintentionally.

The whispering was immediately taken the wrong way, as Bubo pressed closer against her. Her back hitting a wooden board of some ride behind her, his eyes basically at level with her breasts.

If he had spoken to Mama and Abuela, and she didn’t know about it until now, it had to have been in public. With so much going on, Dolores wouldn’t have heard it specifically and couldn’t have told her about it. That’s why the townspeople suddenly looked so pleased. They knew he had asked, they knew that he was trying to court her. Because, of course, Isabela Madrigal, the most precious flower, must be claimed by some man.

“Ah!” A third voice called. One of the employees of the fairground in a pinstriped suit, smirking down at them from behind a moustache. “Two young lovers! Are you looking for a ride on the Tunnel of Love?”

She raised an eyebrow before looking at the ride she found herself beside. A heart-shaped tunnel full of pretty red boats and an air that smelt of perfume and sweat.

Bubo’s eyes practically sparkled. “Absolutely—”

“No!” She squawked, she suddenly pushed him from her, making him stumble backwards. Before he could catch his balance or try to catch her hand for support, he was yanked straight to the ground by her vines. She hadn’t even created them consciously - they just appeared.

The employee furrowed his brow. “Is everything alright, señorita?”

Everyone was staring at her.

She pulled a hand through her hair, mentally screaming at herself to calm down. Why was she so upset? Why was everyone watching her? Behave yourself, you’re in public, that old voice whispered in her head. What would Abuela say?

She ran, pushing past people in a flurry of jacarandas. Before she knew it, she was crashing into the back of Luisa.

“There you are! I thought you’d gone off to try bribe or threaten someone to let you win one of their games,” Luisa teased, playfully nudging her in the side. “Come back and brag how you had won some ultimate prize, and how much better you were than me.”

Bruno reached a hand for her shoulder. “Is everything okay, sobrina? You look a little—”

“I’m great,” she replied, quickly. The pair of them both looked at her weirdly, clearly unconvinced. She could do this though. She was a good actress if she managed to keep everyone fooled with graceful poses and sweet smiles for so long. She settled her gaze back onto Luisa. “Ha, I tried! Apparently threatening people with cacti isn’t allowed,” she mocked. “Anyways, let’s go find Lola and Milo.”

#encanto #encanto ride the cyclone au #my writing #isabela madrigal #luisa madrigal #dolores madrigal #camilo madrigal #antonio madrigal #bruno madrigal #mirabel madrigal #julieta madrigal #alma madrigal #mariano guzmán #bubo marquez

[lesbian-polls]

Wait sorry, what’s wrong with m-spec lesbians? I thought that was what lots of butches were? 😭 sorry I’m from a conservative area + wasn’t allowed internet until I left home so I haven’t had much interaction with the queer community

Since you ask in good faith I'll give you a good faith answer.

M-spec doesn't mean "masculine presenting" it means your attraction is in the masculine spectrum of the gender spectrum, so men and male aligned-NB people (non-binary is not a third gender, it's a collection of every gender that I'd neither 100% woman or 100% man)

Butches tend to present masculine, this doesn't make them men.

A lesbian is a woman or woman-aligned NB person who is attracted to the same gender. That is, other women and woman aligned NB people.

The problem with m-spec and bi "lesbians" is that they're not lesbians at all, they're bi or pan people most of the time who are attracted to men but try to usurp the lesbian label and turn it into a synonym for sapphic or woman-loving-woman.

Lesbianism is the only sexuality that excludes men, both as targets of attraction and emitters of that attraction. Therefore we are being shamed into being attracted to men by this group of people. Hell, they even try to take the reclaimed d-slur.

It's an act of lesbophobia, homophobia (two different kinds of oppression btw) biphobia (bi and pan people have a history of fighting for their own label and protested against being called gays or lesbians) and transphobia since many of m-spec 'lesbians' and their supporters are trans men who claim they have a connection to womanhood by having the "right parts" which isn't true in the slightest and also hurts trans women, many of whom are lesbians as well.

