#it has been so easy compared to every other quit

[angelixrr]

cw for fem!reader, yan!vees, noncon + dubcon, 4some, electrocution, manipulation, slighttt voxval if u squint REALLY hard

vox !

vox was by far the most insecure of the vees, and thus overcompensated for his insecurity by being overly possessive of you

would oftentimes drag you away from the other vees to take with you to meetings to show you off to shareholders, high ranking sinners and demons alike

his insecurities reared their ugly head whenever someone else happened to talk to you. be it friendly conversation or legitimate flirting, vox wouldn't spare either one, either dragging you away or having his security throw out the unlucky sinner

vox quite literally has eyes on you 24/7, has gifted you numerous pieces of voxtech technology, ranging from a phone, to a voxtech watch, and unbeknownst to you, he had you chipped after the two of you had drinks  he, n he slipped something into your drink to knock you out for a few hours

vox will give you anything you ask for, to not only showcase his wealth, but social standing and power. he's basically telling you through gifts that "no one else could do this for you, or would do this for you. i went through hell and back to get you this, you owe me"

vox is also the first of the vees to tighten his grip on your leash you're on if he feels as if you're getting too wild, too close to other people. he'll force a shock collar onto you, and then keep you confided either to his penthouse, or the vees's tower in his office

vox can be pacified really easy, acting obedient towards him really feeds his ego, and can make him go easier on you

valentino !

valentino is the least possessive of the vees, which isn't saying much, but he has the most confidence out of all of them so he doesn't worry much about you running away

really, he thinks you're lucky to have the attention of someone as powerful as him, the only time he ever really has an outburst is if you deny him

if you tell him no to accompanying him to a club, starring in a show, or being intimate with him behind closed doors, he will take it out on you, telling you that you should be grateful that he's been this nice, cut you so much slack when he's got all his other bitches on tight leashes. you're special to him, and he treats you so well compared to his other whores, so just shut the fuck up and take him

does tend to spoil you when you've been behaving particularly well, takes you out on the town into all the nightclubs that an ordinary sinner like yourself wouldn't dare go into.  takes you to the vip lounge and sits you on his lap to show off to anyone lucky enough to look at his favorite little bitch

absolutely loves to have you as arm candy, if he goes out 9 times out of ten hes begging vox or velvette to let you go with him, and if they tell him no, he gets huffy

loves loves loves to drape his wings over you and hold you close to him

blows smoke in your face. bc he’s mean and he sucks and that’s so hot of him

velvette !

velvette is by far the worst one to land the affections of, for what she lacks in power, she makes up for it in intellect 

she’s extremely cunning, and always makes you play directly into her hand, through manipulating you and others around you

will spread rumors between your staff about you selling someone out to an exorcist, or about you getting someone else fired, when really, it was velvette’s fault

will also manipulate your social media, since that is her specialty. she will boost your social standing if you play nice with her and behave, but if she thinks you’re out of line she will spread rumors and leak compromising images of you just to send you running back to her arms 

"aww, dollie what's got you in a tizzy? someone uploaded some nasty pictures of you? 'm so sorry darling, why doncha c'mere, i'll make you feel allll better" 

dresses you up practically every day, except when she's particularly busy, but even then, the night before she'll lay out clothes for you or organize a whole week’s worth of clothes. however, if she finds out that you didn’t wear anything she picked out for you, she throws a fit, and you’re guaranteed to be manhandled for the next week like her own personal dress up doll, with extra scandalous outfits to boot

if velvette feels like she hasn't gotten enough time with you, she isn't afraid to tussle with vox or val about it because she knows who's really pulling all the strings

loves to have you working for her, because she feels as if you’re the only one who really gets her. oftentimes she’ll have you working as her assistant, and mediating between her and her designers, or fetching her whatever she needs. she’ll also dress you up for the job, so she has some eye candy while she’s busy yelling at her incompetent staff. but, she loves it when you’re incompetent. when you do it, it’s cute.

posts you on her social media 24/7, wants to show you off to her audience. will cover you in black lipstick kiss marks, then take a selfie of the two of you, just to make sure all of hell knows who owns you

will oftentimes blow up on her current models and fire them, just to have you stand in for them, and have you scantily clad in front of her cameras.

nsfw

vox !

cuz vox is insecure af so he overcompensates for it in the bedroom, barely lets you do anything by yourself, wants to control everything

likes to use his hypnosis to make you do things that usually require a bit of persuasion. if you say that you’re scared of being electrocuted during sex, vox will put you under his mind control, and make you all docile so he can put a shock collar on you and fuck you while he electrocutes you. will remove his mind control halfway through fucking you dumb just so you can feel how good he makes you feel

likes to use sex toys on you, because he can override a lot of their factory settings to make the vibrations more powerful (to almost a painful extent)

can tie you up with his own wires, which will tingle n shock you slightly

valentino !

valentino is an exhibitionist through and through, it’s one of the reasons he runs a porn studio. will sometimes either demand you star in a show for him as a favor for all the nice things he does for you, or he will secretly record the two of you without your consent. just wants to show all of hell his favorite fucktoy

loves to degrade you and call you petnames, you’re his little conejita, his puta tonta, his favorite muñeca to use til he turns you into putty in his hands

is one of the more violent ones in the bedroom if you upset him, will choke you out and slam you against the floor if you tell him you’re tired. will fuck you no matter what you tell him

velvette !

velvette dotes on you in the bedroom, loves to have you all fucked out and teary eyed underneath her

her favorite thing is to eat you out until you’re overstimulated and crying, adores making you feel so good it hurts

uses you as stress relief if she’s having a frustrating day, will drag you into a changing room and make you kneel on the floor as her nails dig into your scalp to eat her cunt

whenever you’ve had a night with velvette it’s incredibly obvious, she will rake her sharp nails all over your body, and leave hickeys, bite marks, and lipstick stains all over you. adores marking you up for vox and valentino, just to remind everyone who’s really in charge

loves to use sex toys on you, from a cute pink n purple strap to a vibrator wand, not as mean as vox with them though. just wants to make you feel good til you’re a dumb mess under her

all !

even though the vees are competitive, vying for your attention 24/7, they do come together sometimes to mutually plan how to get you even more wrapped around their fingers

val n vox share you the most, they know what makes one another feel good, they're kind of a dastardly combo together 

you'll be taking vox's cock n then val will kneel in front of you expecting you to suck him off, but the moment you have his dick in your mouth, vox is pushing you all the way to val's fluffy groin, making you tear up and gag on his length

velvette n vox are also more likely to share you at once, but they work separately to make you feel good. vox will be fingering you, while velvette licks and sucks at your neck and chest, occasionally leaving harsh bites. 

velvette n valentino hardly ever share, but when they do its messy and competitive. they're practically fucking you til you see stars, seeing who can reduce you to tears the fastest and make you squirt the hardest. they're the meanest to you when together, calling you a dumb fucktoy, their useless whore, their favorite cumdump. won't hesitate to yank you away from each other. they just fight over you like two kids fighting over their favorite toy

when they're all together though, you're in for a longgg night. happens occasionally, just bc they're all so busy (andd sometimes they're too jealous to share). but when they're together they love to share you between them all. vox n val will use both your holes at once, while velvette kisses you n pinches your nipples til they turn red. they loveee to indulge themselves in their favorite plaything so they’re prone to overstimulating you. they will still use you even if you pass out, so you’ll be super sore the next day

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel headcanons #the vees x reader #valentino x reader #velvette x reader #vox x reader #yandere hazbin hotel #yandere vees

[knightonio]

it has been months and your gunplay knifeplay posts has been on my mind and making me hard everyday sir SPARE ME I'LL DIE IF YOU WRITE SOMETHING KINKIER THAN THAT or don't teehee

warnings. sparring. dom male reader. cock crushing/stepping. slight dubcon. pain + humiliation/degradation kink. blowjob thru clothes. dirty talk. hinted older reader. improper s&m. public sex.

it’s an average session on the wet soil of the forest, a duel between teammates that has a negative history with each other. victory isn’t far off from your hands, successfully landing a few harsh blows on your opponent. grunts built on frustrations meeting every strike.

“gfgh—shit!” he chokes on a curse as his feet backtrack him to a tree due to an unexpected kick. your glove-hidden hand wrap around his neck, patting him down in a mock inspection to ensure there weren’t any knives ready to plunge into you.

a half-groan is elicited as your finger bumps his thigh. oh, not quite; it was his groin. “don’t...” surprise doesn’t even wash over you at him being turned on. better yet, your knee forcefully collides with his clothed dick and he nearly doubles over.

damn, this was definitely unlocking something you weren’t aware of. his hands curled around the rough sensation of the tree behind him, prickling his uniformed skin. “what the fuck’s wrong with—ughm!” your thigh hits his groin, each contact sending imaginary stars to circle his head.

you shove him to his knees, causing him to grab you in quick reaction. “what’s wrong with me? look at yourself,” fingers closing around the top of his helmet to tilt his head up to you, the outsole of your boot stepping on his poor dick, “fucking pathetic.”

the soil is wet, and it forms a disgusting patch over the crotch of his pants of grime and rain. “shut it.” it would’ve been intimidating if it weren’t for the way he leaned forward, mouthing at your cock.

“oh, yeah? if you go ‘round still actin’ like a bitch even if i got you humping me, might ‘swell take a photo of you.” he groans at that, and you press more of your weight onto his bulge. boot twisting and thrusting ever so slightly, unsuspecting of how well he withstands the pain.

his thighs quiver, moaning into you whilst his tongue swipes over your hidden tip. he’s creating such a mess, over you and himself. “shit, baby, what a fuckin’ sight.” a high-pitched whimper escapes him when you slam the outsole on his dick. “nngh—so you are useful.” his demeanor is arrogant compared to his current compromising state.

“to what, your masochistic tendencies?” you scoff, certain that you were on the brink of crushing it. he shows no sign of confirmation to your thoughts, instead enthusiasm. “maybe... you’re feeding into that pretty well,” he grunts, chasing after your dirtied shoe that threatens to leave him. “too well, actually, enough to make me want to ride you ‘til i can’t take it anymore.”

you almost offer him a laugh but one suck of his cuts your voice off into a quiet moan. “didn’t take you for a bottom bitch. not even for a shameless one.” he begins to hump your shoe, actions desperate as he flicks his tongue over and over that you wished you were in a more private area. “could never imagine that you’d be a pervert, getting turned on from something as violent as that—”

finding where his shaft should be, you kick a few times against it. “—in a place like this. anyone can walk here and see you, watch you as you cum on me like a cheap-faced whore.”

he whines into your tip, material thinning because of the amount of saliva trailing from his mouth. “you like it.” it’s a statement that isn’t quite distant from the truth. he fell into an act, learnt doe eyes staring up at you feigning such innocence you want to corrupt.

“thought you were mature ‘nough not to indulge in a pretty thing like me,” you know there’s a playful smirk on his lips, idiotic words easy to him. you kick apart his legs wider before returning your boot back on his cock, “don’t blame me now, sweetheart.”

sweethearts. keegan russ. fushiguro toji. spider-man noir.

masterlist

#𝒉𝒆 who writes. #𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒆 anon. #dom!reader #male!reader #amab!reader #amab reader #dom male reader #dom reader #male reader #x dom reader #x male reader #call of duty smut #cod smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #atsv smut #cod x reader #cod x you #cod ghosts x reader #jjk x you #jjk x reader #cod x male reader #jjk x male reader #atsv x reader #atsv x you #atsv x male reader

[ninzied]

green things

alex kisses henry to make another guy jealous. that’s it. no other reason. based on a prompt for @onthewaytosomewhere. modern au. 1.9k.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Pez remarks, halfway through one of the worst house parties Alex has been to in his life. Seriously; he’s been to so many, and none of the others even compare. “Something on your mind?”

Yes. “No.” Alex takes a sip of his drink and goes casually back to not looking at Henry.

He’s kind of not really been okay-totally-watching-them all night, and it’s fine. It’s fine, because it doesn’t matter who Henry talks to, what matters is that he looks happy, and animated, and hasn’t stopped smiling.

He hasn’t stopped smiling all night.

“Hey, so, who’s the guy?” Alex asks.

Pez glances over. “Ah—yes, that’s a visiting prof in Henry’s department. Hazza talks about him quite a lot, actually.”

Alex grits his teeth so hard he’s surprised that none of them crack. “Does he.” He refrains from adding under his breath, Well, I’ve never heard of him.

“All the time, as a matter of fact,” Pez continues. He doesn’t even sound like he’s had to exaggerate. “And with good reason. It’s not even that he’s easy on the eyes, though there is that too. He’s already accomplished so much in the field despite being our age, from what I understand.”

“I see,” Alex says as neutrally as possible. He’s starting to see a lot from where he’s standing, actually, and he doesn’t like it. Like, at all.

Pez raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow at him. “Do I spy something green?”

“No,” Alex says quickly, too quickly this time. “Nope. Definitely not.”

“Well, if you say so.” Pez pops an hors d’oeuvre in his mouth and chews, surveying the room like it’s his own private theatre. Like he’s waiting for something. Like he has a vision. It’s both impressive and disconcerting to see.

As if on cue, someone comes up to Mister Accomplished and claps a hand on his stupid-broad shoulder, drawing his attention away. He flashes Henry a grin—one that’s way too white and with too many teeth, in Alex’s opinion—before walking off and leaving Henry alone in the corner.

Henry, who’s no longer smiling as he closes his eyes and sags at the shoulders. He tilts his glass back and drinks.

Well, fuck. Alex can’t even be glad anymore that the guy has just left because now he wants to punch him for it.

“Douchebag much?” he mutters under his breath.

“Oh, most excellent,” Pez is saying at the same time. “Couldn’t have planned the thing better myself.” He clears his throat, all business-like all of a sudden. “It appears that our poppet is in need of assistance. Are you up to the task, Alexander?”

“Wait.” But Alex finds himself getting pulled along by the sheer force of Pez’s will before he’s even finished speaking. “What task, exactly?”

Pez looks two seconds away from rubbing his hands together like some kind of cartoon villain. “Nothing like making a man jealous to finally spur him into action.”

Alex sputters; didn’t he just say that he wasn’t—? But then he catches the pointed look Pez gives Mister Accomplished again. Oh. That guy. Then: “Wait, that guy?”

“Nothing gets past you, does it,” says Pez.

Alex makes a wild gesture. “You want me to make that guy jealous. Fucking how?”

Pez lets out a long-suffering sigh. “The fact that I must spell it out for you really does explain a lot, actually.”

“A lot about what?”

“One kiss ought to do it, I think,” Pez muses, almost to himself.

Alex swallows. Flirting with Henry every day like he does is one thing. Harmless, mostly, unless you count feeling heartsick that Henry never looks at him the same way.

What Pez is suggesting, though, may be the thing that tips Alex fully over into heartbreak territory.

“I don’t, um.” He clears his throat and glances toward Henry, who’s gazing into his now-empty glass. “What makes you think he’ll be down with this plan?”

“Absolutely nothing, he would never. Which is why we must be quick about it.”

“But,” Alex starts to protest.

“Alex.” Pez says his name like he’s scolding a child who’s being too selfish. “Don’t you want to see Henry happy?”

“More than anything,” says Alex, too honestly. Fuck.

“Then trust me on this,” says Pez, in the voice of a person who’s not to be trusted at all, before opening his arms wide and beaming. “Hazza, darling.”

“Oh, thank God,” says Henry, glancing up as they approach. “I need another one of whatever this was.”

“I have a better idea,” Pez sing-songs, then looks askance at Alex. “Unless, of course, someone’s getting cold feet. I can always ask if dear old Hunter’s available, I think I saw him by the—”

“No, I’ll do it,” Alex says instantly. “I’ll take one for the team.”

