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purgatorytf · 2 days

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I wanted to say how flattered I was to hear I inspired your first story, but it seems to me like you’ve had this TF magic in you all along 😉 You’re off to an incredible start, each of your stories has been so hot to read - I’m curious to see how you’d change me? You know how much I love writing about big, pussy obsessed straight men: I wonder if you’ll make me one or an item that a man like that uses and abuses. Have fun with it, bro!

First of all i really want to thank you and all the other people who've sent me nice messages. I've loved transformation for a while now, and i've been feeling like i wanted to give back so it's nice to hear that i've been able to do that so far.

Hearing that from you is especially gratifying because i really love your stories bro. They've really been an inspiration for me when writing mine first ones. I guess that if this thing keeps working out for me and we keep writing about the same stuff… well we might have a bit of a rivalry on our hands haha…

"I wish i was joking … but honestly, i've really been thinking that. And honestly, you kinda offered yourself on a silver platter for me there. I'm sure you expected something fun with this but this is the perfect opportunity for me to take you out.

What's that look on your face ? This isn't what you wanted ? Well it's too late to turn back now bud. Besides, i already know exactly how you can be of use to me from now on"

With that, i snapped my fingers. You felt the effects instantly as your body wracked with immense pain. Twisting and distorting, your body adopted a new and improved form. You saw your skin become a pristine white as your flesh and bones restructured into a tightening weave of elastic fabric. You tried to scream at me to stop but you had already been silenced. Instead, your face reshaped itself into the front pouch of a pair of Calvin Klein underwear. As you fell on the floor, you struggled to take in your newly transformed world. Your mind was intact but all physical markers of who you once was were gone. Just a nice, brand new piece of clothing for me to ruin.

"Alright dude, just out of gratitude for the good times i had reading your stories, i'm willing you make you a deal. If you manage to keep your mind from breaking for one month then i will turn you back into a human. deal ? Well, i guess it's not like you have much of a choice anyway"

I took off my current underwear : a rank, soaked and yellowed thong. I threw it to the side on a pile of sportwear, all in a similarly perverted state.

"Don't look at the pile of used clothes over there bro. I promise you that it won't make you feel any better about what's coming for you" I stroked and jiggled my fat dick "And neither will looking at this huhu"

The literal gravity of your imminent fate set in. With a cocky smirk, i picked you up and slid you up my thick legs. Your wails of horror fell on deaf ears as your face pressed against my thick package, stretching and conforming to its every contour.

"Hehe, you hug my nuts so tightly bro. It's almost like you were always meant to be down there, servicing my musky balls."

And musky they were. An immediate sensory overload took over your brain. The instant warmth made you gasp for air but all you could inhale were fumes of sweat and dried cum. This masculine stench quickly permeated the entirety of your being, making you struggle to form coherent thoughts. To top it all, the moistness made your body stick tightly against my manhood, unable to get away from this reeking nightmare.

"Sorry about that dude. I should warn you; once i start wearing a pair of undies, i never change out until they're ruined. That means that 24/7 for the next month i'm going to wear you, work out in you, sweat in you, i'm even gonna cum in you. Oh bro, i'm gonna completely wreck you."

"I promise you that it shouldn't even take a month to completely break you. But try not to panic, there's a moment when you'll embrace your new purpose as my nice, sweaty underwear and it'll all become very pleasant. If or when that happens is completely up to you bro. You get to choose if this experience will be a disgusting or a pleasurable one. But remember, your humanity is on the line huhu."

The reality of your new life for the coming month fully dawned on you. Sweat. Piss. Cum. Constantly. What you had been writing and reading about on your blog for fun finally became your intoxicating reality. You were worried your brains were already melting. How the hell were you supposed to last an entire month ??? You were struggling and begging for mercy against my big … snug …. balls …

Your suffering psyche desperately tried to rationalize what was happening to you. Maybe this was possible … You could just … take care of my goods for a month and then … everything would be fine. You just had to …. not break…

I laughed in satisfaction as i pressed you further against my cock. Inspiration for a hot new story already struck me but i needed to go work out first. I wanted to get you all nice and soaked so that i could get you to enjoy this.

"No hard feelings bro."