Even misogyny, since m-spec and bi 'lesbians' can't stand the fact that we don't need men in our lives and that bothers them since in their mind everyone needs to center men in their lives.

Would you see gay men being told to include women in their sexuality? No, right? It's the misogyny as well.

Most bi 'lesbians' and their supporters also happen to be white, shielding themselves with their privilege.

To sum it up: m-spec 'lesbians' aren't butches or lesbians at all, they're bi and pan people who disregard their own history and struggle to try and steal our label from us, inspired by homophobia, biphobia, lesbophobia, misogyny and transphobia. They'll call us TERFs (many of us are trans women mind you) while employing TERF points themselves like with the trans man argument.

If you have more questions feel free to DM me. And, if you are not a lesbian please don't vote in the polls since they're for lesbians only. I made this blog as a safe space for lesbians due to our safe spaces on this accursed website being eroded (if you say you're a bi lesbian in a lesbian bar they'll laugh at you since this is online-only problem) and I'd like to keep it that way

EDIT:

This user is right, I got the two mixed up. M-spec is multi-spectrum

#lesbian #lesbianism #lesbian safe #lesbian positivity #anon #'bi lesbian' #anti bi lesbian #anti mspec lesbian #lesbophobia

[spicybylerpolls]

seeing the role polls i honestly get so shocked that people see mike as a top and not a bratty bottom lmao. at best he's a bottom-leaning switch.

I think people aren't just seeing Mike as a top in a vacuum. They're seeing Mike as a top relative to Will, who they see as a bottom. And just based on the poll results, it does seem like there are far more people here who view Will as a strict bottom than those who view Mike as a strict top. But these polls are still a relatively small sample size, so who knows what the results would be if everyone here voted.

The idea of Mike being a "bratty bottom" is very interesting. I'm curious what your reasoning for this is. I do think a lot more people here would view Mike as a bottom if Will wasn't in the picture.

But let's face it, Will does have a... certain asset that makes many think of him in that way lmao. And also some spicy Byler anons have argued that their canon relationship dynamic lends itself to top Mike/bottom Will, but I've also seen others who argue the opposite or who believe in top Will because it allows Will to "reclaim the power/control that has been stripped from him," which also makes sense. People do tend to feel strongly one way or the other.

Personally, I do believe Byler would be versatile, but I also think they'd gravitate to certain positions (at least at first).

What do y'all think?

#byler #spicy byler #mike wheeler #will byers #no poll

[padawan-historian]

On August 8, 1863, Tennessee ratified the 13th Amendment, abolishing the domestic slave trade of Black + indigenous folks in the state. 159 years later in 2022, Tennessee folks voted to abolish all forms of slavery in the state, including the "Slavery Clause" that allows for incarcerated slavery to persist in both state-sanctioned + private for-profit prisons.To this day, the United States continues to build wealth off the exploited labor of impoverished, (dis)abled, undocumented + racially marginalized people who are incarcerated.

Each community and country that participated in the Transatlantic Slave Trade has its own emancipation day (or year).

And yet, as of 2023, Colorado, Alabama, Oregon, Vermont, Tennessee + Nevada (2024) are the only U.S. states who have made steps to abolish slavery in all its forms. That's not even touching how slavery, both state-sanctioned and illegal bondage, continues to bleed into our everyday places from child labor + forced s*x work to penal plantations and chocolate factories (looking at you at hershey chocolate)

In this second wave of Jim & Jane Crow flooding our world, we must arm ourselves with the tools to disrupt systems, distribute resources + deepen our collective action + good trouble ~

If you wanna explore the full Emancipation post + readings, come join us in the garden community over on Patreon where we upRoot our miseducation through history lessons, community conversations + book talks + decolonizing our everyday practic, our classrooms + our communities.

Reclaim your emancipation + immerse yourself in the ancestral, antiracist liberation! 🖤✊🏾✨️

#prison abolition #our world #black lives matter #ecosystem of white supremacy #our history is your history #politics #13th amendment #padawan historian #cite black women #reclaim the fourth #emancipation day

[lovesongbracket]

Reminder: Vote based on the song, not the artist or specific recording! The tracks referenced are the original artist, aside from a few rare cases where a cover is the most widely known.

