#the glitters absorb his power
Text
He, who shall not be freed
#twst#twisted wonderland#sebek zigvolt#fanart#the glitters absorb his power#he can no longer get out#it's easier to rotate him now#It's hardwork to put him back on this position when he turned upside down#i just like the color contrast of my hands with the background on the second set of picture#my hands never look so red
420 notes
·
View notes
Text
Antares
https://archiveofourown.org/works/45534721
The first thing Nightwing hears upon regaining consciousness is ominous chanting. A man’s voice rings out over the rest, ranting about an Eternal King, infinite power, and -- oh boy -- sacrifices. He tunes it out to assess the situation.
He’s in an old warehouse. Robin’s here too, looking even more annoyed than Nightwing feels, and both of them have their hands and ankles bound in rope. His comm is on silent, just as he left it, like an idiot. The ranting man and his followers in matching robes are gathered around a ritual circle in the middle of the floor. Yeah, that tells him all he needs to know. They need to get out, now.
Unfortunately, that’s exactly when the leader finishes his speech and turns to them.
“So,” the man asks with a cruel smile. “Which of you ‘heroes’ will have the honor of bringing our Lord to this plane?”
“I will.” Robin’s voice is sharp, unyielding.
The man is obviously surprised to receive an actual answer to his taunt, but obliges. He pulls Robin away without another word.
“What?! No! Robin, you can’t--” Nightwing’s protest is cut off with a punch to the stomach from one of the robed lackeys.
“I have my reasons, Nightwing; it must be me.” Robin’s face reveals nothing, but he gives a subtle hand signal: I have a plan.
Nightwing forces himself to calm down. They’ll get out of this. He just has to trust his Robin. While everyone’s eyes are off him, he quietly works at the amateur knots.
The leader drags Robin into the circle without a fight. He raises a jeweled dagger, intentions clear...
But Robin is faster. He bites his own wrist, hard, and spits his blood into the circle. The runes light up in terrible Lazarus green, and Robin pushes himself upright with a malicious grin.
The lead cultist scrambles back from the circle and into a deep bow. The chanting stops as his minions follow suit. Robin continues to look far too smug for his situation. Nightwing feels a headache coming on somewhere under his renewed panic.
This is his plan?!
There’s a blinding flash of light. When the spots clear from Nightwing’s vision, the Eternal King is floating in the circle, mere feet from the bound Robin.
The Eternal King isn’t quite the grotesque horror he expected. Their body is a glittering black void, a sleek humanoid shadow with misty white hair and bright, bright eyes of toxic green. A cold fog rolls off of their body in waves.
“Antares,” the shadow rumbles, and Nightwing feels static thrum in his bones with the sound. The room is painfully cold, but the King doesn’t seem aggressive yet. Maybe they really can bargain their way out of this mess.
Robin doesn’t flinch. He looks the Eternal King right in the eyes, utterly fearless, and smirks. “Hello, Beloved.”
What?
The King stares silently, floating closer. For a long moment, no one moves. No one speaks.
“My lord, does the sacrifice please you?” The ringleader cuts in, standing up with a greedy gleam in his eyes.
Something in the air changes as the King turns toward the man. Something cold, electric, heavy under the skin. Nightwing suppresses a shiver as he works through the last of the rope.
“You d̵̢̛a̵̼̽ṙ̴͎e̵͙̐.”
The leader pales and falls to his knees. “My Lord, if this offering is insufficient, we have another--”
The King s̴̱̖̺̺̓͊̕̕ć̵͇͇͔̈r̴̥͐e̸̥̬͌̂̌̊a̴̭̔̓̀̔͘m̵̯͑̋͌͠s̵̗̤̻̭̍̿, a furious howl that blurs Nightwing’s vision and claws his ears. The sound is everywhere, driving him to his knees. Growing shadows seem to absorb his little brother just as Nightwing realizes he’s blacking out.
They’re falling, they’re falling someone help they’re screaming he’s screaming make it stop dead on impact blood and bones make it stop make it STOP--
When he comes back to himself, it’s quiet. Nightwing blinks tears from his eyes, gasping for frigid air that pierces his lungs like knives. The floor outside the circle is covered in blood splatter. The cultists have all been struck down, and many aren’t moving.
But he’s not looking at them.
Because the monster is coiled around Robin like a snake, eyes burning as it surveys the room. Robin seems unharmed for now, but he has to get his baby brother away from that thing.
He steps forward, and those endless green eyes lock onto him. It snarls at his approach, revealing multiple rows of teeth. Claws subtly tighten on Robin’s shoulders. Nightwing sinks into a combat stance, and the creature braces itself to leap.
Pure, animal instinct screams that Nightwing won’t survive this fight.. It doesn’t matter. He’ll give his all like he always has, and Robin can escape. The others will find a way to take it down. He just has to buy time.
“Dove, it’s alright.”
To Nightwing’s amazement, the creature freezes. It turns to look at Robin, warbling in apparent confusion before turning back to Nightwing with a hiss.
Robin grabs its face in both hands and forces it to look at him. “No. That’s Nightwing, remember? He will not harm us. I am safe. We are safe.” His voice is steady, soothing as he gently presses their foreheads together. A spark of awareness slowly returns to ‘Dove’s’ eyes.
“Come back to me.”
The monster sags in Robin’s grip, slowly folding in on itself until a nearly-human teen with snowy white hair is left floating gently in its place.
Robin smiles, gentle and shockingly warm. “There you are.”
‘Dove’ is shaking. Their eyes are locked on Robin, as though he’s the only thing in their universe. “Antares,” they breathe, before wrapping Robin in a tight hug.
Robin briefly looks to Dick, gesturing toward the cultists. He then returns his attention to the distraught being, resting his chin on their head and both hands on their back. The obvious dismissal makes Nightwing uneasy, but the kid has a point. They'll just have to check him for hypnosis or mind control back at the Cave.
Now that Nightwing is actually looking at the cultists, their injuries are horrific. Deep lacerations, stab wounds, frostbite, severed limbs...none of them seem likely to die with medical treatment, but every last one is maimed.
The ringleader is worst of all. His eyes are gouged out, and his hands ripped off and cauterized by the same unearthly frost that burns scattered marks into his skin. An unfamiliar symbol has been clawed into his chest.
Nightwing looks back to the circle, where Dove is quietly sobbing. Their face is tucked securely into Robin’s neck, and Nightwing hears whispers of I was scared and can’t lose you too.
This is the same person?
By the time the cultists are all secured and the police have been called, Dove seems to have calmed down. Time to play the diplomat. Again.
Damn, maybe Steph has a point about Eldest Daughter Syndrome.
“I, uh, hate to interrupt, but we should probably get out of here, yeah? GCPD will be here in a couple minutes,” he proposes with a friendly smile.
Dove wipes their eyes. “Right.” Then they look around the room and wince. “Uhm, sorry you? Had to see that? I...panicked. You’re okay though, right? Not hurt or anything?” The question is disarmingly earnest, and there’s nothing but concern in their eyes. Hm.
“Nah, not a scratch,” Nightwing dismisses. Then he remembers he’s apparently talking to a king. “Thank you for saving Robin, Your Highness,” he adds with a bow of his head.
“Nuh-uh, no titles. Gross.” The King makes a face, then smiles with renewed cheer. “Call me Phantom. He/him, ghost, and general pain in the ass, at your service!” He floats higher and punctuates his announcement with a midair flip. “You might as well know, since we’re gonna be seeing each other a lot now.”
Crap. “I’m afraid I don’t follow,” Nightwing ventures.
‘Phantom’ exchanges a meaningful look with Robin. Nightwing barely has time to register the mischief on both their faces before Robin pulls the being down into a kiss.
A deep kiss now. Really deep. Yeah, they’ve definitely forgotten he’s here.
When they finally separate, Robin looks quite satisfied. Phantom, however, sticks out a forked tongue and scrunches his face. “Blech, blood. What did you...” His eyes land on Robin’s still-bloody wrist, then the droplets still in the circle.
“You didn’t.” A grin creeps across his face. “You have me on soul speed dial and you still hijacked a whole-ass summoning!”
“Tt. I was making a point.” Robin crosses his arms.
Phantom cackles. “You are literally the most dramatic person I’ve ever met!” he crows.
Robin raises an eyebrow and gestures to the warehouse full of mangled cultists. Phantom opens his mouth to retort, but it’s at this point that Nightwing finally manages to pull his jaw off the floor and speak.
“Robin,” he says with deliberate calm. “What the fuck.”
And then they hear police sirens. Fantastic.
“Crap. Don’t worry, I got it!” Phantom declares as he rips a green hole in existence. Robin is unfazed, which is rapidly getting less and less surprising.
A woman in the corner stirs. Phantom makes a ‘one moment’ gesture before he stalks over and yanks her forward with a growl. “You’ve kept your tongue for a reason. Spread the word: Robin is mine.” (Robin stands taller, obviously pleased by that extremely concerning statement.) The woman nods frantically, and Phantom drops her to the ground.
Without further preamble, Phantom zips back over and shoves both vigilantes through the rip.
Just like that, they’re all in Damian’s bedroom. The two boys immediately sit together on the edge of the bed, while Dick remains standing. Dick doesn’t even know where to begin, so he can only give a helpless ‘why’ sort of gesture. Thankfully, Damian seems to take pity on him.
“Richard, this insufferable fool is my Beloved. His name is Danny, and he is seventeen.” Then he smirks. “You may refer to him as High King Phantom of the Infinite Realms; The Tyrant’s Bane, True Balance, Son Of Stars, Pride of Time, Death’s Chosen--”
The ghost groans dramatically, flopping across Damian’s lap like a wet noodle. “Oh my gawd, Dames, why would you tell him that?”
"It is very important that Richard recognizes your position and authority.” Damian says, not even trying to sound convincing.
Danny reaches up and pushes at Damian’s face. It brings to mind a pair of cats, especially with Damian doing his best to look annoyed instead of fond. “Betrayal! I want a divorce!”
That’s the last straw. Dick chokes on his own spit and has to thump his chest a few times to breathe right again. With monumental effort, he manages to wheeze out a strangled “Are you MaRriEd?!”
Danny tries to sputter out a reply, but Dick is distracted by Damian laughing. It’s a low, light sound, with no attempt made to disguise it.
“Of course not,” Damian says. He cards a hand through Danny’s hair, the other boy sighing contently and looking up at him with adoring neon eyes. “We've only courted for seven months now. It will be another three years before we wed.”
Dick is just. Gonna ignore that last bit. For his own sanity. “Wait, how did you keep a whole boyfriend secret for seven months? In this family?”
“Bribery.” “Threats.”
Yeah, that sounds about right. Babs and Duke probably know then.
“Cool, good to know. One more question.” Well, more like a billion, but he may as well start with an icebreaker before the inevitable interrogation. Besides, it’s a big brother's duty to embarrass his siblings. “Why Dove?”
Damian says nothing, but his deep blush is almost audible.
“Because I’m cute and fluffy!” Danny chirps.
“Hardly,” Damian scoffs. “It’s because you are raucously annoying and constantly crash into windows.”
Literally everything about this situation is baffling, but Danny looks so offended that Dick can’t help but laugh.
“You lying asshole!” Danny screeches.
Damian turns to Dick. “He attempted to use a grapple three times and broke eleven windows; four of them with his face. I have videos.” Danny gasps, the two start bickering, and Dick is left to his thoughts once more.