#inanimate tf #musk #inanimate transformation #jock #male tf #male transformation #reality change #wish gone wrong #ask #underwear tf #clothing tf #jock bulge #mental change

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neurolady · 2 days

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I've been distracted all day since I saw @neil-gaiman's answer all but confirming that Crowley's "we've been talking for millions of years..." can be taken literally! I have always thought there has got to be more than just that one encounter between them in Heaven, but had always written that particular line off as just Crowley hyperbole... and tbh I'm not entirely convinced he isn't just trolling us because Neil!

But doesn't it add a whole new delicious layer to the Ineffable Love Story if there's the possibility that as angels in Heaven they were already together as Celestial lovers, whatever that would look like. To then have been torn apart by the Great War and Crowley's fall. Or even juicier to have their angelic relationship somehow be involved in Crowley's fall.

Eden then becomes an awkward reunion with the old feelings and instincts still there. Which is why Crowley automatically shuffles under Aziraphale's wing and already knows about the sword. Aziraphale not knowing how to address Crawley because he doesn't know his demon version, I'd always noticed his double-take when Crawley's black wings unfurl especially after s2 ep1.

It then reframes their whole relationship on Earth leading right upto the Final 15.

You can read Aziraphale as almost mourning the relationship that once was. "I know the angel you were", "you were an angel once", "you can come back to heaven and... (me) everything". He's obviously in turmoil because he loves who Crowley is now, loves their life on Earth but has never quite let go of what once was. It adds another dimension as to why he so quickly accepts The Metatron's offer after returning Crowley's angelic status is suggested. I mean imagine for 6000+ years he has he been struggling with falling for a demon but also reconciling that that demon is the same but not the angel he once loved in Heaven. Of course he doesn't want to change Crowley, but in his mind they can have everything now the love they've grown on Earth, their previous time in Heaven and no more taboo or danger from Hell, why would Crowley possibly not want that!

Crowley on the other hand traumatised by his Fall, has been searching for and finding his identity, but has definitively separated himself from his former Angel self. He has either forgotten or actively erased pretty much all of his time in Heaven, except Aziraphale. Rocks up to Eden to find his love there but now it's forbidden for them to be together. Spends the next 6000+ years falling even deeper in-love with who Aziraphale, himself and they together on Earth (us) have become. See's Gabrielle and Beezelbub, has his big moment of clarity (thanks to Nina and Maggie) and finally plucks up the courage to tell Aziraphale exactly how he still feels and that they can be together openly and properly! Then Aziraphale rocks up and wants to rewind the clock all the way back to Heaven! So of course he feels rejected like the last 6000+ years have just been Aziraphale waiting for his angel!

JUICY!

#it probably won't play out this way #but I love all the extra angst that framing it this brings #super long post #got a little carried away #ineffable husbands #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #goo omens theory

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funnywormz · 2 days

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I think this shitshow with Toshiro stems from the trend of people INSISTING that interpersonal conflict must be a moral failing. Like I think there's something to be said about how people afford so much less patience to people who are autistic in the "wrong" ways, but also Laios and Toshiro just clash on a fundamental level that has nothing to do with that. Hell, you could read Toshiro as autistic as well. People related to Laios' side of the argument but instead of getting any nuance out of it they started projecting their experiences with ableist people onto Toshiro.

AGREE AGREE AGREE. i think that Fandom Brain gets people very used to thinking of conflicts in terms of "who is the bad guy and who is the good guy", so when they encounter a more nuanced conflict they don't really know what to do. i don't think toshiro is a bad person at all, in his conflict with laios he's just exhausted and starving and has been pushed to the limit and from his perspective, laios doesn't even seem that emotionally affected by the situation. i don't think what he said was right and it was pretty cruel, but i don't think he's a villain or deserves to be permanently hated as a character just bc he fucked up this time lol

also yeah you could definitely read him as autistic, and i think that highlights an issue in the autistic community in general bc like....... a lot of autistic people have conflicting needs which can lead to conflict between them/make them unable to stand being around each other. and it's not because either of them are neurotypical or bad people, they're just incompatible. like autistic people who loudly stim vocally and autistic people who meltdown when they have to be around loud noises, for example. it doesn't mean either of them is bad or not autistic, just that they have conflicting needs

i 100% agree with the last part too. i disliked toshiro at first myself bc i had been (and still do ngl) projecting onto laios hard and the conflict they had reminded me of times when people have been mean or angry at me irl for social blunders i've made unintentionally, or when someone i thought liked me/was my friend turned out to actually hate me. it's a common experience for autistic people and that scene resonates with that! but i think it also helps to take a step back from projecting our own traumatic experiences onto the scene and just look at it objectively. laios isn't perfect either and he's the one who actually starts the physical fight by slapping toshiro (i feel like i don't see many people mention this lol). i feel super bad for him in that scene but he's not a perfect victim and has done things wrong himself too

