#DRABBLE;; Mirror Mirror

[machinesandman]

Mirror Mirror

Everything had been culminating together, slowly at first, but then speed had begun to pick up and twist together far more violently. Now so many events and things were starting to come into a head. Blues had expected as much might start happening. While it had taken a lot longer of a time for things to actually start falling apart, history has a way of repeating it’s self. Even if people learn from it, there are still certain factors that will play a role.

He needed to blow off steam, as someone might tell him. But he also wanted information. And how better to gather that than by taking extreme measures.

The eldest of the Robot Masters huffed too himself, having been working some of this frustration out on poor bastards of Mavericks. Taking them out before they even had a chance to become a problem, efficient. All the while hacking each and every one of them wirelessly, taking bits and pieces of information. More than enough.

They were always so damn messy, these new age robotics. Reploids. Oil and coolant everywhere from the simplest injuries. Too close akin for humanlike in his opinion. But they were not as usually spry, not so energized. Usually these sorts of things would have more of a fight in them and last at least a little longer while Blues was toying with them, not unlike a predator would with it’s prey, a cat with a mouse.

This was... Needless to say, like a child breaking a glass toy.

Something had already had them softened up. They had been escaping something else. Blues didn’t hesitate to move deeper in this little hide away old store house, far on the edge of the city.

Scans and attention picked up on something then, and it was not a Reploid, Maverick or Hunter. That was a much older registry, but one that was unknown too him. He did not like that...

Rounding another corner, buster primed with shield held up in skilled motion, his gaze found the culprit that had his concern and curiosity. Someone standing at about 5′8″, 5′9″. Holding up a maverick by the skull with one hand, slowly crushing it under the strength of those fingers and their armor. Sending a splash of coolant and metal chunks across the stone floor. Body released to drop in a useless heap. The figure turning their head just enough to be seen front on. Female in build, albeit just slight.

Grey body suit, darker than his own just slightly. Armor nearly identical, but faded purples rather than vibrant reds. Sections of it seeming to have rusted, but did nothing to remove any of it’s functional durability, scanners showed that much. The helmet however, was an eerie identical match on his own, but with a full facial mask section of a vent, or breather. With what seemed like strange bumps on top. Like smaller versions of Tango’s audials.

It was like looking in a twisted mirror. Blues hated it. Something else mirroring himself, not unlike those failed copies of him before. What the hell was this failed mockery? It wasn’t a Reploid, scans showed that much. It was built like a Robot Master, but had a far different density. And no network connection. Was this an old model that had been a failed clone, just now alive? Why had no one heard of this or found it? Already in fractions of sections he was demanding over the network. No one had any idea, and each one of them was more confused than the last.

Buster aimed, charge held. “Identify yourself.” His voice was strained, barely holding self control at the moment. This was not some sad pitiful copy, or a trashable sniper joe. No, this thing had skill, obviously. And he wanted to know who tried to make something like this. Every single scan he was making came back with more questions than answers. Density higher than most of them, perhaps arguably closer with Guts or Hard. The power source signal was not like others, it was something hybrid and questionable at best. But the signal... That was scrambled and behind so many layers of encryption.

The other stayed silent, just staring at him. The coolant covered hand slowly lowering, while their other arm shifted. Becoming a buster, but it’s barrel was longer. Armor of it was seemingly stretched. Silvery. Now that was an even older fashioned design. How was this unit functional?

It took one step back, counter scanning himself. Blues could feel it. And then it decided to try and query him. And he sure as fuck wasn’t having that. Instead the firewall blockade went up, which forced the other unit to yank it’s connective instinct away like it had been burned. Immediately the grey and purple one had shifted stance. Defensive. “A unit of no importance, Proto Man. Designation deleted.”

She realized the mistake the moment it left her mouth as the others buster went off. Barely managing to shift dodge herself too the right as the shot rushed past her left. Shit. She needed to leave, now. Get some space, less insulated, and activate that teleport matrix.

Then she felt it. The hack.

Blues had engaged a wireless invasion and was ripping through layer after layer of encryption, firewalls getting shoved through by force. And immediately the female look alike was on the counter, rapidly throwing up far greater defenses and harder scrambled code. Devoting an entire processor into this endeavor. All while the physical world had her lifting that buster, shifting it’s data output into heat, and unleashing two plasma shots. Blues bringing his shield to block. It didn’t damage himself or the protective barrier, but the impact was hard enough to shift him a couple inches on the floor. What the fuck, that sort of power shouldn’t exist anymore.

There wasn’t a seconds chance for a third shot, as Blues rushed forwards, shifting the shield downwards instead to act as a battering ram with it’s edge. This forced the other look alike to rapidly rush backwards to avoid it, buster lifting towards the ceiling instead. This gave Blues the opening he wanted.

Shield vanished, now free hand snapping out to grab onto the others forearm and their coolant stained glove. Grip tight enough to dent the metal, but only barely- he should be doing more damage. But the durability was not something to be ignored. So he took the chance for a counter, and experiment. Yanking that arm sideways with the full body strength he possessed. But it wasn’t has sharp or hard as it should have been, yet enough to cause momentum in a forward throw. Sending this other bot crashing through a stone wall. Which it had immediately broken in with little effort.

That weight it had was more than the usual Robot Master. Like something older builds would have had before being finalized or upgraded into something far more viable. Was this thing just meant fur sheer durability and output? That gave Blues an edge. He’d be more capable of handling maneuvers. And stay standing on more rickety spaces.

A few steps forwards then, moving through the open wall, he saw the other unit standing up with barely a dent. A few scratches on the armor, but the casual way that the female design brushed off the debris like it was nothing confirmed just what he had already assumed and figured.

The entire time, these rapid passing moments, the mystery unit was matching him move by move within the hacking and counter hacking space. As if they were designed for this, knew just what the other might be made of. And it was jarring, incredibly uncomfortable, for him to be doing this. He was going to have no choice but engage his new counter protocols. Nothing had needed it thus far, it was just a precaution. But the event here had become different.

Data languages shifted, Blues giving two processor’s worth of hacking more space, as an alternate set of data streamed in. As suspected, the purple and grey Robot immediately stood ram rod straight, the buster whirring in panic as it took several steps back. The scrambling of forcing up firewall after firewall to block him from deeper systems only telling him what he needed to know.

It had no network call. No back up, nothing to assist in this offensive of the minds. Although what he could glean was how it was rapidly learning. Starting ton figure out how he was doing this and slowly managing to keep him back, just barely. But only from key functions. No forceful shut down it would seem. Pity. He’d have to take them down physically, which shouldn’t be a problem.

He didn’t have to charge this time, as the enemy came at him. But he did not expect that sort of speed! Jerking left as he dodged a punch from that free hand. Before there could be a delivered counter, this unit swung their leg out, and struck him hard in the chest, getting a grunt. Boosters on the bottom of the boot engaged, and he was sent skidding backwards, bottom of his armored boots screeching across concrete floor. The armor and suit he wore burnt slightly, but otherwise he was perfectly fine. Just impressed, and angered, that this doppleganger had that sort of strength.

It jumped back, to gain more distance. Smoke and dust slowly cleaning. Black lenses covered eyes staring each other down. Blues felt his power surging, shifting his stance slightly as he began to gather data. Those firewalls couldn’t block everything, and it was starting to show. He was getting more details. Durability tests, construction date, power output, and the identification number- or lack there of.

Wait, no. This wasn’t right. This was impossible-

The enemy was charging their buster then, having raised it now. Their free hand grabbing onto the barrel and bracing their feet. That... That looked eerily family. Oh he hated it. Hated it! Blues grit his teeth as his core burned, his own buster lifted while taking it’s charge. But he was back logging a secondary one, ready for a dual blast.

The open room they stood in silence. One eye of his starting to gleam, glow under the visor, green giving it’s self out. While his enemy seemingly had the same, but in gold. Two yellow eyes shining in empty emotion, impossible to see inside that helmet.

