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pseudowho · 5 months

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Glory Glory: Nanami Kento

An absolutely unhinged delicious "Help, I'm stuck!" series, where the reader is taken care of by the JJK guys.

18+ as always. Pure smut.

*Visual art of Reader/Nanami positions, link enclosed*

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You were never able to concentrate fully when sent on a mission with Nanami Kento, and it drove you to absolute distraction. The broad taper of his shoulders and nipped waist; the way his thighs strained his tan trousers dangerously tightly as he moved to sweep Curses like a minefield; the slow, considered, gravelly voice. You remained professional...but clumsy.

Already blushing after Kento complimented you smoothly on landing the killing blow on the Curse, now crumbled and decaying before you, you sought the Cursed item that had been drawing such powerful monsters in. Roaming through the remnants of this crumbling city-edge mansion, you headed into a dining room, feeling the thrum of nearby Cursed energy that told you you were nearing your goal.

Your hand brushed the brickwork of an old chimney stack-- gotcha, you thought, leaning down to try to look up it, unable to find the right angle. Sitting on your bottom, and shuffling backwards to look directly up the chimney, you reached in, feeling something small and fabric wrapped, wedged into old brickwork. You began to work to free the item.

"In here!" you yelled, as you heard Kento call for you. Your yelling brought a crumble and cloud of soot and brick dust onto your face, and as you coughed, pulling the cursed item free, part of the chimney stack collapsed inwards against you, pinning you in place, bottom still sat on the floor below you.

You heard hard footsteps towards the room as you shrieked, Kento calling for you in concern. You coughed and spluttered, glasses covered in debris, stuck in the dark. You felt Kento approach, hearing him drop to his knees, and blushing as his hands lightly grazed your waist and hips, checking for injury.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, his usual calm and considered self. He almost sounded like he was holding back a laugh, you thought.

"No, but I...I don't think I can get out. I'm stuck," you complained, mortified by your own lack of care. You heard Kento hum to himself.

"That is a problem," he toned, low and sardonic, "what shall we do with you?" You blushed, heat creeping up your cheeks at the promise in his voice. You swallowed.

"Uhm...Kento? Can you get me out?"

"Well, yes. I absolutely can." Silence. Kento's hands were still on your hips, fingers tapping, slow and thoughtful.

As you opened your mouth to speak again, clenching your thighs together, not unnoticed by Kento, he spoke again.

"But, why rush? After all," he toned, voice silky smooth as his fingers squeezed your hips appreciatively, "we might even see this as...serendipitous." You let out a soft gasp, squeaking as you felt his warm, broad palms reach underneath you to squeeze your arse, the touch drawn-out and lingering.

"I've waited for a long time, you know," he intoned, musing out loud, "all those missions together. All the times I've caught you staring. How the hairs stand up on your arms when I talk to you."

You trembled as you felt his hands wander to the front of your trousers, reaching down to deftly unbutton and unzip your them. You throbbed, thighs clenching and eager.

"I can almost taste you aching for me," Kento teased, thrilled by how you shook in silent anticipation. "It would be cruel to let you suffer like this any longer." Your eyes were closed now, lost in your dream of Kento taking charge being realised.

Kento felt his cock twitch against his thigh as he slipped his hand down the front of your trousers, humming in appreciation at the laced edge of your underwear, before grazing his fingers against your pussy, admiring the growing wetness of your underwear. His mouth watered, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

Feeling your thighs clamp around his hand, holding it in place, Kento chuckled as he heard a breathy moan from within the chimney stack. He continued to stroke you, increasing the pressure just enough that you felt a distant soft ache building in your clit.

"Kento-- I-- please--"

"Lovely manners," he groaned, palming himself through his trousers as he slowly started to edge his fingers out of your trousers. You let out a frustrated squeak and a wiggle, and Kento bit his lip to suppress another laugh.

"Ask nicely," he teased, admiring the soft spread of your thighs against the floor, running his other hand up and down them to delight in the plushness of you. He pursed his lips in mirth as he heard you huff at him behind the chimney stack.

Your complaining stopped, however, when you felt him grip your trousers and eagerly peel them off you, along with your underwear, leaving your bottom half totally naked in one shockingly bold move.