as an autistic person i've also been in situations where i can relate to toshiro too lol, like where someone is overly physically and emotionally familiar with me when we don't know each other well and i've wanted them to back off but haven't been sure how to say it without hurting their feelings. this kind of conflict is far from just being a "neurotypical vs neurodivergent" thing as a lot of people portray it in the fandom

idk i just wish people would think a little more deeply about the scene and put their own emotions and experiences aside to instead consider the conflict with the added context of the individual characters and their respective cultures + the situation they're in. people don't have to like toshiro but i wish they wouldn't paint him as a villain or make up awful shit about him just to justify their feelings when he isn't even that bad of a dude in canon yknow 😑. also we literally see him at rock bottom struggling and freaking out and i think that's important to remember. in a different context i doubt he would have ever said those things to laios

#dungeon meshi #laios touden #toshiro nakamoto #ask #tysm for the ask btw!

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harmonysanreads · 21 hours

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Trivia - Jeux de Vagues

I suppose this is the somewhat ‘lore’ of the aforementioned fic. I recommend reading the fic first before diving into this as this contains spoilers :> I normally wouldn't do this but per the vote of @verridaiya I was encouraged to regardless. Something to note would be that even though this is what I had in mind while writing, readers' personal interpretations are equally valid!

“Jeux de Vagues”

I mentioned this in a reblog already but the title comes from the second movement of the symphony “La Mer” by Claude Debussy, a French composer. It literally translates to ‘Play of the waves', quite fitting for a leisurely tea-party with Neuvillette, no? I also highly recommend listening to the piece in general, it might take some patience but if you love daydreaming about watching the sea waves away from your struggles as well, this is the music for you!

“6 to 12 O'clock”

Before I tell you why I'm showing this particular line, I want you guys to take a guess on what I meant by the 'noon to evening and midnight to dawn' part :>

One of the rules of afternoon tea etiquette is that when you stir the tea, the appropriate motion to do is a 6 to 12 O'clock (so towards yourself and away from yourself) instead of going in circles. I thought just outright saying it wouldn't be fun so I instead used the four time indicators of 6 and 12 ! But of course, this could also symbolize the duration of Reader “scheming” since the beginning of the marriage.

“Fin de siècle”

Fin de siècle is a French term meaning “end of century,” a phrase which typically encompasses both the meaning of the similar English idiom “turn of the century” and also makes reference to the closing of one era and onset of another. [Taken from Wikipedia]

I kept on thinking about how to incorporate the ‘Isolation’ theme for Yandere!Neuvillette while also respecting his ideal of fairness. In one of his voice lines, he encourages to speak-up against grave injustice. With that in mind, this idea of “Keeping Reader isolated but giving them a chance to gain freedom by debating against Neuvillette once every century” was born. If Reader can successfully prove that Neuvillette is a terrible husband or their marriage is unjust, they can leave. But obviously, that's just false hope.

“Mon trésor”

Mon trésor is a gender-neutral French term of endearment which means “My treasure” in English. Huge thank you to @cerulean-castle and @iceunhie (please excuse me if I wasn't supposed to tag you two ;—;) for responding to my cry of help for this one as I was puzzled about French terms of endearment for a while. @/iceunhie gave me the link to a post of gender-neutral French terms of endearment which I found really helpful <3

As for why I chose Mon trésor as what Neuvillette calls Reader, it was due to the specific connotations between dragons and their treasures. Or in Neuvillette's case, Reader is his treasure. Hence, after sufficiently provoked, he doesn't flinch from referring to them as ‘abandoned property’.

“The words unspoken are the flower.”

Directly quoted from Neuvillette's [About : Wriothesley] voice line. According to him, it's an Inazuman proverb which means “Some words are better left unsaid.” which is Neuvillette's answer to his subconscious question of why he goes to such lengths for Reader.

Now, you can interpret this in a variety of ways and I'll say some of the “possible” ones. Perhaps he refuses to verbalize the causes because doing so would force him to face the hypocrisy and irrationality behind his actions. Perhaps he truly doesn't know, as there are many things he's on the path to understanding. Etcetera.

