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aprocessionofthoughts · 6 months

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Calling All Bats

ai-less whumptober 2023 day 26- came back wrong fandom- dp x dc TW- none summary- Jason starts looking for Danny

ao3 ailesswhumptober23 masterlist part 5 of DLM

Danny found himself pleasantly relaxing with this strange liminal. Which he figured was why Gotham had directed him to that apartment. He had been surprised when he reached Gotham’s border and immediately felt the city’s presence. He had never encountered a living city before even though he knew they were possible. He had hesitated at first, not wanting to intrude on what felt like a haunt. But Gotham had assured him with feelings of temporary protection, she couldn’t do much. She was too weak from constantly being surrounded by corrupted ectoplasm from all the disasters. But she could offer temporary asylum and let Danny know when the GIW entered Gotham’s border.

Of course Danny hadn’t known that Gotham would be sneaky and direct him to a liminal’s apartment. Danny had not expected a liminal to come in, usually he could sense a haunt, but with Gotham as contaminated as she was, he figured the criminal's presence was hidden. It was also probably because Jason’s ectoplasm was also corrupted.

He wished he could have stayed longer in that apartment. He might have even been able to help Jason. But when Gotham whispered to him that the GIW had come, Danny knew he had to leave before the agents found Jason. Hopefully Gotham’s corrupt ectoplasm would help hide Jason. It might even make it more difficult for the agents to track him down as well.

But he couldn’t risk it. He wasn’t sure where he’d go next. At least he had gotten his bandages changed and eaten a few cookies.

-------------------

Jason didn’t know what to do. The kid was just gone.

How was he supposed to look for him? Where even did he go?

And these GIW agents or whatever were clearly after him. Jason wasn’t about to abandon the kid.

Leaving behind his hot chocolate and cookies he walked over to his room and put his uniform back on.

The kid was like him. They both came back wrong. Jason grimaced. He’d always described himself as coming back wrong, but thinking about the kid like that was wrong. The kid was fine. Who cared if he’d died before. And maybe, Jason wasn’t messed up either? Danny acted like all this was normal. And maybe it was.

Whatever. Existential thought could wait till after he’d found Danny and beat the GIW to a pulp.

He left through his window and made his way up to the roof. He paused. He wouldn’t be able to search the whole city by himself.

That meant he’d have to call in reinforcements.

Ugh. What a pain.

He activates his comm. “Hey, Oracle. Anyone out tonight?”

“Hood, I thought you were ending your patrol early today?”

“I did. Then I found something. I need anyone out to help me out with the situation.”

“Red Robin’s out right now, but Nightwing is still suited up if you need him too.”

“Go ahead and patch them both to my comm.”

“Will do.”

A moment later Dick’s voice came through. “What’s up, Hood?”

“I need your help looking for someone.” Jason said, grappling over to the next roof. “Who are you looking for?” Tim asked.

Jason hesitated before answering, “He’s a kid about fourteen or fifteen, he’s some kind of meta. I was talking with him and he just disappeared. But he mentioned he has government agents trying to hunt him down to experiment on him.”

“What’s he look like?” Dick asked, voice serious.

Jason paused before getting it over with. “He was wearing jeans and had a black hoodie on. And he has black hair and blue eyes.”

There was silence for a moment before Dick started cackling. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I know this is serious, but really Little Wing? You’ve found us a new brother?”

“Shut up. We need to start looking for him.”

“Of course.” Dick said, sounding serious, but Jason could tell that the man was still smiling.

“Do you know what agency is after him?” Tim asked.

“A group called the GIW. I don't know anything else.”

“I’ll look into them. I’ve also got my systems looking for any black haired, blue eyed kids.” Babs said.

“We’ll find him, Hood.” Dick said.

Jason hoped so.

#ailesswhumptober2023 #ailesswhumptober #day 26 #came back wrong #jason is liminal #Jason todd #Danny fenton #dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp crossover #fanfic

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qweerhet · 9 months

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i do think that the abolitionists who cling to the "it's simple, just kick abusers/assaulters/rapists/murderers out of the community" line are just... usually people who have never had the experience of someone they deeply, deeply care for, someone they have committed their life to, committing serious and egregious harm. (that, or they have, and like anti-abortion folks who get abortions for themselves when push comes to shove, they come up with narratives about how their situation was the most singular and special situation in the entire world, and nothing else like that could ever happen to anyone else.)

but like... when you run into that situation IRL, you generally find it's not ever as simple as kicking someone out, or rolling up with your crew and beating them until they promise to move somewhere else. they have complex relationships within the community, some of which aren't going to be willing to cut them off entirely no matter what they did. family relationships--regardless of biology, "family" in the broader sense of "chosen bonds of unconditional love and lifelong commitment"--are notably often capable of weathering severe strain, and that can include shit like "you're still my sister even if you murdered someone."

and people who commit harm IRL have complex and multifaceted reasons for committing that harm, some of which can be systemic in nature. this isn't to say that the harm doesn't exist, or that their actions are excused or justified by those reasons, but when you have an intimate relationship with someone and are privy to the complexities of the situation, those reasons do often materially complicate situations beyond just "beat the villain up and save the victims." if the serious harm someone is enacting is materially pressured by systemic factors, it's incredibly unlikely that it will change or stop if they're forced to move cities and cut off from their former relationships. in fact, when we're talking about abuse and trauma that's partially enacted due to material systemic pressure, it's more likely that someone will become even more unstable and volatile when forced to rebuild their life, and continue to enact even worse harm due to their decreased supports and increased vulnerability.

like... we're all damn well aware that when we, as abolitionists, talk about this shit, we're not talking about jeff bezos. we're not even talking about joe smith two neighborhoods over with a six-figure salaried position and a 401k that he started in the 70s. we're talking about the people in our abolitionist communities, who are victim to generational poverty, who are usually disabled, trans, nonwhite. we're people who don't have the option to just find a new job and start over in a new city one day. and we're people who exist at the nexus of intense, violent societal pressures pushing us to harm one another, to use what little hierarchical power we can get against each other, to commit real and lasting violent harm. that shit is complex in reality. that shit isn't addressed by a pithy "kill your local rapist" patch or a tweet questioning why anyone's still talking to [insert transfem who abused someone here].

and like. it's hard! it's upsetting and difficult and miserable to get into the weeds of "why did someone do what awful thing they did and how do we actually materially reduce the likelihood of that happening." because the answers usually don't involve forcing them to move or forcing everyone who speaks to them to cut them off or beating them, in reality, and even though those answers feel good and feel like real solutions, they're not only unrealistic, they also usually actually make future harm of the same kind more likely. and it's hard to wrap our heads around the fact that people will continue to hurt each other in profoundly horrific ways until we learn to dismantle the systems enabling that harm and heal the dysfunction within individuals that makes them feel like that harm was justifiable and necessary. that sucks. but in the end, i think it's the only... realistic way forward? because the ~just kick em out~ ~just kill em~ line is so, so ungrounded in reality.

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banananuttrash · 11 months

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Hey😊 if you know mbti How would sword leaders be with their infp girlfriends

SWORD Leaders w/ INFP Girlfriends

Notes: I've never done headcanons and typically write one shots, so this may be trash. Please let me know what you think so I can know if head canons are a yay or nay for me lol. Also I have no experience with MBTI so that may be another reason this is trash. 😅 So, please, please, please, give me some feedback on this. 🙏🏼😆

⋈ *. : ｡✿ * ﾟ * .: ｡ ✿ * ﾟ * . : ｡ ✿ * ⋈

Cobra

You guys met at Itokan. He came in one day and you were having lunch while reading a book. He got the nerve to ask you out on a date and you said yes.

He will literally worship the ground you walk on, and love you so much.

He's a softie with you, but doesn't show it when you two are with anyone else.

Touch is his love language w/ you. Whether it be holding hands, or rubbing circles on your skin. He is ALWAYS touching you.

He loves to sit with you and just listen to you. Many nights spent just sitting on the couch and you read a book aloud and he just listens.

Isn't really the jealous type because he knows that the end of the day, he's the one you like.

Rocky

More than likely met at Heaven. Due to your personality, you weren't having much fun and just came for the sake of your friends. Rocky noticed and asked if he could do anything to make you feel more comfortable.

Honestly, I think an INFP girlfriend is a huge turn on for him, so he falls for you rather quickly.

Once you start dating, he reduces the amount of woman that he lets get near him, not wanting to make you misunderstand.

Spending quality time together is what he enjoys the most. He takes you out on romantic dinners where it's just the two of you. You both talk about your days and how you have been doing.

Doesn't tell you when something is wrong in order to not worry you. Whenever he shows up beaten, he tries to hide it as much as he can.

He spends free time, spoiling and spending money on you, even though you repeatedly tell him no to.

Murayama

You met near Oya High. He was walking towards the school and you guys bumped into each other when you weren't looking. Murayama didn't do anything at first, but he found himself wanting to see you again. When he does see you again, he asks you out.

P D A! 'Nough said.

You're his girl and he wants to make sure everyone knows it. To the point that it embarrasses you sometimes.

Loves to have you at the school with the rest of the part-timers, even if you're shy most of the time. So, whenever work allows, you go and visit him.

I don't see him being jealous over you, more like a sulker whenever you interact with any other guys. He wants to be the only one having your attention.

On your down time, he will probably just want to lay on your lap while you do you whatever you need.

Smoky

You guys grew up together in Nameless City. Smoky always had feelings for you, but it took a long time before he did anything about it.

Whenever there's fights, he wants you far from the scene and doesn't want you to fight, even though he knows that you are able to.

Like you, he tends to be shy when it comes to outward expressions of romance, so when you guys often express love, you both blush and get nervous.

You two spend your free time going around Nameless City looking after the citizens of the city.

He tries to hide when things are wrong to now make you worried. Especially with his sickness.

He is definitely not jealous over you, and whenever he sees you taking care of others or with others, it warms his heart and if possible, he falls for you even more.

Hyuga

How you meet... one night after he got into a fight, you see him on the street and offer to help patch him up. He scared you at first but then you started getting to know him and fell for him.

This man will KILL for you.

Anyone touches you, they die. Anyone talks to you, they die. Anyone remotely looks at you, they'll probably die. (Ukyo and Sakyo are probably exceptions.)

Super protective. It's not that he doesn't trust you, but just knows how naive you can be and doesn't want anyone to take advantage of you.

Not much of a talker when you are around others, and his eyes are always on you and anyone who gets near you.

On your down time, he will probably sleep and wants to have you in his arms, even if you're not sleeping.

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sudsyv2 · 1 year

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"Home”

Such a simple word that confused Simon to no end.

He knew what house was, of course, everybody does, but home? No, even now the word is still relatively new to him. He doesn't think he's ever been able to experience the word home.

House was more of Simon's kinda word.

A place you live in.

All Simon needed really. (He wished for more)

Houses for Simon were temporary and only for short moments. Something that the man has been used to all his life.

But to be honest, he never bothered to understand the word 'home'

Though in his defense, he knew in his heart there wasn't much of a chance for him to experience it anyways. Simon wasn't some poor kid on a street, he was a trained killer. He made due with the fact that he'd probably only feel home in hell.

Made due with it till a man named Johnny came into his life. (Rather annoyingly if you asked Simon)

The damn bastard made a room for himself in both Simon's space and heart. He skillfully wiggled his way right next to Simon and has yet to let go.

It confused Simon to no end. Why is someone like Johnny wanting to spend time with him?Surely he's popular enough with the whole base to just go hang out with the others. But nope.

"Whyd I choose anyone else but you LT!" He'd say in such a faux offended tone that it made Simon let out a small chuckle. "I chose you" Johnny would say again, softer this time. More serious as well. Maybe to convey something? Simon would usually brush the comment off. Never brought attention to it. (He wanted to)

But that didn't mean he never thought about it, what Johnny said.

It was strange but...it felt nice. Simon's never been chosen as a first by someone else.

A moment Simon thinks back to fondly was when Johnny was patching up his small wounds. They were only scratches really, (‘these aren't scratches LT' Johnny said, rather unimpressed and slightly angry that Simon didn't care about his wounds.) but Johnny insisted that he patch Simon up. And with enough barking from Johnny and the slow drain of his adrenaline, Simon gave in. (‘...fine. Better do a good job.’ Simon huffed in annoyance. His tone was angry but he felt warm in the face. What was Johnny doing to him?) When Johnny began patching up his wounds, all Simon could do was stare. Stare at the knitted eyebrows on the others face, stare at the way his hands moved delicately yet precisely to clean a cut on Simon's arm. (‘You’re so strange..’ Simon muttered to himself. That same warm feeling pooling into him again. 'Wow thanks LT’ Johnny replied in a joking tone, and if he tightened his grip on Simon's arm then that's for him to know and for Simon to complain about.)

Simon would never admit it out loud but can a human be a home? It was so weird that he asked Price. (Papa price!)