Even as the pair separate to point fingers and trade increasingly creative insults, their body language is completely relaxed. As much as Dick is panicking about a powerful undead monarch around their family, Damian is happy. He has been for months, now that Dick thinks about it. He’s been loosening up a little, leaving the manor more, and even mentioning a few new friends (though he refuses to use the word.)
Whoever or whatever Danny is, he’s been good for him.
“Well,” Dick cuts in, interrupting an inventive declaration about overripe cheese. “We’ll obviously need to talk about this. But for what it’s worth,” he smiles. “I’m happy for you, Baby Bat.”
With that said, Dick walks out of the bedroom. Danny gives him a grateful smile, and a quiet thank you, Richard can be heard as he closes the door behind him.
Dick walks away at a leisurely pace until he reaches the end of the hallway, where he promptly breaks into a sprint toward the Cave. Checking the Batcomputer to make sure Damian hasn’t noticed the planted bug yet, he turns on his comms. Unsurprisingly, the entire family is yelling and demanding answers.
Well, at least he won’t be the only one having a heart attack tonight.
#dp x dc#dead serious#they're 16 and 17#danny says he wants a divorce at every mild inconvenience#danny has dozens of titles and damian has memorized every last one entirely to annoy him#they alternate between adorable cats and those heckling muppets#spice writes#dc x dp#danny x damian
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
REVERSE THERAPY
Martin had known he was potentially risking his entire career when he agreed to treat his daughter's bully through specialist therapy sessions. He should have announced to her family that he had a vested interest, but Gracie and her rich Daddy had no idea that the guy administering experimental therapy to the bored, spoiled rich girl, might have an axe to grind.
Gracie and Martin's daughter Susan attended the same prestigious school, but whilst the blonde, sexy and confident Gracie was popular and the Head Cheerleader - his daughter was a nobody bookworm. Gracie bullied Susan constantly and Martin was determined to help end the cycle of negativity. After all, he strongly believed in the power of therapy. Gracie was obviously bullying Susan because of her own hang-ups... he could cure her.
Gracie was actually a highly compliant subject and her mind seemed particularly susceptible to his therapy process. Martin was experimenting with a mind melding technology that allowed him to share consciousness with his patient. He was determined to see if he could turn Gracie from being a mean girl into a nice person by examining her experiences and tweaking her personality.
They both lay in Gracie's pink princess bedroom, the mind transfer bands round their foreheads. Deep in a meditative trance, their minds merged and Martin floated inside Gracie's consciousness.
It was a petty, spiteful, narcissistic mind. A mind that hungered for sex, power and constant attention. It was an enticing combination of sharp glittering edges and soft spoiled silk - you could lose yourself in a mind like this.
Deliciously toxic femininity washed over Martin as he tried to absorb Gracie's memories and life story so he could try to understand why she was such a bitch.
He would try to control and alter those memories to make Gracie ashamed of being cruel and evil. He could make her a better person.
Instead, he found himself being overwhelmed and flooded with strong sexual desires as he began to relive memories of Gracie's depraved life and found he enjoyed it.
He groaned and his cock got rock hard, as sensations and memories of being an evil bad girl pulsed through him. Gracie got off on being mean.
His lips curved into a smile as he experienced the memory of clopping through the school halls in high heels, his tight shaven pussy dripping wet as everyone got out of his way. Chewing gum, Martin blew a bubble and giggled. It felt so fucking good to be feared and desired.
These memories felt good, but nothing had prepared him for how much it would turn him on to relive memories and experiences of bullying his own daughter.
Cruel, mean, dominant emotions rushed through him. The way he called Susan a fucking loser, the satisfaction when he saw tears in her eyes. Making her do his homework, spreading rumours about her.
Even hotter memories rushed through his mind. Susan whimpering as he rubbed his pussy in front of her face, his cheerleader skirt hiked up and his minions pinning her arms back as he laughed and squirted all over her glasses and face and made her lick up his cum as he finished orgasming.
"You're a fucking loooooser Susan and that's all you'll ever be. A poor, worthless, pathetic little loser. I'll always be better than you."
Seeing his daughter humiliated and destroyed should have angered and enraged him... instead it just felt so fucking good. Martin had a big smile on his lips, he shivered in taboo pleasure. Being a bully felt good... it made him horny.
His daughter WAS a fucking loser. It felt good to think it... to feel it. His hands clenched and he imagined pink acrylic claws on his fingers. He imagined boys worshipping him, having a tight slutty body.
He wanted it bad.
With a gasp he awoke and ended the therapy session.
***
Martin realised something was wrong but he was now too addicted to stop. The therapy wasn't working right. Instead of making Gracie better, the therapy was making HIM worse.
He now couldn't stop thinking about being an evil teenage bully and destroying his pathetic daughters life. Gracie's cruel and spoiled personality was transferring over to him... and he liked it.
He began to find phrases and idioms that Gracie used were now part of his vocab. An 'OMG', 'loooser' or 'bitch pleeease' would occasionally escape his lips. His physical mannerisms had changed. He was now more expressive with his hands and his lips had become a constant bitchy sneer.
He lay on his bed pumping his cock, imagining he was Gracie. Imagining he was the bully and desiring more.
Each time they had therapy, Martin would now dive into Gracie's mind and let her evil personality wash over him. He sucked it into himself - pushing out his own memories and thoughts to make room for more of Gracie's.
"Yessss, fucking infect me with your bitchiness," he hissed in pleasure as he eagerly fed on Gracie's wicked personality and mentally orgasmed.
"I'm a bitch, I'm an evil fucking bitch" he groaned in his mind, cumming again and again to the sensations of being a tight, bullying slut.
But as the sessions continued and Martin adopted more and more of Gracie's personality and memories he began to notice that she was acting weird too. She began dressing more demurely and her bullying, confident attitude began to fade. She even began to act more friendly towards Susan.
He began to realise that he was somehow draining Gracie's evil mind into himself. The memories, thoughts and feelings he was pushing out to make room were taking hold in her mind. Soon she would be a good girl trapped in a slutty bitch body and he would be a bitchy bully trapped in a mans body. This would never do...
Deactivating all the safeties on the therapy bands, they lay in Gracie's bedroom. Martin moaned as he entered Gracie's mind and felt one last moment of doubt. Could he really take it all? Could he absorb all of Gracie's remaining bitchy mind and BECOME her? Could he slide into this body and be the new driver, leaving her as the controller of his old body?
A memory of Susan, a memory of the love he once had for his daughter almost stopped him. Then an image of Susan kneeling at his feet begging for mercy made him groan in delight and he knew what he wanted.
"Give it all to me you bitch... your mind, your memories, your BODY! Ooooh fuckkkk yesssss!"
The duo convulsed, sparks flying from the transfer bands. Martin screamed in pleasure. He greedily sucked and sucked, drinking in and absorbing all of Gracie's memories. "Yessss I'm mmmmh a bully, I'm hot... I'm a girl! Yessss make me an evil princess!"
Martin's mind warped and buckled. Images of pink lingeire, of shopping with his girls of being a self-entitled brat overwhelmed him as he drew them into himself and pushed out his own memories. His sense of self, collapsed and the new Gracie purred as she felt the last remaining hold-outs of her old personality forced out.
She was a fucking bitch now. She remembered she had once been Martin, but this was soooo much better.
"Yesssss I feel sooo fucking good," she moaned flowing with a wicked grin into HER body. There was another mind in here, but it was weak and she tore it loose- hurling it back into the body she has just come from.
"Hahah fucking looooser," she gloated as she flowed into her body and took control. She groaned as she ripped the transfer band from her head and sat up.
Blonde hair fell around her head... HER blonde hair. She looked down and wiggled her pretty pedicured toes, giggled at the sight of her pert titties on her chest... the feel of her deliciously feminine body.
Gracie could taste lip gloss and smell Chanel perfume. She was all-girl now and she loved it. She was the Alpha Bully now.
"Wh... what did you do?" moaned a male voice and she turned to see Martin groggily rising from his seat.
Throwing the transfer band to the floor, Gracie brought a wedged heeled foot down on the delicate circuits- hearing them crunch and break forever.
"It's like simple loooooser. I'm like totally Gracie now and you're that fucking sad sac Martin. We swapped and if you like ever try to tell anyone I'll fucking destroy you. You like remember just enough I like hope to know I don't make threats."
"You evil slut, you mean I have to be a man? I can't remember anything other than I used to be you!"
"That's like right. Your life, your memories, your soul... they are like totally mine. OMG - you're the Daddy of that fucking loser Susan now."
"Susan... I... I love her?"
"Yeah you do, although part of you still hates and despises her, especially because losing this body is kind of all her fault. Mmmmh in fact, just because we swapped doesn't mean EVERYTHING has to be the same. How about you bully Susan too? Between the two of us we can make her life hell."
Grabbing Martin's cock - Gracie giggled as she began to stroke.
"Ughhhh that feels good. What are you doing?"
"Teaching you how to be a good boy for me. Let me give you some real therapy. This time just using my mouth and my tight body I'm like going to make you HATE your daughter again. I'm like gonna corrupt your soul baby until you're evil again."
Martin moaned as Gracie's pink bubblegum lips slid round his cock and she began to suck. Mmmmh being a man wasn't that bad after all. Under Gracie's tutelage he would learn to be an Alpha man and would soon enjoy the benefits of his new body.
Banging her tight pussy every chance he got would bring out the bastard in him and help turn him against his daughter. Not that she was really his daughter... was she?
Martin was confused - but as Gracie took control of him he realised it was simply easier to let her do the thinking.
After all, she was the trained therapist and SO good at sucking cock...
THE END
#evie hyde#bitchification#m2f transformation#bully#corruption#evil bitch#mind transfer#identity theft#Therapy bands
143 notes
·
View notes
Text
living lies
hello, darlings!
this is the official pt 2. of buried promise!
please remember this is reincarnated!Astarion, so, there's only a bit of likeliness! <3
so, i saw some comments about reincarnation for elves! of course, i went to my DM friend for research, and let's just say the info he gave me... is Too much power!
without further ado, i hope you enjoy living lies!
No one tells you about the world before you’re casted into it - screaming, crying, and fighting for your little life. Believing that what you are fighting for was the safety being ripped away from your shaking, bloodied hands.
No one warns you about the agony when you remember your past. The world you came from before.
They never explain just how… Scary, this world could be for someone new. But you’re not new, are you?
"Again," you grumbled, wiping at the blood weeping from your brow. "Let me try again." Your sword shook in your grasp as your mentor rolled his eyes, his lips in a tight frown.
"I've drawn blood." He stated, matter-of-factly. "I've won, you've lost. We'll continue our lesson tomorrow morning." You grit your teeth, tightening your grip around the handle, digging your foot into the earth before rushing him. Swinging the blade down and to the side, he easily evaded before grasping the steel with a stern grip. Your eyes bugged, curling your lips together as you pulled and yanked, but the steel just bit into his skin. Tearing and oozing his blood.
"Now, we both bleed, we've both lost-"
"If we were truly fighting- battling - you would be dead before even touching the dirt beneath my boot." He hissed, yanking your weapon away before throwing it to the side. You swallowed thickly, watching as his blood pooled by his boots. The dirt absorbed it, swallowing the blood and becoming a thick puddle. Your eyes shot to the mangled cut dancing across his calloused palm, the stream of blood dribbled and dripped down his clenched fist. Your eyes drew up his arm, following the flowing tunic sleeve that had been decorated by the small splatter of crimson.