First blasts were unleashed simultaneously. The sudden heat in the room skyrocketing as these two shots whistled through the air, and collided. Creating a massive explosion and the sound shaking the room, rattling steel beams and shaking weakening supports, ash and smoke falling around them in the wake of this after math. Impressive power...

But the moment that there was the clear visual, the other unit not even phased by this after event, was when Blues smirked. He suddenly locked in his second saved blast, buster screeching loudly as he brought it once more into full power. Much to his enemies surprise. They tried to move, but it was barely fast enough. His second buster shot unleashing it’s self without any hindrance or waiting. Blues no longer had any issues with keeping charged powers or over clocking any parts. He no longer needed to worry. As a result, his combat prowess was more devastating than it ever had been before.

It tore through metal support pillars of the room, and straight out the back wall. Destroying a massive chunk. The target had managed to avoid most of the blast, but it had trashed some of their shoulder, and a small section of helmet. Just enough to see a fraction of face and hair- Hair identical too his own. Face pale, golden eye with visual gears and wiring. Facial lines, like that of a doll.

It stared at him in shock, no coolant or oil falling, but sparks flying. And then, it looked at the hole in the wall. And bolted for it. Blues hot on their tail- But then... Teleportation engaged, sending this unknown unit gods knows where. The grey beam of light noting their departure. And he couldn’t track it either, and unknown signal.

Damn...

Blues calmed his systems, engaging the cooling. The anger and frustration running deep in him. Already he was flipping through what little he had gotten, saving it into a separate file within his mental faculties along with various recorded data and brief photo shots of this enemy unit.

Designation: DLWN-TST. A shifting buster status, capable of changing it’s blaster shots prowess. No copy functionality. Unknown designation. Unknown reason for build. Built in teleport matrix. Hacking on par with his own. Rapid learning AI. Constructed earlier than his own activation date. The schematics were barely complete, he couldn’t get it all. But enough to know this thing was more durable than it god damn should be. And the weight... It was higher than one of that size should be. Not something, or someone, he knew about. Didn’t even know it’s name, if it even had one.

Was this from somewhere else? Or did it originate from here? He needed more information.

One thing was certain: Blues would not let this thing abscond a second time. He now knew what it was capable of.

#COMMS;; On Blog Plot #MMC;; Blues Muse #MMC;; Rhythm Muse (Future) #DRABBLE;; Mirror Mirror

[daisynik7]

"I want to see how wet you are," Nanami whispers, making you spread your legs apart in front of the mirror. He rubs his fingers along your glistening cunt, tapping at your clit, making you squirm. "Look at that," he smiles, kissing the top of your head. "So pretty."

"Kento," you whimper, craning your neck, desperate for his mouth.

He tips your chin forward, his grip firm on you. "No," he says, voice low and husky. "Eyes on the mirror, sweetheart." His breath is scorching hot on your ear, cock hard between your ass cheeks, your pussy squelching lewdly as he increases the pace of his fingers. "Watch me ruin you."

You do as he says, gaze focused on the erotic sight before you, shame and pleasure engulfing you when you squirt all over the mirror, spraying your juices on the glass. Nanami hums with satisfaction, stroking himself with his soaked hand, ready to be inside you. "Look how messy you get for me. That's exactly what I wanted to see, sweetie. Now do it again on my cock."

#was thinking about mirror sex recently and yeah #feeling very normal about him obviously #nanami smut #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami x f!reader #nanami kento smut #kento nanami smut #nanami drabbles #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami x you

[st4rfckerz]

anakin would use your back dimples as place holders for his thumbs as he fucks into you from behind.

#saw mine in the mirror and this popped in my head #almost squealed like a pig tbh #nai’s thoughts! #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker blurb #anakin skywalker drabble #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker smut #st4rfckerz

[mysteriesmuse]

Third Year Katsuki is definetly “too hot to handle.”

And you’re not just saying that in the joking way. Over the years combined with his fiery temper, fierce compassion, and firey explosions he’s also matured incredibly well. Not just his temper and his social skills — which are significantly better than when he started at UA — but also his looks. Katsuki Bakugou the resident badboy (good guy, really) heartthrob of Class 3-A; and let me tell you it’s both a pleasure and a significant amount of confusion to be on the receiving end of his affections. —————

And it happens most often, and most obviously in passings . . . The way he chins at you when you walk into the living room area on your way out to jog. Always those red eyes flickering up from his spot sprawled out on the couch, an arm thrown across the back as he twists and angles his body to look at you, “not bad. g’morning sleeping beauty.” He says, and you know he’s joking and poking fun at you because he’s already been up for a half-hour or so. And him commenting about your appearance is normal bc you used to come down with bed head back in your first year until he started commenting on it. So now you done your hair up in fun little ponytails and boxer braids by your vanity every morning. And the comments always makes you roll your eyes and smile, but your toes are involuntarily curling as you wave and head out the door — he means nothing by it. he wouldn’t. He couldn’t he’s Katsuki and you’re just you. —— It’s the days when you and the girls like to play outside in the grass by the dorm — playful sparing and floating around. Right under his nose because his dorm room balcony is right above the green space. And it’s as the shouts get louder that he peaks his head out (ready to yell at y’all to quiet down) that he sees you sparing again Pink Cheeks. And Katsuki will find his way to the railing and lean down to look at you. “Oi, you’re in trouble now.” And you can hear him. Glancing up and that angelic smirk graces your face as you huff and pin her down. Katsuki always barking out a “HA” or a “Atta’ girl. Better luck next time” depending on how it goes. —— The commentary this man must give from the balcony like it’s his job to help the girls under his balcony train, not just because he came out and got distracting by you being there. Noooooo never. —— It’s how touchy his is when you’re in the room or in the library, especially the library. He knows exactly where to find you. You never see it, but everyone else can watch the way he beelines it straight over to your table after he’s finished collecting the books he needs. Any other table in the place? Not even a glance. No chance because Katsuki is trying to sit next to his favorite girl. And you’re always just a little surprised and manage a startled hello when he silently pulls out a chair and plops down right next to you. Somehow Katsuki — for his size and quality combat boots — manages to tread the tile floors silently when he’s trying to find you. And after he’s plopped himself down it’s always his knee pressed against your leg. Or his elbow bumping into yours, or his fingers brushing against yours when he picks up the pen you’ve dropped or sneaks a snack of yours. And you’d have half the mind to think of taking two bc he seems to be addicted to your chocolate covered pretzels. And he always seems to have an extra of the exact kind of pen you like.

And he always offers to refill your water bottle when you stretch your arms above your head after an hour to go fill it back up. Big hand grabbing his own and swirling around the last inch of water saying he needs to go fill his up too — and instead your water bottle break turns into the two of you walking and chitchatting about your assignments as you take turns in the hall with the one good water bottle dispenser. The rest of the library rap with attention as they watch “the Katsuki” walk around with a girl.

—— OR how friendly he seems to get in the hall. Always stomping or mysteriously gliding through silently as you and the girls gossip. And instead of asking y’all to move like a normal person Katsuki just always bulldozes straight through you. Grumbling something under his breath which tickles the skin on the side of your cheek as he slides right past you. A warm palm on the small of your back and an audible “ ‘cuse me.” Or a fast and furious set of hands around your torso as he picks you up and goes past, setting you back down on your feet. And you’ve started customarily yelling, “ do I even weight anything to you?”

Your hands up and exasperated. You always look perfectly cute and flustered. And Katsuki has the audacity to turn over his shoulder and smirk down at you. Licking his lips before he does so, “nah, it’s like a couple of grapes.” Before the hot headed blonde speeds off to where he was going leaving you with a Katsuki induced butterfly indigestion and Mina just gaping at the interaction.

——

And all the flirting he’s been doing, that you’ve been high-key trying to convince yourself that youre over-analyzing and thinking too much into it. Because COME ON it’s Katsuki freaking Bakugou and he’s literally sooo attractive it’s horrible, like seriously. Now Katsuki’s always saying off-handed comments to you about nearly everything you do. Except this time it’s a cut-and-dry compliment bc he’s moving around the gym behind you as you’re doing some sets with the barbell.

