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the-eldritch-it-gay · 2 months

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@thedragonagelesbian replied to your post “Oughhhh they're in love...”:

what's going thru majexatli's mind during the dance?? the people (me) want to know

Oh,.. So much. They're trying to play it cool but their mind is racing so much.

Because like, it's such a genuine and sweet moment, yeah? And Majexatli is I think like, really realizing like "oh he cares about me" and also "oh fuck, I think I seriously care about him". Like, they had kissed Wyll at the tiefling party and from the beginning have been on his side and caring about him. But I think the dance is when they like, properly realize like oh, oh, this is more than just some flirting or a quick fling.

Majexatli has never really been romanced. Over the decades since Althyran, they've hooked up on occasion, and other than those flings, their only prior experience is Althyran. And I think there is a bit of that realization, right, the fact that Althyran never was romantic, he never would have danced with them. They had normalized it so much in their head, convinced themselves Althyran was kind and had at some point cared about him. But the more they experience love and affection now with Wyll, they realize just how much they've missed out on.

There's like, what I said once about how with Althyran, Majexatli wanted some storybook romance. They thought Althyran was some prince charming. All they wanted was a love story where they end up married and have a family, and that's still something they cling to as an ideal. They never got that with Althyran. And now here Wyll is, teaching them how to dance by the fireside, saying how he wants to romance them properly, like the old tales of love sung by bards. Wyll is the ideal partner they've dreamed about. The ideal that they've basically given up on and believed they would never get or deserve.

There is something wonderous and soft and new and blooming and alive in the kindness and love and sincerity Wyll shows towards them.

But it also brings up a lot of fear and doubt and angst.

But! They still have their initial knee-jerk reaction of this has to be an act. And they have the feeling that Wyll loves the persona they've put on, he wants to romance the gentle sage Druid, not the bitter monsterous Malarite that they are. And the guilt that they feel they're lying to him by letting him fall in love with a version of them that is fake.

So you know. There's just. So many layers.

Having a genuine moment of respite from all the horrors

Experiencing genuine romance for the first time in their life

Realizing how much Wyll cares for them and that he loves them

Realizing that they somehow have grown to deeply love and care for Wyll despite everything

Realizing that they can have the fairytale romance they wanted when they were younger

Realizing how far from a fairytale everything with Althryan was

Fearing that if Wyll is genuine, then they've been horrifically dishonest and cruel by letting him fall for a version of them that isn't real

Fearing that maybe Wyll is like Althyran, like they thought initially (they thought Althyran and what he gave them was something picturesque and magical, though know in hindsight it wasn't. What if years down the line they look back and see that they were wrong for believing Wyll was some prince-charming type)

Fearing that they're falling into the same trap they did when they were younger with Althyran.

Fearing that they don't belong in a fairytale romance or a love story

Fun fact. The WIP I've shared a bit of? With Wyll fighting a wolf (that is Majexatli)? Yeah. So. In my canon, that happens the same night, after the dance. They hold themselves together long enough but once Wyll returns to his tent, Majexatli transforms and runs off into the night to tear apart anything they can find that's living.

They don't know how to process everything they're feeling, but to them, their worship of Malar is about honesty, about truth, as messy and violent as the honest truth can be. They need to work through all the issues that Althyran left them with and come to terms with their feelings for Wyll (as terrifying as they are) and Wyll's feelings for them. So much old pain and new worries and unknowns and not knowing how to move forward. And they can't process it all as Majexatli, they need to be the messy imperfect emotional being that they only feel they can be when they're a monster.

Something something fantasy high junior year and all the talk about the relationship between doubt and rage.

#majexatli is like oh im in love and being loved for the first time #and thats wonderful and life changing #but it also means that I've never been loved before this and I can now see everything I was denied and missed out on #and I'm in uncharted waters without a raft #and the only way I can let myself feel emotions fully and let myself be angry at the past and everything #is to be a monster #and I feel like a feral dog being offered kindness and shelter for the first time and I want to bite and hurt before you hurt me #anyways sorry for rambling hfsdjkfdkjdshfskjdhfkjdsf #the fun thing about this is that i'm realizing its almost something I've done before #I've very much hit on like #'being given freedom for the first time is wonderful and intoxicating'#'but being given freedom for the first time also means realizing everything you've been denied before now'#Amal (my Surana) has stuff about that. but they don't have the anger part. they just dissociate #salam plays bg3 #oc: majexatli #the eldritch dragon age

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balladetto · 5 months

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unprompted / always accepting / @dragetunge

"Oh Tooooothless~" The viking called out the dragon as he had a rather large grin on his face. He had woken up early this morning to surprise his dragon for the simple fact the dragon had earned it. Placing down the basket he had been heaving it was a very rare treat. Toothless' favorite kind of fish as he leaned against the baskets top to the larger salmon the fishermen brought in that morning. "Come on bud don't keep me waiting now." He teased.

He smells Him before he hears Him, the scent of the best fish mixed with the very so best human who is his precious thing sending him onto a high perch as He enters the prison-den. There is a want to warble back in greeting, excited-warm-loving as He is excited-warm-loving, but he stays silent in order to better surprise — looming and watching for the perfect time to strike.

Mischief holds him at bay while Half Of Him puts the food down. Has him shifting his hind weight from paw to paw while He chatters again, voice bright and full of teasing-teasing-teasing. The waiting and waiting lasts until finally the chance comes: in the second his human looks up past the edge of his rock-perch to unthinkingly meet his eyes.

He trills! He pounces! He cushions his landing with a big flap of his wings, but Half Of Him is very so tiny that He's knocked over anyway. It is a cute smallness in times like these, and for a few moments, he has to ignore the fish that spills out of the dead-bark thing He brought to lick several marks of "this precious thing that I cherish" onto all His skin and furs. Half Of Meeee~!

Only when he is satisfied with His smell does he move to eat, rubbing his head on gentle paws one last time. This very so best Half Of Him, come join him! Eat with him!

#dragetunge #( kris i cannot thank you enough for this absolutely ADORABLE ask #and for waiting so patiently!! the boy is FINALLY coming around in terms of writing oh my god #got early bond vibes here where the love is still deliriously like...intoxicating for too.thless because of its novelty #like that's his half of him!! that's his heart-in-another he chose that chose him back and!! [sobbing] he loves him So Much #so i am placing this in the htt.yd verse <3 a missing scene after test drive or smth...hope that's okay! )#* dragonscale / ic.#* dragonscale / answer.#* ic / para.#* v / freedom taken; freedom given.#* dragetunge & toothless / alone: we are good. together: we are best.

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jaennie · 1 year

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#i'm in such a weird slump lately... i really dislike feeling serious and sad and yesterday i had so much fun but then i'm back to reality #and it does not feel nice.. weird i am not sure if it's the bad weather or just a period of life #i wish i could just live in those happy careless moments sometimes but being intoxicated wont solve my problems i guess #also coming home with evidence of last night activities when you live with your younger sibling is a bit awkward maybe i need more freedom #needed to rant somewhere hehe #at least in these small moments i can be fully free and dont worry and dont think thank god i can do it safely #idk what i would do otherwise and where my life would take me

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ariesbilly · 2 years

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IS THERE A CHANCE A FRAGMENT OF LIGHT

AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL A REASON TO FIGHT

IS THERE A CHANCE YOU MAY CHANGE YOUR MIND

OUR

ARE

ASHES

AND

WINE

#AND IM ILL WITH THE THOUGHT OF YOUR KISS #COFFEE LACED INTOXICATING ON HER LIPS #SHUT IT OUT #I GOT NO CLAIM ON YOU NOW #IM NOT ALLOWED #TO WEAR YOUR FREEDOM DOWN NO #ok im done that song just HITS

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ladydragonkiller · 2 years

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I am very not used to actually posting on social medias, so this shall be a learning experience for everyone

#my mom follows me on every other platform #the freedom is intoxicating #will I post/reblog 1 thing a day?#or 50?#we’ll see!