"Would you say a person could be a home."

Price turned to look at Simon. They had just breaked for lunch and Simon had pulled Price aside to ask something. (Price never expected this though)

"A home?" Price repeated, maybe to ground the conversation in his head. "I'd say so." Price replied with a confident shake of his head.

“I see.” Simon said

A few moments of silence. ‘Can I go now…’ Price said in his head, looking around awkwardly for an escape.

"What is home to you sir?" Another strange question. Well strange coming from a guy like Simon. Whys he asking about stuff like ‘home’ all of a sudden?

"Uh..I'd say it's a place, or someone, that makes you feel secure. And warm. Something or someone you feel that you belong to." Price answered.

Simon began to get lost in his head. If that was anything to go by, did those rushes of warmth when hanging out with Johnny mean something?

"You got someone you've been thinking about, son?" Price asked, privacy be damned, he was gonna die out of curiosity.

Simon tensed up.

Did he?

"Do I?” Simon said breathlessly.

Simon thought back to the moments he had with Johnny.

He’d be lying if he were to say that he’s never felt secure with the other. He never felt judged when he ever talked about himself. He felt cared for in their soft moments with each other. Johnny was someone that Simon found peace with.

And he'd definitely be lying about denying that warm feeling. But that feeling was only with Johnny. The other was the only one who has ever given him that feeling. It kept him warmer than the promise of hell. It was nicer to feel too, it felt like being surrounded in a weighted blanket. (Or johnnys arms)

He felt like he belonged with Johnny. He felt himself gravitate towards the other as well. But maybe that was just Johnny's charm?

Johnny could be home. It wasn’t an unwelcome idea to Simon.

Simon was snapped out of his thoughts when he heard that familiar voice. "Hey guys!" It was Johnny. Simon whipped his head around, just fast enough to make him feel doozy for a split second. "W-woah! Jeez, LT you scared me" Johnny said, backing up a little as Simon was really close. "Mm? Oh-sorry." Simon replied, backing up as well to give the other some space.

Price stared at the two for a little. He saw the excited face of Johnny when he saw Simon. The man practically lit up when he was walked over. And he saw the soft look Simon had when he began talking to Johnny. He looked like an extremely whipped man.

("Would you say a person could be a home?")

("What is home to you sir?”)

Suddenly it clicked

‘Ooohhh. I get it now.” Price thought to himself. And with a smile he patted both Johnny and Simon's shoulder. And with a turn of his heel he began walking off.

"Uh where are you going sir?" Ghost asked

"To get a drink maybe." Price said, feeling very lonely all of a sudden.

#ghoap #ghost x soap #ghostsoap #soap cod #ghost cod #soap mw2 #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #john soap mctavish #john soap mactavish #ghost is whipped and he’s just now finding out #everyone else knew #my silly little guys I heart them #these bitches gay #good for them. good for them.#sudsyv2

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sunoosets · 1 year

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banda x reader

[2.2k words.]

[Warning: Banda Sunato - A literal serial killer. Smutty🤭 I heard people were down bad for this guy. Probably OOC, I was only experimenting. Public fucking, choking, slight degradation, slight non-con, orgasm denial, biting, fingering, dirty talk. I think that's all😬.]

Probably one of my favs that I have done so far..

Solitary confinement, what an interesting game for an interesting girl. I was more than accustomed to the concept of prison cells, and lonesome nights against drab, grey walls. I was comfortable with the types of people I'd find in such locations and knew, like the mildly intelligent person I was, that no one here was to be trusted. Nor did they, in turn, deserve my trust. That's not to say I couldn't pass on a fake, deceiving type of trust.

I hummed at my pickings. Groups of wavering souls, dividing into groups, lead simply by one being. They were sheep - Lost puppies. Born into this hellish scape just to follow. That, in itself, was a sign of weakness. Naivety and too much trust in one leader could spiral into consequences no man would desire.

"Tell me my suit and I'll say yours." A voice spoke, with much desperation. Yet in their tone, an unattractive amount of force rose to the surface. I lifted my brows, turning to face the man beside me. He appeared edgy. With dark, messy hair, that draped over his left eye like a patch.

"Bold." I stated simply. Flicking my gaze up his pathetic stance. "Are you really that desperate?" I questioned and the man lowered his head into a nod. "Answer this." I whispered, toning down my voice, and stepping closer to his form. He tensed, face disturbingly easy to read. "Why should I inform you?" I spoke, eyes dropping to his mouth.

"Uh." He appeared stuck. "I- I'll tell you yours? It's a good deal!" He seemed unsure, and his words wavered. I scoffed and took in his features. Scanning the regret in his one visible eye. "I can ask anyone in this room. You're not special." My face fell and I spoke with such an earnest tongue, his eye widened and he backed away from my figure. "I'm sorry ma'am. I'll ask someone else." He bowed, scurrying off in such a pathetic manner, I almost became disgusted. Though the obvious power I held over him seemed to lift my mood.

I watched, criticizing him as he asked a fellow participant. One that had previously caught my eye. Banda Sunato. A tall, broad-shouldered man. With a charismatic smile, and appealing puppy shaped eyes. He was handsome, gorgeous, pretty, but a fucking psycho. He was a serial killer, the causing death of four innocent women. Almost five..

Fortunately, the fifth famously escaped his grasp. Ultimately giving him in and enduring a harsh several months with him in court. He was sentenced to death, and the woman was pleased with her work, though that only ignited more anger in her jaws as she clenched them at the sight of her almost killer.

I was the fifth.

Banda freed a held-back frustration within my features. I loathed him, and the way he spurred butterflies against the lining of my stomach made me despise him more. A love-hate relationship with a convicted murderer.

I had been staring, and the thoughts spiralled until I caught his eyes. Amused, and gleaming against the light as he traced his hungry gaze across my skin. I was the one who got away. The one he had sworn to find, capture and kill if seen again.

He stretched out his neck and straightened his posture. All attention had been sweeped from the edge lord by his side, and now his undivided awareness was set on me. I swallowed, averting my gaze before settling on heading toward the cafeteria. There was no need to be afraid. I was safe, for now.

I hastily took my feet down the dark, dusted floors. Landing myself in a large room, packed from the ground to the ceiling in a wide variety of snacks. I composed myself. Slipping my hand from my side and sliding my fingers over a packet of cookies.

"How fortunate am I?"

"I don't want to speak to you." I replied bluntly. Fixing my hair as I plucked my desired snack from it's place. I spun on my heel, only to meet Banda's fiery gaze. Set on nothing but my face. My breath hitched and he took my arms, sticking me to the shelves, and trapping me with his chest and ribs. "Oh, but you wanted to speak on that night.." He whispered, a sense of teasing in his tone. I remained still, disgust reaching my expression as he lowered his head. Keeping eye-contact until he reached my jaw. "You were more than pleased to cry out my name."

He planted his soft lips on my skin. Kissing my jawline with such a delicacy, you wouldn't have thought he was a serial killer. A monster. "I wouldn't do that." I strained my voice, tilting my head away from his touch. Something burned against my face and I cursed at how obvious my flusterment had become. My chest twisted at the feel of his rough palms. Falling onto my hips, and holding me into place. He gripped harder, releasing a low chuckle against my ear. "Why's that, baby?" He found this fascinating. Almost hilarious.

There was no use in me fighting back, yet I couldn't let him know how much my body craved him. "You're pathetic, thinking I don't know how much you need me." He whispered sternly, lifting his head and setting his intense stare on my eyes. "You think I don't know what's going on down here?" He questioned, though it was rhetorical, as his left hand stroked my inner thigh, and suddenly his slender fingers trailed over the wet patch on my pants.

"I'm not scared of you." I managed out, through the gap in my lips. "No?" He asked. "You should be." Two of his fingers hooked my pants, and moved the fabric to the side. I gasped lightly at the contact of cold air, until my clit was met with his fingertip. Gliding between my folds and brushing over my sensitive heat. "You really should be." He repeated, but lower, against the skin of my neck. He licked at my throat, and sucked at the flesh, all while he slipped in one of his thin fingers. He curled it inside of me, provoking a soft moan from my lips. "You.." I froze, squeezing my eyes shut. "You can't kill me...weapons and murder are.." A chuckle was muffled by my damp skin, and Banda sunk a second finger inside of me. "Prohibited!" I cried, biting harshly on the flesh of my lip.

"I can still fuck you." He whispered, lips brushing over my neck. Leaving the ghost of a kiss. He raised his head and glared deep into my glossed over eyes. His lips twitched into a smirk - Sadistic, but undeniably attractive. He lifted his spare hand and set it gently on my cheek. "Y/n, y/n." He spoke my name and I bit down harder. Mistakenly pushing my hips down against his fingers. They pumped into me, luring my orgasm, as well as the truth of my fondness for him.

He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, tilting and letting his head fall subtly to the side. "This won't be fun unless I fuck you into insanity." He stated. His tone soft, despite his words meaning. "So I'll only grant you a release when you admit how much you crave me."

My eyes widened. "Please.." I unknowingly whimpered, begging for him to cast me some sort of pleasure. He simply smirked at my desperate attempts, fingering me mercilessly until my eyes rolled, and my head slammed against the wooden frame of the shelves behind me. "Banda!" I cried, sweat forming on my brow. He swiped his tongue against his lips, removing his fingers and shoving the two digits between my lips. "Suck." He commanded, and I obliged. Swirling my tongue over his fingertips. Tasting my own arousal. He appeared content, slowly sliding his fingers from my mouth, and dragging down my lower lip. He dropped his hand and replaced it with his lips. Soft and rough. Moving against mine with such a deep passion, my body was again, heating at the interaction.

He pulled away and traced my pained features with his stare. How my eyes had became watery with the denial, and how my lips had became swollen at how hard I had been biting down. "Do you like the way I touch you?" He whispered gently, manoeuvring his hands to sit either side of my head. He pushed himself closer, and my inner thigh was greeted by his hard cock, clothed by his jeans. He rubbed himself over me, grinding into my soaking pussy. The soft fabric applied pressure to my clit, and the mere fact his twitching dick was beneath these confines made my stomach drop and twist. "Banda, please, I can't take this.." I admitted, whining as I gripped his broad shoulders. Steadying myself as I rocked on his boner. "Stop teasing me!" I cried out, whimpering and moaning at the feel of his warmth against me. Banda lowered his head, grunting against my earlobe. His hot breath hit my neck and I dropped my head back, parting my lips.

"I'll fuck you with my cock right here." He groaned, biting down on the skin of my neck. Leaving behind a fresh, purple mark. His teeth grazed the muscle and I clenched my thighs, brushing myself against his dick. "All I need is for you to admit what a whore you are for me." He spoke, breaths strangled as he sunk his teeth into my flesh. I let out a silent moan, opening my lips and closing my eyes.

"Fuck! I want you, fuck...please, Banda.." My voice lowered. "I don't care anymore, just fuck me."

I hadn't had to ask twice. His pants were already unzipped and his large cock had already been freed. He slipped the length into his hands, biting onto his lip as he pumped the shaft a few times. I composed myself, fingers curling over the edge of his shirt. I creased the fabric, and my nails dug into his clothed skin as I felt him enter. He sunk inside of me, grunting softly at the way my walls clenched and tightened around his much-wanted cock.

"Fuck." He whispered, pleasure and lust shrouding his mind. His breaths became ragged as he slid his hands up my body, across my exposed collarbone, and against my neck - Where he clamped his palms around my throat. Squeezing gently as he rutted into me. His thumbs rubbed, and circled my airways sensually. I was gasping, letting out strangled and strained sobs, mixed with hot, pleasured moans. "Ruin me...please." I let out an airy breath. Staring at his features through damp lashes.

Banda groaned, squeezing roughly around my throat as I choked. He filled me, sinking his cock into me until I began hyperventilating beneath his touch. "Fuck, like that." He almost whined, "Squeeze around my cock like that, baby." His breaths were airy and I moaned at the way he entered me. Fucking into me like an animal. I clenched around him, head going dizzy at both the lack of air and abundance of pleasure. "Banda!" I cried softly. "I'm gonna cum, please."

"Do you...think you're deserving of it?" He spoke, hesitating to catch his breath every few words. My eyes grew and I subtly struggled in his grip. "Banda!" I whined. He found that amusing, and lowly chuckled, inhaling sharply as my high arrived. He twitched and a short whimper fell from his wet lips. "Cum for me, baby." Banda whispered. "Cum on my cock."

He smirked, eyes filled with ecstasy, as he pounded into me. Bathing in the lewd moans I gifted him, and the way I recited his name. Crying it like a sacred prayer. "Banda, please!" I whined, squeezing my eyes shut as I gasped and came on his cock. He slipped into me, each thrust deeper than the last. His fingers tightened around my throat, and quite frankly, I felt as if I were on the verge of fainting. The pleasure was overwhelming.