And you’ve only got one earbud in and that’s when you hear him say it. “sexy back.” and you blink bc you don’t think that’s what he said, but Katsuki’s path curls and circles in front of you as you lower the barbell back to your chest. — and oh my god he’s totally checking you out. Ruby red eyes delving straight along your midline and lingering at the sweat dripping between your cleavage from the power sets you’ve been working on.

And it’s your owlish blink that’s got him flickering his eyes back up towards your face. A sheepish look flickering across his usually sharp features. He coughs into his fist, “What? You’ve never heard that compliment before?” And suddenly he’s stepping even closer as he reaches a hand right under your chin to grab the barbell — his natural musk of burnt carmel flinging itself into your senses. “Uh no,” you click your tongue against the roof of your mouth, “can’t say I have.” Katsuki flashes a bright white smile at you. “Can’t believe I’m the first person to tell ya’” he chuckles, breathy. Which is partially a lie. Your knuckles tighten white against the bar; except he’s really the one holding most of the weight now anyways. You voice in your throat supplies you with a choked sound. “ ‘M serious,” he confides, looking into your eyes, “been thinking it everyday since day one.” And he’s been saying it under his breath every time he walks past you because damn the way the muscles of your back perfectly cushion your spine and slim down to that waist of yours has his head spinning and he seriously can’t believe this is the first time you’re hearing it. “Keep up the good work.” he adds. The weight of the bar transferring back into your hands as he saunters off to his next station. The little skip in his step accentuating his small back and tight booty as he walks away from you. And it’s only every waking second for the next few days that your mind is gripping onto the sound of his gravely voice saying “sexy back” and you’d be damned if you let a man get you that worked up over such a silly little compliment, but come on!! It’s the senior king of sexy himself who called you that? What else is a girl supposed to do? and it’s then that you start or consider Katsuki’s really flirting a little more seriously, maybe you should look into what he’s doing just a little more.

#mysteriesmusing #bakugou katsuki #bakugou drabble #bakugou headcanons #katsuki bakugou #Oh my gosh #this image is so potent in my mind like 3rd Katsuki evening his head out and being able to sorta kinda flirt like this #Also baby boy being so incredibly whipped and thinking we’re so gorgeous that he has to consciously compliment us every time he walks past #mwah! such a good concept!! #also inspired bc I saw my back in the mirror at the gym today and I don’t like a lot of how my body looks but damn! #ig it’s the parts we don’t see about ourselves that we feel confident in. So lesson learned #be more confident girlies!!

[20-th-centurygirl]

watching you watching me

jude bellingham x fem!reader

warnings: smut

a/n: written for my beloved @judeswhore , based on this ask by @judethluvr on her account. this idea has me dizzy and if i could live this life then i would happily become a gym rat x

this also ended up becoming way longer than i planned but yolo 🤭

masterlist

Dating an athlete came with numerous perks, and jude's figure was one of them. Being with jude had pushed you to become a self proclaimed gym rat but you'd never actually worked out with him. But in this moment you were questioning why.

You couldn't tear your eyes away from Jude, the way his skin was glistening with a thin layer of sweat, his biceps and the muscles in his thighs flexing in a way that made you dizzy. The thin, white top he was wearing was sticking to his skin and you could faintly see his abs through it, and his stupidly tiny shorts that displayed both his thighs and cock perfectly were making you feral. You couldn't focus, the sit ups you were doing had been long forgotten as the dirty thoughts running through your head took full control.

He'd noticed your staring out of the corner of his eye, a cocky grin plastered on his face. He turned to face you as he slowly lifted his shirt over his head and flinging it across the room. Without breaking eye contact with you he grabbed a bottle of water, taking a large gulp before pouring some on his head. Your jaw nearly hit the floor as you watched the water drip down his chest. "You're catching flies baby" he spoke, pulling you out of your trance.

You closed your mouth as you tried to shift your focus back onto the task you'd started but you just couldn't. The way his biceps moved everytime he curled a weight was driving you absolutely insane and you couldn't stop thinking about his muscles flexing like that by your head as he was ontop of you. "What's going on in that pretty little head of yours angel?" He questioned, moving to stand above you. The way he was towering over you somehow had your underwear even more soaked than it originally was.

He reached down with his hand out to help you stand as he guided you over to the bench on the other side of the room. He sat you down on his lap, both of you facing the large mirror opposite. He maintained eye contact with you through the mirror, his gaze burning holes into you. "I asked you a question" He said a little louder, squeezing your thigh gently. "I was thinking about how good your thighs looked, the way your arms looked, your abs with the water dripping down them, your hands, the way your fingers curled around the weights" you mumbled, your face flushing as jude still stared into your eyes, his cocky smirk growing impossibly larger.

"That all? Or did you have any other ideas?" His eyebrow raised. "I um, I was thinking about how your fingers would look and how good they'd feel in ms, how your thighs would feel if I was riding them and how good your arms would look by the side of my head" you whispered, your face flushing impossibly redder. Judes hand began to trace shapes on your bare thigh, nudging closer to where you so desperately wanted him. "Oh yeah?" He whispered into your ear making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. His hand travelled up to the waistband of your shorts, dipping in to rub small delicate circles on your clit over your underwear. "Yeah. Need you so bad jude" you whined. "I know, I can feel it" He teased and you pulled a face at him in the mirror. "Don't get all bratty with me sweetheart, I'm more than happy to just leave you here and carry on" His voice and gaze more stern as he halted his hands actions. "No please". The grin returned, the knowledge that he had complete control and could get you so worked up satisfying him immensely.

He slipped his middle finger into your underwear, groaning at how wet you were. "Fuck, you're so wet and I've not even touched you". You mewled in response as he continued circling your clit at an agonisingly slow pace. "Jude" you whined, his pace borderline torture. "What do you need baby?" "Need you to finger me. Please jude" you couldn't decide if you were more embarrassed or turned on but you went with the latter. "Anything you want angel. Take these off for me" he gestured to your shorts and underwear and for the third time your face went bright red.

You lifted your hips up so jude could pull them both down, leaving them pooling at your ankles. "You can keep this on, it still shows what I wanna see" He gestured to your small sports bra that admittedly covered very little. You sat in the middle of his spread legs with your own still clamped shut. You weren't sure why you felt so embarrassed, you and jude had seen eachother naked more times than you could count, but this was different and you felt alot more vulnerable.

Jude picked up on your hesitance "if you don't wanna you don't have to, we can do something else" He whispered, placing a featherlight kiss to the shell of your ear. "No it's okay, it's just different" you shot him a reassuring smile in the mirror and he leaned down to place several delicate kisses on your neck as he gently nudged your legs apart. He began sucking on your neck, occasionally biting before smoothing over the spot with his tongue.

His fingers flicked your clit a few times before he effortlessly slid his middle inside you. He swiftly added a second, curling them deep inside you. Your head lolled back against judes shoulder as you let out a loud moan of his name. He gripped your chin, lifting your head up "uh uh, watch yourself in the mirror baby. Watch yourself come undone on my fingers" you bit your lip, the eye contact he was strongly keeping was making you dizzy. His thumb rubbed at your clit as his grip on your chin stayed strong. "Fuck jude. Feels so good". You couldn't help but let your eyes flutter shut but they flew open when jude halted his actions. "What did I say? Keep your eyes on me or I stop" He grunted. " 'm sorry just keep going please" jude carried on, hitting the spots deep inside you that had your toes curling. You gripped his thigh "fuck jude 'm so close. don't stop please" you whined, a string of breathy moans tumbling from your lips. Jude went faster "you look so pretty right now, cum on my fingers baby, let go for me" your head tipped back and jude allowed it, his only goal now to make you feel good. He whispered string of praises in your ear, that combined with the way he was driving his fingers deep inside you and his now hard cock pressing against your back sent you into a frenzy and you came unexpectedly all over his hand, practically screaming judes name.