"Aster, I-"
"Shut it. I warned you about your anger during this type of things," he sighed, flexing his battered palm before a gentle blue haze sizzled through his blood and torn flesh, smoothed together and left a hint of a scar across his calloused skin. "It'll get you killed." His hazel eyes darkened while meeting your glazed over eyes. Inhaling deeply, you savored the last droplets of his blood being soiled by the dirt below. It mocked you for not guzzling his blood like a drunk man on ale.
"Control yourself, darling," he rolled his eyes, moving past you and grabbing the abandoned sword. "Bloodthirst only looks good on you in battle." He turned back to you, tossing the stained sword towards you as you cleared your throat, catching it against the blade. Piercing your lips, you tossed the sword up and stared at the dried blood. His scent lingered on the metal, your eyes fluttered before looking to Aster through your lashes, a hint of a smile on your lips.
"I happen to think it looks good on me all the time, day or night-" you clicked your tongue, following close to him. His dark hair shined with the sunlight, tussled around from your training. His amber eyes glittered from the gentle rays, softer than usual. "Maybe so, but it'll get you killed if you cannot control it." He licked his lips, settling into his tent as you followed in.
"I've controlled it thus far,"
"With midnight frolicking with blood staining your hands and lips like some form of... Delicacy." Aster's voice grumbled low as you rolled your eyes, falling into the plush pillows of his tent. You frowned, staring at the elf in front of you. His form relaxed as he grazed over the books in hand. He always had a knack for reading...
"Depending on who I've slaughtered," you paused, sucking at your teeth in sweet remembrance of the taste that used to dance on your tongue. It could've resembled that of tart cherry wine... "Sometimes their screams were sweeter." You flashed a vision smile as Aster rolled his eyes, licking at his thumb before turning to the next page. You tilted your head, rereading the title - Past of the Death Lord, Bhaal - your God. Your blood. Your father.
"Why must you take such an interest in him," you whispered, crawling towards the distracted elf. Worming your way into his lap, fingers caressing the books' spine with a small smile. "He's considered that of a messy God."
Aster peered at you over the books' edge, his brow quirked at you before sighing, closing the book with a grunt. His nimble fingers carded through your hair, scratching at your scalp as you released an almost purr like sound. You had found each other lost within the walls of Baulder's Gate. The streets had grown, more people have moved in and called the kingdom their home. You fall amongst them.
Fresh Bhaal spawn. Hands shaking with greed to dirty them with some pitiful man's blood - to write Bhaal's name in their crimson ink. You used to control your hunger - your need for their blood to be spilled in your father's name, but now within these gates, you believed anyone would fall by your hand. Until you met Aster. Working to heal those around your non-official home, those who were lost amongst the streets of Baulder's Gate. He had seen you as a challenge - an adventure - that begged to be had. Aster saw the bloodlust in your eyes and the shake in your hands, he had to make you something... Better. He already knew of the illness that wrapped around your neck, threatening to hang you.
"Hello, darling," his voice teetered between sultry and warmth. You turned to him, caution rolled over you as your eyes ghosted over his figure, studying him. "You seem to be lost... Little Bhaal." Your eyes widen a bit, but you couldn't stop the grin that split your lips.
"I cannot decide if you're stupid or brave," your words seemed to curl around his throat, licking at his stampeding pulse. "Either way, you're thickskulled to speak of Bhaal so... Little like." You bit, moving closer and pressing your hand against his chest with a cheeky smile. Flashing your sharpened teeth. "You test waters that are rarely tested."
"I'm always looking for... New challenges." Aster spoke into the space you shared. Your breaths mingled as you inhaled, eyes fluttering at the scent of blood filtering through his skin. "You really are thick for wanting to challenge a," your voice lowered, pressing up until your noses bumped one another. "Little Bhaal."
Aster couldn't fight back his smile, his hands rested against your ribs, it felt.. Right to hold you. Caress your flesh, and kiss away your last breathe. You had just met, but it felt like you had known each other for another lifetime...
Your feet dragged across the dirt whilst the sun beat against your sweaty skin. Aster had you travelling to find some rare artifact - a ring? You couldn't be bothered to remember. Looking around you felt a twist in your chest, pulling you to the left as Aster stared at the map in hand. "Aster, come," you waved him, his eyes filtered to you with creased brows, yet he moved towards you. "There's something this way." You snatched his hand and tugged him behind you. Knocking down branches and tugging out your sword to cut away the ever-growing vines. A spell.. A concealment spell. A powerful one at that.
"You swore no magic," you hissed as Aster stepped forward, frowning at the thick vines that wrapped around one another, reconnecting before solidifying once more. "Well, pardon me for believing this would be a non-magical quest." Aster rolled his eyes, reaching into his pack and pulling out the small journal he had... Borrowed.
Only those who carry the Ancunin Lover's embrace may enter their well-loved domain.
Ancunin Lover's embrace..? Was that a different artifact altogether? Was that their only key to gain the Sunlight Walker's ring?
"Shit," Aster's voice grumbled as you moved closer to him, wrapping an arm around his bicep as you peered at the journal before you. "This doesn't make any sense." He hissed, dragging his nails across the words as if the pressure would cause them to jump and quiver.
"Ancunin Lover's? Was that who protected this place?" You quipped, gently taking the journal as Aster stared at the wall ahead, frowning. "They were the lovers' that lived here - hints to why it says those who have their embrace may enter. Astarion and Tav Ancunin,"
"The heroes of Baulder's Gate..?" Your eyes grazed over the pages, their names jumped at you from the pages. Your winced at the sharp pain that shot through your mind, causing you to drop the book in fear. Aster turned to you, rushing to your side as you dropped to the dirt below. "Darling, what's wrong?" His voice became warped, filtering in a new voice. You withered in his grasp, your eyes shot open and stared at the elf above you but... His dark chestnut hair became a bright white. His amber-colored eyes now bright, ruby-colored. And his... Fangs peeked out as he stared down at you.
"My love, breathe, tell me what's wrong-"
"Hurts." Your voice was not your own. Your body pressed further into his, cringing at the pain rattling your head. He leaned forward, pressing gentle kisses across your throat, traveling up to your cheek and knocking his forehead against yours.
"Shhh," his voice lulled, your eyes fluttered at the gentle noise. "It'll pass, my darling-"
"Darling wake up!" Your eyes snapped open, meeting the amber eyes you've grown fond of over the years. His arms wrapped tightly around your shoulders, carding through your hair. He shook against your figure. "By the Nine Hells, I thought you were dead!" He leaned back, staring into your eyes as you stared at him, agape.
"I saw him,"
"Saw who? Bhaal? Is your hunger becoming more-"
"No... No, I saw an elf? A vampiric elf? I'm not sure." Your voice stilled as Aster stared at you, his hands still tight around your shoulders. His brows creased as you slowly pushed up from the ground, his hands grabbing ahold of your outstretched hand and hip, his thumb brushing against your showing flesh. You walked together towards the wall of vines, some still squirming around and tightening as you approached. Your palm shook as it raised to the vines, Aster's palm resting on the back of your hand.
"Aeterna Amantes," the words left your lips before you knew what they meant. The vines halted and slowly peeled away, revealing an abandoned home. You sighed out a laugh as you walked in, tugging a bewildered Aster behind you.
The home creaked and groaned, shimmering vines curled and swayed across the old wood. Trees and wildflowers blew against the soft breeze, other than the vegetation taking control... The home looks intact. Taking your free hand, you brushed it against the soft wildflowers and tall grass, your bloodthirst seemed to dwindle... To burn away.
"Little Bhaal?" Aster murmured from behind you, one of his hands reached up, intertwining your fingers. Your eyes were glazed over, looking over the boards and cracks across the humble abode. Your heart clenched at the sight while your bottom lip trembled.
"Why... Why do I remember loving you?" Your voice shook, turning towards Aster as he frowned whilst shaking his head. "What?"
You face him, still holding each other close before swallowing thickly around the lump forming in your throat. Inhaling deeply, you looked back to the home with a look of sorrow. Pain. "This... Home. I remember it like we built this home yesterday. I remember building it alongside you, being in... In love. I was growing sick,"
"Darling, I... I don't know-"
"You have to feel it." You tightened your hand around his, your eyes watered as he stared into your eyes. His scarred palm reaching up and caressing your tear-stained cheek, his thumb rubbed the tears into your skin. You sighed into his skin, clenching your eyes shut as you saw another vision.
You see the white-haired elf, who you've marked up to be Astarion, laid out on a bed of silk. His fingertips grazing across your showing skin. Your own hands pet through his soft, white curls and tugs gently at the knots within his hair. Rain gently pelted the windows as you both breathed in one another's company. Astarion turned to face you, his eyes soft and glazed over. His fangs peaked out from his lips, showing a soft smile. "What is it, my Star?" Your voice whispered as he reached up, grabbing your hand that had messed with his hair. Pressing his lips against your knuckles, climbing further up your arm and brushing his lips against every inch of skin he could catch. Your giggles echoed, as he climbed up your body, pressing harder kisses against your throat, sucking gently.
"Star," your voice trembled with a moan as he smirked against your flesh, nipping gently at your scars. His bite mark. "Please." Your pleas fell to deaf ears as he sucked deeper hickeys against your skin before he loomed over you, caging you between his arms and the soft bed. Your heart pounded against your chest, your arms wrapped tightly around his neck, your fingers tangled into the hair at the base of his nape.
You jumped back to Aster, your body tossed to the ground as he held you close, cradling you into his chest. Sitting up, you pressed your hands to his chest, feeling heat roll into your cheeks as you stared at his widened eyes. "Astarion... Tav... Their memories, I can see them." You laughed with a shake, rolling off of his lap and quickly standing before running towards the house. Pressing your palm against the rotted wood, gasping as another vision shot across your mind.
Astarion crossed the yard with you held tight in his arms, tears were cascading down his cheeks while he walked. Darkness had swallowed you as you followed behind him, keeping close as you watched him stop by a cliff. Two holes dug; two gravestones prepared... No...
Falling back into your mind, you turned to Aster as he stood beside you, watching as you blinked with a smile. Grabbing his wrist, you tugged the Rogue behind you, running towards the cliff. Your feet slammed into the ground below, dirt kicking up as you ran. Sliding to a stop, you glanced around, more wildflowers bloomed around the cliffside.
"It's nearby, I know it is." You hissed, dropping his wrist as Aster stared as if you had grown two heads - perhaps three. "I can feel it, Aster!"
"What in the Hells are you talking about? You keep falling into these... Memories, as you call them, and come back with new ideas where we need to go! It's... Maddening to watch, to say the least." Aster scoffed, running a hand through his thick, chestnut-colored curls. His eyes shimmered, making you take a step closer. His amber-color glowed a soft... Red?
You reached up, grabbing his cheeks as he jumped, his cheeks and the tips of his ears heating up at the sudden touch. Dragging him closer, you tilted your head each way, studying his eyes as they shined in a soft ruby glow. Two colors seemed to dance in his irises. One for the present, one for the past. Licking your lips, you leaned close as your lips fell apart, barely touching his as a shaking breath left him.
"May I..?"
Aster swallowed thickly, another sigh leaving his parted lips. "Please." You pressed your rough lips against his. They moved in depth against one another, tasting each other. Lights swirled around the two of you as you wrapped your arms around his neck, his hands slithered down your hips, squeezing at the flesh there as you deeply groaned. You only pulled away at the burning in your lungs begged for air, your eyes fluttered open as Aster was already looking around. His eyes grew wide at the sight of Astarion sitting by the gravesite before you. He was grieving...
You pressed a finger to his lips as you both turned back to Astarion, watching as the sun rose and he removed his rings, shoving one into the dirt below and the other fell to the ground as his body became dust. Ashes.