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photo-dwmp · 6 months

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The more we invest in military weaponry, the less civil people are.

#text post #free palestine #free gaza #fucking america #i hate america #freedom #love others #please #just love love love #you can do so muh more than you think #if you just love love love #maybe you sjould go into law- my mother #after debating with yer about the logic of #being intoxicated/not in a correct mental state #within a court case like murder/assult #gughushsosbd

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bratzforchris · 1 month

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Tumblr Girls, M. Sturniolo

Summary: Matt can't help but to visit his favorite fuck buddy on tour, who just can't help but to tease him with her Tumblr posts. Songfic loosely based off of "Tumblr Girls" by G-Eazy<3

Pairing: Matt x feminine and influencer!reader

Warnings: Smut, unprotected p in v, marking, bondage, friends with benefits, fingering, oral (f), dom!Matt, choking, intoxicated sex (alcohol), dirty talk, belly bulge, no aftercare but fluffish (?) ending (i do not condone any of this irl!! it is *fiction*)

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: Get your holy water ready girlies...

Ever since you were a little girl, you had been enamored by the idea of being famous. Something about the life called to you, whether that be walking down the street and people knowing you, or simply realizing that you were having an impact on someone, somewhere’s life. Fortunately, you had grown up in the age of the Internet, allowing you to truly harness what you had wanted to do for so long. You loved having creative freedom, and you loved making a persona that was truly you.

You had been making YouTube videos, doing a variety of Instagram influencing, and posting carefully crafted aesthetic photos to Tumblr ever since middle school. Whereas a lot of the girls had moved out of their Tumblr influencer phase, you never really had. You still loved the dark, “grunge” aesthetic of it to this, and had turned your account into a more mature, X-rated theme of what it once had been. You loved doing social media as your full time job for a variety of reasons, from the freedom it gave you to the opportunities.

Perhaps your biggest “opportunity” was your fellow influencer and YouTuber, Matt. Your relationship with Matt was…complicated, to say the least. As much as you were a wholesome, loving duo on camera, you were filled with an almost primal need for each other off of it too. You and Matt had never discussed a true, established relationship, mostly because you were both so young and so busy, and the rough, hard fucking in itself was enough to satisfy the needs in both of your lives.

Your careers had consumed both of you as of late, dragging Matt all over the country for the Versus tour, and leaving you back in LA with a variety of brand deals to film and photo shoots to arrange. There was one in particular that you were heavily looking forward to, mostly because you knew that it would drag Matt back to you, unable to help himself. In a fateful turn of events, you had been emailed about a Calvin Klein intimates shoot that would just so happen to drop on the day Matt was back in LA for a show. In an effort to bring back the Tumblr renaissance and the hold Calvin Klein had had during those days, you had insisted that the photos be posted to Tumblr before any other social media platform.

Matt: i’m back in la tn

You: oh i know ;)

Matt: ??? huh

You: no reason. just focus on winning tonight :)

You smiled to yourself as you closed your text messages out and migrated over to your photo gallery. Your manager had sent you the photos of the shoot to be posted this evening, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t planning on fucking with Matt’s head using them. You had missed your fuck buddy, after all. The late night phone sex wasn’t the same as him in your bed, mumbling in your ear about how well you were taking it.

The photos from the shoot were of you in a gray Calvin Klein bralette with a matching thong. The photos had been toned with a sepia overlay, highlighting the curves of your breasts and hips. Your hair fell back against your shoulders gracefully as your doe eyes stared up at the camera. The shots were nothing short of sexy, making you imagine how Matt would react when he got the post notification. Maybe he would be sitting backstage, getting ready to go on and trying to hide his growing boner both from his brothers and the fans, which only made you smile more.

You and Matt continued to text back and forth for a while, until you suddenly stopped responding. This was part of your game with each other; to make the yearning so painful that it just made the sex more passionate. Once you saw that it had hit the fifteen minute mark until Matt was supposed to appear on stage, you hit ‘post’ on the Tumblr draft of your photos that you had planned out earlier in the day. The caption, come over 💋, was directly aimed at Matt, but no one else needed to know that. Sure enough, less than one minute later, you received a text from the brunette that had your heart racing and your thighs clenching.

Matt: what the fuck, y/n?

You smiled as you typed out your own message, imagining Matt biting his lip and trying to conceal the growing tent in his pants as he studied the photos.

You: what?

Matt: you know what

You: no i don’t

Matt: that fucking post

You: it’s part of my job, matt. quit being ridiculous. have you not heard about tumblr girls making a comeback?

Matt: watch it. i’m coming over and fucking that pretty pussy good tonight.

You knew what your and Matt’s usual routine was, so you grabbed another cup from the cabinet and the bottle of whiskey, migrating over to the gray couch in your living room. You didn’t bother waiting for the brunette to start drinking. Matt had a key to your apartment and would definitely make himself known when he arrived. You slowly sipped at the amber liquid, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks and in between your thighs as you thought about Matt and how much you had missed the feeling of his skin on yours.

Sure enough, the door swung open with a loud bang a few minutes later. In came Matt, hair disheveled and still in his blue Matthew jersey. His growing erection was obvious as he flopped onto the couch, lips immediately crashing into your own. Matt’s hands were all over you as you devoured each other; in your hair, running across your hips, grabbing your ass.

“Fuck, baby. I missed you.” he panted, leaning back against the couch as you passed him a drink.

“I missed you, Matt,” You smiled softly, tucking one of his curls behind his ear. “How has tour been?”

Matt took a large swig of whiskey, before placing the cup on the coffee table. “Good. But not as good as you looked in those goddamn pictures.” he practically moaned.

“I noticed you have my post notifications on,” You teased, despite blushing at his words. “Catching feelings, Matthew?”

Matt rubbed your bare thigh, scooting closer to you so that he could suckle on the sweet spot behind your ear. “Do you know how hard it was?” he asked, leaving a hickey. “To have to go out on stage with my brothers and act normal when all I could think about were your tits and how I want to pound that little cunt to pieces? Huh?”

You whined as Matt continued to trail hickeys down your neck, mumbling things like “missed you so bad” and “gonna fuck you so hard” after each one. You two fell back against the soft cushions of the couch, Matt holding you down by the hips as his lips caressed your neck, the curve of your collarbone, and the dip of your breasts. You went to reach for Matt’s ringed fingers, only for him to smack your hand away.

“No,” Matt said harshly, moving one hand from your hip to your throat. “Tell me how fuckin’ bad you want it first,” he growled, squeezing your throat just enough to make the air catch in your lungs. “Tell me you wanna get off on my fingers like a goddamn bitch in heat.”

You gasped for air as Matt continued to squeeze, your arousal thumping through your veins. “P…please,” You whispered, eyes wide with lust as he continued to choke you just enough to get you going, but not enough to actually hurt you. “Need your fingers.” You whined, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Good girl.” Matt hummed, alcohol hot on his breath as he moved his hands from your throat to practically rip your gray panties off.