"Fuck, Y/n." He let slip, moaning as his last thrust triggered his arrival. He pushed himself deep inside of me, slapping his pelvis and balls against me as he came. He filled me, breathing heavily as his cum spread against my insides. I gasped out a muffled moan. "Banda.." I whispered, eyelids fluttering to a close. My head tilted to the side and he sighed in pleasure. Taking his large palms and gripping my shoulders. I fell against his chest, too tired to lift my legs. "You love me." Banda whispered, pride filling his malicious smile. He fixed himself up before grasping my legs, and handling me into a bridal hold. "You wish.." I breathed out against his chest, smirking with the remainder of my energy. I could feel his heartbeat, and his chest shake as he chuckled.

Grey smeared past me in the form of cell walls. Though I couldn't be too sure. My consciousness drifted past me, circling over my dazed head like a sea.

"I see I haven't fucked you into insanity yet?" He breathed. An obvious smirk on his features. "Round two?"

#aib #aib x reader #aib smut #banda sunato #banda x reader #banda sunato smut #banda alice in borderland #banda smut #smut

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ohwowimlonley · 2 years

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Harry Potter nsfw alphabet

Warnings - sub!harry, dom!reader, humiliation, praise

Notes - gonna be doing these for every character on my character list! If there’s anyone you guys desperately wanna see then let me know through my ask box and I’ll put a rush on it!

Likes and reblogs are always appreciated!

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Harry is very panicky after sex, he always worries he’s done something wrong even though he isn’t rough with you. He’d shush you, brush stray hairs away from your forehead, wrap you up in his arms and allow the both of you to calm down. After that, along with a few mumbled words of praise, he’d let you tell him what you needed help with. He’d follow your every word to the letter, anything he could do to help you out.

B = Body Part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partners)

On you? He absolutely adores your tits. It doesn’t matter the size or shape- he just loves to touch them. He’s so needy for them, all the time. Sometimes, he’d just lay there, head between your tits and bathing in your warmth. On him? He doesn’t really like to admit it but he loves his thighs. More specifically, he loves when you grind yourself on his thigh. He loves it when you use him for your own pleasure, telling him to tense and let go, bossing him around.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum, basically)

Harry does what he’s told. Anywhere you let him cum is a privilege, so he doesn’t complain when he doesn’t get to cum where he wants. He does cum a lot though, ropes and ropes of milky white cum landing wherever you let him.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Harry really likes it when you play with his balls. It makes him really embarrassed so he never really asks for you to do it. When you discover this little kink and try it out, it’s safe to say he doesn’t last long.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Harry never really had a lot of time to have girlfriends or boyfriends, and when he did he was too awkward to do anything past heavy petting. So, he’s an amazing kisser but you’d have to teach him everything else (which is good, because he’s an amazing learner)

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying)

He takes whatever you’re willing to give him, but he does have a preference for you riding him. He doesn’t make you do any of the work; he holds you up by your hips and rabbits into you, watching with dazed eyes as your tits bounce in time.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

He does have an occasional giggly moment, yeah. It mostly happens when he gets his head stuck in his shirt or a leg of his glasses tangled in his hair. Other than that, though, he’s usually too absorbed in the feeling of you touching him to think about laughing.

H = Hair (How well-groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He doesn’t really do a whole lot of grooming, but he keeps himself tidy enough. There’s a mostly neat little patch of curly, dark hair just below his happy trail ending just before his length begins.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect.)

Harry is such a lil sap :( he loves to hold hands w you and tell you how much he loves you, mumbles it through tears when you’re riding him

J = Jack off (Masturbation Headcanon)

Harry doesn’t touch himself unless you let him. It makes him really needy, sometimes, but it just makes him all the more sensitive when you decide to touch him.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

- Praise kink (obviously, he loves to know when he’s being a good boy for you and it makes him melt every time

- Oral fixation kink (stick a finger in his mouth while riding him and he’ll be putty in your hands I promise)

- Humiliation kink (I have this image in my head of having a needy little Harry begging for your attention at a party, face going all red when you make him rut into your hand in front of all his friends while you make fun of his leaking cock)

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

Again, he does what he’s told. Sometimes, if he asks really nicely then you’ll let him fuck you over a desk in an empty classroom (though you’d tease him the whole time about how he’s such a slut for fucking you where anyone could see)

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Pretty much any time you touch him tbh. He’s a good boy about it, though, so most of the time he keeps himself in check in public and when you’re busy.

N = No (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Harry doesn’t like to hurt you. He doesn’t grip on you hard enough to leave bruises, doesn’t restrain your hands and he’d never slap you anywhere on your body. Small hickeys are okay, he thinks they look rather pretty sometimes but it’d never go further than that without talking about it a lot.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

While he does really really love to slip his tongue between your folds, he’s also a sucker for your mouth on him. The best solution for this would probably be for you to climb on top of him, wrap your lips around his tip and let him lean up and lick away all your juices.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

He usually prefers to keep it slow and drive himself in deeper so he can feel all the sensations of your gummy walls clinging to him.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Harry actually quite likes a quickie every now and then. Not all the time, because he loves to spend as much time as possible with you, but he’ll take it in a pinch. It is quite exciting for him, fucking you as fast as he can before someone catches onto the fact you’re both late to Transfigurations and there are suspicious sounds coming from a small storage cupboard.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

He’s willing to do anything as long as you are, and as long as there’s no possible way of him hurting you.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

Harry never really lasts very long, on account of “you’re just so pretty and you feel so good around me,” but he’s willing to go as many rounds as you want him to, until he’s cumming dry for you.

T = Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He doesn’t really like toys too much. If he knows he won’t see you for a while, he’ll ask very nicely if he can get himself a little fleshlight to use with your permission but other than that he’s perfectly content with no toys.

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)

Harry doesn’t dare tease you for fear of punishment. When he does, it isn’t on purpose, he’s just naturally beautiful and it’s not his fault he’s relentlessly pretty.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s not really very loud a lot, a few whimpers and whines here and there, but he’s mostly too dazed out of his mind to do anything other than stare up at you in awe.

W = Wild Card (A random headcanon for the character)

Thinking about cockwarming w Harry. Him just needing the comfort hug of your tight walls around him and you bathing in his bashful compliments of “thank you baby, love you so much, feels so good,”

X = X-ray (Let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Harry’s not very big, maybe six and a half inches but he’s quite thick and knows just how to use it to his advantage.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Not a very high sex drive, so he doesn’t often initiate sex but sometimes you turn him on beyond belief and he’s forced to follow you around like a lost puppy dog, begging you to let him fuck you.

Z = Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterward)

He waits for you to sleep first, watching as you relax more and more as you fall into a deeper sleep. It’s only after he’s sure you’re safely asleep that he allows himself to submit into rest.

#harry potter smut #harry potter #harry potter fic #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fluff #harry potter x y/n #harry potter x oc #harry potter x reader #harry potter x gender neutral reader #harry potter x you #Harry Potter x reader smut #fem!reader #harry potter x fem!reader #•megs smutty daydreams•

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irenadel · 7 months

Text

Fear Leads the Way ch.3

Filthy smut ahead, now with more blood kink. Mentions of slavery. Some unhealthy power dynamics because DUH. Darth Maul x Reader and I think we can finally admit Savage Opress x Reader. He doesn’t like it tho. He will NOT go gentle into that good night.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

The first time Maul cries in pain in your arms Savage sees red and thinks he will, at long last, be able to kill you. And you think you might let him.

It had taken weeks and weeks to get there and it wasn’t Maul who pushed through. The moment you had agreed to hold him at night it had seemed to be enough for Maul. As if all he had required to be content was for you to stop fighting his ownership of you. As if he knew once you did, you’d have nothing left but him.

You were no longer confined to their quarters… and admittedly no longer afraid to leave them lest you be punished the way you’d heard unruly pleasure slaves were. It was a strangely lonely experience though. You had even less to do than before, focusing solely on what was required of you by the Zabrak brothers (never Savage’s own cybernetics, no matter how much you winced at hastily laid out circuits and patched up nerve arrays, Maul was an excellent mechanic, but no biomechanical engineer) and you have to admit it may have been driving you a little insane. You used to do small tasks now and again for the syndicates: emergency procedures, hydraulic adjustments, little hacking jobs… part of you still hoping to save up enough to buy your freedom the way you’d heard some Hutt slaves still did. You’d worked for whoever would pay and sometimes whoever would not, as some of the higher ups in the Shadow Collective had decided to consider you at their general beck and call, so long as it didn’t interfere with your duties to Lord Maul.

Not anymore.

You are so indisputably Maul’s now that you wonder how you could have ever thought you were his before.

You never heard him announce it but somehow everyone seems to know and now they give you a wide berth. The Black Suns who used to sneer at you avoid making eye contact and the few Hutt emissaries that remain to try to make peace with the Shadow Collective have resorted to offering Maul a nicer, prettier bedslave. Maybe a more comely one, lither, less used up. You try not to show how you bristle at that. The Mandalorians, about as terrifying as the Sith Lords themselves, stand aside respectfully when you pass them by (you try not to think about how often you do pass one because you don’t want to acknowledge how much you’re being watched). For their part, the Pykes seem oddly pleased at the strange turn of events their little gift has produced, yet still continue their refusal to acknowledge you. That you understand. You were little more than a thing to them, and it was bitter, to have ended up here anyway, despite your best efforts. It tasted like copper and rage when you let yourself think about it too much, like a storm inside you brewing the desire to make someone, anyone, pay for this… and whenever you did and he was nearby, you saw Lord Maul glance your way, like a trained Tatooine massiff picking up the scent of blood.

In those moments, regardless of whatever else he might be doing, he would gesture for you to come near and would take your hand and hold it to his face, to his lips, almost smiling.

He didn’t look at you. He didn’t address you. But he kept you close, no chains, no locks, nothing else necessary to hold you but the sheer gravity of his presence. You hated it as much as you loved it.

You hated when he sneered at the Hutt party’s sniveling suggestions of an upgrade and you felt your stomach clench in fury and vindication. You hated the beautiful black gowns he kept leaving for you near the fresher, because you hadn’t seen fabric so heavy and fine and good since even before the war. Your mother had never had anything as beautiful as these. You held them to your face and refused to cry or tear them to pieces, you just put them away and continued to wear your old mechanic jumpsuit.

You didn’t hate lying beside him at night, no matter how much it stung your pride… but you did hate how touch seemed to be all he wanted from you. There had been no further amorous interludes after the first two, not in this bed, not the moment that Maul found out he could have the whole expanse of his arms and back and chest and neck touched at his pleasure. He had demanded that immediately and you had complied, and in your terrible fear of servitude and vulnerability you had never even imagined that touch was all that would pleasure him indeed. Or that it would be you, who would end up needing more, longing for his growls against your ear and the frantic grinding of his hips against yours. You didn’t hate his imperious commands for your hands, never detailed, never more than once, as if his dignity would not allow it (no thought to yours, ground to dust already by your humiliating longing for him). But you did hate how eagerly you jumped to obey and provide him all he wanted. Enough for Lord Maul but not for you and more than enough for his brother, who still slept fitfully besides you, always attentive to whatever noises the two of you would make. You couldn’t have ever known how right his vigilance had been.

Maul sighed and you could feel Savage about to jump out of his skin. Maul growled gravelly in his sleep, contentedly against the crook of your neck and you could almost feel Savage waiting to pounce. You had expected many things from your fate as his possession, but not this constant vigil.

You hadn’t expected to be so uncomfortably starved for his affection.

In all the stories you had heard whispered in Nar Shadda, in all your years as a refugee, making cybernetics for the poor and the destitute like you, living so close to slavery you could almost feel the bite of a Zygerrian collar or a Hutt implant, you had never imagined you’d be the one wondering when you would be kissed next. Or that you could hold someone so close you could feel twin hearts beating and still want more, need more, in spite of your terror and resentment of him.

The problem was that he purred. Lord Maul of the Shadow Collective purred loudly and constantly, rumbling, along the length of your body, lying between your legs, warm and hard and musky. He purred and it made everything inside you clench, desperately, hungry for his own hunger, for his tongue and his teeth and his hand wrapped around your neck, so tight and good you could still feel the thrill of it. For everything you had not asked for but still missed, for another go at his mouth and hearing him say please and ruin and want.

The second problem was that Savage purred too. Not as intimately close as Maul’s body draped across yours, but louder. Not at first either, and you would never know why or how long he had resisted this tell tale noise before he’d finally given in. Comfort having lulled him from his constant vigilance of Maul, eyes snapping open and alert at every new sound out of Maul’s mouth. Sounds that had seemed at first to Savage like Feral’s childish fretting or his own moans of protest after a hard night’s drinking to forget a visit from the Nightsisters. Then silence, the deep, even rhythm of his breath… and then like a blessing, like a memory from better times, his brother’s surprising content purring.

