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#idk what else to call it
valcksys · 4 months
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me: why does it feel like someone else has taken over my body and im just watching
me, remembering I have “people take over your body” disorder: 🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯
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jetblackfeeling · 7 days
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⚠︎sgr x mob♂ sgst premise
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grimvengeance · 3 months
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reds-skull · 6 months
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Since a couple of people showed interest in this au, I figured I can post the older sketches I made for it.
First two are the reapers of Soap and Ghost, the rest are just kinda exploring how their powers would look (sorry this is messy it's all in one file and I didn't plan on posting this lol)
I got other aus tbh, things that don't fit in my comic form. Might actually try my hand at writing fics for the first time...
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writeshite · 11 months
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....okay hear me out, Geralt helping Reader escape being a virgin sacrifice by ah....helping him get rid of the virgin part 👀
Previous
Geralt doesn’t like the sorcerer who greets the two of you. Yvad Vassird, he’d introduced himself. Yvad is a relatively young sorcerer, conniving, condescending, and an ass to boot - his dark hair is neatly combed back and cropped to the sides, and his robes are a rich blue with silver detailing. The so-called temple is no better - more so a fortress, with sigils carved into every brick of the building, with a rotating guard of sorcerers watching over anything and anyone that walks in and out. He doesn’t like how they stare at you with something sinister, shrugging off the looks of disgust they throw at him.
“...your bravery is admirable, dear boy, to surrender yourself to the forces of Order for the betterment of the Continent, truly a feat.” Geralt catches the tail end of Yvad’s speech and rolls his eyes. Thankfully, the man leaves once you’re escorted to your temporary resting chambers; the room has a bed and enough magic to keep it comfortable enough. Geralt paces and checks every corner for any sort of traps, and you have to call him away from the windows when he growls at something and draws the curtains closed.
“Darling, you can glare violently at the people outside,” you quip, patting the place on the bed beside you. He reluctantly comes to sit, leaning his head against yours, thumbs rubbing circles on your hands. He helps you change into the required clothing, kissing your skin whenever he can - it’s not even clothing really, but instead a loose tunic that lays over your body. When Yvad returns, he’s accompanied by masked sorcerers, and no amount of convincing can deter Geralt from seeing you to your final moments. 
You’re led to the central altar high in the building - a massive mirror hangs above the room, and multiple other mirrors are positioned around the ceiling - when Geralt crosses the threshold, he feels his bones twist, the magic in the air is conflicting, and he wonders how you, Yvad and the other sorcerers stand without trouble. The room appears clean, but Geralt can smell the old blood as strong as it would have been the day it was spilled. Yvad has Geralt remain on the outskirts of the altar as he leads you by the hand to the altar itself, stood under the large mirror. The masked sorcerers begin to chant, raising their hands; Chaos bleeds from their fingertips, striking the smaller mirrors, darting around before coming together to the large mirror and being reflected down to you. 
The floor closest to you lights up with sigils; you glance at Geralt before runes dot your skin, and you fall to your knees. Yvad claps his hands, and the smaller mirrors tilt, focusing more Chaos onto you; your own begins to bleed from you, growing more violent as it’s pulled and pushed. Geralt is acutely aware of your screaming but is stopped by Yvad’s pinning gaze, “Interfere, and you might kill him, witcher.”
“You’re already doing that,” he hisses, proven right when you cough up blood. 
“It’s necessary,” Yvad responds. The chanting becomes quieter as Yvad takes over, hands drawing in the air; the Chaos turns into what Geralt must assume is Order. The sigils glow brighter, and your body contorts, floating in the air before a violent burst of energy is released. “FUCK! Keep it controlled!” Yvad yells.
One masked sorcerer is knocked through the window by the next wave; his screams go uncared for by Yvad. The man rolls his eyes when the others flinch, “Stay focused!” When the next wave hits more of them, you crumple to the ground, struggling to lift your head as your screams become sobs. 
Burnt flesh wafts through the air, and Geralt’s resolve breaks - the spell is already unstable with one masked sorcerer gone, so Geralt gets rid of another - the sigils flicker, and the ground shakes. Yvad turns to him, fury in his face; Geralt dodges an attack and rushes to you - surmising the focus of the spell must be well protected; he’s proven right yet again when Yvad’s magic bounces back. He alternates between shaking you lightly and patting your cheek, “Come on. Come on. Come on.”