With your friends with benefits arrangement, there was no time for gentle caressing or sweet nothings. Matt began to finger you roughly, the cool metal of his rings brushing against your slick folds as he rubbed his thumb across your clit at a dizzying pace. He wasn’t stopping there, either. Matt immediately thrust his middle and ring finger inside of you, pulling you closer to him. It had only been a few minutes, and the ache to orgasm was already building in your lower stomach.

“Matt,” You wailed, nails gripping his back. “Oh my god, Matt,” Tears began to roll down your face as the brunette continued to pleasure you. The combination of his fingers inside of you, the friction on your clit, and the added sensation of his rings were clouding everything in a lustful haze. “Need to cum.” You sobbed.

“You’re fuckin’ crazy if you think you’re comin’ on my fingers instead of tongue.” he chuckled roughly.

With that, Matt threw his head down and forced your thighs apart, burying his face in your pussy. He began to devour you like you were the last meal on earth and he was a starving man. His tongue ran across your slit and clit, before licking your hole. You had no choice but to let out little squeals and whimpers as pleasurable sensations attacked you from all angles. Matt ran the flat of his tongue across your clit and you lost it, sobbing as your hands found his hair.

“Matt, please,” You begged. “‘M gonna cum.”

Your fuck buddy just nodded, still enjoying the taste of you on his tongue. You immediately took it as a sign to let go, releasing the tension that had been building in your stomach. You came all over Matt’s tongue, panting and breathing heavily as your body shook from the pure force of your orgasm. Matt pulled his head from between your thighs, licking his lips and fingers with a smirk, blue eyes hungrily grazing over your body that was still wrapped in the bra and flannel with your bare ass on display.

“You taste so goddamn good, you know that?” he asked, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear as you panted.

You smiled as Matt pressed a kiss to your pubic bone, but it was clear that the brunette wasn’t done yet. Matt slowly pulled the red and black material from your shoulders, smiling with more than just happiness. He had an intention and you could see it in the way he was toying with the fabric, eyes lighting up with lust. Matt didn’t speak again until he had removed your Calvin Klein bra, leaving you completely exposed on the couch as he stared down at you.

“Hands.” he said.

It was one word, but the command held an authoritative aire that had you thrusting your wrists to meet Matt’s own. Matt knew you better than practically anyone, which meant he knew all of your dirty little fantasies. Knowing you had a thing for bondage, the brunette quickly and expertly bound your wrists together in the flannel, giving it a tight tug to make sure it was secure. Your breath hitched at the pure filth of everything, but all you knew was that this alone was making your legs clench with need for another climax.

Matt was straddling you on the couch, fully clothed, which just added to the dominance he had over you. You were completely naked and covered in blooming hickeys he had left earlier in the evening with your wrists bound together by a flannel. You truly looked like Matt’s little cumslut, but you couldn’t find the decency in you to care anymore. You just knew that you were at his mercy and that you needed him. Now.

The brunette could sense your urgency and decided to have a little ‘fun’ with you. Matt took his time removing his shirt, allowing you to bask in the glory of him shirtless, all tanned skin and tattoos, but completely unable to do anything about it other than whimper and let out breathy moans. He moved onto his jeans next, painstakingly undoing his belt and throwing his pants to the side. The boy left his boxers on for the time being, teasing you as he stroked his cock through the plaid fabric.

“Wish that was you, huh? Strokin’ my dick and makin’ me feel good?” Matt chuckled, moaning when he hit a particularly sensitive spot.

You whimpered and writhed against your bond. “Need you in me, Matt. Please.” You whined.

Finally, Matt slid his boxers off and tossed them to the side, allowing his erection to finally spring free. His dick was practically touching his stomach, making your mouth run dry with a mixture of excitement and nerves. After so long apart and without truly fucking, you had forgotten just how big he was. Matt climbed on top of you once more, rocking his hips back and forth on your own without actually riding you.

“Beg for it. Tell me how much you love my cock, baby girl.” Matt groaned at the friction of your skin against his own, becoming harder by the second.

“I need you inside me. Need your dick, Matt.” You whimpered, the teasing growing straight to your nipples and cunt, making you almost ache with arousal.

“That’s right. Good fuckin’ girl.”

Without another word, Matt slammed into you, making you take him to the hilt. You let out an involuntary scream at the feeling of suddenly being so full, your back arching against the couch cushions. The feeling of him inside you, bare and hard, was enough to push you to the brink of orgasm. Your second always came faster than your first, and right now was no exception. Matt was riding you at an ungodly pace, his balls slapping against your ass with every thrust as he straddled you.

“Oh my god, baby,” Matt moaned loudly. “I missed your wet little pussy. So tight, just for me.”

The filthiness of his speaking, combined with your bonds and the feeling of him fucking you was pushing you over the edge. You wanted to tangle your hands in Matt’s hair or run your nails down his back, but instead you were unable to do anything that wasn’t taking his fucking like a slut. Matt pressed down on the bulge in your stomach from being balls deep, a smirk on his face.

“You feel that, baby? Feel you takin’ me like the cockslut you are?” he chuckled.

You whined as tears rolled down your face, bucking his hips up to meet his own. “Matt, I…I–need to, please.” You wailed, unable to form coherent sentences in your intoxicated and lustful state.

“You gonna cum? Gonna make me feel appreciated?” Matt’s blue eyes scanned your face, enjoying the view that was you under him, tied up and sobbing.

“Mhm!” You sobbed.

“Then prove it.” he sneered, pressing on your stomach roughly again.

You didn’t need to be told twice. You immediately let your climax take over, your cunt clenching against Matt’s cock. This caused the brunette to let out a string of curses as you came down from your high, your entire body shaking. He knew he was playing a risky game here, even though you were on the pill, but Matt just loved fucking you bare more than anything in the world. The brunette quickly pulled out, and before you knew it, your stomach was covered in thick and warm, white ropes of Matt’s cum.

He laid down beside you on the couch, panting heavily as you both came down from your shared highs. Once your breathing had returned to semi normal, Matt kissed you roughly and undid your bonds, before rolling off the couch. Without another word, he pulled his clothes on, straightening his hair. Your fuck buddy kissed your forehead as he busied himself around your apartment, cleaning up the whiskey and cups and retrieving a warm washcloth to wipe down your body with.

Once everything had been done, Matt tucked you in with a blanket, kissing your forehead. “I gotta go. We’re driving up to San Francisco tonight and I told Nick and Chris I would be back by two. I’ll see ya once the tour is over, yeah?”

You smiled sleepily as Matt slipped out your front door and into the night. Whereas you would’ve loved for the brunette to stay the night, you knew that you both had jobs to do and that right now, you were just fuck buddies and that was that. But as you drifted off to sleep, a warm feeling spread through your tummy that you and Matt wouldn’t stay “just friends” for long.

tags ♡: @aemrsy @jake-and-johnnies-slut @mattsfavwh3re @suyqa @chrissturnswife @mbsbaby @herxyz @lovingchrissposts @caffeinatedscorpio @bunny-cotton @crazychrisl0v3r @sturnioloxlver @emmagirouard @athaliahxoxo @bitchydragonparadise @ilydeaky @soggyslugg169 @not-phone-guy @books0fever @stingerayyy2 @sunsetsturniolos @mimi-luvzyu @faygo-frog @oobleoob @runasvengence

note ♡: if you'd like to be added to my taglist, click here <3

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starrystevie · 3 months

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"what are you doing," eddie mumbles in confusion, hair fanned out on steve's pillow, the moonlight streaming in giving him a hazy halo.

there's a hand on the side of his face and it's cupping his cheek, thumb stroking over his skin. it's soft, so soft, too soft. another hand is trapping his against the mattress, fingers trailing over his forearm before tangling into his own and squeezing tight. it's gentle, so gentle, too gentle.