He had let himself be blinded by this. By this unexpected recovery of joy, of rightness… the comfort of his brother’s body so close at hand, the long-sought rumble of his dreamless sleep. He could’ve almost forgiven you for the weeks of anxious caution, for the fear… just because in your arms Maul sounded like a Nightbrother, a boy… or at least as far removed from whatever thing the Sith had tried to turn him into. It had been a rude awakening to catch the scent of your arousal in the air, to find you as dangerous and unpredictable as he had first thought you. Savage had snapped awake and watched you closely, waited, he didn’t know what for because you were no proper witch, but waited anyway, ready to fight for Maul, ready to make the Mother’s magic good for something, ready for anything but your strange refusal to act.

When you did move, it wasn’t towards his brother but away from him. You slipped a hand in between your bodies and for a stupid, senseless second Savage had thought it must have held a weapon to be wielded against Maul.

It wasn’t a vibroblade… but it was just as dangerous and even more confusing.

Your hand between your legs and it somehow took Savage a second to understand what you were doing in there, what treachery you were so clearly trying to hide.

He’d never heard of a Nightsister pleasuring herself, but there had been plenty of Nightbrothers in the communal huts. Savage had done it himself, a lifetime ago, when he still understood his life and his body. But he would not do it now, distrusted the ichor and the treachery of his kinslaying hands and it disturbed him how familiar, how nauseatingly enticing he found the quiet constrained sounds of your pleasure. A furtive, private pleasure you chose to take independent of Maul.

It made no sense, served no purpose, made no children, did not even bind his brother closer to you. All it did was flood the bed with warmth, with the musky, overpowering scent of your arousal, made Savage painfully aware of your human body, so like a Nightsister’s and yet so horribly alien at the same time.

Because you don’t yank either of them out of sleep with an order. You don’t demand combat and blood and horror. You choke down your thin little sounds, muffle your sudden desperate sob against the covers and make Savage’s skin break into goosebumps. There are no tears, no held back moans, when the Night people come together, there are no wet sounds of fingers reaching for solitary, desperate pleasure and Savage doesn’t understand why such a sounds should make his palms tingle or ichor seethe in his veins.

Savage doesn’t understand you at all, but Maul does.

“That,” he hears his brother hiss, terrifyingly awake, anger like molten lava “belongs to me.”

There’s the quick slap of Maul’s gloved hand snatching your own hands out of the way and you make another strange, otherworldly sound. Pained and high-pitched like a scream, but further back in your throat, like a wounded animal, a sound that Savage cannot fathom but which makes Maul growl and move over you.

“Please,” you beg and something in Savage’s stomach clenches because Nightsisters do not beg and Nightbrothers who beg never find themselves in a warm bed, heady with the stench of a woman’s wetness. But that please seems to do something to Maul, makes him yank your hands out of the way and above your head, your legs closing around Maul’s owns and Savage should be afraid, should be ready to flee or fight or kill, except Maul is still deeply, powerfully purring, like a boy with a full belly after a good hunt, like a young Nightbrother pumped full of spring joy, discovering the frenzied hungers of his own body, like a blessing and curse.

“You did it all wrong,” Maul whispers against your ear and Savage does not know how Maul thinks he can do this right because he knows nothing of this, of his own zabrak body drunk on your pheromones, of the danger of holding you down and holding you still and of how strange it is for you to still be begging please, please, please. Maul knows nothing but neither does Savage because he can hear your mewling, your horrible, terrible (wonderful) cry of pleasure and the squelching clench of your sex as Maul slips a still gloved finger inside you and makes you writhe and makes you sweat and makes you do things that have Savage panting for breath and desperately fighting an arousal he had almost thought gone from his life.

And Maul’s fingers are going in and out of you and Savage can hear it, like and unlike sex, deliciously suggestive of it but no treacherous velvet softness around his own member to distract him, no witch to protect his brother from, just your pitiful human body at Maul’s mercy and he can perhaps, for once, understand Maul’s obsession with power, with chains. Because if he could have you like this always, subdued and compliant, reeking of sex, of happiness, perhaps he would understand why his brother says that peace is a lie. Because this, Maul’s ragged breathing, your warm legs brushing Savage’s body whenever his brother pushes inside you too roughly, his own stubborn erection a dull and distant pleasure… This is better than peace.

Maul bites and you cry out in pain and joy. The blood he draws smells to Savage of Dathomir, except it’s not supposed to be yours and you’re no supposed buck under Maul, to beg for more, to make Savage want to flee, want to stay, want to bite down on something (you). He does not know what you’re supposed to do but Maul’s body does. And Savage can almost taste it when Maul slides between your legs. He knows the instinct, the insatiable hunger.

Because Maul is relentless, unskilled and determined and when you protest he snarls at you and makes you melt back into the bed. When your hips buck up his hands grind them back down and he is strong and impossible to guide and you’re at his mercy. And it’s both too much and not enough, each hot swipe of his tongue, each ravenous sound of ecstasy from deep in the back of his throat, reverberating against your legs and your sex and all of it is hot and alive under him.

Savage can feel it in the Force, ravenously, darkly pulsing between them. Feed, rend, take, breed. Every Nightbrother’s prayer, singing through Savage’s veins, through his groin and the unbearable hardness of his member. Because he wants that taste too, not yours, but the terrible taste of Maul’s sheer joy in you, in your thighs clamping against his horns, shredding the tender skin, wanting him so much, so much closer that blood is a price worth paying. The torrent of desire and lust and sheer want, that Maul can’t even stop. His tongue inside you, his teeth grazing you and his voice, whenever he deigns to stop for a breath, no longer velvety, but raw and impossibly deep panting yes, yes, yes.

And Savage can almost smell you climaxing, choking back his brother’s name and Maul’s making a noise like a wounded animal and lapping at the blood smearing your thighs too quick and too sudden. You’re still coming and you don’t want to stop and it’s that thoughtless desire that gives you the audacity to grab Maul’s hand and place it back on your sex if he intends to continue licking greedily at the stinging mess of your thighs.

You are too far gone to notice how immediately he obeys. Savage is too focused on keeping Dathomir’s echo from intruding. But Maul… Maul rips the glove from his hand with his teeth and thrusts his fingers inside you again, quick and efficient like he is Sidious’s weapon all over again, capable, perfect, powerful. Two, three fingers inside you and his thumb on your clitoris, because he’d prepared this time, sought the knowledge of your undoing, guides it via the flood of your scent and movements and screams. You’re screaming his name and he smiles, madly, a grimace with too many teeth.

Maul feels deliriously present, because he wants and he wants and wants and feels like he’s disappearing in desire like his master had said he would, if he focused his rage enough. But this is different. Blood and the addictive potency of your wetness, better than anger, than food, than comfort. Better than anything he’s ever tasted. A thing he’s making you do, with his hands and his mouth and his skill and he can’t wait to make you do it again and again, until you have no breath to say his name anymore, until you can’t scream it and remind him he exists.

Because that’s what you’re doing now, still panting Maul, Maul, rhythmically, in time with his fingers inside you, the whole heel of his hand incessantly, cruelly rubbing the whole of your sex, still wet, still painfully sensitive, still coming for him and only him.

“Lord Maul,” he corrects you in a growl you feel reverberate to your very bones and smiles wider, wilder when you echo him. Can’t help but dive back into you, this time catching your mouth with his own, wanting the taste of your screams. He’s fucking his hand into you so hard, he can almost feel it in a member he no longer has. Hates the muted quality of his lust, his passion, as much as he feels comforted by it. He has control, but at what price? It is not worthy of a Sith, this fear of his own hunger and he finds himself furiously taking it out on the already abused skin of your neck, biting you again, getting another heavenly mouthful of your blood.

But this time you do cry out in pain, tense up beneath him and his reaction is instinctive and immediate. First to subdue you, and then to peer into your face, anxious for a second and then annoyed at his show of weakness. It’s like the air’s been punched out of him, the moment he lays eyes on you: smeared with blood and yet still panting and reaching for him. You nudge something deep inside him, the memory of all the dead things he’d desired and had to forgo. Kilindi in her pool of blood. Eldra. Sidious’s women… and it’s nauseating how much it makes him want you. Agony, the sith masters of old had said, would free him. He does not know it now, face hiding in the crook of your neck, he does not know what he would do with freedom.

Savage is on you so fast it’s dizzying, ready to rip his brother from your arms, would have in fact ripped those arms off your body if only you hadn’t looked at him. Pleading. Scared. Still covered in blood and none of it Maul’s, for all he’s the one whimpering like a rancor just gored him. You are terrified but you don’t let him go, refuse even to let Savage pry your fingers off his back and he doesn’t know what to do when there’s no wound to tend to, no hurt to soothe, no enemy to kill. Just pain.

When a Nightbrother gets like this, there’s very little to be done, he’d been told. But you don’t know that and Savage has tried very hard to forget. When Savage had found Maul, gibbering in agony in Lotho Minor, he hates that his first thought had been to put him down, put an end to his suffering, to do what he should have done ages ago. But Savage cannot, not then and not now. Savage could not do it to Feral when they had been young and alone and too stupid to be afraid, and he will fight the ichor in his very veins to stop himself from doing it again.

Because Savage is not like Maul… or like you. He does not know how to endure, how to put things back together after they’re broken. There are things Savage will never come back from, will never crawl out of, will never survive. He has failed already, as a Nightbrother in trying to keep one brother from the Sisters and another from you. Failed just by trying and failed in the attempt. He will not survive this, but Maul will. Maul will survive you and Savage will make sure he will. If he has to let you hold Maul, let you soothe him, let you speak softly and constantly to him while he murmurs always remember, always remember, then he will. If he has to endure the stench of your arousal and your fear and your love, then he will. And he will put the bacta on your shredded thighs and help you hold Maul together and try not to hate the sight of your tears and try not to love when you hand him his brother to hold, the three of you together, nestled against each other, making sure Maul survives.

#darth maul x reader #savage opress x reader #darth maul smut #savage opress smut #star wars #star wars fanfiction #tw: blood #tw: noncon #no noncon happening here but Savage has some errrrm interesting thots re sex with the womenfolk #he’s still not exactly fucking but he’s getting there I think

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allylikethecat · 4 months

Note

i would love if you did either 22, 24, or 30 for george and matty! (i love the ones you write all medical and angsty but i love all of them tbh)

Hello Kind Anon who sent in these fantastic and lovely Kiss Prompt Request my way in August!

I apologize profusely that it took me literal months to fulfill this request. I originally wrote a fill for this in Septemberish, then worried it was too rushed and also too dark / dealt with some stuff that was going to be *too much* for a prompt fill, then, started rewriting the dark and too much theme as a longer form fic, got nervous that I was going to get cancelled for it and abandoned the idea, AND THEN every time I came BACK to this to fill it, I kept circling back to where I had started (and maybe one day I'll finish that idea because wow it hurt so good). BUT I finally wrote something and it is not the medical angst that you requested or I intended but hopefully you're still here and will see this fill and enjoy it!! If you absolutely hate it though please let me know and I will rewrite you something new and better because I feel bad that it took so long. And on that note... I wrote about 95% of this a few days ago, then went to a NYE party last night and met an actual pilot and found out most of this is very inaccurate... I tried to change it some but alas how it would go down in real life was not dramatic enough for me so we have the TV version of oxygen masks dropping on a plane.

Thank you so much again for sending this in, and I am so sorry again for taking months to fill your request. I hope you enjoy it, and I also want to thank you so much for reading and your support! I hope you have a very happy New Year! (If anyone else wants to send prompts the Kiss Prompts list can be found here, and the ones I have already filled can be found here)

❤️Ally

WARNING: Matty and George are on a plane that experiences rapid depressurization

22. Kiss … in a rush of adrenaline & 24. Kiss … in danger & 30. Kiss ... as comfort

George woke up to a kink in his neck and Matty’s blunt nails digging painfully into his wrist, his eyes wild as the plane rocked, his empty can of coke tumbling off of his tray and rolling down the aisle. George opened his mouth to assure Matty that they had just hit a patch of turbulence, and that everything was fine, there was no need to panic when a loud bang echoed throughout the plane and the oxygen masks dropped down from the ceiling.

George reached up, feeling eerily calm despite the roaring in his ears, the airline safety spiel he had heard hundreds of times in his life replaying in his mind as he fitted the mask over his face. Should an emergency situation occur, you need to put your own oxygen mask on first, before attempting to help those around you. He wrinkled his nose at the burning smell as he inhaled, wondering if it was from the chemical reaction creating the oxygen, or if it was from the plane itself. He looked over, and found Matty frozen in place, staring at the oxygen mask dangling in front of him like it was going to bite him, or suffocate him instead of sustaining life.