Your skin is warm, and when your eyes flutter open, Geralt feels as though he’s staring into a flame. Geralt…?” It takes you a moment before your mind catches on, and you spring to grab his shoulders, “....you stupid, stupid man!”
“You can insult me later; now, we need to get out of here.”
Yvad laughs, “You’re going nowhere, witcher.” Yvad’s voice is close to his ear; Geralt turns and is thrown far from you and through a window, hanging off the edge. Two things happen. One - Yvad takes two steps toward him, ready to have him fall to his death - two - the sorcerer flies past him as a loud ‘NO’ echoes, and the other windows shatter. Geralt crawls back in to find whoever’s left a pile of blood and bones.
You stand at the center, hand held out, and Geralt catches you before you can topple over again, “We need to get you out of here before the others find their way up here.” You nod, steeling yourself; a portal crackles to life, leading you to Roach as the other sorcerers' steps grow closer, you open another, and Geralt has Roach gallop through with you first before following. The portal led to a safehouse you’d cobbled from a dead peer - having invested what little free time you had to ensure it remained far from the Brotherhood - Geralt catches you before you slump off Roach, and you wake hours later to him sat by your bedside.
“Geralt? I’m…I’m alive?”
“Yeah, I promised, didn’t I? We’re far from everyone else,” he replies, hand coming to caress your face, “and, considering the whole sacrifice thing fell through—”
You drag him forward before he can finish, lips slotting against his to ensure this is real and that you hadn’t died and gone to some dream amid your death. Geralt holds you, pulling you closer; you laugh with relief when you part, leaning your head against his. “I’m alive,” you sigh. “Please, never ever, do what you did back there again.”
“Hmm, no promises.” He kisses you again, leaning further into your space and laying you back on the bed. Sliding between your legs as he pushes the tunic up, his fingers stretch your ass - the Brotherhood had believed, gods know why, that virgins made for better sacrifices - you’d resolved to kiss Geralt when you could, but now? Now, you strived to be fucked.
Geralt must deem you prepared as his cock replaces his fingers - it’s an adjustment, to say the least - you wince, and he halts his movements, “Is it too much?”
“Give me…just a minute,” you groan, clenching around him, “ok…you….move again,” you mumble. He wants to move slowly for your sake, but you protest, encouraging him to move faster; you sob enthusiastically when Geralt thrusts faster, the bed creaks, and you're certain it comes close to snapping. His teeth drag across your skin, and your own senses feel elevated, ears buzzing as Geralt slams into you with more and more force. When he cums, your eyes screw shut as something, or rather a lot of somethings, crash.
Geralt chuckles, "We can replace that later." You don't ask what it is, instead chuckling alongside him.
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roryintheir90s · 3 months
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I think its very clear that I love the toxic/angsty flower husbands. BUT! Totally in love fh got me smitten too.
Like if I hear the audio "You were a wonderful experience ", "you were.... everything."
IT VERY MUCH FEELS LIKE FH TO ME. With scott being Simon to me in that scene.
Like yeeee, Jimmy being in love and all is cute, but Scott falling harder and deeper into it, with Scott being so in love that even his next reincarnations/next lives cannot help but feel drawn to Jimmy. Being protective and caring towards him even when he tries not to, bc something tells him, deep down, that he once upon a time failed in keeping him alive. with him.
Woah, somehow I still turned it into angst. Anyway, Scott is just smitten with Jimmy and cant help but love him in every universe.
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kadoore · 1 year
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I just added a few books and updated the pub dates of others, so now's a good a time as any to link to the 2022 Queer SFF Books list!
Adult! Science fiction! And fantasy! Books! That have queer main characters!! They exist!
A great place to find gifts for your friends! Your family! Your enemies!!
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charlottan · 7 months
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Thoughts on The Antlers? If youve heard any of their stuff
i havent listened to much but i get depression porn vibes from them like i should only listen if im trying to be sad. which sometimes i am but in general it isnt really my thing
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hugogetsrawed · 9 days
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Mad scientist varigo au where Varian has Hugo strapped to a table and straddles him while taking his blood and/or injecting various chemicals into him. Hugo notices that Varian is super turned on then realizes he is too then they kiss with tongue and fuck nasty
Hugo would get tied down and get needles stuck in him and immediately go 👁👄 like he'd be so deeply into it that its stupid and I love it I need a fic about this pls
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crithir · 6 months
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Aww, a simple declaration of love for a character. I’m sure the comments will be totally chill and norm-
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…. Nevermind.