eddie isn't soft, eddie isn't gentle. eddie isn't making love in a full size bed with wallpaper that matches the drapes. he isn't fluttering kisses in time with fluttering heartbeats and the fluttering wings of butterflies trapped in his stomach like the most lovely cage.

eddie is fucking at 2am when there's enough intoxication to make him look like he's worth it. he's rough and wild, quick and easy. a means to a barely wanted end because he's there and willing and with long enough hair to let people imagine he's someone else.

he should be caged instead of the damn butterflies. he bares his teeth and thrashes his limbs just to fight and see what he can get away with. he laughs loud and brash in the face of sweetness just to see anger, just to see hurt.

he has half a mind to think he's a feral animal that's hardly been trained, performing in some fucked up circus that charges two bucks to see him snarl and hurl insults at anyone who passes by. he bites at the hands that try to touch, try to feed, proving to the onlookers that he's only worth the pocket change they pay to see him.

but steve. he's holding his face like he wants to, holding his hand like it's the most important thing in the world. he's pressing kisses along eddie's jaw without any hurry, without any rush, kissing just to kiss. feeling just to feel. he's like a ray of goddamn sunshine even in the darkness that midnight provides, warming eddie from the inside out.

eddie wants to run. he wants to scream. he wants to feel like he's allowed steve's soft and gentle but he's-

"is this not okay?" and now steve's looking at him with all of whatever he's trying to give him lacing into his face, his eyes and spit slick lips sparkling in the moonlight like a shiny new toy. "do you not like it?"

concern and care are different sides of the same steve shaped coin and if eddie looks hard enough, he can see them blurring together in his frustratingly beautiful sparkling eyes and those damn butterflies start to come back.

"no, it's-" he let's out a sigh, relaxing his tight muscles and sinking into the bed, sinking into whatever steve is willing to give him. "just different, is all. good different, i think."

steve smiles and eddie shakily mirrors it back, before he's ducking his head again and slotting their lips together, fingers still holding tight to eddie's, still cupping his face like it's something precious.

eddie's come to terms with the taste of the metal bars of his cage, teeth wearing down as he tries to bite his way to freedom. maybe this time he'll let himself get used to the taste of soft and gentle smiles if it means loving steve.

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truevedicastrology · 5 months

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Astrology Observations

Aries Ascendants possess an uncanny ability to exude allure even in moments of anger. It's perplexing how these individuals effortlessly maintain a captivating demeanor, concealing their potential to swiftly retaliate if wronged. 😭

The enigma of those with Venus and Sun alignments lies in their perpetual elegance and charm. The cosmic dance between Venus and the Sun bestows upon them a radiant and inviting energy that transcends mere aesthetics. 💕🫂

Infidelity with individuals boasting a Water/Fire Venus is a perilous venture, especially with Water Venuses known for their profound and merciless reprisals rooted in deep emotional connections. 🫂

Venus in Capricorn personalities exhibit adorable tendencies within relationships, yearning for substantial time spent with partners, creating cherished memories in pursuit of a traditional and harmonious connection. 🥺❤️❤️❤️

Be vigilant of your solar return chart, as Venus positioned in the 1st/2nd/6th/10th houses may herald a substantial transformation this year. Additionally, Saturn - Venus Aspects can amplify this transformative glow-up. 💎

Individuals with the Moon in the 11th house form deep attachments, displaying a profound neediness for friendships, earning them the title of a "true friend." 🫂

The dynamic between Pluto and Mercury leads to articulate speech with an influential cadence, inducing others to adopt a similar hypnotic communication style. Jealousy often ensues due to their expansive vocabulary and eloquence.

Observing Mars and Venus aspects reveals a proclivity for intense jealousy, possessiveness, and a desire for exclusive ownership over partners and friends. 🔥🫂

Virgo Venus/Mars individuals can exhibit possessiveness akin to Scorpio and Taurus Venuses, creating a captivating yet possessive aura when these placements intertwine. ❣️

Saturn's transition through the 6th/12th house or the house occupied by "Pisces" in your chart may precipitate insomnia or sleep disturbances during that period.

A concentration of planets in the 9th house fosters a profound interest in spirituality, magic, and exploration of various religions.

A Mercury in Capricorn engages in conversation with a classic glamour, exuding sophistication and ensuring a lasting impression with every spoken word.

Individuals with an Aries/Taurus combination in their chart might grapple with significant anger issues and heightened nervousness.

Venus residing in the 2nd house signifies a beautiful physique and a refined appearance, inherently possessing elegance.

Neptune in the 12th house has an intoxicating effect, leading people to become inexplicably addicted. This spiritual placement demands attention to subtle signs. 🧘🏻‍♀️

Aspects between Neptune/Uranus and Sun/Ascendant create an electrified, dreamy aura.

Moon in Earth Signs manifests a fervent love and passion for reading books, blogs, and internet curiosities.

Capricorn Suns exhibit a penchant for living, laughing, and indulging in dark humor. 😭

Sagittarius and Aquarius Placements are fervent seekers of freedom, capable of undertaking the impossible to reclaim their liberty if threatened.

Harsh aspects between Saturn 🪐 and Moon 🌕 result in unresolved maternal issues, fostering either possessiveness or emotional detachment from a mother figure. (⁠つ⁠✧⁠ω⁠✧⁠)⁠つ💕

Saturn - Mercury harsh aspects may induce anxiety during conversation, stemming from past restrictions on speech, leading to incessant overthinking. (⁠っ⁠.⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)⁠っ You truly deserve a comforting embrace!

Individuals with Scorpio Placements exhibit a predilection for wearing dark-colored attire such as black, dark blue, dark red, and dark purple.

Mercury - Pluto aspects thrive on discussing taboos and addressing topics people are hesitant to confront face-to-face, showcasing an inherent ability to broach uncomfortable subjects.

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wheelsgoroundincircles · 20 days

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1971-73 Ford Mustang Mach 1

In the heart of Detroit, amidst the roar of engines and the scent of gasoline, there was a legend. It was the 1971-73 Ford Mustang Mach 1, a machine that embodied the spirit of the open road and the freedom of the American dream.

With its sleek lines and powerful V8 engine, the Mach 1 was a force to be reckoned with. It prowled the streets, its growl announcing its presence long before it came into view. It was a car that demanded respect, and it got it wherever it went.

One day, a young man named Jack came across a Mach 1 sitting in a used car lot. It was love at first sight. The car was in rough shape, but Jack saw its potential. He bought it on the spot, determined to restore it to its former glory.

Jack worked tirelessly on the Mach 1, pouring his heart and soul into every detail. He replaced the engine, refurbished the interior, and gave it a fresh coat of paint. Months passed, but Jack never lost sight of his goal.

Finally, the day arrived when the Mach 1 was ready. Jack took it out for a spin, and it was like nothing he had ever experienced before. The power, the speed, the thrill of the open road – it was intoxicating.

From that day on, Jack and the Mach 1 were inseparable. They tore up the highways, leaving a trail of dust and awe in their wake. People would stop and stare as they passed by, their eyes wide with admiration.

But it wasn't just about the speed and the power. It was about the freedom, the sense of adventure that came with every journey. Jack and the Mach 1 shared a bond that went beyond metal and rubber – they were kindred spirits, united by a love for the road and a thirst for adventure.

And so, the legend of the 1971-73 Ford Mustang Mach 1 lived on, a testament to the enduring spirit of American muscle cars and the people who love them..