Ladies and gentlemen please sit down and fasten your seat belts immediately. Came the flight attendant’s voice, ringing clear, yet urgently over the plane’s announcement system. George reached over and tugged Matty’s oxygen mask down towards his head, starting the chemical reaction to begin the flow of oxygen before pulling it down over his face and tightening the elastic strings. Matty was limp, letting George maneuver him like a rag doll, his eyes wide and terrified. George knew now wasn’t the time to think about it, but he couldn’t help but hysterically wonder how they would ever get Matty back on another plane after this.

Ladies and Gentlemen, the aircraft has just suffered a decompression and the emergency oxygen system is being activated. Please remain seated, and fit your oxygen mask and breathe normally. Secure the mask by placing the elastic over the back of your head. You must fit your own mask before assisting others. Any smell of burning is normal following the activation of the chemical oxygen generators. Do not remove the mask until advised by a crewmember.

He glanced back at Ross and Adam sitting a few rows back, oxygen masks fitted over their own faces, holding onto their armrests as they looked around frantically. George uncurled Matty’s fingers from his wrist, so he could hold his hand properly, giving it a squeeze, trying to show Matty that he was here, that it was going to be okay even as the plane dipped and George’s stomach swooped, his ears popping painfully as they descended rapidly.

“Breathe babe,” said George, hoping Matty could hear him over the roaring in his ears, “you need to breathe,” he repeated, Matty’s chest rising and falling erratically as he silently panicked, tears pooling in the corners of his wide unseeing eyes.

The plane lurched again and Matty’s grip tightened on George’s hand, his knuckles turning white from the force of his grip, causing George’s fingers to start to go numb.

“It’s going to be alright,” George said, he was unsure if he was trying to reassure Matty or himself. The plane rocked again, and he looked up, craning his neck to try and get a peek at the flight attendants, trying desperately to get a read on the situation, trying to get more information. Matty let out a strangled gasp, his nails biting into the delicate skin of George’s hand, tears falling, pooling around the orange plastic of the mask as he looked over at George, silently pleading for salvation.

“It’s going to be alright,” George said again. He stupidly and impulsively, aided by the adrenaline coursing through his veins, pulled his mask down to press a quick kiss to the side of Matty’s head, his lips brushing against his temple despite the apparent danger they were in before quickly refitting his own mask.

Matty made a soft hiccuping sound, and turned his head, burying his face in the junction of George’s arm and shoulder, his own shoulders shaking as he tried and failed to steady his breathing. His oxygen bag wasn’t inflated the same way George’s was due to Matty’s frantic breaths. Matty didn’t like flying on a good day, sitting bolt upright on the plane, clinging to either the armrest or George’s hand during take off and landing, and during even the most minor patches of choppy air. Matty was clean now, healthy, and George hated to admit it, but it had been easier to fly with Matty when he was using. He’d take enough Xanax to kill a horse and sleep the entire flight, moving like a zombie through the terminal when now he moved like a prey animal ready to bolt for the exit at a moment’s notice.

“We have reached our new cruising altitude of 8,000 feet, it is now safe to remove your oxygen mask,” came the voice of the flight attendant that had spoken before, cutting off the mechanically instructed spiel that had continued to repeat as they made their rapid descent. George looked around, as the plane shuddered again, but everyone began removing their masks. George hesitated for a moment before removing his as well, remembering suddenly that he had read once that the chemical reaction that created the oxygen in the masks only lasted for a few minutes.

“We apologize for the inconvenience,” the flight attendant said, explaining how they would be rerouting to land in Charlotte, North Carolina instead of Atlanta, Georgia as planned. George didn’t even care about the logistical nightmare that was going to cause during festival season, he didn’t care about much of anything except helping Matty take off his oxygen mask and crushing their lips together, a chaste, comforting press as Matty trembled beneath George’s fingers.

“We’re okay,” George soothed, “we’re okay, it’s okay.”

“I’m never flying again,” Matty rasped, his voice shaking his eyes still wide. George just chuckled nervously, the excess adrenaline still beating through his chest as he pressed another kiss to Matty’s lips, before tugging him as close as he could while wearing their seatbelts, pressing his head against his chest.

“We’re okay.”

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offsidekineticist · 9 months

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WIP Wednesday (August 8, 2023)

I might take this down later...but since I'm probably about to hyperfocus on BG3 and almost certainly will never be able to focus enough to write the freaking novel that builds up to this moment anyway, here's Theo doing [spoilers for True Aeon Ending]. It is long. Sorry about that. Don't worry, I'll still post about Theo and stuff (BG3 bard is fun enough that Theo is about to take a little trip to Faerun), just gonna take a break from Aeon Theo for a bit.

Cw: spoilers, character death, lack of closure

"You won't hear me pleading. Let us finish this experiment once and for all."

An aeon–a common aeon born of star and light–would have no choice but to enact swift and fatal justice. But you are not a common aeon. You are born of soul and flesh and bone, and you see another way.

"I am not here to judge you, Areelu Vorlesh," you say. "I am here to make you whole."

You are an aeon, one of the judges of the universe. You can look into the souls of mortals and see their deepest secrets. And though it has been easy to forget these past months, you are mortal, too. A crime against the cosmos–an aeon born of bone and flesh and soul. An imbalance that must be corrected as much as the worldwound must.

You will correct them both at once.

You look into your own soul, and you see the scars where Areelu tried to use you to patch the holes Pharasma left in her son's soul. She did her work well, but his soul was too tattered and yours too strong, and so the hybrid of the two took the shape of your soul. You see the pieces of his soul, and you look into the past, into the days when it was whole, to find its true shape. There is enough of him left that with knowledge and power, he can be re-formed, if only for a time.

But that will be enough. You think of a dying child who proudly showed off the proof of his ailment as "color I gave Mama to give her good days," and you think of how a day can be more precious than a century if you spend the first with your loved one and the second alone. And so you look at the not yet criminal Areelu Vorlesh, at her cells and her organs and her blood, and you draw out enough–just enough–to build into a body, leaving a wound in her chest that will never quite heal. You rip the foreign pieces out of your soul, ignoring how your wound burns worse than any pain you've ever felt, but you press on still. You feel your power waning, your connection the monad fading as you tear out the foreign parts of yourself. Still, you persist, for as long as you have the power. Your aeonic vision fades, and when you see the form of Areelu's son appear, his soul restored, you see him with mortal eyes.

Areelu has forgotten you entirely, wrapping her son in a hug and weeping while he freezes, confused and embarrassed, and you know that the danger has passed. Her body is weak from her sacrifice. She will never survive if she tries to use her own soul to open the worldwound–too much of her body's strength now belongs to her son. You don't know how long her son has until his soul unravels, unstable as it is–perhaps days, perhaps years. It does not matter. His soul is too weak to survive the ritual, and Areelu would never trust anyone else with such power. They are no longer a threat. You gather them up, and with nearly all of your strength you send them far away from Threshold to somewhere the witch hunters will never find them–to a too-small house in Finderplain, where they can plan the marvelous adventures they will have with this new time they have been given.

The burning in your wound spreads out over your body like blood poisoning. You are not an aeon, not anymore. Soon you will not be anything. You have stopped the creation of the worldwound. You have stopped the creation of yourself. It was perhaps unorthodox–a solution no other aeon could choose–but that is why the monad chose you, why it created an aeon from flesh and bone and soul. You do not need to feel the universe humming in approval to know you have done well.

"Tell me we didn't just fight our way through the heart of the worldwound, defeat hordes of demons, and travel through a disturbance in the fabric of time itself just to give a happily ever after to the Architect of the Worldwound?!" Regill shouts in anger, his fury so great you can see the color returning to his features. "After everything–"

"There's been enough hurt, Regill," you interrupt, your voice soft and vulnerable and truly yours for the first time Areelu fished you out of the Sellen River. "If I have to unmake myself, I'll do it with mercy.” You watch as Regill’s rage transforms into naked shock, and then horrified realization as he finally understands. There is no after the Crusade for you because there is no Crusade, and there is no you. This has always been the plan–it could end no other way.

You begin to fade, and the last of your power goes first. Your star goes out and the black hole dissipates, and you see the stars and space fade from your hands, leaving only bleached flesh. Without the aeon’s calming presence, you brace for the flood of terrifying emotions, but for once your emotions are calm. You have done well–you were mortal and aeon, just as you were meant to be, and everything that is not fear and satisfaction has faded into the background except…

Regill is watching. He is watching in horror as you are unmade in front of him. You open your mouth to give him some reassurance, some last inspirational speech to carry him through this moment. But the coldness of the aeon is gone, and all you can feel are fear and pride and love, and of all the things you wish you could have had, there is only one you still can. So you stumble forward, almost falling as you go, and wrap your arms around your brother. He's startled and tenses up, stiff as a board, but you don't care. You gave up your future long ago, and you already feel your past fleeing. The present is all there is, and soon you won't even have that, so you do as you like. You hug your brother and feel his life and know that he will persist long after you've gone, just as you always knew he would.

“Remember me?” you whisper, putting the last of your power into making it possible.

“Always, Commander,” he replies, voice strained, and already you have forgotten what plea he is answering, but you can hear he is upset, and you know it is your fault.

"I'm sorry," you say, and you've already forgotten why. There is nothing to be sorry for because it never happened. But it feels right to say, and you know he remembers why, so you say it anyway. "I love you," you whisper, and you've already forgotten who he is. No–you have not forgotten, you simply never met. There was no you to meet him. But still you love him, and that love will be the last part of yourself to fade away.

There is a gnome in your arms. You know he is in your arms and that you love him and soon there will be no you to hold him. You don't know who he is or what he is to you. He is everything and nothing to you all at once, because everything is nothing to you who never were. You think you feel him relax slightly as the last part of yourself slips away into oblivion. You think you feel a hand on your back returning the embrace, but there is not enough 'you' left to be sure. You are not aware of your body dissolving into light in the gnome's arms–there is no you to be aware. There has never been any 'you' at all.

There is a gnome in the heart of a prison hugging himself because a body turned to light just as he began to return its embrace. He drops to his knees, the weight of all that never was too great to bear, whispering words he never said, not even in the never-was. The poor thing is mad–he remembers someone who never existed; he speaks to someone who is not there. Perhaps that would give you comfort if you existed. The world is made of stories, after all, and someone remembers yours. Maybe someday that will be enough to let you exist again. Maybe then you will both say the things you should have said but never did in the never-was. Maybe then there will be a happy ending.

But not today. Today there are no demons and there is no worldwound. The mad gnome is gone, returned to his proper time and place. Now there is only a prison that will continue to exist, and a family that will live again, and a country full of people who will not be wiped out.

This is not The End. It cannot be The End. A story cannot end if it never began. And so instead, looking upon Sarkoris and Mendev and Finderplain and all of Golarion and seeing the millions of stories that will not end today, we call it something else.

In the beginning…

#oc: theoven derenge #pathfinder wotr #knight-commander oc #pwotr pals #regill derenge #areelu vorlesh #Areelu's son #Aeon path

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tev-the-random · 11 months

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(Technically a distant continuation of this, but can be read on its own!)

His skin was an imitation of life that refused to age or scar. Although the years had moulded Jimmy into someone near unrecognisable, he looked no different than he did when he left Tumble Town. It was quite anticlimactic, to think he had nothing to show for his trials other than some patches on his clothes and perhaps a sharper wit to his eyes — metaphorically, that is. His actual eyes looked just as glassy as ever.

So after everything he went through to find himself here, he supposed the location was fitting. It, too, was rather anticlimactic: nothing but an old shack in the woods. It didn't even look dilapidated enough to be haunted. The forest didn't bother to have ominous crows cawing at him or any particularly disturbing tree — on the contrary, there were small patches of sunlight shining through the leaves above, and the smell of morning dew was fairly pleasant. If not for the peculiar plants growing in the little garden in front of him, which his cat sniffed suspiciously, he would have thought this was the wrong place.

These weren't plants you could normally find in the Overworld, that much Jimmy was sure of. From bushes of glowing, multicoloured berries to herbs that floated in the air like little leafy balloons, their roots hanging loose. The red vines crawling up a trellis close to the wall reminded him of the Nether, though the blossoming black flowers that grew on it would suggest otherwise.

"Awfully poisonous, those flowers."

He jumped, sword in hand.

Without producing shadow or sound, a person stood beside him, towering over Jimmy. Their silvery hair, washed out robes and sickly pale skin made them stand out against the background; a desaturated figure in the otherwise verdant woods.

There was a moment of silence in which Jimmy tried to gather himself. Any information he had about the one who supposedly lived here left his brain entirely. All of his well-thought-out bargains and self-confident arguments were startled out of him, leaving an uncertain tremble in his voice.

"Um..." He blanked.

In order to give him some more time to think — or maybe they just didn’t care enough to pay attention to him, — the stranger walked past the small man to take a closer look at their garden. They merely shooed Norman, who hissed at their approach before moving to stand beside his owner.