You both gasped, falling away from each other, chests' heaving as Aster scrambled to his feet before his hand dove down, tugging you up with him. You both shoved through the tree limbs and vines hanging around the burial site. Skidding to a stop, you both leaned into each other, eyes wide and small smiles on your lips. The graves were still in... Prestine condition. No weathering, no tussled soil, no chips nor cracks within the homemade headstones.
"He... He buried Tav here, and then he-"
"Then, he died for them..." Aster's voice trembled, his fingers slowly inched towards yours, wrapping them together. "He had the Sunwalker's ring, and he gave up everything for them."
"They loved each other, Aster, I... And with the visions I saw, they treasured one another. I mean, he looked at them as if they had put the stars in the sky." You couldn't help but smile, slowly moving towards the graves. Settling beside the site, your fingers cradle the soft soil. Aster followed you, sitting beside where Astarion once stood.. The rings glistened in the soft sunlight. Aster sighed, his fingers gently tugging the Sunwalker's ring from the soil.
"Would... Would it be right for us to even take this?" He mumbled, studying the jewelry. The red gem glittered whilst the gold band shimmered with the incantation bestowed upon it. His skin shined from the small glow, you glanced towards him, a small smile on your lips. Aster looked at peace... Soft in the gentle sunlight. He himself looked gentle.
"Do you want it..? Or do we really need it?" Your voice was careful, glancing towards him as Aster sighed, rolling the ring between his slender fingers, before flicking it off of his thumb and catching it onto his other hand. He inhaled deeply, grabbing the ring again and pushing it into the earth, joining the other ring they had watched Astarion bury before them.
"We don't need it... And maybe, if we stay here," Aster's voice murmured, his eyes catching yours as you stared at one another. Breathing in the clear air, watching as Aster stood, holding out his hand to you. Curling your hands into his palm, you carefully stood, glancing to the burials below you. With a small smile, you reached down and plucked the wedding ring from Astarion's grave, holding it out to Aster.
"We could stay here... To protect the ring of course." You grinned as he smirked, nodding before reaching out, grasping the ring and carefully slipping it onto his ring finger. "Of course, we'll need to... Renovate the house though." He murmured, reaching up and tucking hair behind your pointed ear, grinning as he cupped your jaw.
"In a way... We're living lies, y'know?" You whisper, pressing your lips to his as he sighed, deepening the kiss easily. Your hands embedded themselves into his dark curls whilst his own hands rested against your hips, his thumbs rubbing against the showing skin. Your skin hummed as you replayed Astarion's movements from before.
"Maybe, but... I think we're living as their lies. We'll be living our truth." He whispered against your skin, pressing another sharp kiss to your jawline, his teeth nipping at your pulse. You meowled at the sensation, tilting your head back allowing his teeth to nip and his tongue to push against your pulse.
Aster and you chose to live through Astarion and Tav's lives. Using their last home, and memories to relive and help those who still needed it. You might've been living lies, but you were going to keep their buried promise.
#astarion#bg3 x reader#astarion x tav#reincarnation#reincarnated!astarion#reincarnated!tav#reincarnated!reader#part 2#astarion x reader#astarion x dark urge#dark urge tav#astarion x you#bg3#baldur's gate 3
97 notes
·
View notes
Text
Idolizing Imperfection: The Ancient Allusions of 'Midas Touch' - KISS OF LIFE (an essay)
I have missed writing kpop essays so much and after watching the new Kiss of Life MV, I couldn't resist doing a scene by scene (with some lyrics) breakdown of the allusions to ancient mythology - (there are lots of other modern references, especially to Britney Spears, but the ancient ones are what I will be focusing on here, believe me there is more than enough to talk about.) I don't have any official qualifications surrounding this field (yet), but I am studying classical civilization and roman literature for a qualification, and I have a long time obsession with Greek mythology especially. Obviously all of these are my interpretations, this is not a definite guide to what exactly the creative direction team at S2 Ent. were thinking about for this comeback, and if you think I missed something or have a different interpretation of one of the scenes, please let me know in the reblogs/comments.
Let’s begin with the title of the track, ‘Midas Touch’. It references the Greek myth of King Midas, who (according to Ovid’s ‘Metamorphoses’) after winning the favour of the god Dionysus, was granted any wish he desired. Midas chose the ability to make everything he touched turn into gold, a wish driven by greed. Midas revelled in his new found powers, but the problems arose when he realised that all food he touched would be turned to gold too - he had condemned himself to starve to death. The myth is essentially a cautionary tale about the effects of greed; Midas is a tragic hero that brought about his own suffering due to his hamartia (tragic flaw) - his blessing becomes his curse. Today, having a ‘midas touch’ means that everything you are involved with is successful, but the main association of Midas with greed still remains. In the context of the song, KOL are saying that a relationship with them, although destined to end in tragedy, would be worth it for the ‘gold’ they can bring - “위험할수록 재밌잖아” (“The more dangerous it is, the more fun it is”). Midas may have died a tragic death, but his time alive was quite literally golden. Still, it feels slightly odd that KOL are associating themselves with someone so flawed - an idol should be the image of perfection, and in this way, the meaning of the song becomes quite subversive on a meta level. Keep this interpretation in the back of your mind, we will return to it later.
Within the music video itself, each of the four members are given solo scenes that I believe allude to different women of Greek mythology. Julie is first, depicted lying on a blush pink velvet heart with gold embellishments, shell and heart shaped boxes littered around her. The composition of the framing, as well as the beach imagery seems to allude to Boticelli’s ‘The Birth of Venus’, linking Julie with Aphrodite/Venus, the goddess of love. In Greek mythology, Aphrodite is seen as beautiful beyond compare, but is also often characterised as highly vain and self absorbed. After hearing that some Greeks had begun to worship the ludicrously beautiful mortal woman Psyche instead of her, (and also out of protection of her son Eros to whom Psyche was married), she sent Psyche on a series of impossible trials designed to kill her, so she could remain the most beautiful. Once again, KOL compare themselves to people in the ancient world who were famously flawed.
Natty is seen next, intertwined with glittering spider webs. This is perhaps a reference to the tale of Arachne, a mortal woman who was highly skilled at weaving. She boasted that her skills were greater than Athena herself, the goddess of handicraft (and many other things), and Athena transformed her into a spider as punishment for her hubris (excessive pride). Like the tale of King Midas, Arachne’s story also centres around a fatal flaw bringing your own downfall, and like Midas and Aphrodite, Arachne is not typically remembered fondly within Greek Mythology canon.
Perched on a half dress, half throne that resembles a peacock, Belle is seen next. Originally I wasn’t certain who was being referenced here, but after some research I believe it may be Hera, although if you have another interpretation here I would love to hear it. Hera, the goddess of marriage and fertility, queen of the gods, and wife to Zeus, is affiliated with peacocks as they are one of her sacred animals, and are said to pull her chariot like horses. Hera is also, like Aphrodite, a goddess often portrayed in a negative light in mythology, repeatedly characterised as jealous and spiteful. A famous example of this is when Hera sent two snakes to strangle Heracles/Hercules, the illegitimate son of her husband Zeus, out of spite and jealousy for the boy’s mortal mother. Whether Hera had a right to be annoyed at her husband’s repeated adultery is another discussion, but generally speaking, when Hera is in a myth, she is often the villain.
Finally, we see Haneul, perched upon a corinthian style column (we love a greek column) surrounded by severed heads on spikes, a clearly war ridden scene. This is the allusion I am the least confident about, but I think perhaps she is supposed to be Helen of Troy? Helen is famous for being the catalyst for the Trojan War (perhaps this is the war scene she sits within?), she is the ‘face that launched a thousand ships’. Depending on the source, Helen is either a victim, kidnapped by the Trojan prince Paris, or she was seduced and went willingly, abandoning her Greek husband King Menelaus. The second seems to be the accepted narrative among many Roman authors, with writers such as Martial (in Epigrams 1.62) portraying her as the polar opposite of Penelope, who was seen as the image of loyalty. As a result, Helen is commonly portrayed as disloyal and unfaithful, the opposite of what an ideal woman in the ancient world was supposed to act like.
In their group scenes, there is also SO MUCH Medusa imagery - with snakes crawling all over their faces and hissing at the camera, and half broken stone statues littered here and there. As I am sure you are probably aware, Medusa is very much a villain in the myths she is depicted in, and despite modern reevaluations of her story (that I agree with) portraying her as a victim, in the primary sources, she is essentially an evil monster for Perseus to destroy - her death marks Perseus’s ascension to hero status.
So why oh why are KOL comparing themselves to figures so flawed? In their previous releases, especially their first comeback with ‘Bad News’, the girls are depicted trying to fix injustices in society - they expose corruption in corporations, they combat casual misogyny and sexual harassment, and they call out bullying and abuse. In ‘Midas Touch’ I believe they continue their addressing of injustices and double standards, this time with a focus on the idol industry, their own stomping ground. In the kpop industry, idols are expected to be perfect in every way - beautiful, highly skilled, never controversial, and loyal to their fans. Should an idol fail to uphold these impossible standards, they are relentlessly punished, especially if the idol is a woman. Last month, Karina’s earnest apology to ‘fans’ for falling in love exposed how ludicrous the standards are to the world, and other idols like Sakura, Wonyoung, and Jennie, continue to get bullied on a daily basis for not meeting all of the bars the industry sets them. A kpop idol should be talented, but never show off, they should be beautiful and care about their looks but never be vain, confident but never egotistical, and driven by passion, not the desire for fame and money. It’s all fucking impossible, especially when what constitutes being called the second traits is utterly arbitrary and depends on how many people woke up on stan twitter and decided they didn’t like you that day. In ‘Midas Touch’ KOL calls this out by openly depicting themselves with the traits that kpop stans hate - Julie is Aphrodite, beautiful but vain, Natty is Arachne, talented but boastful, Belle is Hera, confident but jealous, Haneul is Helen, influential but disloyal, and they all are Midas, spurred on by greed instead of passion. They recognise that these accusations are unavoidable, and by reclaiming the imagery of these symbols of undesirable traits, they call out and reject the standards the idol industry places upon them. Like Medusa, they may be seen by many fans as a villain, a hurdle for their favourite groups that have more promotion and budget to overcome on their way to the top, but in actuality, they are victims of an industry desperate to mould them into products to be bought and sold. I’ve seen lots of discussion online about what KISS OF LIFE’s concept is, as it seems to vary every comeback, but after ‘Midas Touch’ I am led to believe that their concept is rebellion, against society, idol culture, and the things they deem as wrong in the world. Other groups have done concepts similar in the past, such as LOONA in ‘Butterfly’ (you really thought I wasn’t going to bring them up at some point?? Are you new here??) but KOL is doing it explicitly, and consistently, and to me, that's very exciting. The kpop industry is ever changing, and with the foundations of the new 5th generation being established as we speak, perhaps KOL could cause it to change for the better. In summary, I am SO excited to see what they do next.