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thegaycuzin · 2 years
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buckyhoney · 2 years
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im trying to figure out what it is about the harwin strong scene right? like the obvious is there, but for me its the little sharp inhale before he just bodies everyone
the chest raise + the little sharp inhale + absolute feral look, it just 😩✋🏼
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ickymiu · 1 year
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can’t possibly make an au out of this….right?
kinda hate the bottom right-
I’m sorry I like making scary characters 😭 but hey the au is called “Puppets With Teeth”
Literally puppets with teeth
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theladyofbloodshed · 2 years
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Another prompt, inspired by In Defiance of the Stars, except Cassian discovers his mate is an Autumn Court fae named Nesta. 2 problems, She is Beron's bastard and the Vanserra brood are now Cassian's in laws. But yeah, Eris and Nesta as siblings would have so much power and the awkward family dinners...
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‘It has finally happened,’ Mor announced, waltzing into the room with a clap of her hands. A bright, beaming smile was on her face as she dropped into a chair. She waited a moment for her words to settle, to create intrigue. ‘Beron Vanserra has a bastard.’
‘Bullshit,’ Cassian scoffed.
Mor held up her hands. ‘This has come from the Summer Court. You know they don’t lie.’
‘Cass wouldn’t know because he’s not been allowed in for centuries.’
The others snickered at Azriel’s word. It was one building – and none of them would let him forget it.
‘So, he’ll be dead soon,’ Rhys replied absently, tinkering with a metal model of the stars. ‘Beron has enough legitimate sons vying for his throne and he’s not even dead yet. A bastard’s head will roll quick enough.’
Mor gave a tut then sank further into the chair. She crossed an ankle over the other. ‘This one’s a daughter. And there are rumours that he will claim her.’
‘A prize breeding mare to bargain with,’ said Cassian.
‘Exactly.’ Mor’s eyes simmered with long-held pain.
The shadows circling Azriel tightened so he was almost concealed from view. Then, ‘I’ve heard none of this. Not a whisper.’
Rhys shook his head with exasperation. ‘Because you deal with intel worth knowing. Mor likes to gossip.’
‘It’s not gossip! And Cassian likes to hear it.’
That was true. Sometimes he and Mor would sit up on the balcony and gossip about the people passing by if they knew them. Their lives were examined enough; it was fun to do it to others in return.
'She’s powerful.’
They turned to Amren who sat clutching a wineglass filled with blood. Her black painted nails drummed on the bowl.
'Beron would never claim a bastard – female or male – unless they had something he wanted. He will claim ownership of his daughter because she likely has a power he wants to possess.’
That made sense. Beron couldn’t be called a pious male by any means, but he had been a high lord for nearly seven centuries. There had been no weaknesses in his court, no attempts at usurping him. Cruel and malicious, yes, but Beron had ruled without wavering. It was said his wife was a shadow of herself and his sons were just as vile as he was. But there had never been a whisper of his infidelity where so many other males might have exploited their power. It had seemed that Beron had produced enough heirs and focused only on the iron-fist that gripped his court for seven hundred years. Until now.
‘We need every scrap of information on this female, Az.’
The shadow singer gave a curt nod then departed swiftly.
‘It’s not gossip,’ Mor repeated to her cousin.
Rhys snorted. ‘Didn’t you tell me a few weeks ago that Beron’s youngest was wooing a lesser fae?’
Mor folded her arms. ‘He is.’
‘You are obsessed with the Autumn Court, girl.’
Mor turned her stare on Amren. Neither was willing to back down from it until Cassian coughed loudly. ‘I feel bad already for this female. Beron as her father, Eris as her brother. Imagine if she ends up with a male like Tamlin as her mate.’
***
‘Eris Vanserra, if you go into my room again, I will snap your wrist.’
Eris, proud and cold, did not pause from eating his breakfast. The knife sliced through the fried egg. ‘I didn’t go in. A servant did.’
‘Semantics,’ Nesta snapped.
It had been three months since Nesta had been moved into the Forest House. It had not been a seamless transition. In fact, it had all been rather odd.