You stayed in that position, your eyes closed, chest heaving as you rested against him. Jude gently removed his fingers and brought them up to your mouth for you to suck on them. You took them in your mouth straight away, swirling your tongue around them gaining a moan from jude. "Fuck. Want you to do that around my cock". You smiled around his fingers, moving to straddle him. "No, I'd rather ride you". Jude bit his lip as you pulled down his shorts and boxers before pulling off your sports bra so you were both fully naked.

You sat yourself down on him, both of you gasping in unison. "Fuck, look at you in the mirror" Jude moaned out, the sight of you clinging onto him driving him insane. You rested your head in the crook of his neck, still sensitive from your last orgasm. His hands rested on your hips, gently moving you at a rhythm that he liked as you pressed your lips to his neck. "Jude fuck. Feels so good" you whimpered and jude groaned in response, bucking his hips up into you. Your nails clawing at his back and you clenching around him had jude seeing stars. "Fuck baby, 'm gonna cum" he mumbled directly into your ear and you could only moan in response, feeling your own orgasm approaching. Jude moved one of his hands down to rub your clit in an attempt to get you there faster. You let out a loud whimper of his name followed by a string of curses as you came for the second time, triggering judes orgasm as he bucked his hips up a few times before letting go inside you. His grip on your hips didn't let up, his hands holding you close to him as he peppered your hair with kisses.

"That's one way to workout" jude teased as he tickled your sides, you reaching up to flick the side of his head in retaliation. "Only joking, I find it hot when you workout too baby, especially in those shorts" He mumbled. "It's just those slutty shorts, not sure what you're expecting from me". Jude huffed out a small laugh "maybe I put them on just for you". You said nothing, instead nuzzling yourself further into jude, not wanting the closeness to end, ever.

#why do my jude fics involve filth infront of mirrors #footballer x reader #footballer imagine #football imagine #football drabble #football blurb #jude bellingham #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham drabble

[needle-noggins]

Where do your roots start

And where do your roots end?

Something about seeing only the worst of yourself in the mirror. Something violent and terrifying, but knowing you only grew that violence in response to violence against you. Knowing your power comes from a place of trauma, something you don’t remember but wish had never happened. But it did, and here you are. There’s something new in you that isn’t the you that you understand and you wish it wasn’t but it is. Violence begets violence and you are unable to control what grows from the seeds that were planted. So you have to live with it and try not to let that violence spread.

You’ve already failed once.

And you see it every time you look in the damn mirror.

—

For Body Horror Week’s final day, prompt: Roots by In This Moment

#I was going to write a longer Drabble but holy shit Judas’s fic got me Shrimped good and instead I will refer everyone to that #Sav art #trigunbodyhorrorweek #vash the stampede #trigun stampede #tristamp #I’m REALLY proud of this I worked SUPER HARD ON IT #the roots and the flowers were so fucking annoying #but my favorite part is vash’s neck I wanna smooch it and tell him everything’s okay yaknow #also like same recognize same mirrors are evil and I hate them #I also love to give Eriks a lil ponytail as a treat

[superbat-love]

Superman considers himself to be adept at deciphering the effectiveness of their meetings through Batman’s body language.

If Batman is sitting down, it means that all is well and the discussion has effectively concluded.

If Batman is standing in front of him, it means that there’s something that needs to be discussed further in private.

If Batman is standing directly behind him, glaring at him as he looks up into the mirror while washing his hands at the sink during a bathroom break, it means that Clark Kent is going to be sleeping alone tonight.

#objects in mirror are closer than they appear #dc headcanon #dc fanfic #drabble #text post #superbat #superman x batman #batman x superman #superman/batman #batman/superman #dc #superman #batman #clark kent #bruce wayne

[sprout-fics]

❝  you don’t have to pretend to be fine,  if you need me to stay i will.  ❞ (fix saying this to ghost?)

I fucking love Fix and Ghost and how they deal with hurt/comfort with the other. Fuck it's so good.

“He’s smoking.” Soap says as you walk past him after your shower. The Scot is still inventorying his kit under the faulty light of the safe house, steady hands appraising the contents beside his vest. He pauses to throw you the barest glance over his shoulder, brow scrunched with something akin to worry before he goes back to his task. 

“On the fire escape.” He adds, and there’s meaning in the scarce words he offers you, meaning that has you quietly slip away in the direction he’s offered you. 

Soap doesn’t question the thing between you and his lieutenant, if it can be called that. You’re not sure if he knows the full scope of your relationship with Simon and is strangely quiet on it, or if you both have managed to keep him as carefully in the dark as you intended. Either way, Soap knows Ghost well enough to recognize his mannerisms just as you do, and you both know that Simon slinking off for a cig means something is weighing heavy on his mind. 

You knock on the pane of the window that leads to the fire escape, making out Ghost’s looming figure just beside it, concealed carefully in the shadows. The only indication he’s there at all is the slant from the light inside catching across his boot, the glow of the cigarette in his hand as he lifts it to his lips.

When you knock you see him make room for you to climb out, and even though he doesn’t welcome you, it’s a clear indication that he at least tolerates your presence. You lean on the wall beside him, catching the light where he sidles further into darkness, boots scraping the metal mesh of the platform under you. The wisp of nicotine curls around you both, an acrid smell to fill the silence. 

You don’t press him. You know better than that. You learned long ago that saccharine sweet words to Simon will only throw his guard up just as it does yours, make him bristle and bare his fangs in a paradoxical effort to protect himself. 

❝ You don’t have to pretend to be fine, if you need me to stay I will.❞ You told him once, remembering how Simon’s head had snapped in your direction hard enough to make his neck crack. 

“I don’t need anything.” He told you flatly, scarcely hiding his hostility. It had startled you then, this whiplash of emotion from him. Yet when you looked at him, saw the look in his eyes, you understood.

You’re both feral, untamed creatures. There’s beauty in the wildness of you, an understanding of the untouchable spirit that resides in the other. You wander the wilderness in search of someone just the same as you, something more fit for savagery than gentleness. Like a beast howling at the sacrosanct moon, you hear the other's lonely call and dare to challenge it with your own. 

Yet wounded, injured, the proximity of others summons flashing fangs and snarling gazes even as you desperately want to be anything but alone.

So you only stand beside him, cross your arms and brace on the wall until you gesture at him for a cigarette, smiling to yourself when he simply offers his. His lighter flicks as he lights a new one for him, and the orange of the flame reveals the grim set of his jaw in the shadows. 

You try and think back on the day, try and discern the things that could have gone wrong to warrant this sudden heaviness and withdrawal of him. Ghost had been set up in a sniper nest all day, navigating you and Soap through the city in your plain clothes, tailing a contact. You’d been waiting for him to make an exchange, information hidden in his briefcase. Yet the person he had handed it off to was not another gangster.

Instead, it was a boy. 

Blonde. Brown eyes, looking up at his father and smiling as the man had cupped the child’s face when he spoke.

Ghost didn’t take the shot.

You take a long drag of your cigarette, wincing at the taste. You never had a penchant for smoking, picked it up only to find excuses to linger beside the man next to you. Simon is silent, ruminating, and you tumble the image of the boy in your mind, trying to find the tether that connected him to Simon’s heart. 

It hits you all at once. A kid, roughly the same age, blonde, brown eyed, rosy cheeked, looking up at his father with stars in his eyes. 

Joseph.

You close your eyes, pained realization rippling through your chest. Joseph, the smallest one lost to that deadly night that took Simon’s family. The one he had spoken of only once and then never again. A secret locked in the deepest parts of his heart, something he trusted scarcely few people with. 

Including you.

The gift and responsibility of Simon’s trust of you isn’t wasted in its meaning. You know how difficult it is for him to allow even the smallest sliver of someone that deep inside, and you tread carefully, knowing that there’s things that you haven’t told Simon either about your own family. 