“Yes, a big sacrifice on your part,” Pez murmurs, and Alex shoots him a sharp little glare. Henry scrunches his brow, looking between the two of them in something like concerned confusion.

“Alex? What’s going on?” he prompts carefully as Alex marches up to him, taking a breath. He’s determined to do this for Henry, no matter the cost to himself.

“All right. I’m ready,” Alex says solemnly. “Lay it on me, Fox.”

“Sorry,” says Henry, “I still have no idea what we’re talking about?”

“Babe,” and Alex takes Henry’s face in his hands, “Don’t even worry. I’m here to make all your dreams come true.”

Henry stands frozen as Alex presses their mouths firmly together. There’s a second that lasts half a lifetime in which Alex thinks he’s made a terrible mistake.

And then Henry’s lips soften—wow, fuck, they are really soft, actually—and then he’s kissing Alex back and so hard that Alex stagger-steps, almost knocking a chair over as he pulls Henry even closer.

He tries not to totally lose it when he feels Henry’s fingers thread through his hair, or the hitch in Henry’s breath when their lips part and their tongues meet.

It occurs to him that they probably shouldn’t be kissing like this while surrounded by all their work colleagues. Alex doesn’t really care. All he cares about is how devastated he’ll be once it’s over.

Henry is the first to pull back. He’s breathless and smiling, and Alex’s heart hurts like fucking hell but this is what he wanted, right? To see Henry this happy?

Alex puts his hands on Henry’s waist, which, fuck, he shouldn’t have done that; now he thinks he might never let go. His breath comes up short as he gasps into the space between them, “Is he watching?”

Henry blinks. His smile falters a little. “Is who watching, Alex?”

“The guy you were talking to. I was trying to make him jealous.” Alex can’t bring himself to see if he’s noticed. Alex thinks he would rather die than look away from Henry right now. All he wants is to kiss him again even though he probably shouldn’t. “Do you think it worked? Henry?”

Henry has gone very still in his arms. The expression on his face is glazed over, distant. “That’s why you kissed me? To make someone jealous?”

Fuck, they really should’ve talked about this first. Fuck. “Yeah?” Alex winces.

“That man specifically? I didn’t even know you two were acquainted.” Henry heaves out a breath, looking strangely like he might be sick. “So you—you like him, then?”

“What? No, of course I don’t like him. I don’t even know him,” says Alex. Henry isn’t making any sense. “I thought you liked him.” Unless…shit. Unless Henry just doesn’t want them both liking the same guy?

Henry just stares at him for a long time. He’s looking kind of like Alex is the one who’s lost it. “You what?” Henry says finally.

“I thought you liked him,” Alex repeats, but this time it comes out as more of a question.

“You thought I liked him,” Henry says for emphasis. “That man.” Like there’s some other guy Alex could possibly be talking about right now.

“Apparently,” says Alex. He realizes he’s clutched the sides of Henry’s shirt and wills his fingers to loosen a little. It feels like some kind of miracle that Henry hasn’t shoved him away yet. “And then you looked so sad when he went to talk to other people, and I thought, I don’t know, that I’d help? Pez said you talk about him all the time, so…” Wait. Wait a minute.

Henry breathes out. Something solidifies in his expression, like he’s just worked through a math problem of his own. “Hmm,” he says in a weirdly calm tone. “Did he, now.”

“Yeah,” Alex says slowly. “He…” What else was it that Pez had said? Nothing like making a man jealous to finally…

Wow. Okay. Well-played, Okonjo.

“I see.” Henry looks pointedly around for Pez, who’s conveniently nowhere in sight at the moment. “Percy didn’t also happen to mention the fact that the man’s an absolute bellend who’s been gatekeeping my department’s research funding? That I’m thus woefully obligated to kiss the ground he walks on at parties?”

Ah. “He…did not,” Alex allows. “So, just to be clear, you don’t? Like him?”

“Christ, no,” Henry says firmly, and Alex feels something light in his chest flutter and try to take flight.

“Anyway,” Henry goes on, looking all sober now for some reason, “I ought to apologize on Pez’s behalf. He really was only trying to help, in his way. He knows how I feel about—well.” He flushes. “And I’m sorry, too, for kissing you like that. I was under a very different impression as to what it, um. Actually meant.”

“Yeah, hold up.” Alex straightens. “You kissed me back.” Henry looks cautiously on as Alex starts smiling and can’t seem to stop. “You had no idea and you still kissed me back.”

Henry goes a shade pinker each time Alex says the words. “Yes, well,” Henry says faintly. “I believe what you said was something about making all my dreams come true? Which I did take at face value.”

Alex tightens his hold on Henry again. Definitely not letting him go after that. “Henry,” he says. “You’re my fucking dream, are you kidding?”

“I—” Henry gazes at him. His smile is soft with something like wonder. “You’re serious?”

“How do you think Pez got to me?” Alex wants to know. “Do you have any idea how jealous I was of that guy when I thought you were into him?”

“Mm.” Henry tilts his head. “Yet you kissed me fully believing that it would, what, drive him so mad that he’d throw himself into my arms?”

“I did.” Alex takes both of Henry’s hands into his. “I want you. Henry. But I think I want you so much that the only thing I want more is for you to be happy.”

Henry’s eyes are bright and so very, very blue. “And if I told you that they’re one and the same?”

Alex is smiling so hard that it hurts. He never wants to stop feeling like this. “Then I guess that guy can be jealous all he wants,” Alex shrugs, bringing Henry’s hands up to his shoulders. “Because he can’t have your arms now, they’re mine.”

“Noted,” says Henry, mock-seriously. “Anything else you wish to claim while you’re at it?”

“Actually,” says Alex, “yeah, just so we’re clear,” and he pulls Henry back in for a kiss.

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #rwrbedit #rwrbsource #rwrb fic #firstprince #firstprince fic #firstprince fanfic #rwrb fanfic #iuserzoe #chrissiewatts #userveronika #usernuria #usersteen #usergayppl #sheisraging

[pianokantzart]

YES! GOOD! I’m going to just going to analyze the whole dinner scene, because it’s one of my favorite parts of the movie. 

Mario and Luigi walk in, and immediately the whole room lights up to greet them. Despite everything that follows, one thing is clear: The Mario Brothers are happy to see their family, and the family is happy to see them. 

The whole family confirms that they watched their commercial. Everyone except their mom insists the commercial was a bad idea, but the fact that they all watched it speaks to the fact that there is no indifference regarding Mario and Luigi’s dream. They’re eager to see where this endeavor leads, even if they think it’s going to end in failure. 

The moment Mario and Luigi sit down at the table, their uncles begin laying into them like it’s open season on financially struggling plumbers. Just full blown, no-holds-barred roast mode on their nephews.

Mario is on the defensive, but he doesn’t get angry, he’s just trying to argue his side. Clearly this is typical behavior for Uncle Tony and Uncle Arthur. They’re loud, overly honest, and obnoxiously confident in their opinions. Uncle Arthur, thankfully, has his wife to keep him in check. Uncle Tony, however, who is seated next to poor Luigi, is an absolute menace.

Luigi ignores all the teasing. He is only interested in getting food, but this is not an easy task. Tony’s verbal arguments are all directed at Mario, but Luigi is the one who gets prodded and shoved around, and that makes getting dinner next to impossible.

Luigi attempts to serve himself salad, attempts to ask for a roll, attempts to eat the mushrooms being put on his plate, and at every turn he’s either pushed away or talked over. He is clearly very soft spoken compared to the other men in his family, and never quite had the strength to stand up for himself... after all, everyone means well, they just lack self awareness. It isn’t worth the fight. 

Thankfully, Luigi’s mom comes to the rescue, and puts a bowl of soup in front of her boy. She’s the queen of the caretaker role, making sure all the loose ends are tied up and that everybody eats.

But on the flip side, it’s interesting to note that once the uncles start tearing into Mario, Mario’s Dad serves him up a plate of food. He may have just been serving the person next to him because that was the polite thing to do, but I have a theory...

I think that this wasn’t the first night that Mario and his uncles went at each other. I think Mario’s Dad read the room, and figured that if Mario was going to spend dinner playing defense, he should at least remember to eat while doing so.

It also speaks volumes that Mario’s Dad doesn’t voice his disapproval until Mario asks for his opinion. Before then he avoids the subject and lets everyone else do the talking, but so long as he’s being questioned directly, he can’t help but be honest.

“I think... you’re nuts. You don’t quit a steady job for some crazy dream.” This sounds like a voice of experience. Mario’s Dad has the figure of someone who has worked physical labor for a good portion of his life (look the size of those arms). He may have had dreams of his own when he was younger, but he had a wife and kids to worry about, and family took priority. 

Speaking of family taking priority: “... and the worst part? You’re bringing your brother down with you.” That settles it. The conversation has gone from a casual roast session to dead serious. The entire room falls quiet as Mario puts down his fork and storms off. 

“What’d I say?” Everybody at the table (except the niece, she’s long since checked out) gives Mario’s Dad different versions of the look™. Uncle Tony and Uncle Arthur have the same “Jesus Christ bro, you didn’t have to go there” expression, and Luigi just looks hurt on Mario’s behalf. His Dad, however, is just confused.  

He didn’t get the gravity of what he said. His relationship with his own brothers– loudmouthed schmucks who call their own shots – is completely alien to what Luigi and Mario have. He probably knows Mario is protective of Luigi, but he doesn’t realize the depth of responsibility Mario feels for him. Anyone can see that Luigi is loyal to his brother, but Mario alone knows how loyal he is, and the implication that he’s betraying that loyalty is intensely painful. 

I doubt Uncle Arthur and Uncle Tony truly relate to Mario and Luigi’s relationship either, but they’ve probably teased Mario enough to understand one thing: bringing Luigi into it is a line you do not cross.

Conclusion:

There is a lot of love in the Mario family.

Uncle Tony and Uncle Arthur are definitely the most insufferable of the bunch, but there is no malice in their teasing. While they are brash and overbearing, it’s all in good fun, and they get visibly uncomfortable when things go too far and someone actually ends up hurt. 

Luigi seems to take after his mother; kind, nonconfrontational, and happily invested in a supporting role. While his Mom cares for and assists the family, Luigi cares for and assists his brother, both emotionally and in his business ventures.

Mario, in the meantime, takes after his Dad, who appears to be the oldest of the three brothers. He doesn’t always think before speaking, but he isn’t constantly running his mouth like Arthur or Tony, and acts with the gravity of someone who bears a lot of responsibility. He doesn’t quite “get” his sons, but he knows enough to see that Luigi follows his brother everywhere, and Mario does not always think before jumping into things. Despite what Mario may believe, his Dad doesn’t see him as a “joke” so much as he sees him as an impulsive young man who doesn’t grasp the consequences of his actions. But Mario does understand the consequences of his actions, he just dreams big, and... thanks to Luigi... actually has the support he needs to pursue those dreams. 

#mario movie #mario movie spoilers #super mario brothers movie #Luigi #Mario #Not Art #mario commentary #This got a lot longer than I thought it would #There were a lot of thoughts #Super Mario Brothers #Long Post

[bangtanflirt]

(Un)natural Instincts (Part 6)

*Series taglist is closed.

angst, fluff, smut

Pairings: OT7 x Fem Reader, Human CEO Reader, Human Assistant Yoongi, Wolf Hybrids Joon, Jin, Hobi, Jimin, Tae, and Kook.

Basic premise: You and your assistant end up rescuing six wolf hybrids. No part of the process is easy.

Part 1 > Part 2 > Part 3 > Part 4 > Part 5 > Part 6 > Part 7

General Warnings: Hybrid abuse and lab experimentation, hybrids as second-class citizens/owned property, future smut (Minors DNI, 18+ content)

Specific Warnings: mentions of covering up SA cases, lasting mental effects of dubcon under the synthetic hormones, morally gray characters, lots and lots of self-deprecation and low self-esteem, one mention of sexual dreams

____

Yoongi’s eyes are on the screen, but his mind is everywhere but the presentation. The meeting room is chattering away about profits and liabilities but all he can think about is you and Hoseok. The feeling of betrayal clawing its way into his chest, ripping out his heart and snuggling into his ribcage as a replacement. Betrayal for making him think you weren’t just as twisted inside as the rest of your kind: the ones with mansions, luxury cars, and chauffeurs waiting on their every move. The kind that Yoongi’s worked for already. He remembers how lucky he felt when he got this job, how ecstatic he was to finally work under someone who wasn’t insufferable. Sure, you were brash and cold, but that was nothing compared to his old boss—the one who’d make him commit a thousand crimes to cover up his own. He can’t remember how many books he’s cooked or funds he’s laundered at this point. The worst were the sexual assault claims, looking into every poor woman’s eyes and writing off a check as if it would make her hurt any less. All the nights he’d cry himself to sleep, feeling like a monster, but not knowing how to stop. His mother’s health has always been the first thing on his mind, and it goes from bad to worse too quick for him to quit with no backup. Hospital bills never pay themselves, do they? Especially not when he's the only breadwinner in the family.

He remembers the day you two first met, at a museum opening in Spain, where he was assisting his former employer in landing a partnership with your firm. He can’t say he liked you from the get-go. Didn’t like you at all, quite frankly. You were quite the expert at barking orders, making a scene at every little mistake the nervous waiters made. Everyone was on edge the minute you’d sit down, designer purses propped on the table that cost more than the last surgery his mother needed. But something changed as the week-long trip progressed, when he saw how quickly you shut his boss down the second he proposed a less-than-legal deal. It’s a deal he’d help get many others to sign off on before—with no one caring about the legality when millions were on the table—but you were passionate in your rejection, saying Shin Investments would never take part in anything illegal under your watch.

He still doesn’t know how he found the courage to approach you for a job at the end of the trip. He knew it was risky, that you could not only reject him but also tell his current boss that he’s looking elsewhere. But he was so fed up. Fed up with doing all the dirty work. Fed up with evading the law under the excuse of “doing his job.”  You gave him hope that there was a place where he didn’t have to do all that.

You had given him an amused brow raise in response, mentioning how you’d fired your last assistant, just prior to the trip, for smiling in a way that annoyed you. He knew you were challenging him, basically telling him he’s free to try, but he won’t last more than a week.

But, surprisingly to everyone, he does. It’s been two years since his first day, and it’s not an exaggeration to say his relationship with you back then is night and day from the one now. You had purposely put him through absolute hell during the first month, having him run around the office scrambling day after day. But even at your most difficult, it was always “run four blocks to my favorite salad bar and get me lunch in the next twenty minutes” and never “tell the new hires if they keep whining to HR about a compliment, they won’t ever work in this industry again” (the latter being the exact words his former boss once said to him). So, as challenging as you were, it never phased him, as you were much better than the alternative.

It was a little after that first month when you started warming up to him, having your first real conversation after you had one too many glasses of wine at an afterparty. It’s when you admitted that you were looking for any excuse to fire him.

“Because I can just do it. I can do it without any red tape, you know? Firing an assistant is that easy. My father wouldn’t even bat an eye. It's one of the few things I don't have to report to him.”

In a strange way, he understood. You were overcompensating. Even you, the CEO, felt powerless in her circumstances.

That was the first of many similar conversations over the years, each one giving him more insight to why you are the way you are. He’s managed to be the only person who can dull your sharp edges, and you’ve managed to do the same for him. And that’s why it feels like a knife is twisting into his gut at the thought of you using Hoseok for you own pleasure, taking advantage of him in a way Yoongi didn’t know you were capable of doing. No, it wasn’t illegal, but still morally wrong—and though he was understanding of your questionable ethics when you agreed to the Kang deal, knowing how you get when you’re backed into a corner, this was unacceptable. No one was backing you into any corner this time. You did this because you wanted to. It made him feel like he was right back at his old job.