That honestly took a turn I wasn’t fully expecting at the end, but I hope you enjoyed regardless - I didn’t really talk about the actual song here, but I fucking loved it, and my full review will be part of my April monthly roundup - see previous installments on my masterlist. I encourage all of you to listen to ‘Midas Touch’ if you haven’t already, congratulations KISS OF LIFE for graduating nugudom, stream Birth by ARTMS, stan loona, and prepare for the loossemble comeback - lmk if you have any thoughts on my analysis or any other interpretations, or any topics you want me to write an essay on. cya next time
~ ari
#kiss of life#midas touch#greek mythology#haneul#belle#natty#julie#kiof#kpop#kpop girls#kpop gg#kpop commentary#review#nothing#loona#not kpop#loona boycott#arachne#aphrodite#helen of troy#medusa#hera#greek gods
31 notes
·
View notes
Text
#WIPWednesday, MerMay edition! 🐠
The sequel to my mermaid fic is all I've been working on lately anyway, so here's a bit from the beginning (as usual, I couldn't help but share a smut bit 🫣):
He never could resist embracing it as tightly as he could, feeling himself tremble, overcome with an emotion that was simultaneously relief and yearning with an undercurrent of trepidation. The creature accepting his kisses over its forehead, cheeks, and lips—sloppy and urgent as Lestat was in his affections, like the mastiff's puppies back home. Its pale skin always slightly damp and deliciously cold until enough time passed in his arms that its body began to absorb his heat.
“I love you,” Lestat had professed the second to last time he’d seen his siren. Their fingers intertwining over its head, its dark, wet curls spread out on the white sand like an otherworldly halo, palm to much smaller, smoother palm. His vision blurring from the force of his impending orgasm and his heart pounding in his ears loud enough to rival the sound of the waves crashing at his feet, shocking frigid in the early morning.
All he could see as he buried his face in the spot where the creature's pulse throbbed cold was the glint of the golden necklace he’d gifted his strange love a couple weeks prior. His hips shuttering once, twice—the reminder of what the glittering chain represented all he needed to push him over the edge, and he groaned out the words as he spilled into the tight little hole: “I love you, I love you, I love you, always going to love you…” And even if the creature had not—could not—say them back, Lestat would swear on the god he'd never truly believed in that he felt the sentiment returned in every eager kiss, every feather-light touch, every enraptured stare. Surely, even the most powerful imagination couldn't conjure something like this, now could it?
@vamptember
#if you see typos no no you don't 🥹#i'm so stressed about this one actually lmao it's gonna be different than other things i've written before (i think)#i love pushing myself but i'm hormonal rn and intimidated 🤧#armand/lestat#vc fic#mermay vc
24 notes
·
View notes
Text
Henry (eat locals) x female reader
Tags/warnings: 18+ minors DNI, somnophilia, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v sex, rough sex, dirty talk, pet names, biting, aftercare.
If you like it, please let me know and reblog!
Thanks @munsonownsmyass for giving it the once over!
As you sleepily turn in bed next to him, Henry's eyes are drawn back to the two small fading circles of red marking the delicate skin of your neck.
He did that, you let him do that.
His fingertips carefully take hold of the bedsheet, drawing it slowly down to reveal more of your nakedness without waking you. His gaze follows as an entire buffet of delight is uncovered, one that he sampled richly from last night. Another pair of reddish dots appear, just at the top of your breast. Yes, he did those too, and the ones at the curve of your hip, a stamp of his increasing need for you that was again gathering momentum as he admires his handiwork painted on the canvas of your body. The sheet peels away from your thigh and oh, there's another set of marks. He's not going to bite you now, but he is getting closer to what he does want. He moves softly, silently over you, eyes glittering in the dull light of the morning as he scents your delicious skin, his ears absorbing the music of your easy breath, his fingers feeling your pulse throb steadily through your veins. All a prelude to the main event. Your taste.
You murmur as he slowly and carefully hooks his hands underneath your knees, hitching your legs up and apart so that he can lie between them, stroking the pad of thumb lightly over yet another pair of partially healed puncture wounds on the inner part of your soft thigh. You loved when he bit you, he was well aware of the euphoric effect it could have, even from these small gentle nips. It had taken time for him to feel comfortable enough to assent to your request as he hadn't drank from a human in many hundreds of years, but you'd asked, pleaded with him so prettily both in and outwith of the throes of passion, promising that it was what you wanted and that he couldn't hurt you. How could he deny you that?
His tongue languidly passes across his full lips and they part, he's breathing the essence of you in. He closes his eyes for a second, lashes dusting the tops of his cheeks as his hips press down into the mattress to relieve some of the ache in his groin from how incredibly hard he is for you. He may be stronger, faster, but you have the ultimate power over him. His weakness is your comparative fragility, the soft accepting way you let him in along with your unbound desire for him, and that is more dangerous than any sunrise or stake could ever be.
He opens those hazel eyes and his goal is right there. Trailing his fingers over the soft hairs of your mound, a faint smile comes to his lips as you stir. He's hungry, ravenous, and you are as ripe and ready as a juicy peach, tempting him to devour your sweet and tender flesh.
His finger parts your pussy lips, slipping easily between your folds with how wet you already are from dreaming of him. He's aware of the subtle change in your breathing as you open like a flower at his touch, the tiny whimper you make as he circles your entrance.
"H-Henry..."
The first gasp of his name that morning melts into a high moan as he leans forward and his tongue laps over your cunt. It's such music to his ears and he's in no hurry to reach the crescendo, not before coaxing out every single note of your pleasure that he can.
"Love, I'd die over and over again just for the taste of you." He purrs, lifting his head briefly to meet your gaze, watching you arch and your mouth drop open as he slowly pushes two fingers inside you.
His mouth returns to your center, tongue twirling around your sensitive clit as he draws those fingers in and out a few more times before curling them up, dragging and pressing into your plush walls.
The feeling is almost unsurpassed and so you can't help how your thighs clamp shut around Henry's ears, and he moans deep into you, creating a sensual feedback that intensifies the electric sensation.
You tangle in the sheets, his free hand squeezing your ass, skimming up your undulating form, over your stomach and reaching to caress and knead your breasts. Stuttering moans only spur him as he adores and worships you with his mouth. He's still so measured and controlled, savouring the steady climb to your peak, holding back just enough to have you beg for him.
Please, Henry, please... You twitch and writhe in his tender but firm hold and he grinds into bed again, marking the sheets with the stream of precum dripping from his cock. He wants to give you as much as he can before he gives himself over to you.
The thrum of your blood is loud and hypnotic to him as it pools between your legs at his ministrations. You're a hair's breadth from coming and his eyes flicker up to see your hands moving over your skin, fingers re-finding his possessive marks all over you and it tips you over the edge. Your fingers fly to his head to furrow into his thick, dark hair, tugging and gripping him to you, the scratchy scruff of his beard reddening your delicate skin. Henry groans appreciatively, lapping up the nectar of your sweet release as you tremble, bucking your hips against his mouth, squeezing him tightly between your thighs while you ride out the waves of your orgasm.
He's above you as you catch your breath, and then just as suddenly you're over him as he switches your positions, looking down into the dark pools of his eyes as he stares up at you, still hungry.
"What a way to wake up..." you smile, feeling the thick weight of his cock curving up between your legs. You bend down to drag your tongue over his glistening lips, licking your own taste from them. His hand cups the back of your neck, the other skimming down your side as he slips his tongue into your mouth, kissing you feverishly.
"Anyone would think you had missed me overnight." You jest when you eventually part for breath.
"Oh I did. But is it my fault that you're so addictive, love?" Henry's hand slides down and his thumb grazes over the bite on your neck again. "Your body was calling out to me."
"Was it now?" You hum, running your hands over the hair on his chest. "I was dreaming of you."
He smirks. "I know you were."
"Do you want me to show you what I dreamt of?" You're already teasing the dark curls at the base of his cock and wrapping your fingers around it before he can answer with anything more than a groan. Both of you gasp as you sheath him inside you, that first stretch, that first full thrust almost making you delirious with pleasure. You ride him slowly, leaning forward, body to body and warm skin to cool with your forearms braced by his head to enable you to keep his mouth on yours. You push back up after a time, rocking your hips back and forth in no rush, enjoying the way his pleasure shows in his expression and through his wandering hands.
"Just like this?" He asks, watching you raise yourself up and sink down on him again, your eyes fluttering closed as you nod.
"Mhmm, yes, just like this. And then I- uhh -then I wanted you to- ohh!"
He's rolling up to meet your hips, hands resting at the top of your ass. "And then you wanted me to what, my sweet girl?" His smile is wicked, and it makes you bold.
"Wanted you to take me, claim me, fuck me hard from behind, make me yours." You swallow and tug your bottom lip between your teeth, head tilting back briefly before you look down straight into Henry's dazzling eyes. "Bite me." You hiss.
His fingers dig harder into your soft skin, lips curling just enough that you can see the points of his canine teeth. In a split second he's flipped you over, turned you on your hands and knees and all you're able to do is cry his name as he thrusts his cock back into the tight, wet warmth of your pretty cunt. One hand steadies your hips, the other clasped loosely at your nape as he fulfills your most recent fantasy.
"Like this, love?"
Clipped whimpers leave your lips as he speeds up, his balls smacking against your swollen pussy with the force as he fucks you harder. "Like this?"
The sounds are obscene. You're so dripping wet, he almost slips out of you a couple of times, pulling you back toward him and tightening the grip on your neck. "Mine!" He hunches over you, growling near your ear as your loud moans continue to fill the room.
"y-yes!"
He's rough but still attentive to what you like, squeezing and massaging each of your breasts with his free hand, pinching and pulling at your hardened nipples as filthy promises spill from his sinful lips. Of course, he could be sweet and gentle, make love to you just like he did last night, but right now you want this, his feral, untamed side. You want the animal.
"Oh, that's it my darling, let me feel that pretty little cunt squeezing my cock. I want you to milk me dry, love."
His words have the desired effect and you quiver deliciously around him. His balls are almost hitting your clit every time he thrusts forward, you reach back between your legs to tug on them and he growls deeply, throbbing within you as he nears his climax. He snakes his hand around you, his fingers slip tight, fast circles over your sensitive clit making you grip him like a vice as you near yours. The sound of your blood is a crashing roar in his head, the smell of it mixed with the smell of your arousal has his mouth opening and lips pulling back in a snarl.
"Fuck-- yes..."
Tighter. Faster. Harder.
"Scream for me darling, give me everything!" Henry demands, baring his teeth in a growl and then sinking them deep into the side of your neck. Your eyes roll back, gasping in a heaving breath as he sucks hard, the euphoric sensation of having both his teeth and cock buried in you making you fall apart so spectacularly.
Your hot blood spreads across his tongue before slipping down his throat, his taste buds exploding with the raw, unfiltered essence of you. The unmistakable taste of your aroused state drives him wild. He ruts madly now, wrapped so close around your body and you wail when both his teeth and cock sink deeper as he comes, spurting his release against your still clenching walls.
Your breath is almost lost to you as he squeezes you tightly, his lips pressed into your neck and both your hips still moving, although slower now as the passion gradually burns away.
"Oh..." is the most you can manage to say, your knees are shaking, unable to hold you up as Henry carefully withdraws and lays you both down on your side.
"Are you alright?" Henry asks. He strokes down your arm as he gently licks and kisses over the bite, his manner a complete 180 from just a moment ago.
You tentatively stretch out your body, humming at the slight soreness as you move. "Yeah," you reply, bringing your hand up to his face and smearing a tiny stray drop of red over his lips like a stain. He swipes his tongue out to get it and you smile.
"Satisfied? Did it live up to your dream?"
"It was even better. Henry, you always satisfy me."
He smiles and kisses you on the nose. "I'll run the shower in a sec, can I get you anything? You'll be hungry soon."
"Mm yeah, I'm starving thanks to you! But let's clean up first."
He takes great care in helping you wash, massaging shampoo through your hair and running his soapy hands over your skin, soothing the aches from your body. You do the same with him, fingers splaying over his broad chest, tracing the dips of muscle on his torso and you can't help replaying your morning activities over in your mind. He picks up on your elevated heart rate as your hands slide down over his gorgeous ass.