You fight him tooth and nail for every meager scrap he gives you, and it’s enough. It’s always enough- because every single truth you unspool from him ties its threads into your own stitches atop your fractured heart.

You both stand in the long silence of the night air, letting the curl of smoke wind between your two forms before you deign to speak. 

“He looked nothing like him.” You lie.

Simon goes still beside you, coiling a telltale inch as you finally speak the truth of it into existence. You think maybe he’ll go back inside without another word, and will leave you out here in the aftermath of your feigned declaration.

“No.” He replies flatly, not moving from where he stands, voice firm in a way that tells of what he is trying to hide underneath- something you know you’ll see eventually when he comes to you with desperate touches and hushed words, trying to escape the weight of the world in the feral familiarity of you. 

“He didn’t.”

#simon ghost riley x oc #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x oc #ghost x oc #simon riley x reader #oc: fix #stay the night writing prompts #drabbles #They're both so!!!! #They're the same person they're the mirror of each other they hate the things in each other that remind them of themselves #they're the only one who know what it's like to be them they're the only ones that can trust the other with their secrets #crying yelling screaming

[total-drama-brainrot]

Total Drama Psycho Noah AU, how does Alejandro react to seeing Noah's true colors through the cameras?... How would Alejandro react to Chris + Chef not being surprised or shocked at all?... What if when Noah learns that everyone saw his true colors, Noah simply smirks and says: "...Whoops." 😏

Well, the cast as a whole are all sort-of introduced to Noah's 'true colours' through the screens in First Class, but I think a lot of them would struggle through the cognitive dissonance between what they 'know' about Noah (apathetic, lazy, almost pathetically harmless) and what they saw on the cameras (emotive/smiley, physically capable, decidedly not harmless), so the initial reaction would be a mixture of terror, confusion and disbelief, mostly.

When they notice that neither Chris nor Chef seem to find anything amiss with Noah's behaviour, that's when the confusion and disbelief morph into outrage (for the more confrontational contestants like Heather) because they knew? Chris and Chef were fully aware that they'd been in near-constant close proximity with the thing they just saw on the screen, and said nothing?!

Alejandro, being a composed person of more subtle displays of emotion (for the most part), masks his fear and anger behind a veneer of concern- for his castmates, for the Ripper, maybe even for Noah himself, because clearly something has happened to his dear teammate that's caused this bout of insanity, surely?

No? He's just like that? Oh. Oh.

Alejandro realises that he's spent the majority of his time on the jet playing nice* with someone who's fully capable of snapping both of his arms like toothpicks, who apparently has an affinity for sharp objects and the colour red. The one person on the jet he felt some semblance of genuine kinship with, as the 'most sane' member of Team Chris barring himself, has been an act this whole time? Has been that dangerous this whole time?!

Needless to say, Alejandro's concern quickly becomes genuine. And self-directed. He's terrified; Noah could've snapped at any moment, and Alejandro likely would've been caught in the crossfire of that thing's hysteria.

But the cast can't exactly air their displeasure with the situation, as two figures hover by the doorway to the First Class Cabin.

It's Courtney and Gwen, dragging a burlap sack behind them. A sigh of relief washes over the group; it's just those two, and not him.

-

When Noah and Owen skitter into First Class, Owen carrying the sack-captured Ripper in his arms (in a kind-hearted gesture to prevent any more damage befalling the Ripper's broken forearms), a trepid silence permeates through the cabin like fog.

Owen, ever the obtuse sort, pierces the veil of fearful anticipation with a victorious cry.

"Sweet! Everybody's okay!"

The others (barring Gwen and Courtney) hesitate to answer, their fear-blown eyes fixated on the nonchalant form of the cynic beside him. Until Heather works up enough courage to respond with her usual haughtiness- though her tone is off, embittered by the acrid taste of anxiety on her tongue.

"Yup! Everyone's fine, no worries here!" She ends her statement with a nervous giggle, ignoring the way her voice cracked mid-sentence, and her focus never drifts from the monster bookworm stood only a few meters away.

"Though it is reassuring to see everyone safe, no?" Alejandro adds sharply, peeling his attention away from Noah to send a pointed look towards the hosting duo.

"Safe? Duh, it's just a challenge. No one was ever gonna really get hurt, it'd be 'bad for ratings'."

A collective flinch tremors across the crowd as Noah speaks, his usual sardonic deadpan accompanied by finger quotes at the end of his sarcastic comment.

It's followed by an awkward pause, the others either too scared or too confused by the frigid atmosphere to talk, and Noah shoots an imploring look towards Chris- a nonverbal request for clarification. Chris wordlessly points towards the flat screen television that's hung on the wall behind the captured contestants, displaying a series of live-feed camera footage; the inside of the bus he and Owen had previously adventured through, bathed in cold moonlight but otherwise eerily gloomy, stares accusingly back at him.

That's interesting.

Owen follows his gaze, as do the rest of the competitors, and the Ripper-wrangling duo both quickly realise what's happened.

A laugh, something unnervingly shrill and breathless- more akin to the yowling of a feral cat than any human noise- rings humourlessly through the cabin, and all eyes snap back towards Noah.

Who's face has twisted into a mirthless grin, more similar to a snarl, that's far too wide for his face and bears unnaturally sharp teeth. His eyes have widened into owl-like near perfect circles, almost drowning the hickory brown of his irises in a sea of ivory sclera, making him look uncanny and deranged. Barely even human.

"Whoops."

#something something noah spends hours in front of a mirror learning how to contort his face jim carrey style #the dedication to the bit is insane (so is he) #anon gets a small drabble. as a treat. #wrote this in one big haze of semi-consciousness that's why it's probably nonsensical 👍 #and i refuse to re-read/edit it so. nonsense be upon ye. 👊 #total drama #td noah #psycho!noah au #silly ideas #replies #tw creepy #?

[whumpasaurus101]

“Youre nothing, Whumpee, do you seriously think they could love you like this?”

Whumpee’s eyes finaly met their own in the mirror. They looked like a monster. Dried blood and bruised littering their pale skin as their glazed eyes had massive black spots underneath them. They could barely recognise themself.

No one could love them like this…a broken mess.

#oop #whump #whumpee #whump drabble #whumper #whumpblr #whump community #whump writing #mirror whump #lee wrote something :o

[if-mirrormine]

two of a feather

summary: grayson discovers that he and the mc are more alike than he originally thought.

pairing: yandere!grayson x yandere!mc

word count: 1332

warnings: mentions and descriptions of blood, violence, death, murder. DO NOT READ THIS IF THESE MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMPTION.

based on the ask: i know it's been a long time since the last yandere grayson ask but. I miss my man ☹️☹️‼️ so.... could i ask maybe...... yhhh.... yandere grayson reaction to an yandere mc please ? 🙏

**unedited//hey look its jake, remember him? it's okay if you dont, he's not gonna be around long enough for it to matter teehee**

there's something wrong with mc. grayson is certain of it. they're grumpy and quiet, a frown sitting perpetually on their face. he just can't figure out why.

sitting across from them in the library, he's long neglected the assignment before him. he studies their face; the slope of their nose, the crease between their eyebrows, the pout on their lips. an image of perfection that he's got burned into his memory. he just can't stand the stony silence.

"alright," he says, breaking the silence as he pushes his books and stationery to the side to focus on his best friend. he leans across the desk on folded arms and watches them with an intense focus. "tell me what's wrong."