And the worst part is the jealousy. His rational mind knows Hoseok is the victim, but his irrational mind—the one that’s in love with you—can’t stop feeling jealous. His thoughts are racing at a thousand miles per hour, conjuring up scenarios of what the two of you could have been doing. Was it like the dreams he’s had of you? Dreams of you flipped on your stomach under him, moaning his name…but with his name instead? Yoongi feels his skin crawl at the thought of you chanting Hoseok’s name in that way. He’s disgusted in himself for thinking like this, but it’s hard to push it all down when his emotions are threatening to spill out at any moment.

___

Jin steps out of the library for a broom when he lays his eyes on you, absolutely mutilating a poor dethawed chicken. It’s clear that you haven’t cooked a proper meal for years, or maybe even ever. The way you’re holding that knife is unintentionally the funniest thing he’s seen in a while, and that’s why he doesn’t even realize the slight laugh escaping his lips. You look up at the sound, meeting his eyes, which turn from joyful to terrified in a single second.

He almost flinches at the expectation of yelling alone, but that’s not what happens. Instead of your shouts filling the giant kitchen, it’s your laughter.

“I look like a mess, don’t I?”

He shakes his head no, to which you just laugh louder.

“It’s okay Jin, I know I suck at cooking. I’ve been putting this poor chicken through hell for the last forty-five minutes.”

He takes tentative steps forward, broom forgotten as he tries to think on his feet and be useful to you.

“I could…I could do it if I’m allowed. I’m a really good cook!”

You look down at the chicken, almost considering it with how outside of your skillset this all is. But you think better, as he’s already been cleaning the library for hours.

“It’s alright, I think I’ll just leave this chicken alone for tonight and order pizza.”

“Please, I insist! You let Jimin make breakfast!”

You don’t miss the way he pouts the last part out, eyes furrowed in a way you can’t help but find adorable.

“I wouldn’t have let him if he didn’t wake up before me. You guys are recovering patients, you should be resting, not cooking. You shouldn’t even be cleaning the library honestly.”

“But we want to help, we want to be use-“

Jin’s words are cut off by the sound of sniffling, heads turning to the source: a very scared Taehyung stands in the entryway of the kitchen, with Jimin by his side. Your heart drops at the sight of tears rolling down Taehyung’s cheeks, and so does Jin’s—apparent in how fast he makes his way over to the wolf.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt anywhere?!” He takes his pup’s face into his warm hands, trying to provide some sort of comfort.

Taehyung doesn’t answer, instead saying “I’m so sorry” like it’s a mantra. Jimin doesn’t dare speak, eyes trained on the ground.

You’re unsure if you should step in, as it looks like they’re all having a moment, but it’s clear Taehyung isn’t going to respond to Jin.

“What happened?” You ask softly, knowing anything more in your tone will easily spook them further.

Taehyung’s too distraught to register you’re even addressing him, let alone answer back. It’s Jimin who nudges at the younger wolf’s hands, which you notice have been hid behind his back.

“Taehyung, sweetheart, what’s behind your back?” You pray the use of the nickname will calm him like it did with Hoseok, but he just keeps hyperventilating more.

“Jin, please get him some water” the oldest wolf is darting to the water pitcher before you even finish your sentence. Taehyung refuses to let his hands leave his back, leaving Jin with no choice but to bring the glass to his lips for him. It’s only after a few gulps does he regain some sort of composure. It’s then that he brings his hands to the front, bringing to light the ruined mess of pages in his hands.

Jimin crosses his fingers, praying to any and every god that the book isn’t of significance to you, but your reaction makes it clear to everyone how that is far from the case. You look devastated.

It’s your late grandmother’s favorite book: a collection of translated old German poems. You had stored it in the library—granted, in a clumsy pile with the rest of the things you’ve been too busy to properly put up—planning to get a glass case and eventually display it in the living room.

Your grandmother was your favorite person in the world, and that book was her favorite thing in the world. Some of your happiest childhood memories were created with her reading you those poems, at a time when every other adult in your life was too worried about the family business. When she passed last year, she left you a lot, but the diamonds and pearls were never as dear to your heart as that book. And there it was, in Taehyung’s hands, pages stained and soaking wet.

Jin and Jimin had warned Taehyung not to bring orange juice into the library, but he was too stubborn. He assured his hyungs that he was careful enough to drink it without spilling anything, too excited at the prospect of having full access to the fridge to think much about anything else.

And now the damage was done.

Frankly, you want to break down. But you don’t. You do what you’re used to from the office: take a deep breath and compose yourself before the slightest hint of a tear can creep up on you. Crying alone in your room? Perfectly acceptable. Crying in the sole presence of your assistant? Not the end of the world. Crying in front of literally anyone else? You’d rather burn your flesh off.

“It’s okay” the words are not convincing, but at least your voice isn’t shaking. You try to get away from the situation, feeling suffocated, but the worried hybrids are hot on your trail.

It’s at that moment the main door opens, and you can’t be more thankful at the timing. Yoongi’s here. The one person you can let all your emotions out to. Yoongi, with his comforting words and ginseng tea offerings—if anyone can calm you down right now, it’s him.

Except there’s no warmth in his eyes today, not even when he sees your crushed state or the book in Taehyung’s hands.

Speaking of Taehyung, the wolf is looking at him with pleading eyes. If you aren’t in a state to punish him, someone has to. He fucked up big and deserves whatever either of you dish out. He does hope, however, that his knuckles are spared this time.

“I-I ruined y/n’s book. ’M so s-sorry! Please punish me!”

“Taehyung, I said it’s oka—”

Yoongi cuts you off, tone ice cold.

“It’s not your fault. She should’ve kept it in a safer place.”

You stare at him, stunned.

 “What the fuck, Yoongi?”

 “Am I wrong?”

“That’s not the point. You know how much that book means to me…and that’s the first thing you say? You know that’s not what I need to hear right now.”

And that’s when Yoongi’s bottled up rage finally spill all over the floor, flooding everything in its path.

“Well life’s not always about what you want to hear, and if you were taught that as a child instead of being surrounded by servants and yes-men, then maybe this concept wouldn’t be too foreign for you.”

There’s a bite to his words, a bite with canines sharper than those of any wolf hybrid, and it completely destabilizes you. Hot tears start prickling your cheeks, fighting them off no longer a choice.

“What’s gotten into you? W-why are you acting this way?” Your voice is shaking now.

“Because I’m fucking tired of coddling you, of telling you that everything you do is okay even when it’s not. Maybe it’s on me, maybe if I called you out on your shit earlier then it would never get this bad.”

You’re not understanding what he’s trying to say, but you don’t know if that’s because he’s not making sense or how cloudy your brain is right now. Regardless, the venom with which he speaks is enough to shatter your already fragile mental state. The others shuffle down into the living room at the commotion, and suddenly everyone is seeing the one thing you never wanted them to: you bawling your eyes out.

None of the hybrids know what to do. Namjoon’s eyes are locked on Yoongi, ready to lunge if he poses any physical threat, but it’s clear in his body language that Yoongi doesn’t intend to hurt you in that way. Hurting you with words, however, is not something the lab trained Namjoon to protect you against.

It’s not long before you’re running to your room, locking the door, and letting the mascara fully trail down your face, all while gasping for air. Your lungs feel heavy, your eyes feel heavy, everything just feels so heavy. But nothing’s heavier than your heart.

___

Hours go by and the chicken on the counter is long abandoned—no one quite in the mood to eat. You haven’t left your room since the incident, and Yoongi cooped himself up in his room shortly after. The air feels as thick as smoke in a burning building, blocking the lungs of anyone who tries to breathe it in. It’s Taehyung who’s squirming the most, mentally degrading himself for causing all of this in the first place.

I should have listened. Jin and Jimin warned me, but I’m just too stupid to listen. It’s always me that messes up. I’m always the problem of the pack. Maybe if I beg, she’ll only kick me out and let everyone else stay.

A lesser Alpha might have scolded him at the moment, but Namjoon understands how much Taehyung is punishing himself already. He’s all too familiar with how married his pup is to his self-deprecating ways, no matter how much anyone assures him that he’s enough. The lab was always the most strict when it came to the youngest caretaker hybrid, his naturally clumsy nature being the perfect target for their cruelty and leaving him with little to no confidence in anything anymore. So all Namjoon does is take the boy’s hand into his, giving it a squeeze that translates to “I’ve got you,” and wiping away his tears as they rapidly fall. Jin’s got him situated in his lap, hands gently stroking his sides in a way that’s always soothed Taehyung.

“You’ll listen to Jimin and I next time, won’t you pup?” Jin’s voice isn’t all that scolding either, just firm enough to make sure Taehyung learns some sort of lesson from this…for whatever adoption center they’re shipped off to soon.

Taehyung lifts his head up from the oldest’s shoulder, frantically nodding yes.

There’s a knock on the door that makes every hybrid jump, Yoongi’s voice asking to be let in.

“Come in.” Jimin decides too quickly for anyone else to protest.

He awkwardly hovers beside the door, not bothering to close it as he steps in. It’s not long before Yoongi’s eyes zone in on the one he’s here for: Hoseok.

It’s a selfish thing to do, as Hoseok looks like he’d rather be tied to a train track than look into Yoongi’s eyes, but he needs this. He needs to look at the hybrid, the victim, to remind himself not to falter no matter how many tears you shed—because, yes, even now there’s a part of him that wants to hold and comfort you. Yoongi’s always loved sparsely, but hard, and turning it off overnight isn’t something he can do. So, there he is, actively draining out as much as he can by looking at the victim of your actions.

He’s about to apologize for snapping at the wolf yesterday, when another figure peaks into the ajar door. You inch your way closer, not aware of Yoongi’s presence until you’re right at the entrance. Your eyes are puffy and stained black from makeup, but you clutch the wound care kits close to you and brush past him nonetheless. No matter how much you want to lock yourself in your room for eternity, you have a responsibility towards these hybrids and their recovery. It’s clear, as you make your way to the couch, that you’re tired and embarrassed. No one comments on it, though.

“I need to do their wound care.”

And yet again, he seems ready to pick a fight, ignoring your unspoken plea and staying right in place—eyes narrowed into judgmental slits.

“I don’t know what I did that pissed you off so much, but I’m fucking sorry, okay? I can’t deal with this right now, please leave.” Your voice is meek, absolutely no fight left in you. Just desperation to not be in Yoongi’s presence, afraid of what hurtful words will come out of his mouth next.

Yoongi lets out a dry laugh, putting everyone’s nerves on edge. “You don’t know what you did wrong?”

You shake your head earnestly, trying not to feel small when he uses that condescending tone.

“How can you even say that?! How can you pretend to play the victim when Hoseok is right here. I want to throw up just looking at you right now.”

Hoseok? Why would he bring up…

Suddenly all the pieces fall into place.

“Oh my god Yoongi…you assumed I…we…”

“I didn’t assume anything y/n. Hoseok told me directly, so lying isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

You turn your head at a rate that almost gives you whiplash, looking at the hybrid with big eyes. Hoseok doesn’t look at you—can’t look at you. The feeling of your gaze scorches his skin.

“Hobi…”

Hoseok doesn’t know how to breathe anymore, doesn’t know how to do much of anything other than let his own tears waterfall down, heart cringing at the disappointment in which you say his nickname. He knows it was wrong to lie, but he could never have guessed it would turn into something this serious. Did Yoongi like you? Is that why? Or did he have the same moral code thing you had—one that Hoseok couldn’t wrap his head around. The lab had made it very clear that using him for his purpose was no different than using a chair for its purpose—and no one here had a moral problem using chairs. It all hurt his head too much to think about. But regardless, thinking was pointless, because you weren’t even using him. He couldn’t even do that for you, and now his lie is the reason you’re hurting.

Stupid Hoseok. Dumb Hoseok. Stupid Hoseok. Dumb Hoseok.

“I’m so sorry!” The words are broken and muffled through tears, “Y/n didn’t lie…it-it was me…I didn’t want everyone to know I was b-broken.”

The room goes still, the last sentence lingering in the air.

I didn’t want everyone to know I was broken.

Your eyes soften.

“You’re not broken Hoseok”

“You don’t have to say that. I know I am. That day…you pulled back because you could tell I didn’t want it…you shouldn’t have been able to tell that…no…I shouldn’t have not wanted it…that’s why I’m broken.”

Jimin is quick to embrace his hyung, shielding his wrecked state from view, although too late. The hybrids are at a loss for words, with Namjoon being hit the hardest. Hoseok lying meant he didn’t feel comfortable enough to tell the pack the truth—to tell his Alpha the truth. And that’s a failure Namjoon will have to carry on his shoulders for a long time. But now’s not the time for a self-evaluation, now he needs to make sure Hoseok feels his touch on his back. The rest get their hands in wherever they can, gentle pats and caresses to lessen his distress.

You don’t know what else to do to comfort him, to make him believe your words. And frankly, you don’t have the emotional bandwidth to comfort anyone right now. For a moment you can’t help but envy Hoseok, seeing the way his packmates hold him so dearly when he’s crying. You wonder how it must feel to be loved by so many people. It’s not something you can see ever happening for yourself.

Yoongi's not faring well either.

There’s not a word strong enough to describe what he's feeling right now: a cocktail of guilt and absolute dread, swirling in the glass that is his body. Every spiteful word he’s said rings in his ear. How mean he was, how cruel he was. How easily he dismissed your grandmother’s parting gift to you. The worst thing? He made you cry. He’s always promised himself that he would be by your side when the world made you break down, but now it was him causing those mascara stains. And in front of a fucking audience—the thing you hate the most.

“Y/n I—” he doesn’t even know what to say.

No one does, honestly. No one has the heart to blame Hoseok for lying—not when he’s huddled up crying and labelling himself broken. You can’t exactly blame Yoongi for believing him either, because who wouldn’t do the same?

But, regardless of the context, is that how he thought of you? Has he always been by your side with this contempt, thinking of you as a spoiled brat he’s obligated to follow around? That you’d use anyone to get what you want? You would understand if this was back when he was a month into the job…but now, when it’s been two years and you’ve opened up so much of yourself to him…he still held those views? Were they always buried down, hiding until he couldn’t keep them hidden any longer?

Has he stuck by your side all this time feeling so disgusted by you?

Can I even blame him? I am a bitch, after all.

It’s Jimin that pulls you out of your head, bringing a glass of water to your lips as you so badly need it right now. “We’ll do wound care on ourselves tonight, please get some rest.”

___

Yoongi’s two steps behind you, holding his breath as the two of you leave the hybrid room. He doesn’t stop at his bedroom, though, instead following you straight into yours.

“I’ve been a dick.”

You slump onto your bed, dejected, “Maybe I deserved it.”

That’s the last thing he wants to hear. Never in his life did Yoongi think he would be jealous of his coworkers, the ones you’d yell at and kick out of your office the second they made a mistake—but right now, that’s precisely what he wishes you would do. Because the yelling he can withstand, but this is too much for his heart.

“You didn’t deserv—”

“No, it’s okay. You don’t have to pretend that you didn’t mean any of it. I know I’ve never been the easiest person to deal with. You don’t have to like me to do your job well…if you still want to even work for me…”

“I should be the one begging to keep my job. I only said what I said out of spite, y/n, I wanted to hurt you because I just felt so angry. Fuck, the thing I said about your grandmother’s book too, I feel like shit.”

You wince at the mention of the poems.

“Seeing her book in his hands…I wanted to yell at him so bad Yoongi...but he looked so terrified…and Hoseok looked so terrified too …so who am I even allowed to be angry at?”