Lyrics, videos, info, and notable covers under the cut. (Spotify playlist available in pinned post)

Take Me to Church

Written By: Hozier

Artist: Hozier

Released: 2013

Alternate version included: NYC Subway, 2019

“Take Me to Church” is the debut single by Irish recording artist Hozier. It has become an international hit, reaching #1 in 12 countries, and has been certified five times platinum in the US. “Take Me to Church” was nominated for a Grammy Award for “Song of the Year” in 2015. Despite its widespread and international success, Hozier was a struggling musician when he recorded the song. And in fact, it wasn’t until the music video — a critique of Russia’s anti-LGBT+ policy, which some audiences have found controversial — went viral that the song attracted attention. “‘Take Me to Church’ is essentially about sex,” Hozier said in an interview with New York Magazine in March 2014, adding that “it’s not an attack on faith. It’s about sex and it’s about humanity, and obviously sex and humanity are incredibly tied. Sexuality, and sexual orientation — regardless of orientation — is just natural… The song is about asserting yourself and reclaiming your humanity through an act of love.” The song has also garnered attention from musicians around the world — it was, for example, covered on The Voice, and director David LaChapelle released an interpretive dance video of “Take Me To Church”, featuring British Royal Ballet veteran Sergei Polunin performing choreography by Jade Hale-Christofi.

[Verse 1] My lover's got humor She's the giggle at a funeral Knows everybody's disapproval I should've worshipped her sooner If the heavens ever did speak She's the last true mouthpiece Every Sunday's getting more bleak A fresh poison each week "We were born sick" You heard them say it My church offers no absolutes She tells me "Worship in the bedroom" The only Heaven I'll be sent to Is when I'm alone with you I was born sick, but I love it Command me to be well [Pre-Chorus] Aaa, Amen, Amen, Amen [Chorus] Take me to church I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife Offer me that deathless death Good God, let me give you my life Take me to church I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife Offer me that deathless death Good God, let me give you my life [Verse 2] If I'm a pagan of the good times My lover's the sunlight To keep the goddess on my side She demands a sacrifice Drain the whole sea Get something shiny Something meaty for the main course That's a fine looking high horse What you got in the stable? We've a lot of starving faithful That looks tasty That looks plenty This is hungry work [Chorus] Take me to church I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies I'll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife Offer me my deathless death Good God, let me give you my life Take me to church I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies I'll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife Offer me my deathless death Good God, let me give you my life [Bridge] No masters or kings when the ritual begins There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene Only then I am human Only then I am clean [Pre-Chorus] Oh, oh Amen, Amen, Amen [Chorus] Take me to church I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife Offer me that deathless death Good God, let me give you my life Take me to church I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife Offer me that deathless death Good God, let me give you my life

Ain't No Mountain High Enough

Written By: Valerie Simpson & Nickolas Ashford

Artist: Marvin Gaye & Tammi Terrell

Released: 1967

“Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” marked the first collaboration between soul artists Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell in terms of releases. It was the first single from their debut album United where it also appeared as the opening track on the record. Although they kept their relationship as professional as could be, the two were practically inseparable with most describing them as “brother and sister.” At Terrell’s funeral after her tragic death at the mere age of 24, her mother barred everyone at Motown from attending except Gaye (who also delivered the eulogy) as she felt he was her only friend there. Perhaps there really was no mountain, valley or river that could ever come between them. The song was listed by writers of the UK publication NME as one of the Top 150 Singles of All Time, and the song was inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame in 1999. The song would go on to be covered by dozens of artists, including Diana Ross, The Supremes and The Temptations, as well as the songwriters Ashford & Simpson among others.