Courtesy of Vintage Life

#ford mustang mach 1 #ford mustang #fastback #car #cars #muscle car #american muscle #ford

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konigsblog · 1 month

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what happens if kidnapped konig gets his poor victim knocked up would he give them more freedom

he's ecstatic, this is everything he's ever dreamed of. :(

tw: kidnapper-könig, kidnapping, non-con/dub-con, smut, forced impregnation and breeding, intoxication, dark content. dead dove: do not eat. MDNI 18+

it's kidnapper-könig's goal to get you pregnant, meaning you're forced to depend on him and accept his love and adoration. könig has fantasized about impregnating you for years — it's been his goal; to capture you and forcefully impregnate you, to start a family with his beloved, poor captive.

of course, you're absolutely distraught, your breathing quickening as you hyperventilate and sob out painfully, unable to break free from könig's tight grasp. he holds you firmly against him chest, pulling you onto his lap whilst hushing you and kissing down your marked, chained neck. tears roll down your pathetic face, and könig almost feels sympathetic and remorseful, until he remembers that he's got you exactly where he wants you.

he'd knocked you up by drugging you. unconscious, you were defenceless against merciless könig, who made sure he got exactly what he wanted; to fuck your swollen cunt full of his potent load. he didn't waste a second of his precious time, he took advantage of you in your intoxicated state, thrusting in and out of your sopping wet pussy mercilessly and violently.

you look so defeated as you realise your fate, that you no longer have a choice — well, it's not as if you ever did have a choice, forced to depend on könig and fit his ideal. :(

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cupcraft · 1 month

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Another thing. George, Wilbur, punz, dream, and abusers and their defenders in general weaponize their incompetence heavily.

Abusers often will say "they didn't know" what they were doing was abuse or nonconsenual. They will say "I thought they enjoyed it". They will say "well they never said no?" They will continually act incompetent. They will say "how was I supposed to know they were really drunk?" They will make it seem like consent is some sort of confusing puzzle thst is impossible to figure out. This is a partnof abuse, this is a part ofnthr gaslighting, this is how the abuser tries to minimize what they did so you do not side with their victim.

Consent is not difficult. Consent is not gray. Consent is a clear yes or no or other pre discussed and consented to boundaries and systems as is with bdsm/kink like with safewords/traffic light systems/etc that, again, are explicitly clear what is yes and what is no. Consent is not gray. Consent is not hard. When abusers try to be incompetent, they are trying to convince you that consent is hard to understand so you believe them. It Is not difficult. When someone is drinking or otherwise intoxicated it is simple to not have sex with them. It is not hard to know when someone cannot consent.

Also, on the topic of safewords, they are not a blanket freedom to hurt your partner. They are not consent to push them beyond their boundaries. They are not a goal post. They are supposed to be a way to keep things safe and consensual. Safewords do not warrant punishment or gaslighting that is not consent.

As abuse defenders come forward at this time. Think critically. Consent is not hard and ask yourself why they are making it seem like it is hard.

#tw sa #tw abuse #pls add on or rb

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shalotttower · 4 months

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Fractalize (part 1)

Title: Fractalize

Fandom: Hunter x Hunter

Summary: Lack of hope creates a strange kind of numbness.

Word count: 3700+

Characters: Chrollo x Reader (female)

Notes: yandere Chrollo, kidnapped, depressed and miserable Reader, Reader is dissociating a lot, morbid pondering, suicidal thoughts, explicit/triggering language/words, Reader's thoughts on possible sexual assault in future. Part 2

Fractalize - making things into smaller copies of themselves over and over again.

Sometimes you stand in front of a mirror and try to picture yourself in another timeline. One where your life didn’t take this specific turn. You try to imagine a different setting, a different apartment - perhaps the one you had before Chrollo started moving you around like a luggage bag. Maybe living in a cottage by the sea or an old farmhouse. Someplace rural, peaceful. With a garden and fresh air, far away from the city noises.

It's difficult at first, your reflection keeps slipping through your mental fingers every time you think the image is set in place. But with practice it becomes easier, sort of, so you can now see yourself clearly as you brush your hair - not here.

A blue dress on, made for nights at parties with friends. Laughing until your stomach hurts and eyes become sore. Making silly faces over alcoholic beverages. Or you can wear your favourite jeans with a high waist and head out to the pub, the same one with crooked stools and a broken sign. Drink cheep bear, eat greasy peanuts from a little bowl, listen to some small band play unknown and unheard songs.

Leave intoxicated, and everything is too fast and vibrant and wonderful until you're back home.

It's your favourite pastime now: imagine, remake and slip.

Imagine. Remake. Slip.

You don't quite remember the last time you laughed, a month ago maybe. Maybe more. Lack of hope creates a strange kind of numbness, dull, cold, you would compare it to a winter plastered all over your insides, but it's almost colder than that. It freezes everything and turns it into icicles hanging off the roof.

Remake, slip.

You have new vocabulary now.

"Mm" - is for when he asks you if you like a dress or a top and it doesn't matter how you actually feel about it, because it's going to end up being worn anyway.

"Okay" - is for when Chrollo sets another fancy meal for you on a dinner table and "Eat, don't be shy".

"I'm not hungry" - doesn't work with him, even if it's the truth. You always eat what's put in front of you, that's the rule, because he's not above shoving the spoon into your mouth, so you spare yourself the tears and sobs that will probably come with that. It's so bizarre: how much effort he puts into keeping you alive when you're anything but.

"Whatever you want" - is for when he asks you something that requires a choice, between two or three options usually. He's not one for an extensive list.

"If you say so" - for everything else.

You used to delude yourself with the idea that if you managed to appear pleasant enough, pleasant-talking, pleasant-listening, smiling a bit here and there, it would gain you some privileges and perhaps a bit more freedom. It did. But never where it really mattered. Those little things were absolutely inconsequential in the grand scheme. Yes, you can have that sweater, dear. No, you can't have your own bed. Yes, you can come shopping with me, if you give me a kiss. No, you can't take walks without me holding your hand.

Yes this and no that.

Those moments were fragile and so very takeable that they didn't give you any sense of accomplishment, just a short respite and bitter aftertaste that made you feel pathetic.

Wasn't worth it.

***

"Do you like animals, dear?" Chrollo asks out of the blue one day. He's reading something on his tablet while you're curled up on the couch, watching TV.

It's a new series that's been on the major channels for a few weeks, a mystery drama about a girl who moves into a house she inherited from her grandfather. The picture provides a distraction enough to have you forgetting where you are for a brief period three times a week.

You pull the blanket higher. "I do."

He knows it.

The girl on the screen finds a mysterious box hidden in the attic. Perhaps there's something valuable inside. Or information about her grandpa; your fingers tug on a loose blanket thread without much thought.

"What kind?"

Or maybe it's just a time capsule with photos and postcards and random objects collected over the years.

Or-

You had a cat before he took you. A foster grey ragdoll with blue eyes who liked to rest on your belly and bump her head against your chin. You called her Miss Whiskerton and kissed her little nose, because she did act like a proper lady - poised, dignified and entirely too proud to eat food mixed with medicine. The worst enemy Miss Whiskerton has ever had in her cat life was the corner of your couch. When you weren't paying attention, she would dig her claws into the fabric and leave thin lines. You hope that someone took her in.

She probably thought you abandoned her.

"Cats."

Chrollo hums in acknowledgment and continues scrolling through whatever he's looking at - maybe news or auction listings, you don't know nor do you really care. You shift under the blanket, pulling your legs closer to your body.

"We can get one, if you'd like."

"No."