“You ever seen prettier experience bushes?” They said casually, getting rid of a few dead leaves on one of their plants. They examined its colourful berries carefully, only to let them go with a disappointed sound. “Incredible magical properties, but it’s so difficult to grow them right this time of the year...”

"Are you— are you the person I'm looking for?" Jimmy finally spoke. "I was told I could find a wizard in these woods that could help me with a curse."

By their curious demeanour and wise, elderly face, Jimmy expected them to respond with some enigmatic question of their own, something a mysterious master would say. Perhaps a meaningful silence and a sharp glance. Instead, all he got was a quirked eyebrow.

"Well, does it look like there's anyone else around here?"

He made a conscious effort to not look bashful. What a talent he had to surround himself with people who loved patronizing him, huh? But he had had enough time to learn that, if he took the bait and let himself be played for dumb, he wouldn't get anywhere. Seize the discussion.

His determined eyes didn’t move from the grey figure.

"I just got here. Don’t waste my time—"

"Yes, yes. You sure did take your time," said the stranger, moving to the red vines on the trellis. With a pair of small pruning shears they fished out of their pocket, they started cutting away at the flowers. "I, myself, thought you had keeled over and died somewhere along the way. I've been waiting for years, Jimmy! Surely you can hold on for a couple more minutes?"

"You— what?” His focus wavered ever so slightly. “How do you— you've been waiting for me? Like, for me specifically?"

"Who else would I be waiting for?" They chuckled. The sound ringed in Jimmy’s ears, bothering him the same way it always did when people laughed at him. In that regard, he only changed for worse.

Even though he felt like it, he didn't groan. He stared at Norman as if the cat could tell him what the deal with this unusual character was. If he knew how to, Norman would shrug.

Taking a deep breath, Jimmy forced calmness into his tone.

"How would I know?" He'd gotten better at not gritting his teeth at frustration, though he still sounded like he had swallowed a lemon. "You could be waiting for a hundred other people, maybe that’s your deal. I don't know you."

"Ah, but you certainly know of me! Otherwise, I wouldn't be the person you're looking for."

"Oh my g— Are you them or not?"

"Yes." They still didn't bother looking at him. Once satisfied with the number of black flowers they had gathered, they turned around with a swish of their robes and opened the door to their hut. "Well then. Come on inside."

Jimmy hesitated to follow. Norman, on his part, sniffed every inch of the chipped wooden door before sitting resolutely by the entryway. Jimmy took it as a warning. I’ll keep an eye out.

When he stepped inside, he concluded that this was, without a doubt, a wizard's house — a very disorganized one at that. The cabin was much larger on the inside, tall bookshelves extending far into a ceiling that seemed never-ending. Manuscripts littered the floor and desks alongside scrawled notes and old hardback books of all sizes. There were a multitude of coloured candles on nearly every surface, illuminating vials and more vials of the most peculiar ingredients. Jimmy consciously chose to believe that the blood in all those organised flasks on top of the nearest shelf belonged to some wild animal.

From the walls hanged more vines of strange plants, as well as all sorts of animal skins and various paintings and pictures — some pristine, others completely defaced. But they all seemed to depict a same theme, a same character: a very familiar deity with a golden trident and exaggerated grandeur. It was hard to ignore such clear obsession for someone Jimmy thought to be so incredibly unremarkable. The so called god of Stratos was the very reason he ended up like this to begin with. Religious fanatics were the last thing he needed right now.

Completely oblivious to their guest’s discomfort, the mage stood hunched over a counter, surrounded by multiple powders, herbs and and fluids in jars. Their hands worked on a mortar and pestle.

"You could have come sooner, you know?" They commented. "I don't know why you'd go through all that trouble with witches and pirates and whatever else you were doing when you could've just asked Scott for my address, I haven’t moved. But then again, you are the second pettiest individual I've ever seen. Leave it to you to go on some wild goose chase."

Jimmy stopped eyeing the room to stare at them. His brows quickly furrowed, suspicion immediately arisen.

"What does Scott have to do with this?" He asked. His hand itched to grab his sword again. "Actually, no: how do you know me in the first place? How did you know I was coming, huh?"

They hummed. "I’ve got eyes everywhere. You just happened to stumble upon one of them a long time ago."

The wizard stopped their motion to point at an open cabinet to their left. It was low enough that Jimmy could see its contents, and it made him raise an eyebrow: it was a human skull. Inside of one of the eye socket, there was a bright pink jewel; in the other, an unique blue stone caught his attention — it was intricate, as if it had been made to truly look like the iris of an eye.

Absentmindedly, Jimmy reached his wooden hand to touch the artefact, looking for something that could explain its purpose.

But when he blinked, he was on a hill. Vibrant flower patches stretched along the brick roads of a colourful kingdom, where glowing clouds of all colours painted the sky, constantly pumped by tall chimneys on cyan rooves.

Right in front of him, an excitable man dressed in orange spoke; Jimmy couldn't hear any of it. The man, too, glowed ever so slightly, and it made him want to squint at the vibrancy of the scene. The entire world was in deep silence, despite how much it looked like it was screaming at him.

Jimmy raised a hand to run it through his hair in exasperation, only for it to hit something. The cabinet. He blinked again, and back he was at the wizard’s hut as if he had never moved at all.

“What in the world—?”

“Funny, isn’t it?” The mage chuckled. Adding a few drops of a green liquid into the mortar, they went back to crushing. “What was he doing this time?”

“He was— I was just... in Chromia,” Jimmy murmured in disbelief, not knowing how to feel about it. Haunted, he stared at his strange host. “What was that?”

“The eye I gave Scott Smajor has many perks for him. But mostly, it has perks for me. It pays well to have such a well-connected informant. Don’t tell him about it, though, I’m sure he would hate it.” They didn’t sound apologetic at all.

“What do you mean you gave him an eye?!”

“Did he never tell how he got that magical yellow eye of his?”

“I assumed he was just born like that! You know, like, it’s a condition! Het- hetochro- heterochromia? Don’t look at me like that!”

“Oh, trust me, there is nothing hetero about that man.”

Jimmy continued to stare. For the sake of his own sanity, he tended to avoid thinking about any of the emperors he left behind. It had been so long since he last uttered the name of Scott Smajor, and the memories he held weren’t exactly the fondest. But a part of him couldn’t help but feel bad for the collector: this was, at the very least, a huge breach of privacy. Did he even want to know why this random guy in the middle of the woods needed unaware spies? Were they just a creep, or were they looking for something in particular? Did they assume Jimmy was coming over eventually, or had Scott been following him this whole time? Could they even make him do that? Could they control him?

The thought of being a mere puppet to someone made him sick in a horribly familiar way. He had half a mind to get back to Norman and leave.

But, he thought to himself, what if this is the only chance he has? In the years Jimmy had spent travelling, looking for a way to reverse this stupid toy curse, all he’s ever found was disappointment. Rejection. The frustrating loneliness that comes with learning people can’t be trusted; nobody cared enough to help, and those who did were never able to. When he was told there was a powerful wizard in a far away forest who could fix him, he took the lead with multiple doubts.

Now, he faced them all at their full force. What if they were to scam him? What if they were, in fact, nothing more than a massive creep? What if they killed him? Tortured him? Locked him away?

Just what price would he have to pay for his humanity?

He didn’t want to spend another hundred years running around looking for what he had lost. Jimmy was an imitation of life that couldn’t age or scar, but he was tired. So very tired of being a thing, tired of being a walking reminder of his own weakness in the eyes of others. He was tired of being so pathetic, no matter how hard he tried.

“You know what I’m here for, then,” he stated dryly. Resolute.

The mage hummed once more.

“Well, I have an educated guess.” They finally turned their head to look at the toy. The little glass eyes they met were unwavering. “You want your old body back. To be human again. Am I right?”

“You are. And I’m willing to do whatever it takes. But don’t you try anything silly!” His hand brushed against the hilt of his sword, pointedly displaying its netherite shine.

“Oh, don’t bother with threats. This is just as worthy an exchange to me, you know?”

“... And what do you want? In return, I mean.”

They didn’t respond immediately. With an amused smile on their face, they turned back to their workstation and, one by one, started tearing the black flowers from their garden into pieces. Into the mortar the shredded petals went, and after a minute of silent work, the wizard seemed satisfied with the solution they had made. There were another two or three minutes in which they put it through an old brewing stand before transferring it into one of the glass vials scattered around their desk.

With that, they handed him the concoction. Although it may have seemed like there wasn’t much of it in there to begin with, to Jimmy it felt more like a bucket full of bricks. He blinked, as if to ask ‘what the hell am I supposed to do with this?’

“Drink it, boy, drink it!”

Their eagerness wasn’t lost on him. The small man stared down at the inky substance, which smelled no more pleasant than spoiled milk.

“I thought you said those flowers were poisonous,” he pointed, stalling.

“Hm, yes, I do pride myself on growing the finest wither flower hybrids.” They waved Jimmy off as if he had said something particularly flattering. “But alchemy works in fascinating ways, so really, that mixture should be fine. Well, at least I haven’t killed anyone with it yet.”

The toy looked back at the front door, where his cat sat like a gargoyle. Upon noticing the his gaze, Norman got up with all that feline grace of his and approached to sniff the potion. His reaction wasn’t encouraging — he let out one of those tiny cat sneezes that often made Jimmy laugh, — but if he didn’t make a fuss about it, it was probably fine. Either that or the cat didn’t know a thing about magical ingredients either.

“And... what does this do, exactly?” Jimmy asked, still grimacing.

“In theory,” the wizard said from an unknown corner of the room, where they were now heaving an old-looking box from another one of their cabinets. He definitely hadn’t seen them move, “it allows me to freely tinker with you. Think of it as a surgery of sorts,” they quickly added at Jimmy’s horrified expression.

“You do realise this is the most suspicious situation ever?”

“Yes.”

“And you expect me to just drink this, then?”

“Well, if you don’t want it, you can leave.” They shook their head at him while they examined the instruments inside of the box. “I do have other things to do.”

“No, no, just... how can I know you’re not trying to trick me? You know, it wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Jimmy, if I wanted to do you any harm, I would have done it already.” Their sigh came from somewhere behind him. What were they, a transporter? “Do you think I let just anyone find me here? No. Now, you might have never heard it before, but you are quite special. And I personally would hate to let your potential go to waste because of some tasteless joke.”

That was it. Not pity, not scorn, not condescendence. It was as simple as ‘you deserve better.’ He did deserve better. So he did it.

The potion was thick and oily, and it burned on the way down. It was a mix of spicy and sweet that frankly made him want to throw it right back up. But the vial was small enough that he managed to down the whole thing in a few gulps.

He couldn’t remember anything after that.

---

When Jimmy woke up, the first thought that crossed his mind was that he had to have been buried alive. There was a suffocating weight on top of him, while his body sank heavily on an unstable surface. His chest was impossibly tight, and some horrible, almost painful texture seemed to envelop every inch of his skin.

His skin.

He bolted upright.

The room Jimmy found himself in felt claustrophobic; not because it was particularly small, but because he fit inside of it. It made him dizzy, like it was too foreign to process. But it wasn’t nearly as overwhelming as what he was feeling.

What was he feeling? It was hard to name it all.

A breeze made its way inside through the ajar window, and he could feel it on his face and shoulders like cold knives. The hairs along his arms stood up, goosebumps seeming to make their way into his very soul. There were no more ball joints, no more creaking, no wood grain — instead, he could faintly she the lines of his veins under pale skin.

He kicked away the covers he was tangled up in. The itchy, heavy thing had so many little loose threads, it felt like bugs crawling up his legs. The mattress was no better: his weight made it shift under him; he was almost sure it would swallow him up.

Jimmy touched his face to find that he could feel his own stubble, the lack of hinges on his jaw — it felt so loose, so free that he feared it would somehow fall from his skull. Pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes felt weird. His cracked lips, glued together from sleep, also felt weird. His hair— gods, it was so smooth! The knots were less like fraying yarn and more like he just hadn’t washed it in a few days.

His chest was wrapped in the most uncomfortable bandages possible. They were tight, rough, and Jimmy could feel every last fibre digging into his sides. But he could still run his fingers over his own ribs, touch his own stomach — it was squishy, not like cotton filling, but like flesh.

From the tip of his toes to the top of his head, he was flesh and bones and skin. And gods, he could feel it all — there was so much more surface to feel than he remembered! If he didn’t know any better, he would say he was about to combust.

He laughed in disbelief, only to immediately hug himself when it startled him; since when did his voice vibrate so much? Why was he so hot, yet so cold? So heavy? Why did his skin feel like it was melting underneath his fingers? Why was the sun so blinding, the room so small, the shifting of the bed so loud? Why was his chest even tied up, it didn’t have enough space to breathe—

“Woah there, let’s not do that.” A formless voice ringed in his ears.

Rough hands took hold of his wrist, and Jimmy pulled away like they burned him. His nails had dug bloody marks into his arms.