"what are you talking about?" they mumble, barely glancing away from the computer screen in front of them. "everything is fine."

he narrows his eyes at them. "tell that to your face," he replies. he leans down further, his chin resting on his arms as he attempts to meet their eyes. look at me, he demands. please just look at me.

when they still don't say anything, he heaves a sigh. "you can't act all cagey and weird forever," he says, his fingers tapping against the table top. "i'll get you talking eventually."

as if his words magically flipped a switch in them, they suddenly stop typing and turn to face him, a pointedly blank expression on their face and he raises his eyebrows at them. "do you like jake?" they ask, the words tumbling out of their mouth in a such a rush that they immediately begin talking again. "i mean, its not that i- well, after last night i just thought- do you like him?"

and just like that, it finally makes sense to him. his little dove is jealous. he should've seen it sooner, what with their mopey attitude making its appearance just after jake had kissed him. he'd initially assumed that it was just because they were drunk but now it all makes sense. although they don't have any reason to be jealous. as far as first kisses go, it wasn’t all that bad but jake isn't his type. that begins and end with you.

grayson struggles and fails to hide the teasing smile that appears on his face, and the mc's frown deepens at the sight of it. "why do you ask?" he questions, tilting his head at them. "something you want to tell me, mc?"

they chew on their bottom lip and his eyes follow the movement, wishing it was his teeth instead. he lets the silence hang in the air, waiting for their answer with bated breath.

"i just... know he likes you is all," they say softly before resuming their typing.

he leans back in his seat, his arms crossed over his chest and his teasing grin melts into a satisfied smirk. now this is an interesting development. perhaps one he can use to his advantage.

"really?" he asks, keeping his tone light as he picks up a pen to fiddle with. "maybe i should give him a call."

they inhale sharply at that and he quickly raises a hand to hide his smile. just as quickly, they begin to pack up their things, shoving books and stationery and loose papers into their backpack in such a haste that grayson worries they'll forget something. "i'll see at you at home," they say quickly as they jump out their chair, knocking it over in the process.

he watches them all but run out of library before he turns his attention to the computer they'd been using. what had started out as a promising essay had turned into a single word repeated over and over again that has his smile widening. mine.

it's been hours since he's last heard from the mc. he can't help but worry about them; they're his little dove. it's his job to protect them. so when later comes and they're still not home, what other choice does he have but to go out and find them?

and he knows exactly where to look.

the sun has set by the time he arrives at the fraternity and grayson walks straight up to the front door, letting himself in as if he owns the place. he's only been here once before, a party back in his first year, so it'll take some time to find jake's room but he doesn't mind. he's got nothing but time after all.

his search takes him to the first floor and he finds that it ends just as quickly as it begins. not only are the rooms labelled, elegant golden plaques adorning the wood and stating the purpose of everything laying beyond it, but there's also the distinct sound of glass breaking coming from behind the door at the end of hallway. shoving his hands in pockets, he takes his time walking over to it and smiling at the plaque reading j. sutherland when he comes to a stop in front of it.

truth be told, grayson doesn't know what he'll find inside - from what he can hear, it's something of a fight - but his excitement is building, bubbling just below the surface. what has the mc done? what are they capable of? how far are they willing to go? he's practically buzzing with anticipation.

neither of them even notice when he pushes open the door and steps into the mess that used to be jakes bedroom. he surveys the room in critical silence; a broken lamp in the corner, a toppled over desk chair, mc shoving jake against the wall and pressing a kitchen knife against his neck.

grayson's heart swells at the very sight. his best friend is bruised and bloody, chest heaving and covered in sweat but they're the most beautiful that grayson has ever seen them and he commits the image to memory.

the seconds seem to slow when jake's eyes flick over to him and they widen at the sight of him, his plea for help unsaid but clear as day on his own battered face. but it's already too late.

gray doesn't say anything, doesn't do anything to stop them. he simply watches on in awe and adoration as the mc drags the knife across jake's skin, unflinching as they're hit with a spray of blood. they push the blade in deeper, the man's blood gushing over them like a torrent of rain and grayson has to suppress a groan.

after what feels like an eternity, they take a step back, jakes body hitting the floor the same time as the knife. mc tilts their head back and shuts their eyes for the moment, attempting to catch their breath. finally, they look up to see him standing in the doorway and they freeze in place. a deer caught in headlights.

"it's not what it looks like," they try, their voice desperate as they wipe their bloody hands on their jeans. graysons eyes follow the movement, practically salivating at the sight and he's not even listening to everything else his best friend is saying in their defense.

his feet are moving again, towards them without hesitation, and while they're still desperately trying to explain themself, he sweeps them into his arm and crashes his lips to theirs. fierce. rough. uncaring of the blood smearing across his face, of the taste of copper on his tongue. he simply pulls them closer, tangles his fingers in their hair and shares his last breath of oxygen with the only person he'll ever love.

it's all too soon that they pull away and he immediately wants to kiss them again. he wants to kiss them from now until the end of time. and now he knows that he can.

sparing a glance at the dead body at his feet, he cups their face in his hands and offers them a soft, loving smile. "well," he starts, his voice low and gravelly, as he caresses their face. "looks like my little dove isn't so innocent after all."

#im never confident when posting these lol #im like HERES A DRABBLE DONT HATE ME #and then i run away scared #but i hope this lives up to expectations #and if it doesnt... #LOOK OVER THERE #mm: grayson #mirror mine #message received☎️ #anonymous

[saetoru]

me when i say something rly funny and girlboss: 3 notes

me when i say anything that has the words gojo or satoru or both: 100 reblogs and 2k notes and 20 comments

#tell me why the 2 sentence post ab giving him back scratches has more notes than some of my drabbles #smh this dude has u all losing dignity #*looks in the mirror* #and me too ig

[slusheeduck]

Fictober 2023 Day 12 - Prompt: "You're the smartest person I know." Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

“Astarion, I am taking you up on your request to learn magic.”

Astarion blinked, and he slowly looked up from his book. His mouth twitched after a moment. “Gale, darling, I appreciate your ardor, but you do know I was just trying to get a rise out of you?” he asked, shutting his book. “We’re at the point where I can admit that now, aren’t we?”

“Ah, but…” Oh, oh dear, the finger was up; Gale was serious. “I know that every barb tends to stem from a place of truth. Besides, it never hurts to have another tool in your arsenal.”

Astarion sighed. “Is there really time for this?”

“Always. Now, no more trying to get out of it.” Gale motioned for Astarion to follow him and, though he gave an almighty eyeroll as he did, the vampire did indeed follow him. “I’ve just one spell in mind. It’s second level, which may be a bit tricky if you’re not practiced, so it may take a few days of work. But between your natural knack for magic and your keen mind, I think you’ll catch on quicker than you expect.”

Astarion’s mouth quirked. “You think I have a keen mind?”

“Well, you were a magister, weren’t you?” Gale said, sending a wry little smile over his shoulder. “And you come up with lies quicker than anyone I’ve ever seen—it’s impressive.”

“That actually means something, coming from you.” Astarion sighed as they reached Gale’s tent, crossing his arms. “All right, you’ve won me over with flattery. What spell are you going to teach me?”

Gale grinned, and with a quick movement of his hands and a flash of purple light, there were suddenly two Gales in front of him. They moved in sync, one a perfect copy of the other—Astarion wasn’t sure which one was the right one.

“Mirror Image,” he said, voice echoing between the two. The two Gales glanced at each other at the echo, then lifted their hands with another quick movement. One Gale dissipated like mist, and the real one was left behind. “I’ve seen the way you look in mirrors and windows, and truth be told, I was trying to find a way to cast it on you, but it only works with the caster’s image. And I thought, ah! What a perfect way to give you the magic lesson you asked for and a good look at your face.”

Oh. That was…nice. Of course, Astarion knew Gale was nice—the looks he sent at some of Astarion’s preferred methods of conflict resolution said enough—but this was…actually nice. Kind, even. He crossed his arms tighter, unsure of how exactly to respond.

“But I don’t know what I look like,” he said after a beat. “I wouldn’t know the image to put out.”

Oh, the finger was up again. “Yes, but that’s the thing! Mirror image doesn’t rely on your mental image of yourself. It relies on magic creating a kind of…mold of yourself, however you look in the moment, then putting it there in front of you. I actually have a hilarious story about how I found out I was sporting an embarrassingly long streak of sauce on my face at a party when I cast it to show off.” When Astarion’s doubt didn’t subside, Gale reached forward to grasp his arm, giving a little smile. “Look. With this, the Weave does the work. I’ve seen you in action, I know you still have access to it. This will work. I promise.”