I might add onto this post if anyone has more questions from the fic itself. Writing Jeux de Vagues was quite difficult because I had a deadline of sorts but I was determined to finish it. Although there might be room for further improvement, I'm still happy that I pulled it of :') I hope that at least, my love for Neuvillette's character can be felt through the fic <3

#french people feel free to roast me if i did get something terribly wrong lolol #about ; jeux de vagues #yandere #yandere neuvillette #yandere neuvillette x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin x reader #neuvillette x reader #genshin impact x reader #neuvillette

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m0tiv8me · 22 hours

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MAYbe I CAN! Check In.

Ok positive people time to report in for the May Challenge.

What will you be doing for at least 15 minutes to benefit your mental and or physical well being each day in May.

Here’s mine:

15 minutes dedicated to stretching, pushups and crunches each day. I’m stacking these together meaning I’ll start with some stretching, followed by some pushups and then do crunches while resting between pushups and then finish with more stretching.

I travel a lot for work, a gym is not always an option and sometimes my workdays turn out to be 14-16 hours long. I needed something that I can do literally anywhere at almost anytime. Morning, night, whatever fits. This feels practical and feasible to me and I won’t get frustrated or overwhelmed by it.

I was going to set a specific number of pushups and crunches for my 15 minutes each day but I fully expect to improve throughout the month. So to add another degree of challenge I’ll be working to increase the numbers I complete in my 15 minutes each day. Excited to see what type of improvement I can make from the start of May to the end.

——————-

So! What will your 15 minutes be used for? Mental health focused such as reading, writing, meditation, or something more physical like yoga, walking running, lifting etc.

Make it challenging but make it feel possible. Most importantly MAKE TIME FOR IT. 15 minutes each day that’s it. Easy peasy you can totally do it.

Daily update posts will go live each day at 12:00AM with those participating tagged. Reblog and be accountable by adding a brief update on your days success. Even if you struggled that’s fine, life happens and not everyday will be a win. If you didn’t hit a goal or make it happen how you’d like no worries. Still report in if you can and be accountable. We all need to see that each of us is human and that we struggle at times and help lift each other back up.

If you prefer to post your own and not reblog the daily post go for it. Add the tag #maybe I can or tag me @m0tiv8me so I can find it. I’ll be doing my best to keep tabs but I may miss some.

If you wish to remain private and not share publicly no problem. If you feel comfortable doing so my DM’s are open to anyone who wishes to share updates and report in. I will not be tagging anyone who prefers to keep private.

That’s it, you have until tomorrow to decide what your 15 minutes will be used for. Can’t wait to cheer each other on and stay accountable together for May.

@thoughts-sex-desires @definitely-grown @perspective24 @joshuamusclefan @52fit @runningfromthecuccos @athousandmorningss @marine-corps-strong @healthymist @integrationslady

#maybe i can #may challenge #you got this #15 minutes #physical health #mental health.

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godsfavoritequeer · 2 days

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I find it kind of crazy how misinformed Hugh Dancy is about autism- especially considering him playing Will Graham and Adam. And not only that, but the fact that he talks about it somewhat frequently in interviews/panels. I wanted to break down a couple things that he said so that we all understand why they’re wrong

“We’re all on the spectrum, it’s a spectrum”

While autism is a spectrum, not everybody is autistic and therefore not everybody is on the spectrum. A good way to think about this is in terms of pregnancy. If you’re pregnant, you can be in the first, second, or third trimester and it just depends on the person and how far along they are. That being said, if you’re not pregnant, you’re not on the “spectrum of pregnancy” if that makes sense. You’re just simply not pregnant. I think this rhetoric is extremely harmful because it gives the impression that you can be “a little” autistic. While this does somewhat humanize autism, it also diminishes the struggles that autistic people go through. So no, not everyone is on the spectrum. It being a spectrum simply means that not every autistic person has the same traits to the same severity. It means we all experience each trait differently to one another.