"You're insatiable," He teases, rinsing the remaining suds off both of you. You hook your hand around his neck and pull him in, indulging in a long, lazy, wet kiss. "I thought you were satisfied?" He says, grinning as you part.
"I'm not the only one who's addictive, Henry."
36 notes
·
View notes
Text
Magdalena - An Angel Reyes/OC Smut Short.
Just a little something that came to me after a few glasses of wine. Enjoy, besties.
Words - 660
Warnings - Lil’ bit of smut below the cut, minors DNI!
She was everything he never knew he wanted, until he found it all in her.
She was the sonnet of a songbird through a cacophony of electronica.
She was whiskey and ginger in a sea of sugared daiquiri.
She was red lips and leather, pale skin and curves, rutting out against gloss, lycra, tan and surgical domes.
She was the razors edge, and the kiss of a feather.
She was the gleam of the dawn, and the concealment of night.
She was the soft cry of helplessness, and the growl of the beast.
She was the binder or the bound.
She was the lost and the found.
She was the giver and the taker, and what she gave, there was always a price. Even higher, if she was to take.
And he loved her. Angel knew he shouldn’t, but his heart was enchanted beyond what his brain could extract him from. He could buy every last bit of her, but never afford her heart.
She would adore his body, enchant his mind, work heaven and hell through his senses, but she would never love him back.
The more he absorbed that, the more he wanted her to, the more he willed it, through the way he pinned her to the bed and fucked her so thoroughly, attended to her pleasure so selflessly, that he knew she often thought she should be the one paying him. He’d made women fall for him with the power of his fuck before, because he was excellent at rendering a woman mindless with his cock, but with her, all he had was the moment.
And he would buy as many moments as he could with her, over and over again. She was his temple, and he would lay worship at her altar ceaselessly.
‘I’d sell my soul, my self-esteem, a dollar at a time, for one chance, one kiss, one taste of you, my Magdalena.’
He’d listen to that song over and over again, Magdalena, knowing that for him, she was it.
She was his Magdalena.
In the garden of her bed, his entire being bloomed, rooted within her, the red points of her nails dragging brandings of the same colour over his skin as she rode him, the wet hug of her sheathing him, her hips working silent spells, a demonesses incantation, his soul lit by the fires of her lust.
“I know you dream of it, the way I fuck you.”
And he did. She was there when he closed his eyes, always there, opening them again to see her on top of him, her alabaster flesh beaded with sweat as the light of her met the dark of him, dragging him into nirvana with her.
“And I dream of you too, Angel, and the way you fuck me. Hold me down, hold me down and fuck me. Oh, how I need you to fuck me.”
His body covered hers, the tide turning, the storm sweeping from her into him, his hands holding here there, spread beneath him, forcing feral cries from between the perfect crimson of her lips, his eyes glittering at him like two supernovas exploding through the dark, the heaven of her cunt glossing every inch of him as he pounded her into the mattress beneath them, until they both came, like shooting stars hurtling over the vastness of an empty sky.
‘I’d sell my soul, my self-esteem, a dollar at a time, for one chance, one kiss, one taste of you, my Magdalena.’
But she would never love him.
She was the fire and the ice.
She was both heaven and hell.
She was the question and the answer.
To Angel, she was everything, and he always felt, as he left her bedroom, that a little of himself remained behind with her.
And he would never know, that a little of him was what she cherished the most, whenever he was with her.
But she could never love him...
#angel reyes#angel reyes smut#angel reyes fanfiction#angel reyes imagine#angel reyes fanfic#angel reyes fic#mayans mc#mayans mc fanfiction#mayans mc fanfic#mayans mc smut#mayans mc imagine#mayans mc fic
67 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Life And Times Of A Power Dealer
Issue Zero
AUTHORS NOTE: This is a really rough draft I wrote at like 7AM on no sleep & in a format I generally don't write in [first person kinda talking to the audience]. So apologies for any mistakes
I'm not a drug dealer per se… Yes, I do sell things that, to some, may be considered drugs due to the fact they do alter your physical &/or mental capabilities. And yes, the selling of these items may not technically be legal but… Okay, maybe I am a drug dealer.
But what I sell isn't traditional drugs. What I sell gives people… Abilities. Whatever power you want, I probably have on deck. & if I don't, for the right price, I can in a few days.
Superspeed? Obviously. Shape-shifting? You might as well ask if the supermarket has bottled water. Flying? Of course!
See, a few years ago - nine to be exact, about 6% of the population gained Superpowers. Some got only one, but were very powerful - like being so strong they’re able to fold a bus as if it were a piece of paper. Others got several, but were weak - like being able to blow bubbles & being able to float two inches off the floor. Not many people could do it sure [and given how rare powers were in general, may make people - especially kids, stunned], but not really useful, or flashy.
Of course there were others that varied. Some got one weak power - one guy I know can teleport. One inch at a time.
And before you think it’d somehow still be faster than walking, its not. Powers use energy - if you train enough its not super exerting, but when you teleport less than the average step, while simultaneously using up more energy than a step, it’s kinda pointless to train.
Then theres people with multiple strong powers. Super strength & being able to breathe fire. Or being able to control water & the ability to fly as high as you want.
Naturally, some non-powered individuals [and some with subpar powers] are upset they got the short end of the stick.
I can’t blame them to be fair.
So, thats where I come in.
I lucked out, having a few fairly overpowered abilities. The main two relevant for you to know right now though, are: Hyper intelligence, and being able to clone myself.
The government, both the new superpower branch & the normal branch, don’t like people having powers, so they try to keep it suppressed. Ironically, by hiring those with powers [because how can someone with no powers go up against someone who can turn your body inside out?
I make ability supplements. Any way you want them. Some want a patch, others want pills, the weird few want it to be powered - I really hope they’re making a “Super power drink” not snorting it, but once the sales done, it’s none of my business.
Cute story, one guy came in & he wanted a very specific order. Format was glitter, and you cant absorb the power through latex gloves, & once the glitter touches the ground [carpet or grass], it no longer has the power in it. He wanted two powers in it: The ability to fly about six feet off the ground & invincibility. Flying to last two hours & the invincibility to last two & a half hours. He got five doses to take home.
A few days later he comes back absolutely beaming. Turns out his kids [two daughters & a son] fell in love with the Peter Pan movie, so he & his husband dressed in their best Peter Pan outfits, and sprinkled the glitter - or Pixie dust as far as the kids know, on top of all their heads.
He showed me a video - while I wouldn’t recommend videoing yourself using my products [seeing as its a crime & you never know when a bootlicking superpowered motherfucker may somehow access your phone & see your video] it was very adorable. When he showed me he gave a big tip, which most usually don’t, especially after the fact.
Unfortunately, not all customers have such sweet intentions. But once again, after the sale is finalized, what they do is none of my business. Though since I’m still a small timer, there haven’t been any big crimes committed by the people who solicit my services. As far as I know at least.
Being able to clone yourself comes in all forms. Some have what I like to call “Instant spawn”. Basically, versions of themselves spawn near The Origin [the non-clone version] - surrounding a person they're going to attack, different parts of the room, whatever. Traditionally somewhere in proximity to The Origin, though it is incredibly rare for someone to make a clone in lets say Moscow while they're in Seattle. Possible, but again, rare.
Others have my favorite, “The walk out”. Basically the clones seemingly [or literally maybe] walk out of the The Origin. Generally those with that kind stand still while their clones walk out of The Origin but others like to be flashy, making their clones walk out as they walk/run.
The kind I have is… Okay. I call it the meditation method. I close my eyes, generally I sit crisscross or lay down, then my clones walk out of me. Similar to the previous method I suppose, but I have to have my eyes closed & if The Origin [myself in this case] is disturbed - whether I open my eyes voluntarily or I’m attacked, my clones snap out of existence.
I & most people who can clone themselves, retain all the information & memories that our clone went through.
Anyway, I should get onto telling the happenings of my life instead of rambling about powers [I will do more rambling, apologies in advance, but also… You read this & made an active choice to keep reading…].
It all started with an angry father. Different father than the cute story guy [and not his husband either].
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
CHARACTER INFO FOR MY AU ALVIN
Name: Alvin Michael-Murphy Seville (2.0)
Nicknames: Alvin Einstein, Clark Kent Alvin, Two Point Weirdo, Twerp Point Oh
Personality type: ENFP/ENTP (thinking and feeling were literally 50/50 on the online test)
Positive Traits: Ambitious, Adventurous, Persistent, Adaptable, Enthusiastic, Opportunistic, Curious, Imaginative, Innovative, Loyal, Confident, Courageous, Protective, Resilient, Generous, Charismatic, Resourceful, Friendly, Heroic, Academic, Quirky, Flamboyant, Funny, and Responsible (most of the time)
Negative traits: Moody, impulsive, self absorbed, ultra-dramatic, reckless, forgetful, messy, loud, annoying, obnoxious, whiny, clingy, hyperactive, rambunctious, absent minded, manipulative, argumentative, blatantly honest at inappropriate times, jumps to conclusions, easily bored, neurotic, paranoid, impatient, and indecisive
Special Abilities: Dreamwalking, Dreambombing and Dreamsnatching
Extra power: Crazy math and science visions. “I can see physics!”
Fashion Style: Unique and Flamboyant: Graphic T shirts with science and space themes, rainbow sneakers, the letter A somewhere on his clothes, must have cap on at most times. Glitter, sparkles, paint splatters. Crop tops and leggings.
Favorite Color: crimson, gold, cyan, sky blue, tangerine, electric lime, fuschia, and bright violet
Favorite Accessories: Red baseball cap with a green brim, a wrist watch so he can’t forget the time! Special double music note pendant with one red and one cyan gem. Alien head pin.
Biggest Worries and Fears: Being a failure, being left all alone, QUITTING LITERALLY ANYTHING, losing his identity, being hated because the real him isn’t “cool” enough, making a mistake so terrible he can never repair the damage it did, being perceived as stupid because of his struggles to focus, and being used and manipulated by higher powers.
Favorite Symbols: The letter A, music notes, atoms, light bulbs, lightning bolts, alien heads, rainbows, and stars.
Mental health differences: Has been diagnosed with combined Hyperactive and Inattentive ADHD. Was relieved because it explained so much of his behavior and struggles.
#alvin and the chipmunks#alvin seville#character info#headcanon#alternative universe#alvinnn!!! and the chipmunks#personality#aatc#help you understand my interpretation of him
13 notes
·
View notes
Text
Day 8 - “I wouldn’t do that if I were you”
[AO3]
Continuation of Smarch Day 26 - Hurry (Vampire Hob)
There’s always a craving, Hob finds. For blood, for sex, for knowledge, more, more, more ― and currently he hasn’t eaten in days, absorbed in working on a thesis, and it’s only once he’s completed the first draft and he takes a breath, he realises he’s starving.
Hob’s not sure what odd trick of his life made it so whatever vampire first bit him all those hundreds of years ago, but he’s never had a problem with going into the sunlight, contrary to modern popular myth. He doesn’t even get cool powers, just ― fangs, and craving for blood, and the immortality, he had before he turned, considering he did get killed a few times before he officially become a vampire―
The universe vibrates and his head snaps up, the vibration always a sign before a certain anthropomorphic personification appears, and suddenly Dream is there. Has always been there as blue eyes look around the mess of his living room. “Hob,” Dream intones, and the craving he wasn’t thinking about returns with a vengeance as he thinks of Dream’s starlight not-blood, the essence of reality and sleep in a moreish package. Dream hums, eyebrows raising as Dream sits on his lap, “you have not eaten.”