A few complicated emotions flickered across Astarion’s face. Doubt, hope, curiosity, disappointment. His eyes finally met Gale’s, and he gave a long sigh.

“Gods damn it, you give Scratch a run for his money with those eyes,” he grumbled, then held up his hands. “Fine. I’ll try. But if you’re wrong—and that’s likely—I’m never going to let you forget it.”

~

Gale hadn’t been lying—this was work. The better part of their time in camp for the next week had been spent reaching into the Weave—working with it, playing with it even, and learning how to harness it to do what the caster wanted.

It was by no means easy; the first couple times, Astarion had thrown up his hands and stormed off in frustration as he couldn’t make it work. But Gale was nothing if not patient. He didn’t needle Astarion into staying outside of a gentle, “Let’s try just one more time. Then you can go and eat a boar.” When Astarion refused, he let him go without a fight. When Astarion came back a few hours later (and significantly bloodier than when he’d left) and asked if they could try again, he always obliged.

And finally, after several days, the work paid off. Just as he’d done before, Astarion did everything Gale instructed to cast the spell, but this time a shimmery shape—roughly the size and shape of Astarion—stood before them. It only lasted a moment, but a giddy laugh escaped Astarion all the same.

“That was…did you see that?” he asked, looking to Gale with a broad smile.

“I did, very well done! But I knew it wouldn’t take you long.” He gave Astarion’s back a congratulatory pat. “Let’s celebrate.”

“But I think I can get it stronger if I try again.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will. But take it from me, rewarding yourself for a job well done is excellent incentive to keep going.” Gale ducked into his tent, rustling around, then returned with a bottle and two mismatched cups. “Not as excellent as the Elverquisst was, I’m afraid, but still,” he said as he poured, then handed one cup to Astarion before clinking his against it. “To your success.”

Astarion smiled, tipping the glass toward Gale before he took a drink. He leaned back against a nearby stone, looking the wizard over. “You’re actually a good teacher, you know.”

“Well, it’s a little self-serving. Magic, the Weave, is my foremost passion; getting to talk about it to a willing audience is just as much a boon for me as it is for you.” Gale gave a smile around his cup. “So thank you for indulging me.”

Astarion waved his hand with a scoff, then went quiet for a very long moment as he drank. “Mystra has no right to be so cruel to you,” he finally said, voice soft.

Gale choked. “What did you say?” he wheezed, patting his chest.

“Mystra has no right to be so cruel to you,” Astarion repeated, voice stronger. He waved his cup irritably. “So you got in over your head—who wouldn’t if a god made them their lover? And clearly you’ve already had to deal with the consequences even before she told you to…to commit ritual suicide as your only way to forgiveness. You don’t need her forgiveness. She doesn’t deserve it.”

“She does.” Gale’s voice was very soft, and he was steadfastly avoiding Astarion’s gaze.

“Why, because Elminster said so?” Astarion set his cup aside, then strode right up to Gale, grabbing his arms and forcing him to make eye contact with him. “Listen to me, because I’m only saying this once. You’re the smartest person I know. The only reason I’m not saying you’re also the kindest is because Wyll is twenty feet away. You, Gale of Waterdeep, are literally fighting against Illithids and the Three Dead Gods with just us, a tadpole, and your wits.” He leaned in, voice lowering to something almost dangerous. “You don’t need Mystra’s forgiveness. She should be begging for yours.”

Gale had never been very good at holding a poker face, but now, it was nearly impossible for Astarion to get a read on him. There was something brewing in his eyes, something straining against his lips, but neither quite made it to the surface. He shut his eyes and swallowed it down, then let out a long sigh as he looked up at Astarion again.

“Let’s give it another try,” he said quietly. “See how long you can hold the image.”

~

Mystra did not come up again in their lessons—contrary to popular belief, Astarion did know when to back off. Besides, Gale was so enthusiastic when Astarion showed a bit more progress that it felt…mean to bring up something clearly so painful. And not at all mean in a fun way.

And, really, who cared about gods and bombs when he was this close to mastering Mirror Image? He was getting closer—the shimmery figure was a little more solid, matching Astarion’s movements like a shadow (been a while since he’d had one of those, too) and sometimes there would be a bit more detail: a flash of pale curls, a clear image of his shirt.

And then, out of nowhere, everything seemed to click. He focused on feeling the Weave, moved his hands just the way he ought to, said the right words with just the right inflection, and…

There he was.

He knew Gale was praising him, vaguely heard the impressed noises from the few members of camp that had gathered around to watch him as he’d gotten closer and closer to mastering the spell, but none of it was registering. Instead, he was transfixed at the vampire standing in front of him—a little shimmery at the edges, and wearing an expression that clearly wasn’t Astarion’s, because certainly he couldn’t look so softly surprised and, of all things, misty-eyed like this fellow did. But it was him.

The image mimicked his movements as he went to touch his hair, his lips, his nose, watching to see if they matched what he felt. He tugged the skin of his cheeks back; gods, he really did have laugh-lines, didn’t he? Had they always been so prominent?

He swallowed down the tightness in his throat, then gave a weak little laugh as he looked over his shoulder. “Fal, my love, you are shit at descriptions,” he called back, then looked back at the image for one more moment before it dissipated.

“There you are, your reflection as needed,” Gale said with a smile. “No mirror necessary.”

Astarion swallowed again, looking up at Gale. “Thank you,” he said, voice very, very quiet but emphatic. “You can’t possibly know what you’ve given me.”

Gale held up his hands. “Ah, ah, this was all your work,” he said, then gave a warm smile. “All I’ve given you were instructions and a little encouragement, same as any friend would do.”

Astarion gave a wobbly little smile in return, then took a deep breath before rubbing his face. “Gods, I am exhausted,” he suddenly said after a subtle clearing of his throat. “Does magic always take it out of you? No wonder you get winded after sneaking for thirty seconds.”

“Some of us have knees that actually match our age, thank you,” Gale said, catching on. “But I think we’ve more than earned a nice rest by the fire with…well, not excellent wine, but whatever we have available. Come on. Let’s reward a job well done.”

Fictober 2023 Drabble Master Post

#fictober23 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #gale of waterdeep #Yes it's long but I had emotions #Also welcome to ASTARION WEEK at slush's #I didn't mean for so many Astarion-centered drabbles in a row this just happened #anyway if you want to read it as bloodweave I won't stop you #I'm just very passionate about their interactions #ALSO I RESEARCHED TO SEE IF MIRROR IMAGE WOULD WORK FOR VAMPIRES AND IT /DOES/

[euphoricfilter]

i’m liking tonight’s drabble 😧

also had the insane realization that no one i live with knows i sit in my silly little room and writes porn on paper. kinda crazy

#more so sex against a mirror than mirror sex #but i digress #it’s a drabble nonetheless #and a yummy one at that #i’m slowly getting to the kinks further down in the list that actually use maximum brain power #so i’m slowly trudging through them 🧍‍♀️ #bts kinktober #bts smut

[password-door-lock]

“Surprise!” 

Unknown nearly jumps out of his skin. What are you doing yelling like that? Hasn’t he told you a hundred times by now to stay quiet while he’s working? But when he turns around to tell you as much, he stops in his tracks. “What do you think you’re doing?” becomes a much more pressing question. 

You’re walking at an awkward angle, propping the door open with one leg while you hop on the other and drag some long rectangle through the doorway with both hands. “I got you a present!” You announce. “Happy early birthday! Or… late birthday? I don’t know, man, you seem like a Gemini, so I’m gonna guess it’s close enough to your birthday that it’s not weird for me to give you a gift.”

Unknown is too busy being bothered by the fact that you’re bringing some unauthorized thing into the intelligence room to be bothered by the fact that you’re trying to guess when his birthday is. You’re not necessarily wrong, either… but he’ll worry about that later. Right now, he has to worry about whatever “gift” it is that you’re trying to give him. You’ve managed to get it inside, and you kick the door shut before tucking the rectangle under your arm and bringing it over to his desk. “What is it?”