Yoongi doesn’t know how to respond, so he instead grabs a makeup wipe from the vanity. He’s gentle in the way he glides it across your skin, extra care around each eye. You let it happen, like a limp doll in his grasp, head hurting too much to be anything else.

“Get some sleep now.”

“How can I be sure you don’t hate me? That you don’t hate working for me?”

“Because”

I’m actually in love with you.

“You’re more than my boss. You’re my best friend y/n.”

____

A/N: I know I'm the writer but I'm waiting for them to be a fluffy big happy family as much as the next person. Baby steps though. Please let me know your thoughts! They are always appreciated.

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#bts hybrid au #bts hybrid x reader #poly ot7 #ot7 x reader #hurt/comfort #bts angst #bts smut #bts fluff #unnatural instincts

[oh-snapperss]

creature comfort

“We won’t win today,” Cleo says, and Etho knows she’s right. Knows their time has been running out since the first secret was whispered to them in voices all too familiar, has known that this day was coming, has known that all this time, it’s not been a question of if–it’s been a question of when. 

They’re going to die today. Distantly, Etho wonders if the domesticity they’ve worked for will die with them, or if it will follow them back home. 

Will his home ever be a physical place again? Home is where the hearth is, where the warmth is, where the world is shut out and it’s just the three of them. 

Home is where Cleo is. 

“That’s alright,” Etho smiles instead of voicing all of that, wishing, of all things, that he didn’t still have that awful cough that Cleo had insisted he rest over for a few days. “We’ll be alright.” 

They’ll be dead–and what are the dead, if not alright? The dead don’t have coughs, or pain, or fear. They’re just dead. Etho thinks he might not mind it so much, this time. He’s finally learned to spend his time wisely, and he’s built a home no flaming arrow could ever take down. 

Just by the cow pen, there’s a stupid little porch Etho had built a while back. They’re nowhere near it now, but every night he and Cleo had watched the sunset, drank a final cup of tea, and turned in to sleep over gossip and giggles only they could draw from each other this time ‘round. Before, Bdubs had made him laugh like that–now, Etho wonders how long before there’s a sword at his throat. 

Even so, while Cleo laughs and watches him set Scar’s porch on fire, Etho hopes he might have the privilege of watching the sunset from the porch one last time. He’d survive the day, if only for another sunset with Cleo. 

BANG. 

Tango’s gone–Etho knows it in his heart. Surely he should feel an ache for him, should ask how he went. Instead, it’s easy to accept it. 

The wardens are fun. That’s all they are, now. Before, they had been terrors, then the answer to a desperate prayer he and Grian had made. The carnage of those terrifying beasts feel muted compared to before, but with the wind flying through his hair, the elated cries of Cleo in front of him, Etho can’t care. Not this time. They lead two clear to the middle of the server before they’ve decided to finish having their fun, and Cleo’s just stepping up some rocks when she says it. 

“You’re my favorite, you know that? You’ve always been my favorite.” 

He does know, he does know now. He’d guessed it that first sunset, when Cleo sat down with a giddy smile to recount their day. He’d thought it, when she’d wrapped a blanket around his shoulders after his failures and rested her head on his shoulder without a word. He’d lived it, when she had shouted that she would kill him if he tried to kill her–but was reassured otherwise that night on the porch again, with the curse ebbing from his bones. 

Today, he knows it in the blatant rebellion against what’s supposed to be the end, the dread, the fear. 

“You’re mine too.” Etho grins back, and knows that they’ll see his smile even through the mask–knows they’ve come to recognize it in his tone and way his eyebrows scrunch together. . 

They wind up in the sky base with Grian–Grian, who hasn’t quite reached the same conclusion they have. Etho knows by the shadows under his eyes he won’t give up, that he’ll fight clear to the end. Once upon a season, Etho had been the same. 

Not this time. Never this time. 

Around ten minutes to sunset, Etho and Cleo set down their dripstone and bows, and sit on the edge of the cobblestone wall. 

“I don’t think we’re gonna make it back to our base for it this time,” Etho jokes, nudging his shoulder into Cleo’s. Cleo laughs, a carefree thing, and wrinkles her nose. 

“I don’t think we’re gonna make it back for it any time, if we’re being honest.” She leans back, one hand half behind her to support her weight. 

“I know,” Etho says. He brings his leg up to his chest, wrapping his arms around it. Behind them, cobblestone is placed–Grian, ever the survivor. “It was nice, though.” 

“It was nice!” Cleo beams. “Are you alright with this?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Etho hums. “‘s not so bad. Dying with a friend.” 

“It won’t be,” Cleo agrees. 

Because that’s just it, isn’t it? Etho’s never died like this–he’s died at the flames of an arrow shot while protecting his king, he’s died in fights after his allies were killed. Hell, he’s died hand in hand with a soulmate hellbent on killing him now–but he’d been in a frenzy then, a rage-induced thing meant to burn up the place that had never been a true home to them. 

He thinks he won’t mind dying with someone. 

The sun sets in brilliant hues of orange and pink, and they sit together, this final tradition not lost in the face of inevitability. Just as the first star twinkles, Grian comes over, hoisting them back to their feet. 

“They’re coming,” he says. 

It’s time. 

They shoot a few arrows, break some dripstone, all to no avail–but that’s alright, he’s got Cleo, and they’ve got him. 

But oh, the games are never kind, are they? Etho slips, his foot landing weird somehow–and he’s whistling through the air towards the ground at a speed too fast. It knocks the breath from his lungs when he lands–does he hit the clutch? Stars, he doesn’t actually know, because there’s arrows shot at him, shouts of glee from the hunters, and suddenly Etho’s not Etho, he’s just prey–and prey only know to do one thing. 

Run. 

Etho flies forward, dragging his sword out. There’s not many safe spaces left on the server–stars, Grian had even mentioned their base was but a crater in the hill. 

But the porch… the porch was intact. Supposedly. 

He enderpearls, and enderpearls again, and it’s still not enough. The screams behind him are closer, and closer, and then further–and oh, Etho knows it’s time. He’s dead, he’s gone, he’ll be but a wisp of the wind in a few minutes whether he likes it or not. 

And he won’t die by Cleo. 

Cleo, Cleo, Cleo. Oh, he’d not meant it to be like this. He’d meant to die with a smile, right by her side–just as they were meant to die by his. This wasn’t the plan, this wasn’t the plan. A sob claws its way up his throat, the beginnings of the blind panic he’d never meant to feel tonight. He’s going to die, alone, without the comfort of his Cleo. 

Home. He wants to go home. 

Home is in the air, a hundred blocks above him. He’ll never make it–but he can make it back to the porch, the one place of peace. Now, he can feel the twinge of something broken in his ankles, probably from the fall–and the cuts, the bruises, the blood scent thick in his nose. He’s so tired. 

He wants to die at home, he wants to die at home. 

“Oh, he sounds like a wounded animal… let’s put him out of his misery.” A voice said. Cold fear grips Etho’s heart, and he stumbles forward–the porch is in sight!

Let him die at home. Let him die at home. 

A shadow fills his vision, and Etho’s not even had time to lift his shield before blinding pain fills his stomach, and it’s over. 

He’s not allowed that creature comfort of dying at home. 

#secret life #secret life smp #ethoslab #zombiecleo #cletho #secret life spoilers #my fics #tw death #I don't have an explanation at all for this #Is this cohesive?? i wrote it in a daze. in under thirty minutes #if it's not great OH WELL #this is how i am coping #god i'm never gonna feel okay again about them #never ever #i'm fucking insane #bursts into tears

[angelltheninth]

Maomao and Jinshi from an AroAce Perspective

Listen I'm not saying that these two are aroace but to me they are really seem to be. It's not just the fact that Maomao's color scheme is the ace flag, it's how these two approach romance and sexual situations.

This will have spoilers for the manga and LNs so don't read ahead if you don't want to be spoiled.

Starting with Maomao. Maomao is preceded as cold, weird, ugly and unapproachable by most other people she meets in the Palace with the exception our lovely main cast. But even some among them start off thinking she's at the very least strange. Hell it was the fact that she stood out so much that first attracted Jinshi's attention.

Maomao herself doesn't seem interested in romance at all, or sex, but she does know quite a lot about it due to her upbringing. There are many times where Maomao uses her knowledge of brothel techniques to get favors or take people off guard: giving advice to Lihua, getting Lihaku to take her to visit her family by offering a visit to the Verdigris House, teasing/intimidating people, the sex-ed class she did. Yet nothing includes her getting sexual with anyone, or romantic. She's not seducing anyone, as much as Jinshi seems to be getting that idea.

She sees her knowledge, and sex and romance, as a tool or something to be traded. Growing up in the Pleasure District it's how she saw these things being handled, she herself doesn't even think she can fall in love. She LOVES people, she CARES for people, but she was never in love with someone or wanted to get sexual with them.

Then Jinshi happened.

And yes at first she was very against any of his advances. She perceived him as fake and therefore didn't think any of his flirting had much merit above him wanting to get laid or to tease her, which is almost impossible. Maomao is shown to be very difficult to fluster and again given her upbringing she is much better suited to fluster others as there isn't much she hasn't head of or seen in terms of seduction. Still there are times as early as season 1 (the first two LN volumes) where she does like Jinshi. She likes him when he's being real, when he's not trying to be "Jinshi" and is actually himself.

One of such times is the first time we see Maomao blush and see Jinshi make her blush. This was when she was fired and was helping out at the big party with her sisters. Jinshi only lightened up when he saw Maomao and at the time he wasn't actively trying to flirt like he normally did, he wanted to kiss and touch her yes but not in the normally teasing way he does. Instead he didn't even realize the lipstick Maomao wore would transfer to his own lips, he was that happy, that enamored with Maomao being there.

And in response to such a simple thing, an indirect kiss, something so tame when compared to everything else she's seen and heard, makes Maomao blush. But of course Maomao is oblivious as well and doesn't realize that every time Jinshi flirts he's being serious. From her perspective he can have anyone he wants, and that much is true, but the only one he wants is Maomao.

When she realizes his secret, one of them at least, she wants to act dumb. She knows for sure that he isn't a eunuch, she knows he can prove it but she doesn't want him to, she wants to be in denial because it will make things easier. He would still be "Jinshi, the flirty eunuch", ironic given that's the part of him she doesn't like but it's also the part of him that makes it easy for her not to be attracted to him.

Her attraction to him, at least the point where she admits it to herself, comes when Jinshi completely drops his fakeness, when she gets to see the real him, the lonely, vulnerable Prince who, like herself, has been forced to fit many roles just to survive. It's only when she spends time with the real him that she starts to admit she likes him.

That is when she turns the tables on him and starts teasing him. She even gets her hands on birth control when she expects them to sleep together and when they don't she keeps teasing him to the point where Jinshi tells her to stop because she's driving him crazy. It's all small things, running her fingers up his hand and his knuckles, letting water drops linger on her lips and fingers, eye contact, again nothing too seductive or sexual, but to Jinshi it's like finding water in the dessert because the woman he's been pining for is finally reciprocating his feelings.

Maomao's attraction, her feelings, her willingness to get physically affectionate and have sex, all of these only manifest towards Jinshi after getting to know him, the real him and spending time with the real him. She needed that connection with him, that deep bond in order for all of these feelings and desires to be something she invites, and lets herself feel for the first time in her life.

Now for Jinshi. Jinshi, even if only looked at as a eunuch, is easy to guess that he comes from a high standing family, money and privilege. He doesn't know how things work outside of the Palace, as evidenced by his reaction to Maomao's make-up and why she wears it. He knows that Maomao is beautiful, with and without freckles and he was horrified when he was told she only applies them to lessen the chances of being sexually assaulted.

From the moment he sees Maomao he's interested in her, at first because she stands out so much, she's smart, she can read and write, she has knowledge of medicine and poisons, she can be useful to him. A new toy to entertain him. But it doesn't take long for that to turn into genuine interest and after that a crush, one-sided for the longest time but still a crush.

He finds it fun to get a reaction out of Maomao. He flirts with her more then he does with anyone else, in fact he doesn't seem to want to flirt with anyone else and the only time he does so is to help Maomao with a case she's working on. He uses his flirting, his good looks and his good looks as a distraction, as a weapon, to gain favors. Much like Maomao has seen all of these things in her upbringing.

When Maomao reacts to Jinshi's flirting he finds it amusing, even if she doesn't return his feelings. Her not being smitten by him, or rather by "Jinshi" is another thing that draws him towards her. She's not after his looks, his money, his position, a one-night stand or anything of the sorts, she's one of the only people that sees through him and starts to see the real him.

He is also very jealous and prone to misunderstanding what Maomao does with others. Part of this is because Maomao leaves out so many details but he also never thinks she's being romantic with anyone, his mind goes to sexual favors, because that's what other people look at him for. The women that want him only want him for his good looks and smooth voice, he knows this, so as far as romance goes he never thought much about it, and as a Prince he thought he would only marry to make kids, not for love. He even said as much when noticed that Gaoshun wanted him to settle down and have kids.

The moment Maomao left was a wake up call. Before he too thought she was fun to spend time with but he didn't know just how much she meant to him. He was so horrified that she would have to take clients that he offered to buy her right away, was smitten when he saw her and then protective when other men at his house noticed how pretty Maomao is.

Jinshi isn't someone who opens up easily, just like Maomao he has roles he has to play, all of which carry risk that could get him killed. When he does let his guard down he is much more likely to be flustered by Maomao, something that he's not used to as he normally the one doing the flirting. When they were on their "date" and he does into a brothel/restaurant he's not even aware of what it is or is interested, and also not realizing that it's the first instance of Maomao being jealous.

Another instance of him being flustered is when Maomao falls on top of him when she's trying to climb out of the hole they got stuck in after an attack and falling into the river. By that point he had already seen Maomao in her underwear and now he had her pressed up against him, that was all it took to get him hard and reveal one of his secrets. He was very flustered here, yes because his secret got out but also because this was Maomao, his crush, on top of him, pressing against him, with her hand on his dick, even if it was still covered.

Following that we see Jinshi open up more and more, showing Maomao his real self, getting hurt for her, accepting her help when he needs it, worrying for her to the point of choking her to stop her from swallowing poison. He isn't "Jinshi" with her, not when they're alone, he can finally be his real self.

Which also means that Maomao can see how easy it is to get under his skin. Jinshi wants to have that venerability with Maomao, he wants an actual romantic relationship, not one based on his looks or one that revolves around sex. When Maomao thinks they're about to have sex she brings birth control, she doesn't want to get pregnant, she doesn't want to have kids right now, it was just about sex, like she thought Jinshi wanted too.

But that wasn't the right time or the right circumstance to have sex, not yet because now Jinshi is the one chasing that romantic connection, now that Maomao has met him on the sexual attraction front.

Maomao and Jinshi compliment each other beautifully in many aspects, their personalities, their different perspectives due to their upbringing, the way Maomao is more knowledgeable in sexual manners, less so in romance, yet finds herself not opposed to them when she gets to know Jinshi more, and the way Jinshi saw himself as valuable for his looks and only considered real romance after meeting Maomao.