Eris had long been the male her father had planned to marry her to. Whenever it was brought up though, her mother would become strange and reluctant, offering up other well-to-do families in the Autumn Court instead for their daughter. Her father couldn’t understand why they wouldn’t aim for the Vanserra family so that Nesta’s son could become the future high lord. What was the point in deliberately aiming lower?
She had known the Vanserras, of course. Her father was an advisor to Beron. Her mother a lady-in-waiting to Elena, his wife. Nesta had spent many days in the Forest House right from birth. She knew its every secret tunnel and passageway, knew the guards and servants.
From all the brothers, Lucien was the kindest but least likely to be high lord. She had shared a tutor with Eris, knew him the best. A marriage wouldn’t have been terrible – but they argued relentlessly.
Eris had invited Nesta to dance at a ball. They’d bickered and snapped the entire dance. Eris deliberately stepped on her toes, so she deliberately raised her knee to his groin, doubling him over in pain.
Beron had laughed – actually laughed – at their fiery altercation. He’d clapped Nesta’s father on the back and said, ‘What do you say? You have one daughter. I have a son. Let’s see what fireworks they can create.’
Her father had been about to agree, to strike the betrothal like a match setting a forest alight. Her mother had turned a ghastly shade of green. Then it had all come spilling out.
Nesta Archeron was Nesta Vanserra. It happened once she said. Once was enough with the seed of Beron. The male she had danced with, borderline flirted with many times, was actually her brother. She had wanted to vomit. Eris had vomited out of the window. Her father – not her father really – had thrown her mother from the house, scandalised and disgusted. Beron had him executed and then her mother for revealing the truth.
Nesta had sat in their manor awaiting the sentries to drag her to her fate too. Instead, a group of servants from the Forest House arrived to pack up all of her belongings and bring her to Beron’s home. It seemed he was claiming his bastard daughter. She had magic. A lot of it. Her mother had let that slip too. What he had not learned however was the sort of fire she possessed: it blazed silver and struck a person dead.
‘Stop being so nosy. You have no business in my room.’
‘As your elder brother it is my duty to ensure your virtue remains intact,’ Eris replied smoothly.
‘Who do you think I am hiding beneath my bed? A sprite? It is three inches from the floor, Eris. Or perhaps you believe that's actually eight inches.’
His cheeks pinked. ‘How dare you speak of such things at the table.’
‘Where else would you like to discuss it?’
The dining room door opened and Elena Vanserra entered accompanied by her personal handmaiden and a guard. Elena had always been kind to Nesta, always used to relish stroking her hair or buying pretty dresses for her. She had worried that since her birth had come to light, the Lady of the Autumn Court might become hostile or treat her as cruelly as Beron did. Elena’s heart did not waver. She did not blame Nesta for any of it. Just as a lady should be, she navigated it all with dignity – even if it was shameful that her husband had not only sired another child, but had moved her into the family home.
‘Mother.’
‘Good morning.’ Elena took a seat to the left of Eris and servant scurried to bring her a breakfast. ‘The high lords are meeting tomorrow in the Dawn Court. Your father has requested that we all attend.’
Her russet eyes landed on Nesta. She knew what lay behind that look. It was Beron’s first opportunity to trot out his daughter in front of the most powerful males in Prythian. He would test the waters to see what she could earn him. Elena had been there, knew the struggle. Her family had offered her up to Beron when he had newly taken his throne and she had endured his brutality ever since.
The day was spent with Elena. Servants and handmaidens were shooed away, allowing them privacy to prepare. She had been afforded some slack as the daughter of an advisor. Now, Nesta was a Vanserra. Every move had to be precise and calculated. The story of her conception was altered. The executions of her parents were to be silenced. Nesta had to scrub any memories of them from her mind as if Beron had birthed her himself.
At least, she had been raised to be a lady. Her manners were impeccable, her knowledge of courts and Prythian itself second to none. That was likely one of the reasons why Beron hadn’t also had her neck on the chopping block. She was far easier to mould into what he wanted.
It worked in her favour that Nesta knew the ins and outs of the court through her father, that she’d spent time in his study reading reports and learning from him. A shame really that Beron’s title would not pass to her; Nesta found herself far more deserving it of than Eris.
Beron had spoken to her a handful of times since claiming her – more often it was about her. As they prepared to winnow to the Dawn Court, Beron inspected all of them. An advisor had lined them all up – as if they needed prompting to assemble. He prowled slowly, eyes roving from head to toe to ensure they were up to his high standards. Not a thread was allowed to be loose. No scuffs on boots, no hair out of place. Sometimes, he called inspections in the middle of the night or had their rooms searched.  