“Busy,” he rasps, grabbing onto Dream’s thin hips, “forgot,” he growls into Dream’s throat, hearing simulated blood under artificial veins, sound all he can hear. Maybe he did get a few perks of being a vampire, not that he uses them.
Dream sighs, indulgent as a marble wrist is put near his mouth, own eyes locking with Dream’s, “eat.”
One of his hands curling around a thin wrist, he keeps eye contact as he bites down, watching Dream gasp, head thrown back as he takes the black starlight into his mouth, feeling galaxies and supernovae under his skin as he has his fill.
Dream gasps, sitting even heavier on him, a flush to his face ― Hob’s craving is fulfilled, Dream’s blood a limitless supply, but still he drinks. Moving his mouth, his fangs graze against pale skin and black, glittering starlight and Dream shivers, other hand moving down black shirt until it reaches Dream’s pants.
Tearing his teeth out, Dream whines, eyes glassy, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, pet,” he purrs and Dream whines, errant hand going to clench his side as Dream leans forward, and Hob can hear Dream’s heart beating, faster than a human’s could go, the blood rushing inside the vastness of him, “take me out,” he orders softly, Dream’s free hand quickly going to do so as he goes back to drinking more of Dream.
His cock, hard and red, is freed and Dream gives him an imploring look, which he nods to, feeling Dream shudder again as Dream’s clothes vanish, and they both moan as Dream guides him inside.
#dc#the sandman#dreamling#dreamling fanfic#dreamling smay#dream x hob#hob x morpheus#hob x dream#writing#not sfw#wanted more vamp hob and so here i am
51 notes
·
View notes
Text
A short post-episode vignette for episode 7 of Andor, based on a weird prompt I came across that grabbed me and wouldn’t leave me alone. I’m posting it mainly because it’s already a week late, and because I’m curious whether it makes any sense outside my head...
[thank you, everyone who commented on this, reblogged, or liked it! I posted a cleaned-up version on AO3]
we will not meet in this world
Cassian wasn’t where he was supposed to be.
Something was off—he could tell, even with his eyes closed. It was too cold and quiet, for one thing, and the sheets weren’t silky smooth. When he opened them, it was darker than the tourist strip ever got, no lambent background glow.
A power outage? No, he could just make out the shadows of a low wood-beamed ceiling overhead instead of the duracrete arches of his hotel room.
This wasn’t where he’d fallen asleep. Shit.
How the hell had he wound up here? He hadn't taken anything last night, but there’d been a lot of spice floating around at the club... Still, there was no way he could have absorbed enough to black out just from breathing. Someone must have slipped him something, if he was losing time. He closed his eyes again and retraced his steps at the end of the night once, twice, but that only brought him to the place he should have been: in bed with Windi at the hotel.
Someone murmured sleepily, and a body rolled over, away from him. Cassian turned his head and discovered a tousled head of straight hair and a pale-skinned shoulder that definitely didn’t belong to Windi.
He’d fucked up big somehow.
His clothes weren’t on the floor beside the bed, but at least he was wearing someone else’s soft sleeping pants. Another change he didn’t remember.
He slid noiselessly out from under the thin blanket, shivering as his bare feet hit the floor and the chill crept over his bare chest. When had the temperature dropped so low? No window in this bedroom, so he couldn’t tell where he was. Underground, maybe… he’d heard the seedier parts of town were dug back into the cliffs.
The single door opened into a tiny kitchen. One small window showed a square of lights: a glittering grid of city lights below and stars above, divided by the sharp black silhouette of a mountain range.
Mountains? There were no mountains in Niamos—
A dim light flicked on behind him, and he jumped.
“Cassian?” a soft voice mumbled around a yawn. “What’s wrong?”
Fuck. Normally Cassian was an expert at getting out of bed without waking his partners. Another sign he was fucked up. And he’d be fucked over worse if he didn’t figure out who this was and why the hells he’d told them his real name.
He turned, slowly, to look at the woman whose bed he’d woken up in. She was small, wiry muscle and loose brown hair falling into a face that was sweet, pointed chin and snub nose. She could have been any age from twenty to thirty, and she wasn’t wearing anything but a long-sleeved shirt that hung to her thighs and a pair of thick socks.
She knew him, even if he had no idea who she was. He hadn’t blacked out in years. This was not good.
She shuffled across the floor straight to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, laying her head on his chest. Cassian froze, pinned against the counter by her negligible weight. He could feel her breath stirring the hair on his chest, giving him goosebumps. The last time someone had hugged him—just held him—when had it been? Maarva, maybe, the day he got back from prison, or Bix the last time she’d dumped him, when she’d told him he was a mess and needed to get himself together before anyone would want him long term.
“Couldn’t sleep either?”
He gingerly rested his fingertips on her shoulders, trying to seem relaxed. “No.”
“Is it your back?”
There was nothing wrong with his back, never had been, but her casual certainty almost made him doubt. Cassian swallowed. “No,” he repeated.
“I’ll make some tea, then.” The woman released him and moved over to the other side of the kitchen. She reached automatically into the cupboard for a canister of tea and two mugs—her home, then.
Cassian’s eyes jerked around the small space, searching for any other clue, but it was just a kitchen, clean but shabby. He turned his head to look out the window again and his reflection stared back, cast on the dark glass by the light behind him.
That wasn’t him. It looked like him, but the beard he’d shaved off was back again. His hair was longer, brushing the sides of his jaw. And that looked like strands of grey in both.
Cassian exhaled as relief washed over him. A dream, then. Just a dream that was way too convincingly mundane, and he’d wake up in a few minutes only half-remembering it.
The woman sat down at a wobbly table and pushed one mug over to the other side. For lack of anything better to do, Cassian sat down across from her and sipped at it. He wasn’t much of a tea drinker, but it was strong and sweet. Under the table, a pair of feet wound casually around his ankles. His hand jerked, slopping more into his mouth than he could swallow, and he coughed.
She grinned at him and he smiled weakly back. He looked down at his hands wrapped around the mug and his fingers twitched again at the sight of dark lines tattooed around his left wrist, with a coiled knot over the pulse point. A Kenari lifebraid… he hadn’t seen one of them since his parents died.
“You’re really not okay,” she said, and it wasn’t a question. Cassian only shrugged. His brain wasn’t functioning well enough to come up with an excuse that would work. Not that he had to, for a dream.
“Come back to bed,” she said, reaching out across the table and taking his hand. “Staying up all night won’t help.”
She had a matching lifebraid on her own wrist, just visible under the loose cuff of her sleeve.
Cassian hid his face behind his mug and took another swallow of tea. This bizarre dream had turned too intense, giving him what felt like a home and someone who he’d trusted enough to tell about his past—to marry, by the custom of his lost family. Who the karking hell was she? She had enough scars that she could have been a bounty hunter or an ex-gang member, but she didn’t have any visible tattoos except the one on her wrist.
A thin wail came through the closed door and she winced. “I had to jinx it, didn’t I.”
With a sigh, she got up and slipped through the door, leaving it open a crack behind her. She didn’t turn the bedroom light on, but Cassian heard rustling blankets and a soft shushing, interrupted by indistinct hiccuping cries.
Cassian blinked. That noise could only come from a kid—a young one. There was a baby in the other room and he hadn’t even noticed it.
She came back into the kitchen holding a bundle of patchwork blankets with a tuft of dark hair. “There’s dada,” she crooned. “See?”
The bundle looked at him and if he’d been standing, Cassian would have fallen to the floor. Kerri’s dark eyes looked at him out of a scrunched up face that resembled her so strongly it took the air out of his lungs. He didn’t know exactly how old he’d been when Kerri was born, but he’d been old enough to remember her just like this: a chubby, scowling baby with skeptical eyes.
He pinched his wrist under the table, hard. This dream wasn’t entertaining anymore. A quiet life in a small plain room on a cold planet, a spouse… both of them were laughably off base, but a child? That was disturbing.
“Now that she’s seen you, she’s not going back down.” She pushed the bundle at him, setting it in his arms, and he had to accept it or let it drop. He stared down at the baby, its unblinking stare focused somewhere around his chin. Tiny fingers latched on to the edge of the blanket and then splayed out, reaching for his hair.
He didn’t react quickly enough and the baby got a fistful of the ends with a yank. He hissed in pain and grabbed the fat little hand, gently prying it open. The kid wouldn’t let go, but clamped around his index finger and held on. With a bubbling sigh, the heavy head drooped onto his chest.
The woman laughed softly, cupping the back of the baby's head and stroking its back before lifting her hand to push his hair out of his face and behind his ear. Her hand lingered on his cheek. She leaned down and kissed him at the corner of his mouth. “Come back to bed,” she murmured against his beard. “Lie down and stay warm at least. I’ll rub your neck. And if we’re lucky, maybe she’ll sleep…”
Cassian stared down at her. His mind turned over and over itself in a useless circle. He could always come up with the right thing to say, to make people see what he wanted them to, but he was lost. The affection in her eyes and her touch didn’t match anything he was, anything he deserved. Who was she seeing?
The dark lines woven on his arm curled around the baby caught his eye again. A dream, that’s what. No-one else in the galaxy knew what that design meant, no-one would have their love for him etched on their body. Cassian was lonely and stoned and his mind had constructed a flimsy fantasy to comfort him. He might as well sink under and enjoy it before he woke with the worst hangover of his life.
He followed her to the rumpled bed. She sat with her back against the wall and Cassian inched carefully on to the bed beside her, trying not to jostle the baby. She drew him down until his head lay on her shoulder and the baby was nestled between them, fenced from the edge of the mattress. “Rest.”
Cassian wasn’t sure he wanted to. The sooner he did, presumably, the sooner he’d wake up. But his body was already relaxing into the warmth of hers.
She pressed a kiss to his forehead. Cassian could have pretended to be asleep, but instead he turned his head and let his lips brush the skin over her collarbone. The baby snorted in its ball of blankets.
*
The next time Cassian opened his eyes, it was late morning: the fierce sun of Niamos was already lancing in through the half-open blinds. His head ached, his arms felt empty. He rolled over, and Windi was there, asleep with one hand caught under her face.
Things made sense again; his brain wasn’t telling him impossible things, and the hollow carved in his chest was normal. He glanced down at his bare wrist before he got up and went into the fresher. It was time to check on practical things: weapon, credits, anything else that might be useful. The water on his face was cold and bracing, and if he looked worse than usual in the mirror that didn’t mean anything. This was where he belonged.
* * *
The title is from this poem, and the prompt (in case it didn’t come through at all) was “a time travel AU where one character goes 10 years into the future for a night; as soon as they wake up, they’re back in their own timeline”
#rebelcaptain#jyn x cassian#my fic#this is far from perfect#but it's done#and i'm trying to be more chill about just throwing stuff out there#shrug
132 notes
·
View notes
Note
Tashina ALWAYS feel free to add your thoughts and your spitballing and anything else you want or think of to literally anything I post <3<3<3
aaah thank you you're so sweet! <3 I just thought about how your short fic would continue and would have added sappy stuff to it but didn’t want to ruin your perfect fic >.<
like, Hob is kinda a nightmarish monster rn? and maybe not quite himself anymore? but he hasn't asked anything unreasonable of Dream, so I think it would go like this
Hob slowly peels the ruby out of his chest with claws that resemble the bones of human fingers and he holds it out to Dream.
“This is yours.” he grinds out but cannot manage to let go of it, his claws spasming around the gem, wanting to hold onto it for fear of losing everything again, not again, please -
and Dream gently but firmly takes it from him, understanding in his eyes.