#kusuriya no hitorigoto #the apothecary diaries #maomao #jinshi #jinmao #aromantic #asexuality #arospec #acespec #media analysis #character analysis

[swampgallows]

do you have advice on how to find a mask for someone who legit, for real has difficulty breathing through one? i get badly congested because of the build up of humidity/moisture (plus a deviated septum), so then i have to remove the mask to blow my nose every 10 seconds which obvi defeats the purpose. i've tried to do research but i'm having trouble finding answers to this specific query. since you seem knowledgeable i would really appreciate any pointers if you have them. thank you.

hi! first of all thank you so much for wanting to mask despite the difficulties. second, i want to mention that im not a science or medical-type person of any kind, just a high-risk civilian trying to stay alive through the ongoing pandemic.

with the widespread non-industrial use of respirators in dealing with covid, there are manufacturers that have been looking for more comfortable, casual options while still offering adequate filtration. however many of these kinds of masks are either quite expensive, perpetually hard to acquire/sold out, or aren't fully NIOSH-approved (or equivalent standard). so my recommendations will be for only NIOSH-approved headstrap N95s.

since you have a structural condition (deviated septum), finding a breathable mask that fits your face without agitating your sinuses is essential. you'll want to be sure it's large enough that it's not pinching or putting too much pressure on your nose bridge. some users in the Masks4All subreddit have said saline rinses and BreatheRight strips can alleviate congestion issues, along with the right kind of mask. exploring a variety of mask shapes may help you!

finding a well-fitting respirator is difficult because there is no "one size fits all", but the 3M Aura 9205+ comes close! it's available in many areas and fits a wide range of faces. this is the mask i use. the "tri-fold" shape allows me to talk or laugh without compromising the seal or brushing against my face, compared to a typical "cup" shape N95. they also come individually wrapped, so it's easy to keep one in your car or bag, or distribute to others.

according to many who are "still coviding", the most breathable masks are the "duckbill" shape like the Gerson 3230+. I personally haven't tried them myself as I'm put off by the shape, but many duckbill wearers say that they easily overcome this "flinch" once they feel how comfortable it is, and that it's their go-to mask for extended wear or strenuous activities like the gym.

a more standard shape said to be close to the comfort of the duckbill is the 3M 9105 VFlex. It still has a larger silhouette than the Aura, but the duckbill look is less pronounced. "bi-fold" mask shapes like the BNX N95 can also put less pressure on your nose and allow more breathing room while keeping a slimmer profile.

you can also try something like the Readimask, a strapless mask that adheres to your face with medical adhesive (think like a band-aid). these can be a little more expensive, but you can order a free sample pack for sizing purposes (free plus shipping, mine was only $5 in the US) and see if it works for you.

if you feel that the humidity/moisture is more of an issue than your septum, you may also want to look into valved masks, but be warned: masks with an exhaust valve only protect the wearer, and not the people around you. reserve these only for situations where you will be one-way masking. particles cannot enter through the valve, but particles you exhale exit into the ambient air. however, if you are in a situation where you find you are the only person masking and everyone else is breathing unfiltered air anyway, a mask with an exhaust valve is fine. reusable elastomeric respirators often have exhaust valves, but there are disposable versions too, like the 3M Aura 9211+ above.

"mask nerd" Aaron Collins has a full demonstration and overview of many of these masks in his most recent video. He also discusses earloop masks if you prefer those:

you can also view AccuMed's Mask Testing Data and sort by lowest to highest breathability (lower numbers indicate the pressure drop = better breathing). This doesn't have every mask on the market (for instance, it's missing the VFlex), but it does have many common brands/models. Aaron Collins also made his own spreadsheet of over 200 masks he fit-tested himself.

i hope this gives you a launchpad to find something that works for you!

#masking #still coviding #covid #covid is airborne #covid is not over #anon #ask #long post

[verbenaa]

opus 4 (nothing compares to the sighs that fall from your lips)

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦:

“Have I mentioned how absolutely divine you look, darling?”

“Well, you did make the gown.” Your hand tangles in his hair, pressing him closer as you arch into him. He buries his face into your chest, kissing and licking at the skin bared to him above the low neckline.

“It’s quite easy when you have such a lovely muse.”

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: Astarion/Reader

𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: smut, 18+

𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 6.9k

𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: exhibitionism, frottage/thigh riding, clothed sex, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, vampire bites, blood, soft dom astarion, tailor astarion strikes again

𝑎/𝑛: if larian can't give us a masquerade, then i will! welcome to my current fixation which has been this masquerade ball fic. idk there is no rhyme or reason to this, its just fun and indulgent and glittery. i hope you enjoy and please like/comment/reblog etc ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

MDNI, 18+ CONTENT

ao3 here

masterlist

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

The chandeliers twinkle brightly from the cavernous ceiling above as you float across the polished ballroom floor, slippered feet moving swiftly as your dance partner twirls you around, an arm wrapped tight around your waist while the other grasps your hand as he leads you through the elegant steps of a waltz. 

Wine burns through your veins as it sings a siren’s song, the sanguine liquid slipping down your throat with ease this evening, the vintage aged to perfection. Melted wax drips from the tapers decorating the room, their flames no more than whirls of shining light as you spin around and around, gown fluttering with every elegant movement.

It wasn’t often you attended these sorts of events, despite the amount of invitations you’ve received over the years. Being the most recent hero of Baldur’s Gate had its occasional perks it would seem, and this ball was certainly one of them. 

It was the same routine every time. You would open the frequently ostentation envelopes, perfect calligraphy written with expensive pots of colored ink on the front and oversized wax seals in golds and reds and blues on the back. Inevitably, after a passing glance at whatever solicitation lay inside you would feed it to your hearth, letting the fire gobble it up as it burns to black.

This particular invitation, however, had caught your eye. The envelope itself was nothing of particular elegance, though the black of the envelope and silver lettering did stand out among the others in your post box that day. The matching silver wax seal on the back opened easily with a quick flick of your letter opener, and a singular word on the thick vellum piqued your interest in a way that few ever did on these inane things.

Masquerade.

You can easily recall the way the word made your heart jump, mind moving to the imagined scenarios of your younger years, the adventures of storybook heroines always featuring stories of flowing gowns and glittering masks.

Your own gown flows around your form as you dance the steps, soft fabric laying perfectly against your curves as braided straps of silk rest over your shoulders. The skirt flows down around a high slit up the thigh, velvet the color of the deepest ivy brushing against the marbled floors with every movement. 

The metallic threads glow in the candlelight, embroidered designs of liquid silver cascade in small clusters down the bodice and onto the skirt like little groups of stars falling from the sky. The low back of the dress leaves you uncharacteristically bare, almost everything above the line of your waist exposed, though the air is warm against your skin with all the bodies present this evening.

Your dance partner cuts a dashing figure, a vision of velvet and quicksilver in his own right. He looked made for the part—like some dark hero from a storybook come to life in front of your eyes.

Gods, he looked so handsome. 

Your cheeks flush as you watch him, following his lead as his hands tighten around you, that familiar knowing smirk decorating his elegant features even with the dark mask he wears obscuring the top half of his features, claret eyes framed with black and silver.

You pull yourself closer to Astarion, filling your senses with his familiar and comforting scent as he continues to lead you through the steps with sleek perfection, footsteps confident and head held high under his disguise.

The dance ends, orchestra moving on from the dreamy waltz you had just turned about to on the floor, a lilting concerto taking its place after a brief respite. Astarion leads you to the side of the dance floor, a hand poised on your waist as you walk to the fringes of the room. 

You touch his velvet-covered shoulder, the intricately embroidered doublet matching the color of your own gown to perfection, down the same argent threads. The two of you were certainly coordinated this evening, if nothing else.

It had taken little to convince Astarion to agree to join you, his own love for overdramatic and lavish debauchery too much to deny something like a masquerade ball. He had certainly wasted no time designing outfits for the two of you, spending extra moments throughout his evenings constructing and embroidering them until every detail was as perfect as he had envisioned.

“Astarion!” You whisper into a delicately pointed ear, an emerald earring glinting in the candlelight as you rest your hand on his bicep, leaning your weight into him. “Go get us more wine!”

“You absolute lush.” His smile is fond as he leans over to press a kiss to your forehead, careful not to disturb the delicate lace mask resting over your eyes, satiny ribbon tied behind your head in a pretty, perfect bow.

It was hard to deny his comment, especially when there was that delightful fuzziness that occupied your every sense, clouding everything in a wonderfully warm haze. You had easily lost track of the number of glasses you had imbibed over the evening, though you are fairly certain you simply misplaced some still half full goblets on the random trays of servers who wandered through the space.

Your thoughts swirl as he walks away from you in search of more spirits, his retreating figure a vision. He really was too handsome, dressed in his finery like this. Maybe you were wrong all these years to give your regrets to so many an occasion, if seeing Astarion dressed in the rich velvets and silks he deserved to wear was to be your prize.

A hand on your shoulder draws your attention, and you turn a moment later, reactions slowed by the alcohol still dancing in your veins. Behind you is a man, handsome enough—if only in a rather ordinary way—his warm brown eyes looking out at you from behind a mask of bright crimson as he gives you a friendly smile.

“I must ask how such a lovely gem such as yourself is simply wandering around alone on a night like this?” The words are meant to be suave and charming, though you ignore them, as uninterested in the man now standing before as you are in his words or the meaning behind them. Your eyes draw instead to a overflowing vase of flowers on a table behind him, a downright gaudy display of cultivated blooms bursting from an equally ostentatious vase.

“Do you happen to know what type of flowers those are behind you?” You point at them, not addressing the man’s prior words to you. He turns to look behind him with befuddlement, taking in the large arrangement with barely a blink of his eyes before he turns back, scanning up and down your velvet-clad figure.

“I’m afraid flowers aren’t my specialty.” His answer is short and no-nonsense, he was clearly a man uninspired and uncreative if that was the best he could come up with, the roll of your eyes mostly obscured by the lace covering your face.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting you before, may I ask your name?” He sidles ever a bit closer, and you take a measured step back in response as you cross your arms casually in front of you, head tilting to the side as you observe him.

“How could you know? We are masked, after all.”

“It would be my honor, my dear mysterious Lady, to have your next dance?” His words are polite, even with such blunt forwardness. 

You are saved from having to answer by an arm wrapping around your waist from behind, that wonderfully delicious scent of bergamot and brandy filling your senses with his presence.

The man across from you looks affronted at Astarion’s arrival, eyes falling to the arm wrapped tightly around your body and the angular face pressing against the crown of your head.

“Darling, won’t you introduce me to your new friend?”

“Oh! My love, you’ve returned!” Your smile is beatific as you turn towards him, eyes meeting his own you look for your promised goblet of wine.

“You never mentioned you were…partnered.” The man—what was his name again?—says before you two, a frown etched onto his features. 

“Well, you never asked. This is my—” Astarion cuts you off before you can finish.

“Husband.” There’s a prideful possessiveness to his words that strike your interest, though you fight the urge to roll your eyes all the same. You and Astarion may be life partners, but married you were not.

“Here you are, my sweet.” He holds the full goblet towards you as it dangles between his elegant fingers, wine threatening to spill from its silvered edges. “Now, let us continue our fête elsewhere, hm?”

You give the man a bored look before turning away, downing your wine quickly before moving to place the empty silver on the table behind him, the overlarge bouquet towering over you. Without a second glance, Astarion takes your hand in his, pressing a kiss to the back before stepping away with you into the crowd beyond.

He leads you to a secluded corner, the area obscured by the shadows of the lofty space. Astarion’s footsteps finally slow as you near the wall and he notices your raised brow, an expectant expression on your face.

“Married, Astarion? When exactly was our wedding day, just so I don’t forget the anniversary.” You speak wryly, an amused smile on your lips. “I’d hate to not get you a gift.” 

“Well, we may as well be married. Don’t you agree?” 

“I certainly don’t see a ring on my finger.” You make to look at your hand, a playful smile old your lips as you tease him. Astarion’s frown deepens, a look of childish petulance crosses his features, obvious even with the mask hiding his expressive eyebrows.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous that another man was simply talking to me?”

“Darling, I think he would have done more than simply talk to you if you’d let him,” He rolls his eyes, exhaling a huff as his hands come to rest above the swell of your hips, bracketing your waist with those talented, nimble fingers.

“Besides, he wasn’t talking, he was flirting with you.” You could swear he was pouting, amusement building with every passing minute as you bite your lip to hide your growing smile.

“I hadn’t noticed, honestly.” Your shrug is a touch too put on, the casualness of the action at odds with the finery you wear as the smile you try to hide escapes, painting your features with a certain cunning that Astarion knows all too well.

“Oh, I think you knew exactly what you were doing, darling, letting that man flirt with you.” Astarion’s hands on your velvet covered waist tighten as he walks you backward, not stopping until your back meets the intricately wainscoted wall, the two of you partially obscured by the heavy drapery of a nearby balcony.

“You’re far too smart, my sweet, to be so unaware.” The rest of ball swirls on obliviously around you both, dizzying in its opulence as music from the orchestra begins its climb to a rousing crescendo.

A coy smirk is the only answer you give him, the incline of your head daring him to continue as the lace covering your eyes only adds to your mystique tonight. The wine running through your veins turns your body hot, your confidence brimming with the help of the alcohol.

“And so what if I did, Astarion?” His ornate mask does little to hide the spark flaring to life in his crimson irises, thumbs tracing circles dangerously high on your ribcage as he steps closer into your space, the flowing skirt of your gown brushing against his own finery as he pushes close.

“Then I suppose you leave me no choice but to give you a little lesson, dearest.” 

One of the hands at your waist skates up, passing over your breast before brushing up the column of your neck, hand wrapping lightly around your throat as you lean your head up to look at him. His fingers brush over leftover scars from feedings past, and the sudden pressure on your throat has your body on high alert, heat licking at the bottom of your belly as you inhale a shaky breath.

Astarion’s mouth crashes down onto yours, stealing your breath as he kisses you with abandon. You answer his kiss with your own hunger, opening your lips to welcome his tongue. Your free hand comes up to brush against his chest, fingers tightening in the fabric to pull his body closer as your lips and tongue move against his own.

Your back is pressed hard against the wall behind you, the molded wood cool as Astarion crowds you, his chest pushed tight against your breasts. You widen your legs slightly and he quickly fills the space, a covered thigh coming to rest in between the slight spread of your own.

Astarion’s lips move to your jaw, your head tilting for him as the hand on your neck gives one last squeeze before brushing down your side until it finds your hip. The thigh between your legs presses in harder, and you thank the Gods that Astarion had the wherewithal to design a gown with such a high slit as you feel the fabric of his pants against your bare skin of your upper thigh.

The hand on your hip pushes you slightly forward and your covered center makes contact, the hard muscles of his leg rubbing deliciously against your core. You choke on a moan, and you can feel his smirk against your skin as his lips caress that spot behind your ear you love so much. 

“Do you think you can do it? Ride my thigh with all these people milling about?” His words are spoken low into your ear as your eyes fall shut at the tone of his voice, the devious lust that permeates every word sending a shiver through your body.

You bite your lip as you tug him closer, burying your face into his neck. You move your hips, starting with a slow movement, barely enough to provide any relief. But you feel it, all the same, cheeks flaming as you focus on Astarion and his leg, the alcohol drowning out the noise of the rest of the ball around you. 

What must you look like, you wonder, to anyone who happens to look on? You hope that the image of you together is only that of a pair of lovers embracing closely, too lost in their own world to care about anything else.

You can feel your wetness growing with every pass over his thigh as your hips undulate in soft motions, Astarion’s body pressed as close as possible to your own, shielding you with his form as much as he can from your place in the shadows. 

The feeling is wonderful, enticing in such a public arena, but it is far from enough. Your arousal grows, the dampness seeping through your underwear and onto the dark velvet of his pants as his cock twitches against you, his length hard as it strains against the fabric.

You feel his hand come down from your waist to brush against the slit where it falls against your thigh, his fingers tracing up and down your skin in teasing passes.

Those fingers slide inside the skirt of your gown, grazing the outside of your thigh as they make their way towards your ass. Your skin is hot where his cool fingers touch, a blazing line of heat marking every movement they make as he caresses the flesh barely hidden by your underwear.