“Come on, deep breaths,” the owner of said hands told him. They sounded oddly close by, but Jimmy couldn’t bring himself to look at anything other than his own knees. “Yes, like that. Everything is fine, you just gotta readjust to it. Take your time”

He took in air that didn’t quite seem to fill his lungs. Without making a sound, someone closed the window and drew the curtains, cutting that cold breeze and bright light. It became easier to focus on the sting of the bruises he had produced, clinging to himself to confirm they were there.

A new weight dipped the mattress beside him and a mass of greys, browns and whites invaded his vision. Norman stared at him, sniffed at his hand, but was kind enough to not jump on him. If anything, the cat seemed suspicious.

Jimmy cleared his throat; it gave him a headache. But he was smiling fondly. Norman was so... tiny, like a kitten. Had he always been that small? His owner at times thought of him as an impromptu horse, tall and strong. He was a fluffy little thing.

“Hey, big man,” Jimmy murmured hoarsely, surprising himself with his own tone. Raising a hesitant hand, he caressed the cat’s waiting head and promptly melted.

He had forgotten what it was like to run his hand through Norman’s soft fur, to bend down and place a kiss on his little forehead. He’d forgotten the warm weight of the animal on his lap — or his own weight, for that matter. To make the floorboards creak under him, to leave a dip in the bed, to cast a long shadow on a wall. Oh, it was horrendous, too much at once — yet it was every fantastic bit like he had longed for.

“I’m not a toy.” He could shout it from the rooftops. Instead, he let out a wet and true laughter into Norman’s fur. He didn’t even realise he had started crying. “I’m not a toy.”

The wizard observed ominously. They left him a glass of water before exiting the room without a word.

For the first time in years, his own blood underneath his nails and sweat running down his back, Jimmy was alive.

#cw: sensory overload #To be continued #I had to split this one in two parts oops #anyways Jimmy gets to NOT be a toy. As an end-of-season treat #Because the end doesn't mean I'll stop compulsively thinking about them lol #But yeah here's that random wizard from Scott's backstory with their random cursed skull. I claimed them they're mine now #so much potential with Jimmy going *back* to being human that I don't see often #Here's to ruining it for him in the next part #(this is an invite to talk to me about him please-)#Empires SMP #Empires season 2 #empiresblr #Solidarity Gaming #Red Light Bandit AU #Don't Mind Me I'm Writing My Blorbos

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warheittiashi · 6 months

Text

This is a bit of an old idea I had. I have a lot of those (all left to collect dust), so I thought I'd just shove them here so I can continue to not think about them.

Originally, I planned to make this Omegaverse, but I'm not sure anymore after rereading it... I mean, yes, it works in the beginning as a forced device to realization, but it doesn't have that big of a role later on outside of speculation, especially when this all happened before the rumors and everything... I might reconsider it? Or I could try to implement it deeper into secret revelations and relationship dynamics. Either way, it looks like it could work without being an Omegaverse. The only change in the beginning is that instead of Omega pheromones, Liu Qingge could see Shen Jiu's slave mark.

Well, on to the debauchery.

Liu Qingge discovers his secret during a mission where Shen Jiu's pheromones are released after Shen Jiu falls unconscious from poison and the scent patch falls off. Liu Qingge brought him to the sect where Mu Qingfang healed Shen Jiu. Since it was late, no one else saw or noticed them.

Here, Mu Qingfang asks Liu Qingge not to mention it. When Liu Qingge asked how Mu Qingfang knew, he admitted that his Shizun told him when Shen Jiu first arrived at the sect. He tells Liu Qingge that the only ones who know about it are them and Yue Qingyuan. When Liu Qingge asks why Shen Jiu would hide something so important, Mu Qingfang hesitates. Well, the big secret was out already. He reveals to Liu Qingge that Shen Jiu actually has a slave mark on his back, and most likely had a traumatic experience with Alphas. An Omega in nobility is revered, but an Omega slave is…

Liu Qingge is horrified and gutted by this news. Turns out that he has been misunderstanding his Shixiong all this time. He leaves after Mu Qingfang makes him promise not to tell anyone or let Shen Jiu know that he knows.

Shen Jiu is not stupid. When he woke up in Qian Cao, it was obvious to him that the brute had found out. He knew Mu Qingfang knew. It was obvious as the other was the only one to treat him delicately and not scorn him for refusing Yue Qingyuan's advances (and isn't that a new perspective to Yue Qingyuan's favoritism that Liu Qingge has now). However, he didn't like being treated like fragile china and preferred to avoid the other.

Shen Jiu left before Mu Qingfang returned and immediately went to see his Shizun. He requested to leave on a mission. A long-term one that kept him away from the sect for a while. Liu Qingge had no subtlety, and he wasn't keen on being confronted by the other. He also needed time to process. Being on the mountain was too suffocating, especially now that his enemy knew his greatest secret and could use it against him. He needed time to calm down and think objectively about what he could do next.

He didn't expect to enjoy his journey so much, though. The freedom to travel, to walk with no judgment or glares following his every move. Hunting demons also worked wonders in improving his cultivation. The fighting helped him to center his mind and find peace.

None was so effective as when he was trapped by accident in the pool of revelation. He was forced to confront his heart demons head-on, and out of frustration, he literally beat them to submission. When he got out, he found that his 1 month mission ended up becoming 6 months. However, he also found that his cultivation had improved by leaps and bounds.

The first thing he did after returning was tell his Shizun he was fine before entering the Lingxi caves. He came out 3 months later with a golden core, something which shocked everyone considering the state of his cultivation before the mission. (Say he is 17 here, so a year or 2 after arriving at the sect/ note that this is also before the well mission and before Liu Qingge confronted him about the brothels so his reputation isn't that bad, it's mostly that he was a lazy and spoiled young master)

He only had time to pick a sword from the cave, Xiu Ya, before he was gone like the wind. His Shizun, upon seeing how much happier Shen Jiu was, reconsidered her decision to name him head disciple. She was still convinced that Shen Jiu was the best option, but seeing how much happier her son (cough) disciple was after the long mission than when he was at her peak, she realized she needed to reevaluate how to proceed. There was also the fact that Shen Jiu was an Omega. He already had enough eyes on him. Being a peak lord could offer protection, yes, but it also made it so that it would be difficult for Shen Jiu to avoid the other sects. As a disciple, it would be strange to demand an audience. However, as a peak lord, there could be meetings on the basis of diplomatic relations or whatnot.

Shen Jiu started making a name for himself as the Xiu Ya Sword, and then the Immortal Fairy War God of Tian Gong, a name which he loathes with his entire being. He started traveling to places that he'd only ever read about in the Qing Jing library, became famous in the cultivation world for defeating demi-gods and even a dragon, and became revered among the common people for his acts of justice against evil doers (he just hates perverts and slave traders), and was widely desired as the most beautiful immortal in the realm. Everyone lamented that he was only a beta, but some were beginning to speculate that he was hiding his gender. However, those were brushed aside as, well, Omegas never really became that powerful. It's evident when you see the cultivation sects with only Alphas and Betas. They didn't think that perhaps it was this sexism that stopped Omegas from trying since it wasn't their place.

Liu Qingge, after 3 years, finally grew impatient. It was when someone other than Shen Jiu was named the head disciple that he snapped, surprising everyone. Shen Jiu's reputation did improve among the other head disciples, especially with the younger disciples who mostly joined from hero worship. However, they still remembered how Liu Qingge used to hound and insult the other. They weren't expecting him to be the most outspoken defender of Shen Jiu. The Qing Jing peak lord only stated that while Shen Jiu would be the best choice for head discipleship, her disciple's free spirit wouldn't allow him to settle in the peak for longer than a week at a time. Everyone conceded the truth of the statement, but it felt strange that their most famous member alongside Yue Qingyuan and Liu Qingge wouldn't be a peak lord. Wouldn't they receive criticism from others for this decision?

The Qing Jing said that she already thought about this. If Shen Jiu were to have a high position in the sect that required him to leave as often as he did, it would suit everyone's interest. Since Shen Jiu was already writing his own books which were greatly sought after by other sects, he could be the leader of a research branch in Qing Jing to update information or add to it. The other sect leaders and head disciples were approving of this except for Liu Qingge who didn't know why it annoyed him and the sullen Yue Qingyuan.

Well, sullen is an understatement. The first year with Shen Jiu was fine since, even though it was scorn, he still had Shen Jiu's attention. However, after that first mission that lasted 6 months, he hasn't been able to talk let alone see Shen Jiu. He keeps hearing these stories about Shen Jiu, and though they make him proud, they also cause the darkness in him to grow. He wants to yell at the others who used to bad-mouth Shen Jiu but now sing his praises. When he heard about Shen Jiu's beauty being spread through the land, he wanted to lock the other up in his room for only him to see. He tried to suppress these urges, but the longer he went without Shen Jiu, the worse they became.

Moving on, Liu Qingge was finally tired of waiting for a chance to meet Shen Jiu at the peak. There were many times before that he wanted to find the other, but his guilt held him back. However, seeing the Qing Jing head disciple who was obviously not as worthy as Shen Jiu, he decided that it was time to confront the other.

Leaving it off here for now since it's so long. I'll probably post the second part later.

#svsss #scum villain #shen jiu #liu qingge #ramblings

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antialiasis · 1 year

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Have you played Scarlet/Violet yet?

Playing it as we speak! I've done something like five badges, three Team Star bases and four Titans so far.

You did not technically ask for my thoughts but here is some rambling:

The game is absolutely janky as hell, but I've yet to experience any kind of crash, softlock, or major graphical glitch persisting for more than a couple seconds, and the overworld performance issues only very occasionally get significant enough to be properly disruptive, so all in all it hasn't really stopped me enjoying it. I am invested in Arven and his doggo and the Team Star bosses who all seem very pure actually. Also Koraidon is doggiest bikederg.

That said, it really is janky! I hope they do come out with a patch, though I'm keeping my expectations somewhat reserved with regards to how easy it would be to improve some of the performance stuff without some kind of major overhaul of the engine. Honestly the top of my list is fixing the PC; with my style of rotating teams (training every new Pokémon + my shinies + the Normal Tera Type Scyther I caught early on), I do a whole lot of opening my boxes, and the bizarre graphical jank that happens when you do is so weird. And whyyy on earth is loading in the Pokémon's simple 2D box sprites the laggiest thing in the entire game. What is even happening there, I want to understand.

I had seen some people praise it pre-release for making battles snappier, but that kind of made me expect more - there are still frequent several-second waits between messages in battle for little discernible reason, even while the Pokémon are just doing idle animations, and some abilities and moves just become really lengthy, e.g. Anger Shell insistently writing out messages and showing an animation for all five stats it's modifying every time my Klawf goes below 50% HP, or Bellibolt's Electromorphosis firing for every hit of every multi-hit move even though it only stores one charge. Definitely a thing where I feel like the game is deliberately choosing to show messages for at least a couple of seconds but it could really do with at least letting us press A to continue sooner.

As I've talked about before open-world games aren't really my thing generally, but I think the game has handled it well and I've been enjoying it more than expected, honestly. I like the three main plotlines sort of tugging you in a few different directions with a sense of purpose and investment behind each (well, less so for the gym storyline which so far is mostly just "Nemona really likes battling you guys"), and I've gotten to run around getting myself in trouble while horrendously underleveled, which I always enjoy. I've even managed to get into exploring a bit in the past few days; been running around some lower-leveled areas I never went to for the hell of it. This is not very remarkable for anyone else, I realize, but like, because I don't play these sorts of games my brain is not very used to navigating wide open 3D spaces in a video game where I only have a limited camera view to orient myself in, and I tend to just find it annoying, so the game must be doing something right for me to even want to. I never felt compelled to explore in PLA, for instance, just made a beeline for whatever the next objective was and maybe went a little out of my way to pick up an item I saw or whatever. That's how I started Scarlet, too (hence all the lower-leveled areas I never went to), but one way or another I got to the point of just wanting to get to the places I hadn't been on the map, which is a success.

I do miss having more building interiors and more interesting stuff in cities in general than "one billion identical sandwich shops that are just a menu", but the exteriors are pretty and they've spent some effort trying to give each city and gym some character, which is nice.

Also, after not finding any up to this point, I caught two shinies today, a Psyduck and a Murkrow, which is very impressive for me but still not a record since there was that one bizarre time I somehow got three shinies in PLA in like twenty minutes.

All in all, it's a flawed game but I'm having lots of fun with it and enjoying the storylines so far. It does feel quite lovingly made, just clearly short on time to fully polish it all the way.

#pokemon #pokemon scarlet and violet #ramble

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blissfulalchemist · 2 years

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WIP Tuesday

Tagged by @blackreaches to share a little something on this fine tuesday. So sending tags out to: @belorage @florbelles @strafethesesinners @heroofpenamstan @dihardys @jackiesarch @confidentandgood @indorilnerevarine @themarcspector @shellibisshe @shallow-gravy @adelaidedrubman @chyrstis and anyone else that wants too!