His eyes snagged on the fourth born, well, fifth born now Nesta supposed since she had slotted into second born position. Roan kept his eyes trained on the ground as Beron drew closer. Nesta could almost hear the thumping of his heart, the sweat running down the back of his neck in terror.
‘Stand up straighter like her,’ he said finally with a reluctant glance at Nesta.
***
Travelling to other courts always made them uncomfortable. Amren would remain in Velaris, guarding the City of Starlight. Mor had been irritable since dawn; every hour that brought her closer to seeing Eris again had put her more on edge. Even Azriel seemed to be feeding into that energy. His shadows never strayed far from his side as they ran over last-minute preparations. They had blueprints of the Dawn Court’s palace, had mapped out every single exit, gone over every possible scenario.
It had been Helion who had called the meeting, mentioning Hybern in his letter to Rhys, but not expanding on it.
If the others were nervous, Rhys was at least calm. He would don the mask of sadistic bastard in public because he had to. There could be no wavering in his confidence. One crack in that mask would be exploited.
Unlike his friends, Cassian felt good. The Dawn Court had fantastic food, beautiful females, and a near-constant golden glow. What could go wrong?
They exchanged tentative greetings with Day Court representatives – the only Court they were on cordial terms with. Only Winter hadn’t yet arrived.
The Summer delegate were already mingling with Spring, their closest ally. The two high lords spoke with another male too – Beron’s youngest by the looks of him. Unlike the Vanserras, this one seemed at ease mingling with crowds and making friends.
Cassian searched for an autumn female. Amongst the crowd, he hunted for chestnut or red hair, for forest-green or orange dresses -for Beron in a wig. Azriel had been unable to uncover little information on her. Only that she was not a child and was high-fae. He saw Elena Vanserra stood meekly beside her husband, eyes cast to the ground in submission. Beron did not covet friends. Most of his sons flanked him. The eldest had departed. Eris had climbed the stairs so he stood on the balcony, looking down upon the white hall. His cruel eyes scrutinised the decorations. Automatically, Cassian spared a look to Mor. She had pulsed forwards to the entry where the Winter Court were making their arrival, oblivious to Eris' presence.
He glanced up again to the male. He could not say how glad he was that Mor had not married him. What had been done to her was vile. There would be no forgiveness for it. But at least she had not been condemned to a life in the Autumn Court.
A female came to his side. She was utterly beautiful. Her blonde hair was swept up into a coronet, displaying the sharp line of her jaw. Her white dress was like a second skin, tight to her chest and waist then dripping out around the skirts like a mist. She clinked a glass with Eris, smirking slightly, then drained it in one long drink.
Not another female that had the misfortune of being betrothed to Eris, Cassian hoped.
Unable to help himself, Cassian started up the stairs towards them. He could never resist the chance to torment Eris, just as Eris did to them.
Closer, he could see the blue-grey of her eyes. They way they swirled like molten metal as she engaged in rapid conversation with Eris.
Her arms were mostly bare save for the draping of gossamer from the straps of her dress. There was no indication of her Court. Most had some tell-tale signs. She was a puzzle. Perhaps Beron had bought a foreign female for his eldest to breed because no other would want him.
‘Another bride for you to torture?’ Cassian asked, closing the distance between them.
Eris had the gall to look affronted by his words, but the female next to him scoffed. Her arm looped with his in solidarity.
‘My sister,’ he said coldly.
She turned that quicksilver gaze on him, inspecting his wings first, then his size, and finally landing on his own eyes.
Cassian's heart quickened. Felt the tug of a force beyond this world shifting the very fabric of the universe. Time slowed as the earth shifted on its axis. She held his gaze, face going slack as she felt the same bond that he did wending between them. Felt it snap into place. Mates.   
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moshieee-but-evil · 1 month
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Oh ho ho im going to play into my moments of apathy so much with mafia moshie on the bad days
Poor baby forgot what sleep is and everyone just thinks it is normal for them because they're part void
Everyone is in the dark, because they technically don't need sleep for survival so it should be fine right?
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rainbowfiedmysotiz · 4 months
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on our call last night we were talking about touch starved shit and like physical affection with our irls. i mentioned how i never really cuddled with anyone before and he was sayin something about changing that omg 😭
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