“How wet are you, darling?” His words are sinful as he whispers them in your ear, hand easing under the line of your panties to rub against your bottom, his fingers creeping ever closer to the place where your aching cunt connects with his leg. 

“Astarion,” You whine in his ear, hand gripping the collar of his doublet. “Please.”

You don’t even know what you are begging for, but as Astarion’s fingers finally find your wetness you are unable to conceal the moan that falls from your lips. His fingers move, just enough to gather evidence of your arousal on his fingertips. 

“Oh, you sweet thing. You like this, don’t you?” You can hear the smirk in his voice as his hand trails away from the center of you, brushing back past your underwear and out of your gown. He brings the fingertips up to press against his lips, tongue sneaking out to lick at the slight sheen that coats them. 

Your mouth goes dry at the sight, your breathing hard as your eyes trace his features.

Astarion’s hand covers your own where it grips at his collar as his other adjusts himself in his pants, hiding his erection as best he can from sight. He pulls away from you, helping you adjust your dress with quick fingers. Your eyes catch upon the sight of your arousal on his pants, catching the light as he turns. You cheeks burn at the sight, your swallow audible.

“Follow me, love.” You don’t question him on where he is heading as he makes a line for the closest set of ballroom doors, pace quick as he weaves the both of you through the sea of bodies that make up the cities’ finest members of society. 

“Are we going home?” You whisper quietly as you follow, unsure if you were ready to commit the incandescent aura of the evening to memory alone quite yet.

It had taken hours to get ready, time spent bathing together before pampering each other—applying scented oils on skin and through hair, Astarion helping you pin your hair into its complicated updo this evening taking almost an hour alone, his fingers applying the rouge to your cheeks and lips with care as he admired your features with the utmost affection. No, you certainly weren’t ready to leave quite yet.

“It would be a shame to end the evening so early, don’t you think?” Relief and joy spills through you in equal measure at his words, eager to continue tonight’s festivities, whatever they may be.

You walk through the main hall, hand in hand with Astarion, the wine still buzzing in your head as he draws you up the large, elegant staircase of swirling marble. Your presence goes unnoticed as you pass others dressed in their own finery, shimmers of glitters and gems, silks and tulles flowing past as you climb step after step.

You make it up the rise of the large staircase, skirt twirling as you spin around momentarily to take in the scene of the party now beneath you. Its a world of luster that takes your breath away, everything filtered with the heady glow from the candelabras and wine flowing aplenty. 

With a tug on your hand, Astarion leads you away from the center of the room, breaking off to go down a smaller corridor to the side before cutting aside on one or two more until you are isolated, the noise of the orchestra below now faraway and faint.

The hallway feels hushed and hidden away, safe from the prying eyes of society as the candlelight sconces adorning the walls flicker, dancing fragment of light illuminating the narrow corridor. Astarion walks you back with hands on your waist until you feel the half-paneled wall against your uncovered back, the wallpaper ornate with scrolling vines and berries, vibrant reds and greens contrasting against the darkness of your gown. 

Astarion’s head bends to your chest, pressing a tender kiss onto the swell of your breast, over the place your heart beats in three-quarter time.

“Have I mentioned how absolutely divine you look, darling?” 

“Well, you did make the gown.” Your hand tangles in his hair, pressing him closer to your breasts as you arch into him. He buries his face into your chest, kissing and licking at the skin bared to him above the low neckline.

“It’s quite easy when you have such a lovely muse.” His nose nuzzles at the flesh of your breast, breathing in your scent as he groans against you, pressing his hips against your own so you can feel the evidence of his prominent erection.

Astarion bites down into the flesh of your breast that rises above your gown without warning, fangs piercing the tender skin that heaves with your breath as he drinks in the sweetness of your blood. It flows thick in brightly colored streams, a surprised moan ripping from your lips at the sudden action.

He sucks from the swell above your gown, blood dripping to stain the bodice as he licks and tastes the rich claret of you made all the sweeter from the wine, his hand drawing down your belly before dipping lower. 

He finds that slit on your thigh, hand working its way underneath before moving to cup around your wetness as you cover your mouth with your hand, hiding your moans behind a palm as your eyes flutter shut.

Astarion moans at the dampness he finds there, fingers quick to push aside the gusset of your underwear to run his fingers through your slick folds, collecting your arousal on his fingertips, spreading your wetness up and down the expanse of your center. You can feel his erection pressing against you, still hidden by his pants as he relishes your body’s reaction to his actions, lips still licking and sucking at the skin of your breast.

The fingers at your core move to rub your clit, the light pressure a relief as you bite your bottom lip to keep quiet, eyes glancing to the side quickly before closing once more to indulge in the feeling, his mouth not letting up as he savors your lifeblood.

“Astarion, what if someone sees us?” Nerves make their way into your soft voice, barely a whisper as your body tenses slightly with unease at the prospect of being seen by another. Astarion’s head lifts away from your breast, fangs leaving twin pinpricks on your chest, blood pulsing from the wounds in time with your heart as his eyes draw up to your own.

“No one will recognize us, my dear.” A finger circles your entrance, and your knees threaten to buckle under the pleasure. “Though we can stop if you want to.”

You hesitate and Astarion’s fingers pause to give you time to think, his mouth still drinking from the blood leaking from your breast, tongue licking at any stray drops.

“No,” You shake your head, needing little time to ruminate on the decision. “Please, don’t stop.” You let the desperation you feel run into your hushed voice as you give him your consent to continue, your hands in his hair brushing through the strands as you buck your hips into his hand.

“Thank the Gods.” His finger pushes in, working its way into you with sinfully slow movements, your head hitting the wall behind you as you let out a hiss at the feeling. You can hear your wetness as his finger dives deep, the sound of it obscene in the otherwise silent hallway.

“Gods, you’re so wet,” He kisses against your collar bone, nuzzling into the skin there as he breathes in your scent. “Who knew you were such an exhibitionist? Absolutely filthy of you, sweetheart.”

You whine at his words, Astarion coaxing more quiet moans from your lips as his finger pumps deep inside you. His free hand trails up to your shoulder, pushing off the delicate strap of your gown before moving down to pull at your bodice. 

Taking care not to rip the velvet, Astarion succeeds in freeing the breast he had fed on, hand coming up to weigh it in a palm as his mouth licks at the exposed nipple. 

He sucks on the hardened peak as his finger pulls out of you only to be joined by a second a moment later, the stretch barely noticeable with your wetness aiding his smooth thrusts in and out of your cunt.

His fingers curl against your walls as his tongue licks at your nipple, laving the peak as he finds that special place, deep inside your body and presses into it.

He’s relentless as his mouth works your breast and his beautiful fingers fuck you, his other hand squeezing the breast still covered, fingers working underneath the fabric to brush at the nipple.

It would be so easy to come like this, a fact Astarion does not miss as he can feel your body’s reaction, the telltale tension building inside you. Slowly his fingers leave your heat, brushing up against your clit with slippery motions as you whimper at the loss of them. He presses one last kiss to the tip of your breast, still wet with his lingering saliva, before he lowers to his knees in front of you.

“Astarion, what are you doing?” Your words are breathless as your hands run through his hair, the mask on his face slightly askew.

“I still seem to be a bit peckish still, though for a slightly different taste.” Warmth rushes to your cheeks as they flush, the alcohol still floating through your body painting everything in that same warm haze that has surrounded you through the night.

Astarion’s hands glide up your legs, brushing over soft thighs as he grabs at either side of the underwear where it rests low across your hips. His eyes flick up to yours as he pulls it down, guiding the thin, lacy fabric down your legs. He’s unhurried, clearly not worried about being caught or seen as he takes his time while his eyes never leave yours. He steadies you as you step out of the panties, pocketing the damp lace with a roguish smirk and raise of his brows.

His hand wraps around your thigh, pushing it up and pinning it against the wallpaper as he holds you open to his gaze. Your pussy is absolutely dripping for him, the sight of his otherworldly beauty as he stares at the center of you, open for him, takes the breath from your lungs.

There would be no mistaking what was happening if someone were to come upon you now—Astarion kneeling before you, supplicant, as he bares you to himself—unmistakable to anyone gifted with eyesight.

Astarion leans in to press a kiss to the thigh he has pinned, lips moving across the smooth skin with the lightest of touches before skipping over your weeping core to kiss the opposite thigh. You whine at the blatant misdirection of his mouth, hips bucking in indignation with as much motion as you can manage.

“Oh, I’m sorry—did you want something, darling?” He moves his face away from your body to shoot a look upwards, his features smug as he sees the abject desire in your gaze tempering the glare you shoot down at him.

“I thought you were still hungry, dearest.” You keep your words sweet, not letting the aching want you feel bleed into your voice as your eyes narrow. 

“Patience, sweet thing. I’m sure I’ve taught you about it once or twice before, have I not?” His head dips forward once more, breathing in the scent of your essence with a performative sigh. “Now, ask nicely. And do use your words and tell me what you want.”

“Astarion!” You start, exasperation building as you contemplate the words to say to appease him. He could be so demanding at times like this, a trait you found yourself caught between loving and hating in equal measure, though ‘loving’ did usually win out in the end.

You briefly debate making him wait for your words, watching his own impatience grow as you play coy, but this certainly isn’t the time or place for what could be a long, drawn out battle of wills on who would break first.

“Fine. Pretty please, Astarion, will you do me the honor of licking my cunt until I come? Preferably before we get caught?” Your frustration mounts as you say the words though you find the strength to keep your tone as breezy and unaffected as his own, despite the slight embarrassment beginning to creep in as the elusive power of the wine fades ever so slowly with every minute that passes.

Astarion grants you your wish with a wide, feline smile, licking a stripe up the center of you, his tongue running through your folds before brushing lightly against your clit as he savors the taste of you.

“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

His tongue laps at your folds, taking his time to move up and down in languid strokes, never focusing on any one place. It’s a maddening feeling, a whine slipping from your throat as your hips roll, asking for more.

His tongue dips into your entrance, whorling around the opening as he tastes you, his moan against your cunt matching the one that leaves your mouth. Your hands tighten in his hair, hips writhing as his tongue thrusts inside you.

Astarion is eager to taste your essence, tongue flicking deep in your waiting wetness as hushed cries fall from your lips with every brush against your walls. You could sob from the feeling of the lightning hot pleasure that works through your body in time with every push of his tongue. He eats you out like a man starved, his mouth moving against your entrance as he works to plunge you closer towards ecstasy.

His motions are fast-paced, quicker than normal as he works to bring you to your peak, and you whine once more when he tongue leaves to lave at your folds instead. Two fingers are quick to replace his tongue inside you as he circles your clit instead, flicking the pearl simultaneously with perfectly timed thrusts of his fingers, curling up into that special spot.

“You really are so good when you set your mind to it, love.”

Your pleasure ratchets higher, a tremor running through your body as the leg supporting you grows weak with your impending orgasm, muscles in your thigh shaking slightly.

“Astarion, please don’t stop,” Your begging only serves to spur him on, tongue moving faster and his fingers curling faster with a repetitive motion that has your body tightening around him.

“That’s it, darling, come for me.” Astarion’s words are reverent, and you embrace them as you hurtle over the edge, euphoria rushing through your body, the feeling enhanced by the leftover wine as your fingers grip tight in his hair.

You come on his fingers and tongue, Astarion working you through the waves of your completion as they flow through your body, your cunt spasming tight as his tongue doesn’t stop licking at your clit. You bite the flesh of your lip, the delicate skin splitting under your teeth as you keep the sounds of your orgasm at bay, tiny dots of red spilling over your lips.

You uncurl your fingers from his hair, smoothing out the curls as your breathing evens out and your orgasm leaves you in a sense of pleasant euphoria. Astarion presses soft kisses against the skin of your inner thigh as his fingers finally slow inside of you before pulling out. He places one last kiss to your entrance, licking up the remnants of your come before he leans back and places your leg back down onto the ground.

He rises from the floor with a graceful motion, hands skating up your curves as his mouth crashes against your own. You can taste yourself on his lips and tongue as he kisses you, the flavor of your own blood and come dizzying. 

Astarion licks at the blood on your lip, sucking on the mark as it bleeds. You open your mouth to him, his tongue tangling with your own as he deepens the kiss. Your hands work in a frenzy with his own to loosen his pants, the button finally coming free in your rush to free his cock from the confines of his clothing.

Astarion pulls his hardness from his underwear and you pump him, the velvety feel of his shaft warmer than normal as your blood courses through his veins. He moans into your mouth, hips pressing closer to you as you work his cock up and down, his precome shining in the light of the sconces as you spread the fluid on the heat of him.

His hands move down from your hips, brushing over your bottom as he grasps under the curve of your rear, squeezing.

“Up.” You are quick to obey, eager to feel him inside you as you jump up, Astarion catching you as his hips pin you in place against the wall, his hands supporting your weight in a tight hold against your ass. 

The half paneling of the wall presses into your back as you push your dress out of the way, the skirt easily parting around the slit as you guide his cock to your waiting cunt, still wet with your come. Astarion stares at your mouth as you lick at the precome that coats your fingers, pupils blown wide as you take a finger into your mouth and suck.

“Like the taste, darling?” Astarion’s erection finds your entrance, your wetness coating the crown of his cock as he bucks in shallowly, the head barely pressing inside you.

“Always. I think I’d like to have a little more.” Your arms wrap around his neck as you roll your hips against his cock, taking him slightly deeper inside your waiting warmth as you lick at his lips.

Astarion lets out a low growl as he pushes inside you in a single thrust, gliding home as hips meet your own. You both moan at the feeling of him inside you, the satisfaction of Astarion finally filling you euphoric as you wrap your legs around his waist. 

“Did you design this dress thinking about how you would fuck me in it?” Astarion sets a steady pace as he moves his hips, your own meeting his thrusts as best as you can with such a limited range of motion.

“Of course I did,” He licks at the blood drying on your lip. “I thought about how beautiful you would look coming on my cock wearing it, too.” 

He pumps his cock harder, hips rutting against your own as your arms around his neck tighten, bringing him ever closer to you. Your lips meet once more, pressing against one another’s to silence the noises of pleasure breaking from your throats with every thrust. 

“No one can make you come like I can, can they?.” His words come on an quiet exhale of exertion, tinged with the smallest bit os what sounds like possession, his lips brushing against your own with each syllable that leaves his mouth.

“Don’t tell me you’re still jealous, Astarion?” You can still feel the leftover fog from your orgasm, hands playing the hair at the nape of his neck, the strands soft against your fingers as you try catch your breath in vain, every thrust of his cock making it harder and harder to breathe.

“I want to hear you to say it.” The hands on your ass squeeze, cock hammering harder into your center. “Say: ‘No one can fuck me like you’.”

There’s a familiarity to the veiled desperation in voice, though its been years since you’ve heard it. You would know the sound of it anywhere, the cadence of his longing to be wanted and loved and cared for burned into your mind for eternity, settling there like a haze over your vision.

Your heart grows tender at his words, and you hold onto him tighter, pressing a kiss to his lips before giving him the words you know he needs to hear from your rouged lips.

“No one can make me come like you,” A kiss to the tip of his nose where his face rests close to your own. 

“No one can fuck me like you,” A kiss to one cheek, then the other. 

“There is no one for me but you, Astarion. Only you.” Finally, his lips—your love and passion pouring out onto him with the simple press of your lips against his, a hand coming to brush his cheek.

“Gods, I love you.” His thrusts grow sloppy as he grips your hips harder, mouth falling open against your own as his pleasure builds.

“I love you too.” You lips part with the tilt of your head backwards as Astarion hits a particularly deep place inside you, fingers curling hard into the fabric covering his shoulders. He thrusts faster, making sure to hit against the same spot on every push forward.