All I have is an extension of my last wip with Stasia and Sib in FF. Under the cut for length and spoilers for shadowbringers on kind of.

“As for an advantage, I believe keeping the Warrior of Light alive is as good an advantage as any in these times.”

Siberite sighs, following as close as she can, “Why can’t you just trust me a little bit here? Answer my questions honestly or hells just answer a damn question. We may not be friends but I no longer have full distrust of you.”

“Well aren’t you stupid? I would have thought your experiences would have taught you better by now. Or at least shown you the consequences of trusting someone with all that you are.”

“Don’t presume to think you know anything about the consequences I’ve faced,” Siberite says through gritted teeth. “Do you not see that I had to put my trust in you in those fights back there? You offered to be my back up and I had to trust that you wouldn’t let me die.”

“Well the battle is done so you can put that notion aside.”

“And what if it isn’t?”

“Then I’ll be there to save your ass again like in The First.”

The Warrior stops, blinking quickly, “You did what now?”

“I helped you, to help me in The First.” She waves a hand, “Keeping you living is my best route, and it wasn’t like you were going to let Emet-Selch win anyway so what’s it matter.”

“Are-are you admitting to-.”

“Having a heavy hand in his death? Yes I am. Did you honestly think the Exarch in that weakened state could escape the bonds Emet-Selch had him in?”

“Wh-why? What was the point in doing so?”

Stasia stops, exhaling slowly, letting her head fall back with eyes closed, “My reasoning is my own. Though does one really need a reason to kill another, Warrior of Light?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes snap open, “Pardon?”

“Yes, you need a reason to kill another person,” she shrugs, “Take Carly, she’s been known for senseless and no reason killing, if you stop and ask her though she’ll tell you why she opted to kill that person over anyone else….even if it is something that’s really minor.”

“So then what’s your reason? Simply taking pleasure in it like Zenos assumed?”

The young woman crosses her arms, glancing down at the small patch of grass , “It’s complicated, each one is for a different reason,” her eyes look back at Stasia, “So tell me, why did you partake in the killing of Emet-Selch? A man who had been your mentor for at least one hundred years,” Closer to three hundred but who’s keeping count anymore?. “Knowing someone for that long and since you were fairly young, I assume, means there was some part of both of you that cared for the other. More so on his end after meeting his younger self. So what did he do?”

“But yes, moral relativism and all that. Case in point--I do not consider you to be truly alive. Ergo, I will not be guilty of murder if I kill you.", His words still echo in her mind bringing with it the barb of pain and anger upon finding out she once again wasn’t good enough. That her mother, and gods help her in admitting it, was proven right once more that no one could love her or care for her in any capacity. And for all his talk of speaking nothing but the truth, he’d lied to her about seeing her as one of his own kind, he never had and he played her much like Lahabrea had attempted to do so when she was but a child. “You witnessed it, Siberite,” she says, “the old man was losing it and he was becoming a problem, which I had enough of keeping that blood lusting beast on a leash.”

#Stasia is the pinacle of let me deflect answers as much as possible to ignore the feelings ive worked so hard to repress all this time #however in writing this i find there is some merit in an au....thanks kate #my wip tag #I have little else of merit so apologies

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transfemlogan · 1 year

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Instagram Feb 2023. More of my sides stuff from IG that I 4got 2 post :P

I have no spoons to copy everything word for word so I will just simplify it all.

Colour schemes:

I didnt originally plan to make them colours of the rainbow like how the Sanders Sides +c!Thomas are, that was a very recent idea.

I am orange, Maddox/Impulse is red, Memphis/Egotism is pink, Melvin/Compassion is green, Medusa/Creativity is cyan & I recently made Mercury/Paranoia yellow. Maven/Fatigue is probably going to be purple & I don't have another side to make indigo.

[Non-coloured text: I am orange, Maddox/Impulse is red, Memphis/Egotism is pink, Melvin/Compassion is green, Medusa/Creativity is cyan & I recently made Mercury/Paranoia yellow. Maven/Fatigue is probably going to be purple & I don't have another side to make indigo.]

Symbols/logos:

My sides' logos r all over the place, instead of being on their chest like (most of) the Sanders Sides :P

Melvin's logo is two hands interlocked & it's a patch on his battle jacket. Its place on his heart.

Madds' logo is like the boom emoji (💥) or explosion. It is placed on the sides of its big combat boots.

Medusa's logo is like. An eyeball. Painbrush. This will change idk what i was thinking originally NDHSKFNFB. Kits logo is placed on the front of kits overalls pocket.

Maven's logo is a bunch of Zs like a sleeping person would be given in art (💤). It's placed on the largest pin on their beanie.

Memphis' logo is a pink, handheld mirror. It is one of the charms on her phone.

Mercs does not... have a logo design. & the logo is either on the back of Mercs' shirt or on one of Mercs' bracelets.

Relationship dynamics:

All my sides get along relatively ok & good. If the Sanders Sides wont love each other then MINE WILL!!!

The only sides that have a somewhat rough relationship is Mel & Madds. Mel, being compassion, wants 2 hear everything 1st in any sort of conflict & tends 2 have a more unbiased view on everything. He is still incredibly supportive & kind regardless of his personal opinion. He is like... Making soup 4 everyone and wanting to help as many people as possible.

Madds, on the other hand, being impulse & a lot of my ""negative"" violent feelings, refuses 2 hear ANYONE out. It will hold a grudge til the end of the earth even if it doesnt know the whole story. As soon as some sort of conflict happens it is choosing the Worse answer imaginable regardless if it even fits the situation ("did that guy just bump into you? We have to kill them" "im sure it was an accident—" "it absolutely Was Not").

OBVIOUSLY. THEY DON'T AGREE MOST OF THE TIME DNSHDKDN. Mel is like "lets talk this out. Communication is important!" & madds is like "Everyone here is wrong except for me. Lets kill them all now."

(They still will bend over backwards for each other if needed)

Maven's trait is fatigue bcuz i have CFS/ME*, though they also represent any sort of fatigue(??) Im. Unsure how to explain. Back in middle schopl before I developed CFS/ME, it was a lot of suicidal/depressive fatigue. It can also be executive dysfunction or autistic shutdowns/meltdowns. ETC whatever u get it.

They're the like. Apathy I feel? I do not experience empathy or sympathy (most of the time) & being aro, ace, and apl, and loveless I tend to not feel Normally. I am also autistic & have alexithymia. THIS IS HARD 2 EXPLAIN BCUZ I AM LOW ON SPOONS. ASK ME LATER OF UR STILL CONFUSED. I DONT KNOW.

WHATEVER. Because Maven is fatigue/apathy/etc they don't really care abt any1 around them. That's melvin's job! They're too busy sleeping in their wheelchair or on the floor. They aren't mean or anything, they're just apathetic & sleepy.

Memphis only cares abt himself but bcuz all the sides + me r Technically Also Him he kind of has 2 care 4 evry1 else. Though, if warranted, she would literally push us off a cliff to save herself (she would also push us off a cliff 4 no rzn).

Medusa likes to cling to Memphis like a baby koala bcuz I think I am TOO talented for my own good . Hence why creativity hangs around egotism.

Mercs likes to run to Madds or Maven bcuz my delusions, obviously, make me violent & afraid & i am actually pretty apathetic & chill in regards to my hallucinations. ALSO NOT MENTIONED IN THE STORIES, Mercs also hangs around Memphis since I have delusions abt being the most popular person on the planet & being better than everyone else & ETC.

*ALL my sides have CFS/ME. They ALL are autistic, have ADHD, schizophrenia, POTS, & all my other disabilities & neurodivergencies. It doesn't make sense to me (+ makes me a little uncomfortable) to have a single side represent my disabilities/NDs. My disabilities are not One Part Of Me, they are All Of Me.

In regards to Mercury/Paranoia, all my sides experience delusions & hallucinations, Mercs just experiences Most of it. Xe also represents more than just paranoia. In regards to Maven/Fatigue, all my sides are physically disabled and have CFS/ME & POTS, Maven just experiences the most of it & represents more than just fatigue.

#revys sides!

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soulventure91 · 1 year

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im kicking the door down for 🍋🍐and 💙 for the diric lore

oh god Diric lore from the jumbo asks oh boy oh BOY -|

🍋 Does your OC act petty and jealous easily? What sort of things make them feel like this and do they experience guilt for getting so worked up? How do they deal with these emotions when they get them? If your OC doesn’t feel like this often, why not? Okay SO. We know the answer to the first is relatively yes - the why is a bit tricky. Diric's jealousy often derives from seeing someone he cares about (and we're talking like. Devoted levels of caring, like to the level of only-missing-a-ring-and-vows, which is. a problem for him.) interacting with someone else Dir probably doesn't know as well or doesn't feel secure in himself to be around - and getting on with equal or greater ease that Dir usually feels when interacting with the person he's given his heart to. This is why he had to have a couple clarifying talks with Alar when Alar made his initial arrival because man did Alar rub Diric wrong those first few weeks ^^; To be honest if they talked some more, especially because Alar is the last of three party members with direct divine communication he hasn't talked to about his therapy, I think Diric would find a lot of respect and admiration for Alar. Probably he wouldn't reach the same levels of devoted but Diric would be more in line with figuring out maneuvers with Alar in mind like he has with Maahes. Diric absolutely has to be called out on his jealousy if it's spotted; otherwise he's going to sit on it and end up saying something really stupid as his invasive thoughts start going off. He'd be more guilty about what's said in that case, but not over the feelings that triggered the outburst. With his therapy stint, another thing he gets to work on is not getting jealous in general - doesn't help that he and Mio are still figuring out how to patch things up and Diric still has a severe case of heartbreak to parse through - which is part of why Diric still has self-isolating moments at present and also giving Maahes any space he might need (partly in the hopes Mio would come to him if he needed to vent - though overhearing Mio opening up to the others somewhat, while a good healthy move for Mio that Dir does, in his psyche, understand, makes Dir question exactly how much Mio does trust him - look, invasive thought spiral ay). To be honest Dir should not be self-isolating. Someone please just sit next to him.

🍐 What is your OC’s mentality? Are they overall positive? Negative? A bit of both? Describe their thought patterns and reasoning behind their choice making! Motive number one for any choice Diric makes: does this help me better protect those I care about? Protecting others is the focus of his mindset, period. To Diric's mind, if he can't protect the people he loves - even if those people are more than capable of protecting themselves! - that's a failure on himself. Combat encounters where he lags behind the others and is either put in danger or unable to get in a swipe before the party wipes out the enemy? He's failed. Trying to advise or be a listening ear but getting chided for doing that? He's failed. Venting his thoughts or trying to explain the weird broken bits of his brain and not feeling like he's been understood? Failed. It's very negative, not healthy, and why one part of his new promises to Bahamut includes the caveat of not at the expense of myself when it comes to extending himself protectively. Usually, motive two is the more selfish one: can I become stronger doing this? It was this motivation that spurred him into Blackthorn and then the Underdark. If Diric could look at Blackthorn and say 'no, being there again wouldn't help me or anyone', he wouldn't have pressed going. But because it put to rest some of his issues and he was able to grow personally and protect the party, overall Diric's choice was always going to be yes, return to Blackthorn. Even if he hated every second of it. But he'll refuse to go back unless Aislinn herself asks for him.

💙 What did your OC want to be when they grew up and why? Did they have any lifelong dreams or ambitions they never got to work on or are they currently working to achieve this dream? Has their life taken a very unexpected turn and put all these plans on hold for a while or have they given up on any dreams? This poor little boy all alone in his room surrounded by toy weapons and the equivalent of comic books and action figures only ever had one dream: to be important to someone and be recognized for himself. All he could dream of was being a soldier like Malarnur Duskblade and one day being strong enough to fight alongside him. Obviously Dir did get his wish of becoming a soldier, but when you're put in the unit of social outcasts and expected to die...yeah. Add on completely wrecking your first command operation and there was no way Diric was ever going to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with his childhood hero. Which came true for the most part since Diric killed the pit fiend possessing said childhood hero! But I think by that point he didn't...want the hero's celebration he'd once dreamed about. Which is part of why he doesn't want to ever go back to Blackthorn, even with now being fully Drow. He was there as an outsider, not as someone that earned his place. I think part of Diric still has that dream of mattering to someone; it's why he devoted himself so much to Mio, why part of him is so certain he'll find somewhere that wants him. Because if he knows the where, the who should come naturally. But if he can't find the where or the who, that could break Diric entirely. This little boy's dream is all he really has left holding his heart together.

#TEARS IN MY EYES BEFORE I GO TO BED WITH THAT LAST ONE AJ #dir just wants to find his Home and his Person T_T #anyway enjoy having made me suffer wheeee #oc: diric vajon

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