“He’s too porous. He’s shut down because he receives too much information from people and it’s painful as opposed to not being able to read them”

This part bothers me the most because it’s such a blatant misunderstanding about what autism is. He literally describes the daily experiences of autistic people and then uses that as a defense as to why Will is not autistic. Autism quite literally is being too porous. Autistic people’s brains don’t have the filter that allistic (non autistic) brains do- this is a proven fact. This means we can’t filter out what we need to, hence sensory issues, extreme empathy, and general processing issues. I’m tired of hearing “Will Graham can’t be autistic because he experiences extreme empathy” as if differences in empathy aren’t autistic traits. While some autistic people can have no empathy or little empathy, there are plenty of autistic people who are hyper empathetic, to their detriment, just like Will Graham. Will’s inability to separate his connection with people from his daily life is almost an obvious indicator to autistic viewers (or anyone who knows about autism) that Will Graham is autistic. And the part where he says he absorbs too much instead of simply not being able to read them is a gross oversimplification of what happens in an autistic person’s head when we socialize. We do absorb everything, which is why it’s so hard to process it all. We absorb more than an allistic person. This can be incredibly painful, which seems to be Will Graham’s experience. It’s just crazy to me how he can basically describe the autistic experience, and then claim that’s why this character isn’t autistic.

#hannibal #autism #autistic #neurodivergent #hugh dancy #mads mikkelsen #c2e2 2024 #c2e2 hannibal

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66sharkteeth · 2 days

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In some ways, I fear I've become too attached to City of Blank (not an isolated incident in the least; blame a very lonely childhood in the middle of the woods in literally nowhere). But the blanks are so relatable from top to bottom, as someone with severe identity issues. Rex is more relatable than just a little bit, especially recent chapters where he started coming to terms with his own actions. I've had my own tomato in the mirror moments over the last several months with some of my own behavior in my past. Watching Rex start taking accountability for his actions is kind of healing, in its own way.

At one point, when my mental health was a complete disaster, I wasn't able to keep up with any of the webcomics I love so much. But I kept noticing 66 in a lot of random places more than most other number sets. So I knew my brain definitely really wanted me to get back to reading yours. Your story is so compelling, I think it did things in the past that led to those moments of realization.

All this to say I deeply love City of Blank. Thanks for putting this story out there. I wish you good health, happiness, and stability in life.

well, i hope you aren't ACTUALLY too attached to it, but I appreciate it regardless! Especially the recognition of the themes of identity, which are kind of the heart of what blanks are supposed to be to me.

comments like this mean a lot! CoB definitely started as just a fun shonen-esque adventure, but as time went on, it became a lot more personal and i put a lot of my own struggles, regrets, and perspective into it, and i'm glad that's coming across to at least a percent of readers.

#city of blank

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starrierknight · 5 months

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I am begging.... please.... please use capital letters, speech marks, and full stops.... please do not write your 1k+ fic in the small font.... please, for the love of God, do not write your entire fucking fic 𝖎𝖓 𝖆 𝖋𝖔𝖓𝖙 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘

#you do not realise how many dyslexic readers you alienate when you do this (<- coming from someone who's got pretty moderate dyslexia)#like i NEED captial letters or everything looks the same and i skip lines and lose track #if the whole fic is 𝖎𝖓 𝖆 𝖋𝖔𝖓𝖙 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘 #it means that i literally struggle to read it #not to mention anyone who's visually impared and uses screen reader settings can't read it #because (most) screen readers don't recognise fonts #hhhhhhhh #[ ❀ ] — reece's rambling

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morgana-ren · 8 months

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I DONT KNOW IF YOU WRITE FULL FICS BUT IF YOU DO PLEASE WIRTE ONE ABOUT TGAT LAST ASK.

Just about Astarion sitting in his throne of sorts, in the palace, with tav sitting in his lap. He’s bored, tav sits there- dissociating and wishing they were anywhere else. He asks them if they’d like to do something fun and they say something like “Only if you do my lord” and he saddens some, expecting them to come up with something fun like they used to but they can’t think of anything that he would approve of them doing after so many years of breaking them down and he realizes it’s gotten so dull because tav was the person that brightened his life

"Awfully dull today, hmm? How would you like to do something fun, my love?"

It's an oh-so rare quiet day in the Crimson Palace, and his favorite source of amusement sits placidly on his lap, silent as the grave and still atop him. Content as he is in the peaceful quiet with solely her company, he'd spend the day with her doing– well, something, surely. It’s been a while since they’ve had any time to themselves to truly enjoy each other’s company alone. In fact, he cannot recall the last time with any distinct accuracy.

It seems so terribly long since they've had any time to themselves. Being a Lord keeps you awfully busy.