You grin at him, flipping the item around so he’s confronted with his own reflection. “A full-length mirror! Tada!” You look proud of yourself.

“Why would you get me something like that?” Unknown demands, “And who said you were allowed to order things?” Truth be told, he has no idea how you even managed to procure such a thing. It’s not as if he lets you roam around Magenta unsupervised, and you certainly don’t have any way to access the internet without him looming over your shoulder. He does occasionally write shopping lists for you to give to the believer in charge of weekly grocery runs, but C3170 would know better than to just take your word for it if you asked for something that wasn’t on the list.

Your lips form an amusing o-shape before you respond. “Yeah, about that. I sort of… forged your handwriting? Okay, no need to reach for any weapons.” You hold up your hands, showing your palms, as if you think you can anticipate his next course of action. “I didn’t expect it to work either. I honestly thought the grocery guy would be like, ‘that’s not his writing’ and send me packing. But I figured, hey, it’s worth a shot! So I spent like, an hour copying the font from the real grocery list to make a fake one, and I brought it to the guy like normal, and he was like, ‘yeah, okay, this checks out; this seems like your boss wrote it; don’t worry, I won’t keep him waiting; for eternal paradise,’ so, here we are with a brand-new mirror!” 

“You forged my handwriting,” Unknown grumbles, “And then you manipulated a believer into spending the Savior’s money on… this.” 

“Yes.” You confirm, “When you put it like that it sounds a lot worse than it is, though. Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to, like, get things around here?” 

“I made it that way on purpose.” Unknown rubs his temples, and his reflection in the mirror does the same. Who would have thought that having an assistant would be this much trouble? “Did you at least put the shit I actually needed on your made-up list?” If you didn’t, you’ll be spending the rest of the day sitting in the corner, staring at the wall, and thinking about your bad decisions. Unknown has half a mind to send you over there anyway, considering you had the nerve to forge his handwriting. Why would you risk so much on something so utterly stupid? 

“Of course,” you grin, “I know you can’t get along without your caffeine pills and candy bars. Anyway, please enjoy your full-length mirror.” 

Unknown scowls at his reflection, which scowls right back at him. As if he needs a mirror to tell him how annoyed he is. It was a mistake to leave you unsupervised, and one he won’t ever make again. “Why did you waste money on this? There’s already a mirror in the bathroom.” He should know. He uses it to check his eyeliner, his hair, and (though he’d never breathe a word about it to anyone) the careful placement of his jacket. 

“Man, please don’t take this the wrong way,” you cringe, “Because the top half of your look is great, and it’s really hard to do black skinny jeans wrong, so all things considered, the bottom half is also… mostly great. Um, however… the thing is… it’s just…” 

“Spit it out.” All this talking, and now you can’t even tell him whatever it is you wanted to say? Why bother digging yourself into this hole in the first place if you won’t do anything interesting now that you’re down there?

“I just thought you might benefit from being able to see your whole, entire outfit at one time.” You allow him a long pause to study himself in the mirror. What’s wrong with his outfit? “Shoes included,” you add eventually. 

Unknown glances down at his shoes. They look fine. They’re just shoes, and they serve their purpose well enough— he’s kicked out windows with them and never gotten a single splinter. They fit him, so he never gets blisters, and his feet don’t get cold from the unforgiving floors of the intelligence room. Isn’t that what shoes are supposed to be for? Then he redirects his attention to the mirror and… wow, his shoes really stand out. Now that you’ve pointed out that there’s something wrong with them, they’re all he can focus on. “It doesn’t match,” he realizes. And the untied laces don’t look as cool as he thought they did, but he won’t give you the satisfaction of hearing him admit it.

“No, it doesn’t match!” You sound much too enthusiastic about this conclusion, “It has never matched. They look great on their own, but just… with the outfit…” 

“Why didn’t you say something about this sooner?” Unknown demands. He can’t believe that this is even a conversation he has to have with you. He doesn’t like that you’ve been plotting in secret, lying to believers, and even impersonating him by way of forgery just to make a point about his boots. What an inconsequential little hill to die on. “How long have you been laughing at my shoes behind my back?” 

You’re bold enough to giggle at his words. “To be honest? Months? But I didn’t want to upset you, and for a while I thought it was, like, intentional, or maybe you didn’t have access to other shoes, and I didn’t want to be rude. But then you told me you were gonna tie a rope to something on the roof and climb down to break into an apartment and I was like, ‘okay, well, then he definitely knows how to tie his shoes, so why is he leaving them like that?’ And, you know, now that I’ve been seeing more of this place… I’ve been here a long time, and I’ve never seen one full-length mirror anywhere. Until today.” You place your hand over your heart in a pantomime of solemnity. 

“Mhm,” Unknown hums. He’s going to have to do something about your behavior before this treachery of yours becomes a regular thing. “You won’t get to see any more of this place after today.” 

“I’m grounded?” You demand. You seem to understand what he’s telling you, at least. “That is not fair! I helped you!” You’re starting to whine at him, like you couldn’t have possibly seen this coming when you were copying his handwriting and tricking a believer into buying some useless thing that’s only going to get thrown away. 

“I don’t care what my shoes look like.” It’s the truth. Unknown could not give less of a shit about his footwear outside of its practical purpose-- but you seem to care quite a bit, and he enjoys the knowledge that he can get under your skin like this. “You can stay in the intelligence room with me from now on. The believers can bring us food, since I can’t let you out of my sight again if I know you’re going to be off causing trouble every time I take my eyes off you.” 

“I’ve only caused trouble one time,” you protest, “And it was for a good cause.” 

“Set that thing down,” is Unknown’s only response. He doesn’t have time to try to reason with you, and since you’re his assistant, you should just be listening on your own, anyway. 

“Set that thing down,” you mock him, but comply with his instructions before he can even shoot you a warning look. You gently set the mirror on the floor, and as soon as it’s out of your hands, Unknown scoops you up, pulling you onto his lap. 

“Now, stay here. Don’t go sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong again or you’ll regret it, little assistant.” 

“All this coming from a guy with untied, mismatched shoes,” you grumble. 

Unknown ruffles your hair. What exactly is he going to do with you? 

#I know everyone talks about Unknown's shoes and for good reason #But personally I think it's gotta be because there's no full-length mirror in the intelligence room #Like there's no way he's ever seen his full outfit at one time #However? You can't stop him #If you talk shit about his shoes at all then he's wearing them forever out of spite #mystic messenger #mystic messenger drabble #Unknown

[blackrosesandwhump]

March of Pain Day 26: Worthless

CW: royal whumpee, emotional/psychological whump

Shut in his bedroom, the prince couldn’t tear his gaze away from the sight in the full-length mirror.

A being that looked less than human. Colorless eyes set in a face of rough, greyish skin. Ears that tapered almost to points. Yellowed teeth slightly too big for his mouth. Thin arms that didn’t seem to belong to his body.

His reflection nauseated him.

Worthless. He was worthless, as a human but especially as a prince. Who could possibly submit to his authority when he looked like that?

But no one knew. No one knew, beyond the walls of the castle, except for his mother the queen and a handful of trusted, discreet servants who were routinely punished to enforce their silence.

Someone knocked on his door, three slow knocks followed by three quick ones. The prince jumped despite the signal and whirled around, automatically scrabbling for something to hide his face though he didn’t need it.

“Come in.”

The servant entered, swiftly closing the door and crossing to the prince’s side.

“Your Highness, it’s time to dress. Your audience is waiting in the Great Hall.”

Worthless. He would always be worthless, as long as he looked like a monster.

“Help me, then,” he ordered, more sharply than he intended, “and bring me my mask.”

@marchofpain

#marchofpain2024 #day 26 #worthless #royal whump #royal whumpee #emotional whump #psychological whump #self doubt #blackroseswrites #whump snippet #whump drabble #fairytale whump #castle #self worth #mask #mirror #reflection