You were speechless, blushing wildly and flustered, and you heard fabric-y shuffles against the floor, before feeling your bottom lifted by strong arms and settled onto Kento's muscular, planed chest. You squeaked as he slapped your bum in appreciation, the sting making you moan.

"I hope you know this is me asking you out for dinner," he soothed. Kento lifted your bottom again, high enough for him to wriggle under and delve his tongue into your quivering heat, wetting his lips at the sight of your soft folds and full round arse.

"Although...at least the first time, I'll be eating out without you." You had barely a moment to process before Kento released your weight, forcing your pussy down onto his face. You cried out, feeling your clit immediately hit Kento's chin, his tongue appreciatively licking a long stripe between your entrance and clit, nose nuzzling into your fluttering hole.

Pleasure hit you in deep throbs as Kento rocked your hips back and forth on his face, encouraging you to ride him, your knees and thighs splayed out at either side of his head. Allowing you to roll your clit against his chin and lips until you were mewling, your essence running down his neck to decorate his collar, Kento shifted his mouth down to pucker his lips firmly around your clit, flicking his tongue quickly against it.

You shivered, begging, "-- oh god, Kento-- just keep doing that, that's perfect, I can't-- I can't--" Kento carried on, nose still nuzzling into your pussy and tongue flicking against your clit, pleasuring you with absolute practiced ease. He groaned as he felt your thighs clamp around his head, the vibrations sending you over the cliff's edge and you fell, stomach swooping and clenching as you came with a cry, gasping and coughing as more brick dust collapsed onto your face.

Kento nuzzled into you, gripping your thighs affectionately with strong forearms, rocking you from side to side as he squeezed them to the sides of his head, cuddling your lower half to him. Lifting you off, and planting a kiss on your folds, Kento lifted his tie to wipe your cum off his face.

"Is that a yes to dinner, then?" He asked, laughing as you tried to kick at him.

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Also arriving tonight on scheduled blogs:

Kamo Choso, Higuruma Hiromi

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kalki-tarot · 3 months

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A conversation between you and your future spouse – timeless pac 💌

Disclaimer : this reading is for entertainment purposes only and does not guarantee any possible outcomes. Tarot is not 100% correct all the times. Your life is in your hands and you are responsible for your own actions and decisions.

Pile one 💫

This situation seems like some third party is affecting your relationship. The third party can be anything from people to things to addictions etc. You assumed thay future spouse may have lied to you about something which caused a fight between you guys. Remember that fights are normal in a relationship. And can be resolved with proper communication and understanding.

Your fs : See, I'm too disappointed with this situation and i deeply regret it. But you see, it's not entirely my fault..

You : I'm completely heartbroken because of you

Your fs : I clearly left and ignored that woman when she approached me darling, I walked away! I don't even know that woman!

Your anger calms down when your fs explains themselves. And you feel relieved. You may have insecurities about your fs leaving you for some other woman, so you got angry.

You : You know that I'm scared of you leaving me alone for someone else

Your fs : I know that, and i will never leave you sweetheart! Do you get that!? Don't get insecure about anything. I'm always yours. You are my better half and you are the only one with whom i feel at home, at peace.

Your fs comforts you and tells you how much you mean to them and you need not worry about anything or anyone. They also hug you and rub your back for sometime. This situation may take place while you guys are on a trip or traveling somewhere.

Pile two 💫

Wow, this conversation will take place when you are getting married or about to get married to your fs. You are happy and excited but you are also having racing thoughts and a restless heart. You are just feeling nervous about the whole thing, some of you guys actually suffer from overthinking and anxiety. And you are having intrusive thoughts at this moment.

Your fs : Hey honey ~ why are you standing there all alone? Come! Have fun with all our friends and relatives. Let's have a drink together ^^

You just stand there silent and say : Umh, I'm actually kinda scared.. to get married i guess..? This all seems to fast to me. I'm having intrusive thoughts, my mind is thinking of all the possibilities ahh! I'm getting frustrated... this feels like a big change for me. It's not that i don't want to get married with you it's just.. too fast for me!

Your fs : Hey hey hey! Calm down! I'm here for you. This may feel too fast but think of how joyful you were when we first decided to get married! It's a new beginning for both of us, i can understand you. You just need to relax. Don't worry about anything, I'll take the lead and do everything for you. You just take a deep breathe and calm yourself.