In a tender moment, he reaches forward to brush a stray strand of hair out of her face and behind her ear with a long, pale finger. She doesn’t react save a slight instinctual flicker of her lashes. Not a hint of expression on her face. He expects her to lean into his touch as she used to and is almost shocked when she does not.

Odd, he thinks. She hardly even seems to notice anything at all.

It’s almost like she isn’t entirely present.

Still, before he can chastise her, she responds to his bid for her attention.

"If that is your wish, my lord,” She responds to his question, lifeless and monotone. Perfectly obedient, just as befits her, and yet—

He frowns, just a little. It irks him, but now that he thinks about it, he cannot recall the last time he saw enthusiasm on her face– or much of anything at all aside from the blank, hollow mask she has now. Completely impassive and unresponsive in a cruel sort of practiced indifference.

He studies her for a moment and comes to the conclusion that it reminds him of the robots they found in that strange tower in the Underdark so long ago. Programmed to respond to the right things and make the right moves, but utterly incapable of acting on her own whims. Eternally awaiting instruction.

Empty. Robotic. Precise and yet disingenuous somehow. Eerily so.

Has she been like this before? Has he simply not noticed?

Perhaps she just needs to awaken a little more. It was such a long night, and he had kept her remarkably busy. She must be exhausted, but surely, she will perk up. She always does.

Doesn’t she?

“Come, darling. What would you like to do?” He jostles his knees, dandling her on his legs like one might a small, particularly grumpy child. She bumps up and down, only reaching to steady herself on the sides of his throne.

“Whatever would please you would please me, my lord.”

He groans, rolling his red eyes, a very sudden burst of irritation bubbling in his gut. Always with the My lord, My lord, scraping and bowing like some sort of indentured serf. Proper respect is important, of course, but for the first time in a while— longer than he can honestly think back on, to be honest— they are entirely alone. He is her Lord, yes, but she knew him by another name once– did know him by another name. She knows better than to tease him in front of his vassals but surely—

He can’t remember the last time she said his name.

His real name.

How long since he has truly sat by her side and talked with her? Spent time with her? He's been so busy, laying plans and waste, conquering and shedding blood of those who oppose him. The Lord Tyrant, come to rule over his dominion of Eternal Night. She is always by his side, never straying and yet—

(“I love you, Little Star,” She’d laugh, planting a chaste kiss on the tip of his nose, which would promptly crinkle in annoyance.

“I’m not ‘Little Star,’ and I’ll never understand why you insist on calling me that.”

“That’s what your name means, doesn’t it? Little Star? Or perhaps Little Starlight– I don’t really remember.”

“Then why make that my pet name?" He rolls his eyes, annoyed at the use of his own childish moniker that follows him like a shadow to anyone who speaks even a lick of his native language. "Of all the things your brilliant little mind can concoct, you give me a child’s handle? I’m strong, dashing, capable, handsome, fearsome– but instead you choose that absurdity”

“Because you’re my little star!” And she would smile so brightly that it seemed impossible in the darkness, and he could not help but smile himself. “My light in the darkness. My Astarion, for as long as you want to be. And I love you.”

His expression would soften once again and he would simply sigh, pulling her close to kiss her temple. The night was cold, but she was so impossibly warm against him, somehow fitting perfectly in his lap and into his heart, where she’d wormed her way in against his own will. The dim firelight reflects in her eyes as she tells him again that she loves him forever if he’ll have her, and he can think of nothing he’d desire more than to ride out the endless night of eternity with her here on his lap, cradled close.)

Something gnaws at him. Something raw and edged with a vicious sort of misery he’d done so well to avoid in ages. He cannot place it but as he looks at her, his stomach is as a dark, abyssal pit, circling and swelling like a maelstrom.

Something is wrong.

He cannot place the negative emotion, and so he does as he always does now, making the strange yearning her responsibility to soothe.

He lashes out at her.

“I’m growing bored,” He says with a cold, cruel edge to his voice. “You know how much I dislike boredom, don't you, darling?"

What he seeks is a reaction. A sudden spark of life from within her. For her to grab his hand and take him to do— to do something. Surely—

And yet, with a motion so fluid that it implies an aged and practiced skill, she slides from his lap down to her knees before him, reaching towards the laces of his breeches. There is nothing behind her eyes as she extends her hand forward to unlace him, hardly even seeing him. Nothing at all.

“What are you doing?” He slaps her hands away, scowling down at her, taken back by her brashness.

“You said you were bored, my Lord.”