[Verse 1] Listen, baby Ain't no mountain high Ain't no valley low Ain't no river wide enough, baby If you need me, call me No matter where you are No matter how far Don't worry, baby Just call my name I'll be there in a hurry You don't have to worry 'Cause, baby, there [Chorus] Ain't no mountain high enough Ain't no valley low enough Ain't no river wide enough To keep me from getting to you, babe [Verse 2] Remember the day I set you free I told you you could always count on me, darling From that day on, I made a vow I'll be there when you want me, someway, somehow Oh, baby, there [Chorus] Ain't no mountain high enough Ain't no valley low enough Ain't no river wide enough To keep me from getting to you, babe [Bridge] Oh no, darling No wind, no rain Or winter's cold Can stop me, baby (No, no, baby) 'Cause you are my goal If you're ever in trouble I'll be there on the double Just send for me, oh, baby, ha [Verse 3] My love is alive (Woo) Way down in my heart Although we are miles apart If you ever need a helping hand I'll be there on the double Just as fast as I can Don't you know that there [Chorus] Ain't no mountain high enough Ain't no valley low enough Ain't no river wide enough To keep me from getting to you, baby Don't you know that there Ain't no mountain high enough Ain't no valley low enough Ain't no river wide enough Ain't no mountain high enough Ain't no valley low enough

#polls #poll tournament #poll bracket #tournament #bracket #lovesongbracket #round4 #take me to church #hozier #ain't no mountain high enough #marvin gaye #tammi terrell

[symphonic-scream]

We're getting close to the finish line again for this fic and I can't decide which one to write next so it's a new poll!

Below this will be descriptions of the AU's

P5 Mech Au - Kaijus have turned their eyes to a Future Japan's acting Capital, Base City, thus requiring them to start a team of mech pilots to keep the city safe while they try to find a way to end the crisis. Unknown to all the members of the selected Pilots team, one among them is a Synthetic Human, made partially from Kaiju DNA

P5 Inaba Au - Akira is moving to Yaso-Inaba while his parents are overseas, and since he's only freshly free from Parole, he has been placed in the care of Prosecutor Sae Niijima. However, as soon as he arrives, a series of odd murders begins. What is the secret behind the fog? (P4 but with the P5 characters)

P5 Ageswap Au - Sojiro has been sent to live in Tokyo after being sued for assault, wrongfully mind you. He plans to listen to the advice of his new guardian, Ryuji Sakamoto, and live a normal life for the year. However, the universe has other plans. (Teens confidants are in the adult roles, adult confidants are in the teen roles)

P5 Pirate Au - the seas around Shibuya Harbour are riddled with crime and injustice, and one young boy (MORGANA) pulls together a crew of the wronged to run the Phantom Pirates crew, sailing aboard the Velvet Room

Niijima Twins Au - what would change if Goro had a support system in his life? This au, apparently. Makoto and Goro are twins, and this covers all the ways that alters the Persona 5 universe

P5 Magic Au - Akira is a witch, a fact he's only learned recently. From a talking cat. Said cat claims he's a grand sorcerer, looking to reclaim his lost magic from greedy humans. Along the way, he befriends many, many other magical beings and monsters

P5 as P3 Au - I'm not waxing poetry about this one. It's the plot of Persona 3 with the Persona 5 characters in their places. WITH A TWIST. YOU WILL ONLY FIND OUT THE TWIST IF THIS ONE WINS

P4 Apocalypse Au - shadows crawl out from the darkness and fog, and the remaining living townsfolk of Inaba have taken up shelter in Yasogami High. Yu and his friends happen upon a being that can actually kill the shadows, giving them the upper hand the Town has needed this whole time

P4 Magic Au - Yu is a witch. When he goes to live with his human uncle, he notices a pattern in the recent murders; the dead were all monsters. He befriends other magical students and tries to solve the secret of the magical murders

P4 Tokyo Au - Yu got expelled and goes to Tokyo and it's the plot of P5 with the P4 characters in their places. I'm tired at this point. Place your vote

#persona magic au #persona 5 #persona series #persona 4 #persona fics #VOTE #VOTE FOR ONE #PLEASE