Your answer is immediate and short, without thinking. You know it, you know him by now - there's nothing Chrollo does out of spontaneous generosity, it always benefits him in some way. And you've studied him enough to figure that any pet would only be a tool to keep you tamed and compliant. Puppies make life better. Happier, lighter, with goofy smiling faces and wiggling tails. Cats make life better with soft purrs and paws stomping on your chest. They're too easy to love.

"Why not?" There's a sound of tablet set on a wooden surface.

The girl on the screen is trying to solve a combination lock on the box when the TV switches off and your little world of carefully shot scenes and scripted lines vanishes. You don't need to turn around to guess where's the remote.

She almost had it, but now you won't know what's inside until Thursday evening.

Your reflection stares back from the dead screen, blank-faced and with a blanket pulled up your nose. It tickles a bit. "Because I don't want one."

A chair creaks. "Why?"

You close your eyes shut for a moment before opening them again. This is tiring. Always probing, digging, pushing. Trying to find chinks in your armor, but all you're wearing is just a flimsy dress with thin straps and a blanket you wish could swallow you whole.

"Don't need it."

"You said you like animals," Chrollo sits next to you and places a hand on top of your covered legs. He squeezes your thigh and you stare ahead, wishing he would just leave you alone tonight.

"I do." Your fingers twitch under the blanket, nails scratching at the fabric.

Strange. Sometimes it feels like he understands perfectly that you want to be alone, have time for yourself and don't want his constant physical presence. At the same time Chrollo brushes this all aside like old tin foil wrappers - insignificant. He pulls the blanket down and you cling on it stubbornly for a few seconds before letting go. His thumb and index finger grasp your chin and turn your face towards him so you have no choice but to meet his eyes.

There's such still intensity within him that made your skin crawl whenever he looked at you with this much focus and attention. You don't know what he saw there most times, it used to be fear or anger or sadness - right now it's none of these things. Everything inside you feels jammed and stiff.

"We should get a fish then," he continues, brushing hair out of your forehead. "You can watch it swim around, wouldn't that be nice?"

Chrollo talks to you like this sometimes, as if you're a child who needs to be convinced to eat veggies or take medicine. Like you're simple-minded and he's reasoning with you out of good will. It's sickening. You hate it.

"I don't want a pet," you repeat the words slowly. "If you're going to give me something only to take it away, then I don't want it."

His finger leisurely stroking your chin pauses at the edge of your bottom lip. Something flickers behind his eyes, it's barely noticeable but you've become good at catching those minuscule shifts. He smiles, yet there's nothing joyful about it. "Take it away? Why would I do that, dear?"

"Because that's what you do. Because that's how you are." You don't try to pull free from his hold, he'll only tighten it; not enough to hurt, no, he is too suave and polished for that - or wants to appear so - but enough for you to feel trapped under his palm.

There's something off about you, you can tell, but are not quite able to discern what or where. It sits in the very structure of your bones and eats away with ravenous appetite. An imbalance in the gut. Fever-warm body, cold fingers. Thoughts like potholes.

"And how am I exactly, according to you?" His voice is light, playful, a stark contrast to his eyes that study you with unnerving precision. Chrollo rarely loses his temper and never gets violent with you (yet, you correct yourself), but he has other ways of expressing displeasure, and they're petty, ugly and cold.

"Cruel," the word rolls off your tongue so effortlessly that almost frightens you; it's easy to tell the truth when you're this numb.

He looks taken aback for a split second, and the smile freezes. His hand stops midway to your hair. Then everything's gone.

Chrollo releases you and leans back into the cushions, almost thoughtful, like your observation is something that requires careful consideration.

"I suppose, it depends," he says finally.

"On what?"

"On how you choose to see things. Your perspective is bound to be biased, dear."

You don't respond.

To continue this conversation would be pointless and circular, like running on a treadmill, like everything else between you and Chrollo, really. He simply has too many answers to any possible argument, and no matter how convincing you manage to make them sound, he'll poke holes into each one. You don't want a fish. Or a cat. Or a dog, a bird, anything that moves and breathes and looks at you with big, trusting eyes.

Chrollo is cruel. Not in a way that's straightforward and brutal. Not in a way of someone who'd tear your limbs apart or rip off a fly's wing to see it wiggle. You have no doubt that he is capable of such a thing, but that would be uncouth. Cruelty in his case is a quieter, more delicate affair - in a way of a sculptor who'd chisel off everything unnecessary and unneeded, no matter the size or significance, to produce something entirely his.

His hands are soft, his voice is always composed, and he wears well tailored clothes. But the rest is sharp, clean and merciless.

"I think I'll go to bed," you say and push away the blanket.

"It's early."

"Mm."

He takes your hand just as you're about to slide off the sofa. Chrollo's always faster than you, always ahead and always observing, and that little realization while bitter is not so shocking anymore, more like another fact that you file away from your interactions.

You watch him. Wait.

"You're distraught," he says. "But you should know by now that there's no need for that."

Your hand remains in his grasp, limp and heavy.

"I don't enjoy seeing you upset, dear. Even more if you make false conclusions."

You turn to see the expression on his face - and there isn't one, at least not the type that most people would make. There are no frowning eyebrows, no clenched jaw that would indicate irritation, nothing like that.

"You're giving me too little credit," his tone is quiet as he runs his fingers up and down your wrist. "My intentions are not to hurt you. They are much, much sweeter than that."

"But you would," you say quietly and lean closer, ignoring the obvious implication behind his words. There is a hollow sensation inside of your head that prompts you to speak, everything is hollow - body and mind, heart, the space in your guts, your throat. "You would hurt me, if that's what you thought was necessary. Rip me apart and leave me deformed beyond repair, to fit into whatever framework you've laid, you would do that."

You're not being deliberately cryptic or fatalistic. These are your observations, based on a period of months spent together. They take root in no one being there for you anymore, in your phone which is long gone, in your closed accounts, your missing laptop and old clothes, the entire previous life in the city that has been discarded for something new. Chrollo was very methodical, you can give him that.

He doesn't listen, he studies your responses. Every single word. He has a talent for that, for absorbing everything about you while hardly ever letting you glimpse his interior - all that you know about him are tiny slivers which you picked up through living together, observation, accidental bits.

You expect him to contradict your statement, to offer a logical explanation why you're wrong, but instead Chrollo brings your hand to his lips and presses a kiss against your knuckles. The touch is light and dry.

"You're not entirely wrong, dear," he says and moves closer until you can smell his aftershave, something fresh.

His proximity is uncomfortable, it always is and probably always will be.

"I'm right then," you say.

"No," he keeps your hand in his grasp. "But you're not entirely wrong either. That's what makes you interesting."

There's a strange kind of fondness in his voice, it's subtle, yet undeniably present. You've never felt less interesting in your life, in a dress with thin straps that's too fancy for a lazy day at home and your bare feet and tangled hair.

"If you say so," you respond and slowly tug your hand free. "I really want to sleep now."

You get up, and he lets you go without another proposition. The blanket falls off onto the sofa, and before you slip into the semi-darkness of the bedroom, he says,

"Not beyond repair. But I like to believe we can both agree it doesn't have to come to that."

***

The drive feels endless. Houses and streets blur in a mix of colors, shapes and people, which soon change to an empty highway with greenery on both sides. Trees and fields, tall grass swaying gently in the wind and rare cars passing you by. Chrollo's hand is resting on your leg; he hasn't moved it since the car started, but you choose to ignore it in favor of your regular pastime, the one that's made of imaginary worlds and places where the timeline stretches differently.