“Thank you. Hob.”
The moment the ruby leaves his grasp, the wolf howls and crumbles, the power sloughing off of him in thick waves of blackish blood and flames and what remains is the bent double form of just a human, flesh scorched and bleeding, blood dripping red and fresh to the stone floor.
Hob whimpers when Dream touches his chin to lift his bloody face, fingers catching against the bone-white of his jaw.
“My friend... I am sorry.”
Dream grips the ruby tight with his other hand and the smoke coming off of Hob’s body is coalescing into a light-absorbing robe around Dream. The glass shards around them disintegrate into fine glittering sand, softly swirling around them.
“Let me take you home.”
#and then there's a lot of soft aftercare and tea and so on#and Dream is amused and a maybe also a bit worried about the magpie's hoard of treasure Hob has accumulated#and how much of the obsession was due to the ruby or simply due to Hob himself#and it might be one or the other I don't really know#but I really loved what you wrote and Hob as a wolf is such a powerful image I always love when someone writes that#anyway thanks!!#asks#own writing#dreamling
99 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Good, The Bad, and The Alternative: a homestuck fanfiction. Chapter 28, an excerpt
“Take a cup, both of you. Someone brought the top shellf stuff- please tell me we can toast Vriska not being dragged back to her cell?” Feferi raised her brow inquisitively.
“Fuck yeah!” Vriska enthused, grabbing a cup from the stack and letting Feferi pour her a generous helping of Belvedere . “As long as nobody tells the Hunter, he has no reason to crash the party. Karkat has nothing to worry about.” Her words were supposedly reassuring, but he found himself scowling as visions of all the ways it could go wrong flashed before his eyes.
“Good!” Feferi exclaimed, and shoved the stack of cups in his direction. “Karcrab, if you don’t take a shot with me, I have the feeling you aren’t going to relax at all.” He reluctantly brought his hand to the stack, slowly pulling a cup free.
“Vodka tastes like ass, no matter what shelf you pull it from. And my power to catastrophize is stronger than any spirit.” He grumbled, but only halfheartedly, allowing Feferi to pour him an equally generous helping, which felt more like three shots than one. He figured she was right about one thing- he really was taking the evening off. He ought to act like it.
“We’ll see about that,” Feferi proclaimed with a grin, shoving the stack of cups against her body and fishing her own cup from her cleavage. “Bottoms up!”
The three slammed their “shots”, which had about as much enjoyment as chugging a cup of gasoline. Feferi whooped in exuberance, while he bore the burn stonily. His quarterly meeting with the Dwarven guild always ended with Earlenor Ironbrow passing around the Dwarven liquor, which made this taste like kiddy shit by comparison. Vriska, however, immediately gagged, coughing and sputtering, her eyes watering with a shimmer of blood.
“Oh, that is awful. Is there anything we can take shots of that doesn’t taste like paint thinner?” She asked, pulling a face. Feferi gasped in response.
“Oh my glub, was that your first shot ever ?”
Vriska blushed, looking sheepish. “...Maybe.”
“Whale, let me find you something sweeter for a chaser. Back in a splash!” Feferi bounded away, all giggles and glitter.
A new song began playing, the music seeming to vibrate through the air and resonate in his bones. Vriska seemed to be feeling the music as well, as she began swaying in time with the beat, grinning at him.
“You gonna just stand there, orrrrrrrr?” She challenged him, shifting closer. The flush to her face remained, and her movement had a new fluidity to it.
“Or,” he declared, eliciting a startled laughter from her. He smiled back, allowing himself to give in- to be in the moment. It was a quirk of his physiology that left the vodka as a single large bead of liquid, his mind controlling its surface tension with barely a thought. He could choose to leave it that way, to continue the party stone cold sober. But he wanted to relax with the feeling of his inhibitions lowering, so he envisioned the bubble as his own stress, allowing it to pop. He felt the peculiar burn of the vodka literally sinking through his body, the alcohol sharp as it absorbed and sent his head spinning, and began to dance with his friend, joining her in laughter.
Everyone’s having fun at this party! Read on to see more!
#karkat vantas#vriska serket#feferi peixes#karkat x vriska#karkat x feferi#feferi x vriska#homestuck#hom3stuck#karkat#vriska#the good the bad and the alternative
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
Mamoru is NOT useless in the Anime Part Tri: Power & Worth
Last time we compared Anime and Manga Mamoru's power levels in order to dissect the idea that anime Mamoru, in being less powerful than Usagi is unworthy of being her romantic partner.
However, there was a lot more I wanted to unpack from this particular idea the 'Mamoru is useless' brigade are prone to pushing. Specifically on the very notion of linking power to worthiness.
Power Creep
This is one of my shorter points but, its seems rather insane to suggest that Mamoru needs to be of a minimal power level to be worthy of Usagi.
Usagi in both versions is at least functionally the most powerful entity in the known universe. Even if we go arc by arc, she is almost always the most powerful person on the good guys team. The time period before she obtained the Silver Crystal was only time when the gap in power between herself and the other Senshi was in any way close, and even then it depended on who you were talking about. Mercury was clearly weaker than Usagi, her attack was a glorified smokescreen. Was she unworthy of Usagi's friendship? Were Makoto and Rei the MOST worthy of Usagi's friendship because they were the most powerful Senshi?
Did they all become progressively less worthy of her time and affection as Usagi steadily grew ever more powerful across the series? In Crystal Tokyo, when Usagi could transform the barren frozen Earth into a glittering utopia, did she have 0 friends because she was now just THAT powerful?
Was Star Serious Laser just so powerful that it meant Seiya ranked highest of all for Usagi's affections? After all, I do not see anyone arguing that Seiya was not powerful enough to be worthy of Usagi's love...almost like there is a double standard in play...
And how demeaning of Neo-Queen Serenity, who was so powerful she could terraform a lifeless planet Earth into a glittering utopia, to allow the now incalculably weaker King Endymion to have sex with her and thereby conceive Chibi-Usa.
Or...does this work by you simply have to be of a minimal power level and then you can be worthy of Usagi no matter how powerful she gets?
Please enlighten me fellow Moonies?
Power DOES NOT = Worthiness
Finally...isnt it just plain old reductive to equate power with worthiness?
Sailor moon is a super hero at the end of the day, so let's look at examples from other superhero fiction. In fact, lets look at the most famous example within the genre.
Superman is by far and away the most famous (though not necesarilly popular) of all superheroes across the globe. Superman can fly, has super streangth, super speed, enhanced durability, heat vision, x-ray vision and sometimes can freeze stuff with his breath. And whilst the exact degree of all of those abilities has varied (originally he was stronger than ten men, later he could pull multiple planets at the same time) he has always been mindbogglingly more powerful than even the most elite of human athletes.
And who has he frequently been paired up with from the past 85 years?
Oh, that's right. A human woman, Lois Lane. She might be extraordinary in her own way, but she isn't going to be bench-pressing a tank anytime soon.
Ah, but there are those who reject the most famous superhero couple in pop culture for that very reason, arguing that Superman should instead be with someone who is powerful in their own right like he is. Someone like, say, Wonder Woman?
The problem here being that...well...Wonder Woman is almost always weaker than Superman. By a WIDE margin. At the end of the day, she is incredibly strong but her strength has limits whilst Superman's are in fact dependant upon circumstances. If he absorbes enough yellow sunlight he is functionally limitless in how powerful he can become. So...is Wonder Woman unworthy of Superman too?
Regardless, let's instead turn our attentions to something more comparable to Sailor Moon.
In Dragon Ball Z the Goku and Vegeta and Gohan can annihilate whole Solar Systems but Mary human women, falling for them because of their strong, wilful and aggressive personalities.
In Yu Yu Hakusho, written by Naoko Takeuchi's husband, the main character is a demonic prince basically and falls for a normal human.
How about all the boxers, MMA fighters, wrestlers and action movie stars who marry people who are not in those kinds of professions, people who are physically weaker than them?
All of them unworthy too?
Power DOES NOT = Worthiness, regardless of gender
Ah, but these are all where the man is more powerful. But...if we argue that the situation is different in the reverse...isn't that just a classic (say it with me folks) double standard?
Are we to seriously entertain the rather backwards argument that a man is not worthy of a woman's affection if they are weaker than her?
If so let's look at some other examples.
She Hulk has dated normal humans Wyatt Wingfoot and John Jameson.
Carol Danvers has the power of a star and has fallen in love with War Machinw, who is a man with high tech armour nowhere close to that power level.
Jean Grey has been more powerful than her lovers Cyclops and Wolverine since even before she became the Phoenix, a cosmic entity so powerful it consumes stars for energy.
Wonder Woman has the power of the Greek Gods and her frequent lover, and in her original canon husband, was a regular human soldier.
In Cutey Honey F, the magical girl reboot of the classic 70s anime that helped inspire Sailor Moon, Honey can annihilate and create anything she can want. She is in love with a demonic prince, but ultimately marries a normal man and private eye who always had her back despite being put of this depth with the threats they faced.
And what about all the women in real life who have married, or remained married to men with disabilities? Men who by any metric are physically weaker than their wives? For example, all the women that married or remained married to soldiers who were horribly injured during either World War? Or, any of the wives of Stephen Hawkins, with even his first wife aware of his illness.
All of which is to say...maybe Mamo is worthy of Usagi's love regardless of him being less powerful than her.
Conclusion
Mamoru in the anime...
Is.
Not.
Useless.
Please.
For.
The.
Love.
Of.
<insert whatever/whomever you worship here>.
Fucking.
Stop.
Claiming.
He.
Is.
#mamoru chiba#chiba mamoru#tuxedo mask#tuxedo kamen#sailor moon#pretty soldier sailor moon#bishojo senshi sailor moon#naoko takeuchi#usagi tsukino#tsukino usagi
18 notes
·
View notes
Text
PATREN MKII
“ the glittering soldier to guide you through darkness . brought to you by yours truly , of course “
- Takao Noël
read more for notes :
a few years after the end of lupat , using the remaining scraps and the power of the lupin collection , shinonome satoru was revived with the help of takao noël . although he couldn’t be restored properly , considering his injury before he was turned into a gangler disguise .
with low constitution , although now with the freedom of basically multiple lives , satoru swore himself under noël to help with field testing any lupin creation , be it modified or a contraption of noël’s own creation
after reintegrating back to society and eventually reuniting with his past co-workers , satoru decided to continue working under the tactical unit , but because of his condition , he was only given the role as an assistant to jim and hilltop of some sort .
the leg armour in his gspo uniform outfit was a gift by noël , it provides better balance and helps him maneuver better in case of emergencies .
the suit was another gift given later on , it’s more of a last ditch effort rather than something he could use to help in fights frequently . using it takes up a lot of energy out of satoru .
requiring trigger machine mk ii to transform , it works similarly to upgrade vs vehicles where another person would have to fire it onto him .
trigger machine mk ii is incompatible with other vs rangers , due to it being specifically built for satoru’s life state
the headphones could play music :3
despite working under the gspo and helping out at the lupin estate , satoru claims that his loyalty is only under noël , seeing as he is the one who has control of satoru’s life .
under the hard metal outer shell is a soft padding that’s used to absorb impact force .
#:: art#satoru shinonome#shinonome satoru#lupat#lupinranger vs patranger#kaitou sentai lupinranger vs keisatsu sentai patranger
25 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
hookedradge
The First Mate
windmillghost-art
Creations of the Ghost
call-me-remi
Embrace the fuckery.
bestcgart
Best CG Art