Astarion’s hand sneaks from behind you to press against your clit, rubbing quick circles as his thrusts grow frenzied, losing their rhythm as he chases his impending high, intent to bring you with him over the edge.

“Will you come inside me? I want to feel you.” You press a kiss onto the shell of his ears as you whisper the words, your tongue darting out to tease at the sensitive skin of the elegant point.

“Is that what you want, darling? My come?” His hips stutter at your words spoken so intimately as you clutch at him, the warmth of your cunt drawing him closer and closer to his peak.

“Gods, yes. Please!” You aren’t afraid to beg as his fingers strum fast on your clit as his thrusts hit deep, your vision clouding over as another orgasm nears.

“Then take it, love.” Astarion buries his face into your neck as he comes, hot spurts of his spend spilling deep inside your body as you ride him through his completion. The feeling of him coming is exhilarating, and his fingers don’t stop until you crest over with him, the contractions of your cunt drawing him in tight as you take all you can of him as he hides his moans into your skin.

You roll your hips on his still hard cock as you work yourself through your orgasm, Astarion still pumping his own shallowly inside you as he comes down, breath hot against your neck. 

Slowly, the world settles back down, both you coming back to yourselves from where you stand against the wall, breathing slowing. 

Astarion’s cock is soft as he pulls from you, his come sliding out with it to make a mess onto your thighs. Astarion watches as his come collects at your entrance, the fingers on your clit moving downwards to push it back inside you with a gentle motion.

“Waste not, want not, my love.” Astarion’s finger curls one last time to press against your walls as you squirm, your body overly sensitive in the aftermath of your orgasm.

He presses a kiss to your forehead before removing his finger, moving his hands to help you stand back on the floor with steady feet. 

He pulls your panties out of his pocket, bending down onto a knee as he helps you back into them, gently lifting one ankle after the other as you still catch your breath, before he raises the ruined lace back up your legs.

He adjusts the skirt of your gown, making sure the velvet falls perfectly before he presses a soft kiss to your covered stomach. He rises, fingers tracing your form as he does, dragging the long forgotten silk shoulder strap back where it belongs as you work your breast back into the bodice.

“Astarion.” You touch at his cheek, capturing his attention as he looks back at you. His gaze is clear as his eyes meet your own, the beautiful crimson red of them soft as he searches your face.

“You really are the only one, Astarion. You are the only one I will ever love, until my dying breath. There will never be anyone else.” You watch as your words settle over him like a balm, the love you feel radiating into him as he accepts them into his own heart.

His features soften even as he scoffs at your words, his hand coming up to cover your own on his face despite himself.

“Oh, I know. Maybe I just wanted to hear you say it.” You let him lie, willing to let him keep this facade in tact.

“I’ll say it as many times as you wish.” Astarion’s hand takes your own where it rests on his face, pressing a kiss into the palm before lowering your joined hands.

“I’ll be sure to let you know, darling.” Astarion adjusts his own finery, settling the velvet back to rights as his eyes draw to the bodice of your ruined gown.

“Did you account for potential bloodshed when you designed the dress too?” You remark as you eyes follow his own line of sight, looking down at the blood staining the velvet dark with wet, sticky blotches. 

“Let’s just be thankful that blood and wine look similar.” 

“Nothing we can do about that bite mark though.” You sigh as you attempt to pull up the neckline slightly higher to no avail.

“Everyone will simply have to be left to wonder, then, won’t they?” Astarion bends down to press a fluttering kiss over the marks decorating your chest, squeezing your hand.

“Think you have another dance in you?” You squeeze at his hand back in response.

“I suppose we still have a few more hours before sunrise to wile away.” Astarion walks, gently pulling you after him as the pair of you make your way back to the glittering ballroom below. “Let’s go have some more fun.”

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x f!reader #astarion x f!tav #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion x female tav #my writing #love u all thanks for reading kisses

[senualothbrok]

I was Inspired by that lovely fanart of waking up next to Gale, so...

Gale might have told you that waking up next to you was the most unreal part of your adventures--particularly that morning, after he'd defied a goddess and you all defied the odds and came out, alive and un-ceremorphosed, on the other side. You wonder, though, if the sense of unreality and awe that sweeps over you when you wake up first and watch him sleep isn't just as potent.

You're both more than a bit wrecked from your lovemaking the previous night. Gale's hair is a glorious, disordered mess on the pillow, a sloppy tapestry of darker brown, bronze, and silver. That ever-animated face and body are, for once, at peace--you've worn him out so thoroughly, you think with more than a little smugness, he can't even murmur or twitch his way through dreams. The bare chest you'd so adoringly marked with your teeth and fingers rises and falls, a drowsy metronome whose pulse you follow as your gaze wanders down his belly, the dip of his flank, to where a sleepy hand had pushed the covers down to his hip. That ever-present hunger in your belly stirs, a prompting to push those covers down or slide a hand underneath them, but it's at best a suggestion; for once, you might be sated, just drinking your fill of him lying here like this.

He has one hand tucked underneath his head, an oddly shy and childlike thing; the other rests on the mattress between you. Like the rest of him it's quiescent, elegant fingers resting like a benediction on the sheets. A few fine hairs dust the back of it, not enough to hide the sculpture of bone and tendon underneath, a work of art you never tire of appreciating.

The air around you is sleepy and slow, and through the tower window you can hear the sea's endless murmur Gale sighs softly and stirs, that hand reaching for you--it's so easy, so easy, to slide your fingers into his, to smile as he settles and shifts a little closer. You could lie here for the rest of the morning, the rest of the day, cloaked in peace.

What, you think, is eternity, compared to this?

Hello friend! Thank you so much for this, and sorry it has taken me so long... This was such a beautiful scene, and it was so lovely and warm thinking about it. ***

His eyelids flutter, dancing towards wakefulness. His eyes open slowly, a brown-bronze river which sways then stills. You gaze at each other, cocooned in silent contentment, echoing each other’s breaths. Your thumb circles the back of his hand like a rosary bead. His drowsy lips curl.

“Are you enjoying the view?”

You laugh, a husky rasp, your throat still recovering from last night’s exertions. “Always.”

He hums as you trace the curves of his temple, the cut of his cheek, the nook of his collarbone.

“It’s quite flattering, to be admired by someone whose beauty so dwarfs your own.”

His free hand cups the indent of your hip, warm and heavy. Claiming you as his.  

You huff a little. “It isn’t a competition.”  You nibble at his shoulder, savouring the bristle of his beard against your skin. “Besides, there’s perfection in imperfection.”

“Oh?” A flare of mischief in his languid features. “What imperfections in me are you referring to?”

You tickle his nose with yours. Even after all this time, his breath still catches when you draw near. Your lips seek his, a flurry of affection you cannot control, the sting of his morning breath reminding you that this is not a dream. He is reluctant, groaning faintly as you draw back. You weave lazily through his ruffled fringe.

“These.” You linger on the silver streaks that flicker across his earth brown waves. “I love these.”

“Do you?” His eyes beam, but shadows lurk beneath. Gale has always been confident in his appearance, but he is not immune to fears of aging.

“I do. I always have.”

Your fingers follow the tousled strands that tumble onto his forehead, chiselling the deep lines that accent his brow. You marvel at every groove, every trace of Gale’s tireless thoughts, bearing the weight of his wisdom. Marks of his sincerity. Those most priceless of treasures.

“And these,” you whisper. “These might be my favourite.”

His gaze is an embrace, but there is a grimace in his smile.

“You might be the only fan of those.”

Your heart is like the tide as you gather his face in your hands. It swells as you plant a kiss between his eyebrows, firm and fervent. His eyelashes tingle against your cheek as he sighs and pulls you against him.

“I love everything about you,” you breathe, before you melt into each other.

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #drabble tennis

[theprettyarachnid]

being sukuna’s slave

a/n: i’m sure it’s been done a zillion times but i thought of the idea and i wanna write it

warnings: semi-nsfw

character(s): sukuna

🕷️ sukuna treats you more as a pet unlike his other slaves

🕷️ he just blamed it on the fact that you were attractive and easy to manipulate

🕷️ he’s very controlling and overprotective, he doesn’t trust others to be around you when he isn’t there

🕷️ you’ve snuck off a few times to be around other people and curses (who are bound to him in some way) without sukuna’s red eyes watching your every move

🕷️ eventually sukuna caught you and dragged you off, holding your arm too tight to the point where you were begging him to let go, while berating you

🕷️ you noticed that you didn’t see the person and curse you were talking to anymore

🕷️ sukuna’s punishments are cruel and unusual and always humiliating to some degree

🕷️ the punishments range from standing naked in his room and trying not to move a muscle while he inspects and touches you in various ways to being locked in his room forced to wear nothing but your underwear with your hands bound behind your back

🕷️ he always places you right on his lap while he’s sitting on his throne

🕷️ sukuna has made a habit of twirling your hair while you sit on his lap while you’ve made the habit of looking over his hands, tracing scars and veins

🕷️ he didn’t like it at first and would swat your hand away, sometimes making you cry when he hit you too hard, but he eventually got quite fond of you and your little habit

🕷️ more so you than anything else

🕷️ sometimes checks on you while you’re sleeping on his gigantic mattress somehow rolled up in half the blanket

🕷️ the few things he does make you do are very  intimate such as bathing him

🕷️ sukuna has a gigantic bath tub and has you and only you bathe him

🕷️ he makes you get it ready, making sure it’s a good temperature before he gets in while he just sits and watches you in only a robe

🕷️ he laughs every time he takes his robe off seeing you look down at the floor with your face burning red

🕷️ when you look back up, he leans his head back and gives you a sly smile

🕷️ sukuna’s favourite part is when you wash his hair because your hands feel so soft compared to his and you’re so gentle that sometimes he can’t stop himself from closing his eyes

🕷️ you definitely notice this because every time you bathe him, your voice gets a little softer because these are one of the few times he looks something close to content, almost human

🕷️ there have been a few occasions where he’s made you get in the tub with him and sit between his legs watching you focus only on washing his chest

🕷️ sukuna likes stroking your cheek or moves any stray hairs that are covering your face

🕷️ it’s one of the only times he can be actually gentle towards you

🕷️ another one of your chores is to massage any and all knots in his shoulders after you both leave the bath

🕷️ he sits on one his floor cushions while you either sit on a chair or the bed and get to work

🕷️ sukuna usually takes this time to complain to you about the other servants or anything that isn’t particularly going his way

🕷️ you usually only reply with quiet hums as to not cut him off

🕷️ when you’re finished, he turns around and gives you a real kiss for the first time

🕷️ sukuna’s given you kisses on the hands or shoulders but never kissed you on the lips

🕷️ gets a little offended and gives you a look when you don’t kiss him back which you promptly do

🕷️ “that’s better”

#jjk x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #ryomen sukuna #ryoumen sukuna x reader #sukuna jjk #sukuna fluff #fanfiction #sukuna x reader #x reader #fluff #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #this is kinda bad i’m sorry

[grison-in-space]

man I've been listening to Guards! Guards! again, right. I was going to do Feet of Clay again but I wanted so badly to spend some time with Lady Sybil in her element, so I detoured over to the beginning. (Incidentally, Making-Money!Vetinari up against Guards!-Guards!Vetinari is one hell of a contrast. One gets the sincere impression that older Vetinari would wipe the floor with his younger self if they ever met, and then be painfully embarrassed afterward; and yet you can see the potential among the arrogance. I wrote this bit before I wrote a longer piece about that exchange, but I'll get round to linking it in here in a moment.)

But I wanted to discuss Sybil.

The first thing you have to understand about Sybil is that she is an archetype of a certain kind of autistic person, usually a woman (or a queer man). You find them in every kind of domestic animal fancy, although Sybil is of the class and rank that generally focuses on relatively large, expensive, and impractical animals; the dragon fancy is mostly based on the dog fancy, with strong influence from horse fancies and sometimes cat or falconry fancies. It is not a coincidence that Sybil is unmarried and that most of her time is spent with other women, often middle class or upper class women, who share her all consuming interest in dragons; this has been a really common social circle for autistics, especially autistic women with independent money, into a given animal fancy since the cultural concept of animal fancies existed.

The second thing you have to understand about Sybil is that she is not at all a conventionally attractive woman. Here are the things we learn about her as Vimes does, in order: she has inherited wealth and status that she does not particularly care about; she is large--taller than Vimes himself, or at least tall enough to loom over him--and "booms" confidently and incomprehensibly at him; and even after she takes off the heavy protective armor useful for conducting a dragon mating, she's tall and fat and (implied to be) heavily muscled under the fat. Her figure is compared to the Venus of Willendork, or perhaps an operatic Valkyrie, and she wears wigs because she is generally fairly bald, or at least singed. She's loud by nature. She wanders around with a dragon on her shoulder creating awful smells and occasionally dribbling.

God, I love her. Speaking as another erstwhile animal fancy autistic, she's really living the dream there. And this little Watch man shows up in her life, totally fails to understand what she's asking for when she tries to conscript him into the easy job for the breeding she's trying to facilitate, and then sits and asks her a bunch of pointed questions about her beloved dragons. He's weird in his own way and a little drunk, and he really is unfortunate enough not to have any dragons experience at all, but he sits down and he asks her questions and he listens to everything she can infodump at her with, as far as I can tell, rapt fascination.

This is not an experience Sybil Ramkin has frequently had. He doesn't try to escape or change the subject or draw her back to the pieces he cares about even a little bit. He's clearly dazed and confused and probably, knowing Vimes, a little bit drunk, but he's not even visibly discomfited enough to shove poor old Dewdrop Maybelline Talonthrust the First out of his lap. Sybil clearly knows that most people don't appreciate being drooled acid on, and tells Vimes repeatedly that he can shove the old man off, but he makes no effort to do so at any point. Given that dragons are described as having a quite pervasive smell, and given all the other details of their biology, I can't even begin to imagine how awful the old dragon must smell... and Vimes just sort of rolls with it.

(It's a pity Pterry didn't understand show names at all, of course; the ones we get should tell us something about the relationships among dragons and kennels, and the prefixes should be repeated, and whatever Sybil's own kennel name is should be present in many of the dragons she mentions. Probably it's either Talonthrust or Moonmist, but either way Goodboy Bindle Featherstone of Quirm is named entirely wrong. He's clearly of her own breeding, so he should have a kennel prefix or suffix that aligns with hers, not a name that has nothing in common with her other dragons and implies that his dam was bred by the duchess of Quirm rather than by Sybil herself.)

He listens and he listens and he asks questions and he goes down to the kennels to look at her pride and joy and listen to her explaining what makes each of them so nice. And then he brings her an incredibly exciting present. And he expresses interest in the sweet little whittle she's been trying to work out what to do with, who is totally not a breeding specimen but is too weird even for the sort of people who adopt dragons from the Sunshine Sanctuary. He doesn't even try to leave until the big dragon overhead causes a big stir, and then when she has him taken to her house to recover, she finds him reading her book about diseases of the dragons with every evidence of fascination.

Small wonder she takes notice of him, really.

#discworld #sybil ramkins #sybil

[forgeofthenine]

Hi, I love your blog ♥️

I was hoping to get some headcanons for Zevlor and the others, for when their non-tiefling partner tells them that it's not that difficult to read tail language because they've had cats for most of their lives and tieflings are similar enough.

Since we're already likening Zevlor to a wet cat, might as well go all the way. Tell him to his face that he's just a grown up catboy >:3

I honestly cackled at the last line of this ask, this entire thing was a pleasure to write and I hope you enjoy!