Mostly it's just you and the layout of your fake apartment.

Imagine, remake, slip. Repeat the steps until it becomes muscle memory.

You have this daydream on loop now. Wooden floor and wide windows, lots of sunlight. Books everywhere, comfy clothes and not a single skirt in your closet. A cup of tea with honey in the morning, and Miss Whiskerton curled into a soft grey ball on your lap. You feed her salmon in a shiny bowl, occasionally she catches a lizard outside and drops the tail on your doorstep as an offering, looking immensely proud of herself.

A smile slips on your face without meaning to, a wobbly thing; you promptly wipe it off.

It would be a crime to show such blatant joy. This fantasy has become so sweetly personal that every fiber of your being resists even acknowledging it in front of Chrollo. He can sense a stray happy thought from miles away, like a hound, and will never stop prodding until everything is raw and tender. You've learned to say less in his presence, especially if it's something that has you invested. Chrollo knows how to pick things apart.

You lean your cheek against the glass. This world would never happen, never in a million years, but dreaming doesn't hurt anyone, does it?

Your grandma, wearing an apron, sets a tray filled with fresh pastries on a table, because she's amazing like that. She fusses and worries and pretends to scold you. For not calling enough, for not coming sooner, for not eating well. For leaving.

"Dear."

You almost jump.

Chrollo's voice brings you back where his hand is heavy on your leg, you're wearing a dress above the knee and aren't allowed to use scissors or knives.

"Mm?"

"That frown of yours," he says, turning into a small road. The surroundings change again, it's quiet here, not a soul in sight. "It's been there for fifteen minutes now."

You sit up straight and move your hair out of your eyes. Chrollo's a perceptive one, so this is a reminder not to sink too deep around him, unless you absolutely need it.

"Was just thinking."

"You do it a lot lately," he states and looks at you from the corner of his eye.

True, but you have no intention to confirm it. First, he won't like the reason behind these thoughts. Second, he will dig and try to worm his way in. No. Most of what you've been fixating on, staring out of the window like a mindless drone, or reading and rereading pages that you barely grasped, would fail to create anything more complex in his heart than desire to pull it out.

For whatever twisted reason, Chrollo cares for your well-being, or, more precisely, your acceptance of his advances. Yet his way of caring isn't nurturing in any sense.

Chrollo's interest (you don't dare call it love) is crushing, too heavy to carry - he'll find what troubles you and "fix it" in way that will twist it into something pathetic. Something that shows how you have nothing else to cling on but him. You're not stupid enough to keep falling into this trap. Being a slow learner doesn't mean you don't learn at all.

He's done it before. He'll do it again. So you reply, "I haven't noticed."

His thumb rubs circles on your thigh; you press your shoulder against the car door as if hoping it might open. It doesn't, much to your disappointment.

"What was on your mind then?"

Something you shouldn't tell him, that's for sure. Chrollo's watching you, even if his eyes are trained on the road.

"Random stuff," you say. Half-truths, half-truths are safe. "A weird dream I had this morning."

If you bothered to look, you'd see a raised eyebrow and the faintest hint of amusement at the corners of his mouth. You don't.

"Tell me."

You hate when he does that.

"It was boring."

"I'm interested in anything that made you so pensive."

Chrollo likes conversations with you, even if they're short. You can tell that he does, or he wouldn't be trying to make you talk and getting subtly frustrated when you choose not to. It never shows outright, Chrollo is very gifted at keeping his calm exterior, but there are certain giveaways like the slight tightening of his hand, an emphasized "dear", a pause here, or a quiet exhale through the nose. You could make a list out of these.

If you ignore him, he gets quiet and handsy or petty enough to throw away the only dress you feel comfortable in. Stop bringing you new books. Take you to places you hate.

It's always the small things that kill you, not the big, dramatic ones. The devils in the details.

"There was a lizard," you begin, and he hums in response, prompting you to continue. "It was cute with brown spots and a tiny tail."

Lies weave themselves easily, intertwine with truths and turn it into something that resembles a story.

"It was sitting on my windowsill and I wanted to pet it. A cat came out of nowhere and almost ate it, then I woke up. It's a silly dream."

There. Nothing to dissect here, not that you can see. Just a nonsensical dream, filled with random happenings and strange emotions.

"And that's why you frowned for fifteen minutes?"

"Yes, I got sad."

Yes, you think. Yes, Chrollo. I frowned, because I care for the damn lizard that doesn't exist, an animal from a dream. A stupid musing, nothing special, a very mundane and simple thing, because people do have silly dreams sometimes, and it's not a crime. It's not a crime and has nothing to do with that fact that I have a whole dream world where I'm not with you in my head.

"How peculiar. You never struck me as the type to get upset over something like this."

"You never asked," you respond flatly and Chrollo's hand on your thigh moves an inch.

It brushes up, closer to where you really, really don't want it to be, so you squeeze his fingers hard and redirect them to the curve of your knee.

"True," he says after a pause, not sounding too bothered. A month ago you would've brushed his hand off completely, probably that's why. Chrollo is convinced that with enough patience and effort he'll be able to close that final barrier between you both. Time, coaxing, a dose or two of endearment, some carefully calculated touch - but you'd rather stick a knife through your ribs than have sex with him. Or his patience will simply run out and he'll rape you. You're not delusional. Not a fool. "Well, that can be fixed. I'll make sure to ask about your dreams more often, dear."

You lean back into the seat and stare ahead, this time without anything pleasant on your mind. Of course he will. Of course he'll take this as a sign to dig deeper and invade that small bit of solace, Chrollo can't simply co-exist. He wants it all.

"Mm," you say.

Your new vocabulary is such a handy thing.

#hunter x hunter #chrollo lucilfer #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo lucilfer #yandere #hunter x hunter fanfic #chrollo lucifer x reader #shalott fanfiction

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rebelspykatie · 3 months

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Steve joins a fraternity because of his father, slots himself easily into the most prestigious fraternity on campus as a legacy. All the guys envy him, his father’s name following him, branding him as a top dog, even as a lowly freshman. The other pledges either resent him or suck up to him, hoping some of that Harrington charm will rub off on them.

Steve’s done what’s expected of him his whole life, but college gives him that taste of freedom he’s longed for. When he starts dating Eddie, it’s like a breath of fresh air. Besides Robin, he’s the first person that really sees Steve. He’s not a Harrington, or King Steve, or a legacy pledge. He’s just Steve and it’s intoxicating.

Expectations weigh heavily on Steve. He’s bound to disappoint. He’s used to being the prettiest person in the room, but not the smartest, and the future his father has laid out for him is outside of his capabilities. He’s never going to be a lawyer and take over his father’s firm. He’s never going to be as smart as his little brother Dustin. He’s never going to be anything besides a trophy husband at this rate, good at spending daddy’s money and looking good on social media.

But Eddie makes him feel like he’s more. More than his father’s name, more than the notoriety he brings to his house. What’s not easy, is that Eddie is in a rival fraternity. Steve begged him not to go to the dark side, but Eddie couldn’t be swayed. The stuffy, prestigious nature of Steve’s house didn’t appeal to Eddie. No, he was drawn to the misfits, the house of slackers and party animals. He wanted to have fun, not make a name for himself. Steve wishes he had that freedom.

The rivalry gets between them, pranks wars gone wrong, comments on how they’re fraternizing with the enemy. Eddie’s better than Steve at ignoring it. It gets under his skin and festers. Eddie’s never on time, always partying with his brothers, late night dnd sessions that seem to be more important than their dates. When Eddie misses a function and leaves Steve standing there alone like an idiot, it’s the last straw and they part ways.