“And why would you think–”

Because that is what he’d taught her.

That her body was built for his amusement; his temple to defile at will. Because of the cold nights in the castle after so many years where he would reach for her, and she would quiver and shake her head with eyes rimmed red and puffy and beg to be left untouched and yet he would speak the words without thinking and she would bend for him any way he wished.

Because even as she would obey, she would cry and turn away, and he would give it little thought until one night the crying and protesting simply stopped. He thought she had learned. Made peace with her duties and loyalty to him and what it entailed. Mayhaps she had come to realize that her theatrics had little impact on him and surely, he wasn’t so wretched to her now that these waterworks were necessary. His touch could not repulse her so that her weeping was remotely acceptable. She loves him, surely she—

Because he would command her until she would kneel, and so now, she kneels without command.

He sighs, breathing the fire from his lungs, reaching down to pull her back up into his lap. She does not respond, only obeys in kind to his guiding instruction as he settles her back down on his legs. He finds a semblance of patience from within himself which is a strange and unusual feeling, mustering it up to once again ask:

“My dear, what is it that you would like to do?”

Her head cocks. She does not understand.

"What would you enjoy? If you had the freedom to do anything, what might it be?"

It takes a moment, but for the first time, a reaction: Confusion. It is slow to take hold but becomes blaringly apparent as it does. It is not as if she doesn’t know the answer, but almost as if she doesn’t understand the question.

“Whatever you would like to do, my Lo–”

“No, no, darling. What is it you would like to do?” He impresses, harsher this time, and she flinches, recoiling from… something.

From him.

If her heart was still capable of beating, he'd be able to hear the way it pumps into overdrive. As it stands, he cannot, but he is aware no less. Her scent changes entirely around him to something that has his brows furrowing. Shortness of breath, dilating pupils, hands beginning to quake— Adrenaline. Steel-edged anxiety. As if this is not a question at all, but rather a test and she does not know the answer, and failure means his displeasure and his displeasure means–

"I— What would you—" She hard-swallows, harrowed by the open-endedness of the question. "—I want what—"

("Come to the meadow with me, Asto," She would grab his hand with a mischievous smile when their compatriots were fast asleep, tugging him up from the comfort of his bedroll. "I want you to come with me."

"It's late, darling. Wouldn't you rather come here and lie with me?" He would try to tug her back down playfully, but would fall against her aggressive temerity, being pulled to his feet through her sheer will. She would stifle her giggling with a hand as she guided him past their slumbering companions, through the tree line and deep into the forest.

"Come on, lazy boy, come! Come with me!"

"Well, I'm trying to—"

She would hush him and yank him by the wrist, out into the field where he'd first had her, down once more into a bed of wildflowers and long grass. Her melodic laugh like a strange song as she yanks him to the ground despite his weak protests until she would lie her head on his chest and trace gentle patterns on his white shirt against his flexed chest.

"We don't have to come all the way out here to make love, darling—" He would move to try to kiss her, but she would adamantly press her head against his torso, insisting he stay down in the dirt with her.

"I'm not trying to seduce you," She would giggle, pointing at the star-spangled sky. "I want to lie under the stars with you."

"But… why?"

"Because I know we'll have eternity to do it, but it's my favorite moon tonight and it reminded me of you."

He squints, struggling to find anything different about it at all. "I don't notice anything, darling. It looks very much like the moon we see every night."

"It's so full and bright! Look at the rays!" She holds her hand out as if to cradle a silvery moonbeam in her palm. "It reminds me of the color of your hair."

She reaches over him to delicately pluck something from the grass, tucking it gingerly behind his ear after she does so. "These poppies are the same beautiful deep red of your eyes in the moonlight. I feel safe here; home, with you. I just wanted to enjoy it for a moment. Just the two of us."

He would wrap his arms around her waist, squeezing so tightly that she would gasp and worm about, trying to return the favor, and yet he would not relent.

"I want you to feel safe with me," he would whisper into her hair, desperately trying to memorize the scent of it, as if expecting Bhaal himself to come and steal her from his frantic embrace. "Now and forever, I want to feel home in your arms, with you.")

He thinks, for a moment, to return to that meadow, and that perhaps his love— the one he remembers— will return to him. As if her ghost still lingers there, trapped and waiting to be rescued.

He can’t.