The bachelors when you compare them to cats

Dammon

You'd known Dammon for a while now, learning the blacksmiths little quirks and attributes

One think you'd picked up on a while ago was the way his tail moves

Your eyes were often drawn to the way it would wag and curl in your presence, how it never quite seemed to stay still

It was only when you'd been giving a stray cat hanging around Dammons forge a scratch that you'd connected the dots

The blacksmith definitely wasn't expecting you to understand what his tail language means the next time he sees you

Having your partner matter of factly point out your excited tail wags is enough to fluster even the most self assured tiefling

When you compare him to a cat he gets even more flustered, letting out a light laugh as he asks you to be a bit more specific

Honestly, Dammon kind of likes the comparison despite being more of a dog person

He'll join in on making jokes about Tieflings being half cat, or saying that he's secretly a cat in a tiefling suit

Dammon is very chill about the whole thing and definitely appreciates having a non tiefling partner that can read his body language

Zevlor

Zevlor has a habit of dragging his tail when he's tired or upset while in the privacy of your shared home

He gives big sad cat energy a lot when he's recovering from his time on the road

It definitely helps you to know when he needs a bit of extra care and affection, being able to read his mood through his tail

Seeing the way it sways slowly when he sees you despite how it was layed on the ground originally

After some time, Zevlor starts to wonder how you always seem to know when he's in a bad mood

Sometimes you know even before he does

When he asks, the last thing he expected you to say was that he acts like a sad cat whenever he's upset

Zevlor is quite literally speechless at that, you can even see the cogs turning in his brain

He'll be confused by the idea but it doesn't change how he moves his tail is when you're around

Every time you liken him to a wet cat it's like trying to explain an internet phenomenon to your out of touch grandad

The way Zevlor is always so adorably confused and accepting of it as a compliment is definitely a sight to see

Rolan

This ever proud wizard is definitely an easy one to read, even if you aren't used to cats

His tail lashes behind him when he's annoyed, it curls in on itself when you praise him for his magical ability, it sways lightly when you enter the room

Bringing up his similarities to cats is something that just happens naturally

The two of you are reading in his study when he drops something and lashes his tail in annoyance

When you mention his annoyed tail language he assumes it's his siblings who explained it to you

He's halfway through cursing Cal and Lia under his breath when you say he's actually acting like a cat

It's enough to completely stop him in his tracks, furrowed brow as he considers your words

Rolans much too proud to let himself be compared to a cat without complaint, and bringing it up is an easy way to get under the wizards skin

His tail flicks around behind him and his face glows an even brighter red

Even better, get Cal and Lia in on the joke!

Make Rolan regret ever introducing you to his siblings, trust me, it'll be really funny

#bri answers #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 x reader #bg3 x reader #baldurs gate 3 dammon #bg3 dammon #dammon x reader #baldurs gate 3 zevlor #bg3 zevlor #zevlor x reader #baldurs gate 3 rolan #bg3 rolan #rolan x reader

[doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou]

Time For Myself

> lady lesso x fem!reader x larissa weems

> requested? yes!

> content/warnings: R just needs time for herself but her girlfriends don't know that

> a/n: i got really weirded out at writing this at first but it kinda grew on me 🤷🏻‍♀️

request prompt: would you write Larissa x reader x Lesso?? Cause there's only one thing better than having a principle girlfriend, and it's having TWO principle/dean girlfriends jfbcjdbx

Teleporting to Nevermore and the School of Evil has always been easy with your powers. Sure, you could teleport anywhere at any time you would like, but that doesn't mean that it wouldn't take a toll on you.

So, deciding to leave your partners for a day, you went back to your village and treated yourself to a needed self-care day. Though the only flaw in your plan was that you didn't tell any of them where you would be going or why you decided not to answer letters or your phone for the day, leaving them on their own for a day certainly drove them mad.

With Lesso in another realm, her technology skills were still amiss, compared to Larissa, who could actually call you whenever she would like to. This led Lesso to feel quite useless in your relationship, noting that without you, her communication with Larissa would cease to exist. Thus making you the glue in your complex relationship.

“It’s a weekend, Clarissa! I assure you, my students know how to act normally and not kill anyone in their sight for two days!” Lesso shook the hold that Dovey had on her arm. She would need to travel now to arrive at Nevemore with the sun still out, or she would have to stay at an inn and possibly embarrass herself by paying with gold rather than the currency there.

“That is not what I’m concerned about, Leonora!” Dovey raised her hands in exasperation and rolled her eyes.

"Oh, please, do not pretend to care about my being. I am simply going to visit my partners.” Lesso sighed as she brushed her coat. Once Lesso was sure that Dovey would stay quiet, she took the scissors out of her pocket and cut through the air. Casting her gaze one final time upon her counterpart, Lesso took a deep breath, steeling herself for what lay ahead. She stepped forward, her figure disappearing into the portal. As she vanished, the portal crackled and hissed before finally shrinking into nothingness.

Similarly to Lesso’s predicament, Larissa had taken it upon herself to finish her paperwork, pace back and forth within the confines of her office, and repeatedly dial your phone. “Come on! Answer!” Larissa snagged her glass of wine and chugged it in one sitting.

Biting her lips, Larissa groaned and caressed her face. What had she done for you to ignore her all day? Deciding to skim the calendar for missed events, Larrissa found no sign of any missed event that regarded your relationship. As time passed, Larissa sat down and sent multiple messages. Then a knock was heard at the door.

Frowning, Larissa had canceled all her appointments for the day due to the fact that searching for where you were was more important than a meeting with a parent about their child’s spectacular grades. Striding towards the door, she opened it quite harshly, making the person on the other side flinch.

Seeing the person outside her door, Larissa took a glance behind the person and pulled them inside. “Leonora! What are you doing here?”

Shrugging off her coat, Lesso pressed a kiss on Larissa’s cheek and asked, “Have you found her yet?” Returning the affection, Larissa sighed and shook her head.

“Not yet.”

Pursing her lips, Lesso dropped her exhausted body on the couch. “Did you try calling her?” Larissa gave Lesso an incredulous look and flicked the redhead’s forehead. “What do you think I’ve been doing all day?”

Lesso gave Larissa a look that said she didn’t know. As silence filled the room, Lesso took it as an opportunity to observe Larissa’s office. Every nook and cranny of the room had something that would remind Larissa of your relationship. The walls were full of dried flowers that Lesso would give you and Larissa before leaving her realm. The table in the middle had picture frames of their faces. One frame had been close to Lesso; it was the picture of you, her, and Larissa the night after she had invited you to one of Dovey’s balls. The fireplace mantel sported two figurines: a wooden fox and a glass daisy. It served as a memory of Leonora and you for Larissa whenever she felt lonely.

Snapping out of her thoughts, Lesso sat up and turned to Larissa. “Where does she live?” This had Larissa rack her brain and think of your interview with her for the position as the history teacher in Nevermore. "I-I don’t know.”

Growling, Lesso took Larissa’s shoulders and shook the lady. “Come on, think!” She snapped her fingers in front of the blonde. “What kind of outcast is she?”

Pushing Lesso’s hand away from her face, Larissa replied. “She’s a fairy!”

“And where do fairies live?”

Eyes widening, they stated simultaneously. “The Isle!”

But before they could stand up, a voice asked behind them, “And what is with the Isle?”

Turning around, Larissa took a step towards you and encased you in an embrace. “Where have you been?” Shaking her head, Lesso joined the embrace and kissed the top of your head. “We’ve been worried sick.”

Snuggling yourself deeper into the embrace, you inhaled their mixed scents and closed your eyes. “Mmm, I just needed time for myself.” As minutes went by, you opened your eyes and gave both of them a kiss on their lips. “I missed both of you, though.”

#school for good and evil #lady lesso x reader #lady lesso #leonora lesso #larissa weems x reader #leonora lesso x reader #wednesday #larissa weems #principal weems x reader #principal weems

[incorrectbatfam]

Do you have any angsty headcannons of Damian Wayne

Sometimes I wonder if he has any insecurities about being the youngest and the fact that he's fifth (sixth? seventh?) in a long line of batkids who have already done pretty much anything he can think of. Blowing up the League of Assassins? Tim did that. Starting a superhero team? Sure, Damian's done that, but it's kinda derivative of his siblings'. Dying? That's literally Jason's whole schtick. With older siblings, he's gonna invariably end up with some hand-me-downs and it's a lot harder to carve his own unique identity.

He's over the whole "blood son" thing, but he can't help but feel a little jealous when Bruce talks so fondly about the others' Robin days, meanwhile Damian is still referred to as "having potential" and needing to work on this or that. It's like when your siblings have a bunch of trophies and you know you're just as capable, but you haven't been given the chance.

As Robin, everything he did was measured up against his siblings. Dick stuck the landing better. Tim was more careful with evidence. Steph decoded the riddle faster. Jason could take on twice as many goons. Though Damian tries to do things his own way, Robin never feels like something that's fully his.

Even though the Waynes can buy ten of everything, he still ends up with some of his siblings' stuff—Dick's sweatshirt, Jason's books, Tim's old camera. Damian can try and pretend they belong to him, but then he comes across a scribble in the margins or an old picture of Young Justice and it's a reminder that he's still tethered to the people who came before him.

And maybe that's why he still picks fights and gives people a hard time. At his age, he'll do anything it takes to stand out so someone notices him, and being difficult accomplishes that. As an immediate result, he gains individuality by being known as the Demon Brat. And because he gets that instant gratification, he keeps doing it over and over.

It's no secret that he and Tim aren't always on good terms. I think part of it has to do with Tim being the next closest predecessor and Damian has an easier time picking him apart compared to facing off against Dick or Jason. Because of that, though, I think Tim would be the first to pick up on why Damian is this way.

Do they communicate about it? Mmm not yet. This is the most emotionally stunted family we're talking about, so instead of indulging Damian's behavior, Tim flat-out ignores it and it's one of those instances where ignoring works because Damian stops, at least with him.

But then he moves on to Steph, but her tolerance is way lower than Tim's and she lets Damian know that. She straight-up tells him, "Hey, quit being obnoxious. It works now because people are going easy on you, but one day someone's gonna screw you up and you won't have a Batman to run to."

He doesn't really believe her because 1) he was never one to care what strangers think about him and 2) getting the job done was more important than being liked to him.

Cut to school being back in session. Damian mainly keeps to himself—partly to lay low, partly because he never got along with other kids before and didn't see the point in trying again. His grades are stellar and for the first month or so, teachers praise him all around for being a model student.

But that eventually slows down as his straight-A's and thesis-sounding papers become routine—it's his norm, and teachers stop pointing it out as something remarkable.

And just like before: when being Robin stops working, be the Demon Brat.

He keeps his grades up, but the teachers start sending emails home about things like chewing gum and using his phone in class. Every time, Bruce just reminds him to behave.

One time Bruce offhandedly mentions how Jason was a well-behaved student and Damian can't help but think, "That's the point. I'm not Jason."

The emails pile up, now with new problems like extended bathroom breaks, breaking the dress code, and even one incident where he forged himself a note to get out of class early.

But the thing that lands him in detention is a snide comment to the wrong kid that spirals into a schoolyard brawl. And even though Damian pulls his punches, it still ends in bruises and a bloody nose, and it takes two teachers and the football coach to break it up.

And just his luck, Dick's in Bludhaven, Alfred has a doctor's appointment, Tim and Bruce are at a business meeting, and Jason wants to stay out of this, so guess who's there to pick him up at the end of the afternoon.

Steph doesn't beat around the bush. Her first response is, "What did I tell you?" And it pisses him off because she's right.

That evening, they go on a long drive where she eventually gets an explanation out of him. And she gets him, 100%. She tells him how she had big shoes to fill as Batgirl and how she always compared herself to Cass and Babs.

Then she says: "Robin isn't a personality you grow into or break out of. It's just a costume. Who you are underneath is who Robin becomes."

For good measure though, she goes to Bruce later like, "Hey, do you need a laxative? 'Cause you're so emotionally constipated that you forgot your son is his own person, not a work in progress or extension of someone else." Then she swipes his credit card and takes Damian to the arcade to make him feel better since he still has a week's worth of detention plus Alfred giving him double the chores.

After that, people will still occasionally slip up, but when Dick ruffles his hair and says they'll ace a mission "the Damian way," it's reason enough to believe that things are looking up.

#damian wayne #robin #stephanie brown #spoiler #bruce wayne #batman #tim drake #red robin #dick grayson #nightwing #jason todd #red hood #batfamily #batfam #batboys #batbros #batgirls #batkids #batsiblings #batman family #dc comics #headcanon #tw angst #tw violence mention #ask #anonymous #long post

[utilitycaster]

I think this is the last I have to say about it, certainly not until new episodes air, but the thing about What The Fuck Is Up With That is that it's emblematic of the issues Bells Hells have - and to be honest I suspect always might have - regarding trust. It's a party game. It's a fun way to get surface-level answers. It's an infodump. It's telling not showing. It's not a bad thing, but you don't build trust, actually, by providing every piece of information! In fact, sometimes, it's good to keep your inside thoughts inside! You build trust with other people through your actions: through keeping your word, through proving your ability to do what they expect of you. Perhaps this is a personal experience and not a universal tenet, but people who share everything about themselves right away and people who end up being genuinely reliable and close and trustworthy are often two nearly entirely separate camps.

This also does once again feel like something with an interesting echo within the fandom. Earlier on in the campaign, before the introduction of 4-Sided Dive, I received a lot of questions about whether it would be helpful if we had something like Talks and my response was usually "no, the issue is that I know everything about the backstory and not actually much anyone's motivations; I have a factual list of personal history and I'm looking for a sense of someone's personality." This still comes up occasionally when I talk about Laudna, whose motivations remain hazy much of the time; we have a quite detailed outline of her history but it is missing the only things that actually matter. We know what. We don't know why. Bells Hells knows so much what about each other and they still struggle, even now, with "why".

And when it comes to why, telling people is nice, but it's very easy to lie about motivations. Indeed, that's why Imogen ends up fooled by her mother; she knows what Liliana did but assumed there was a deeper why than there ended up being; that Liliana wasn't simply seduced by the idea that Predathos would free her and Imogen from the burden of their powers but was also working as a force for good within the Vanguard and wouldn't hurt so many people. The revelation that the "why" really was that simple was ultimately why Imogen felt betrayed. Knowing more details about Liliana doesn't help.

Chetney ends up being the illustrative exception here, if that helps. He arrived late to the party. He never played What The Fuck Is Up With That. He even told them what he was there for (looking for Gurge) and lied about the "why" (werewolf reasons) initially. He to this day keeps secrets. But he's open about keeping secrets. That caginess allows him to be one of the party members most people trust on a fundamental level. They don't trust him to be kind, or generous per se; they don't even trust him to not hurt them. But they trust him to not hurt them intentionally, since he's repeatedly shown he will take steps to avoid this. He is cagey and uncooperative during most of the honesty exercise, but when he finally says something, it isn't a judgement - it is an explanation of his own behavior. When he declines to share his deal with Morri, he still reassures them that he did not do anything that would fall to them - and that's honest, and that's what matters, that he made a deal for himself and himself alone. Compare with Orym, who hides even the fact he made the deal, or Ashton a couple days ago, who hid their true plans with the shard. On the surface, Chetney is the one hiding something - but he is honest that he hides things. If Chetney's secret comes out? It won't change the party's understanding of his trustworthiness; it will just change some of the facts. If Orym's comes out or when Ashton's was revealed? That's a huge change in the party's understanding of their motivations.

Honesty in this party has been a game from the start, and as the exercises show, it still mostly is. A panopticon is, unsurprisingly, not a great way to make people trust each other; a little open hiding and actions over words are in order. I don't think that's necessarily a problem, in that I think Bells Hells share, if not a vast overreaching goal, an agreement regarding their pretty significant task. But I think any deeper trust is yet to be actually tested, tried, and forged.

#critical role #critical role spoilers #bells hells