It’s hard to avoid your ex when you’re on the same campus, just a few houses down from each other. But Steve gets over Eddie by getting under Tommy. He falls prey to his father’s expectations again and sees Tommy as the advantageous match he could be. They’re closer to equals, rich fathers and ambitions that get the best of them.

It’s easy with Tommy in a different way, the way they both know deep down it’s a political match. They’re both gaining something from this. Tommy gets the hottest guy on campus on his arm, the future leader of their fraternity, and Steve gets to tell his father he’s not messing up his entire life dating a directionless, no-name loser from the worst fraternity on campus. Even if his father’s comments on Eddie make his blood boil, wanting to leap to Eddie's defense, even if he doesn’t deserve it after abandoning Steve.

Steve’s never been made of the hard stuff like his father or Tommy, he’s always been brittle, too soft on the inside, too fragile to handle that kind of pressure long term. And it cracks, blows up in his face when Dustin wants to pledge and finds Tommy cheating on him with Carol.

Dustin is less scared of their father, not the firstborn, never expected to take over the business, but he’s also inherently got more freedom because he’s known since he was a kid that he wanted to be a polymer engineer. That path is straightforward and one filled with accolades that impress, the kind of degree you can name drop at a business meeting and not be embarrassed about, because you know Dustin’s not destitute and broke. Dustin’s also never been good at the game their father plays. He’s honest and kind, even if he’s a sarcastic little shit.

It shocks everyone when Dustin decides to rush Eddie’s fraternity. It’s become a home to misfits in the Greek system, the ones that don’t realy fit in anywhere else. Probably because they’re less worried about grades and more worried about their dnd campaigns and how many nerds they can collect under one roof. That should’ve been enough of a clue for Steve on where he’d land, but Steve is still blindsided by it. Mostly because it inadvertently brings Eddie back into his life.

Suddenly he’s around every corner, teasing Steve about Dustin, asking more questions about their home life than he ever did while they were together, like there’s no bad blood between them and with a hint of understanding behind his eyes. He even checks in on Steve post Tommy fiasco. It tugs at something in his gut, tricks Steve into thinking Eddie still cares, that he didn’t abandon him because he found out how little Steve has to offer. That he didn’t get tired of Steve not being enough.

Maybe Steve’s ready to give Eddie another chance. Maybe they deserve another chance at something real, especially when the universe keeps pulling them together. Steve wants something that’s his for once, something he built on his own, something that his father has no hand in. Eddie Munson might just be the very thing that saves Steve from himself.

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #katie writes #greek au

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killerpancakeburger · 5 months

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Outpace the dawn

Gif by @silverformymonsters

Summary: BG3 Spawn ending Fix It fic! Because I refuse to let him deal with the sunlight alone.

Pairing: Astarion x Reader

Warnings/tags: SPOILERS obvsly, angst/comfort, non canon compliant.

Words count: 936 words.

A/N: It should be Gender Neutral, but if I fcked up since I tend to write from my pov, you can tell me and I'll correct it.

Yes the title is from that Hozier song. It got me thinking how Astarion would need to outpace the dawn from now on.

Astarion’s voice cut through the silence that followed your last battle, as your little group was gathering on a pontoon.

“So, what’s next for us?”

You had been thinking about what was to come for a while, actually. Probably longer than any of your companions have. Some might argue that it wasn’t the time for that, that you should have been completely focused on defeating the Netherbrain. But you couldn’t help it; it was a matter of life and death - Astarion’s life and death. Or rather, undeath and death. Since you’ve known that the brain was within reach, it had become an omnipresent apprehension in your mind.

The slaughter of the brain sounded the death knell of the tadpoles, and their disappearance inevitably meant that Astarion’s resistance to the sun would vanish like it never existed. Like nature rightfully reasserting itself by getting rid of this aberration that had been a vampire walking in the sun in the first place.

This knowledge has been haunting you for days and nights now. It was your first thought when you woke up and your last when you fell asleep. A knot of dread had settled inside your stomach, making it hard to fall asleep and to interact normally with the source of your worries. And right now, following Astarion’s question, the knot in your guts got even tighter, even more painful.

At any moment, any second from now on, your vampire lover would catch fire as surely as straw in the summer.

It was fine. You planned. You prepared for this. You procured a large, thick, hooded coat that was guaranteed to block the sunrays. It was even imbued with magic that made it impossible to tear, pierce, or rip in any way. It hadn’t been easy to acquire, but Astarion didn’t need to know that.

You were on the lookout for any sign of burning, wound as tightly as a spring while still trying to appear normal to the others.

“The world is our oyster, and she has many pearls we can choose from.” claimed Astarion, blissfully unaware of his fate.

He illustrated his remarks by spreading his arms far apart with vigor. The genuine excitement, the happiness in his voice almost made you sick to your stomach. Astarion’s displays of authentic joy were few and far in between, and this one would end as soon as it started. As fast as a vampire spawn left in the sun, as a pile of ashes on the ground.

You could barely bear to look at him. You didn’t have the heart to remind him of his imminent doom. He obviously had forgotten about it for the time being, and while the cruel reality was taking up almost all the space in your brain, like blaring alarms, you’d be damned if you took away from him his last, his only instants of light and warmth, of complete freedom, by reminding him. No Cazador, no tadpole, no mind control, no deadly sunlight, no slave and no master. Just an immense ocean of liberty, intoxicating, vertiginous.

“I honestly don’t mind what we do, once we get to- Ow!”

You instantly straightened up at the sound, like a wild animal who picked up the sound of an upcoming danger. For a terrible second, there was a twisted part of you who felt relieved. Finally, your gnawing, agonizing wait was coming to an end. Then, swiftly, the relief disappeared, flooded with your concern for Astarion.

“What the- Oh no. Oh Gods.”

Already his hands were fuming, his beautiful pale face sprinkled with silververy cracks like delicate porcelain. He had always looked more like a piece of art than a living being after all. The frantic panic in his voice was like a punch to the chest. In all your battles and struggles together, you had never seen him so horrified. Even against Cazador. Even a True Vampire had to yield to the Sun.

He threw you a harrowing look, like he was bidding you goodbye before bolting. As if you were going to leave him to deal with this alone. Already you were rushing towards him, the life-saving coat in hands. You wrapped it around him as fast as your hands would allow, put the hood on, and gently grabbed him by the shoulder, turning him so his covered back would take the blunt of the light.

“There we go, you explained softly. This will block the sun.”

“You’ve got this, and I’ve got you.” you added, mirroring his own words.

You were smiling sadly, trying to be supportive, to not add to his burden. The look in his eyes was hard to describe, an intense blend of heartbreak, vulnerability, and gratefulness.

“Well… It was… it was nice while it lasted.” he managed to articulate, his voice breaking like he was about to cry.

You could feel your heart break in response like an echo.

The magic sunproof coat was in no way a solution. Barely a bandage on a sinking ship. You had to get out of the sun, quickly.

“Come on, love. Let’s get you some shadow, uh?”

Your encouraging smile was as fragile as a spiderweb. You could feel it teetering on the edge of an abyss.

Astarion simply nodded, like he didn’t trust his voice anymore. It was fine. He was already expressing so much through his gaze.

You put your hand on the small of his back, barely applying any pressure, threw a telling look over your shoulder at your other companions, and you both started your search for protective darkness between the walls of Baldur’s Gate.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion fanfic #fanfic #fic #bg3 fanfiction #yes i know i said i was doing rolan - lol - but i already written half of this one so i might as well finish it right?

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