It is not a meadow any longer, but a battlefield, not unlike the vile destruction left in Ketheric's wake at Raithewait; another one in a million places sacrificed in his conquest for glory, littered with bodies and bones. A graveyard tribute to his power, scorched soil and dead grass. No flowers bloom there anymore— there is nowhere for them to bloom between the suffocating aura of death.

All that is left is a beautiful memory buried beneath a river of dried blood, and you cannot water flowers with dried blood or wean them on bone dust. That meadow is one moment suspended in time as trapped in amber, impossible to claw free from its temporal prison. He cannot remember the last time he saw that jovial smile she had saved just for him in that damned meadow.

He cannot recall the last time she said the words "I love you" and cried his name as a preternaturally beautiful siren song without being commanded.

He frowns, feeling something strange and haunting in his chest. Something viciously clawing up his throat as he looks at her: at her empty red eyes that were once the most beautiful color, full of love and life when she looked upon him; at her contorted expression that used to be as radiant as the sun and he could have sworn that her light could have sustained him through the dark, miserable nights of his eternal curse if only she was by his side; at the frailty of her body that almost seems to creak and break beneath his weight.

"My love, look at me."

And she does, if not by command, then by instinct.

"Smile for me, will you? Can you do that for me?"

And she does, her lips turning upward and raising to reveal two sharp teeth— and nothing more. It's uncanny and revolting and wrong. There is nothing behind her eyes, nothing at all. No light, no life, and certainly no love.

He used to be able to see himself in her eyes. How her heart sang for him, cheeks blossoming with blood at the sight of him. He could hear her heart rabbit behind her ribs, her hands quaking with excitement to touch him even in the most innocent of ways. Through her eyes, he found his own value— his own worth— and finally began to understand that he deserved love; he deserved happiness. She had healed him, giving almost all of herself to do it, selflessly and without asking for anything in return even as he despised himself and refused his own agency—

And she stares at him now with soulless eyes, he is left to wonder if he has taken too much from her in his quest to take everything. Wonders if she will ever be that lovestruck, moon-eyed girl again, wanting nothing more than to lie under the moonlit meadow with him. If she will ever kiss his eyelids as a delicate butterfly and whisper eternity in his ear. If she will ever feel safe and home and loved around him again in his embrace–

Save she is no longer quaking with anticipation at his touch, but trembling from fear, lost and terrified at the posing of a simple question. Her scent is foreign even as it is familiar and he cannot recall when it began to change. There is something in her eyes that haunts him, and though he can see himself within him, what stares back is not him. A terrible realization rakes knives down his soul, a gaping maw threatening to swallow him whole. A tightening in his lungs, and even as he does not breathe, he does not believe he could even if he tried.

“Darling?”

“Yes, my Lord?”

Her face is impassive once more. Perfect porcelain expression. Not a crack in the mask. Not a wrinkle in the facade. Practiced day in and day out until it becomes real. He remembers it well.

How long has it been? How long since he has looked at her? Truly looked at her? Spoken to her? Told her he loved her?

Showed her he loves her?

When was the last day he did not command from her that which she begged not to willingly give?

He cannot remember. He cannot recall.

He demanded and she had no choice but to give. More and more and more. He drained her dry and now where was once his sacred oasis, there is nothing at all. No matter how long he looks, there is never a flicker of anything in her glassy eyes.

He wonders if even as he has gotten everything he has ever wanted, he lost the one thing he needed.

It paralyzes him. For the first time in an ageless eternity, he feels something: Panic.

Even his endless power cannot bring her back. His beloved is dead, and he has killed her. Upon him sits a pretty corpse, empty and devoid of all that made her her. A doll with her face. A doll with barely even that.

Her laugh, her smile. Her passion and desire and love. The tenderness inside of her and the warmth she once held. Everything that pulled him from his shell and showed him how to love once more. He bloomed in her light– and then snuffed it out entirely.

How long has it been? How long has she been gone?

Though she may be undying, he realizes with horror akin to a dawning sun that she is gone– and has been for some time.

“You seem stressed, my Lord? How can I make you happy again?”

Second part of the story HERE

#morgana and friends #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #literally whatever you want it to be #very bad implications here do not read if sensitive #bad mean astarion #sort of #lots of mistakes here fellas #i TOLD yall i was having a tough time writing #this needed more time and work but man I just CANNOT focus #you get the gist right #this needed more detail and to be longer but i was struggling here #god i need medicine or something #one down about 399 more to go lmao

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