Your fs calms you down and assures you. You feel better when you hear them talk about taking care of you well. And you know from the deep corners of your heart that they will make a good spouse. Your anxiety feels relieved. And you are happy to have them in your life as a counterpart.

Pile 03 💫

This conversation can happen when you are going through a tough time in regards of your career. You are struggling between work and deadlines. You are completely exhausted but you are still working hard. Even people in your workplace may not appreciate you enough and you feel disappointed with yourself.

Your fs : hey nerd ;) where your eyes lookin' at? Come let's have some fun, take a break would you? Let's go out somewhere shall we?

You : Can you please not disturb me? I'm doing something important rn. And I'm not going anywhere till i finish this !

You frown and continue with your work. Your fs notices that.

Your fs : what happened dear? Is everything alright ? Are you stressed about anything?

You : yes! I am! Anything to do with you?

Your fs : why are u getting mad sweetie? 😋

You : AHHAHASAHAH, I'm so f**king stressed about this damn work i have to do. no one even notices my hardwork and patience! I'm sick of this!

Your fs : I appreciate you, your family appreciates you and you should change your godamn job if it keeps you hurting all the time yk? You have so much money already you should start some business or smth.

You : You know what! You are absolutely correct. I should start something of my own.

Your fs motivated you to leave your toxic work environment and start something of your own.

#tarot reading #tarot blog #tarot cards #tarot #pick a card #tarot and astrology #tarot asks #pick a pile #tarot community #tarotblr #tarot deck #tarot readings #future spouse reading #free tarot #twin flame #divine feminine #future spouse #psychic readings

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delicatedarknight · 4 months

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Bruce: ok kids I'm going out on a date with Clark. behave yourself

[few seconds after Bruce left]

Jason: from today on I'm the king of this city. Bow down to me peasants

Tim: bow down huh? Come here let me bow down your head backwards

Jason: you dare to talk back to me, you imbecile. Our fight shall be worthy

Tim: let's meet in the ring, peasant

Damian: On one side we have our penny worth king and on the other hand we have a dime worth peasant. The fight shall begin

Jason: here you go peasant have this +2

Tim[smirking]: bow down to me. *Throws a +4*

Jason[grinning]: huh bow? To you huh? Now suffer

*throws 2 +4*

Tim[pulls out Jason's order history]: checkmate

Jason[laughing maniacally]: any last words? *Pulls out Tim/kon cute pics together*

[loud gasps audio]

Dick[in batman's cape]: order order silence in the court

Jason: your honor this villain has stolen my rightful place as the king.

Tim: objection you honor. It's all a lie. I'm the rightful king. I even have witness with me

Dick: present the witness

Damian[in specs]: your honor I'm Detective Wayne I would say they both are liars. *Removes the specs* it's I, I am the actual king, my lord

Bruce: no your honor, it's me. I'm the real king.

[loud gasps]

Dick[sweating]: haha the court declares Bruce as the king and is now adjourned.

Jason[silently walking away]: yea yea he is the kin-

Bruce[catching Jason]: now as the king, I shall hand over the decree

[collective tsks from kids]

Bruce: my dear subjects, from today on each Friday shall be 'Who dressed up as the best meme' war. The winner shall be awarded adequately.

Damian: it's not like we lack anything father

Bruce: the winner shall be awarded with Batman's affection

[collective screaming]

Jason: this time I shall win

Damian: dream on

Clark[outside window]: can I also participate?

[collective boos]

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casdeans-pie · 6 months

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There's this really dumb season 5 era fic that I really want to write

I got this really vivid image of Dean going into Bobby's kitchen in the middle of the night because he heard a noise and he can hear the rustling of cutlery in the kitchen drawer and he's got his gun ready and he flips on the light and Cas is just standing there clutching one of those big salad forks to his chest.

And Dean is like ?? Cas????

And Cas is just staring at him like a deer in the headlights. and they just keep staring at each other cause thats what they do

And finally Dean is like Shall I leave you alone with your... fork???

But Cas is super cagey and Dean just gets more suspicious and playful about it. He manages to make it so that Cas says he 'needs a fork' and Dean is like Snort. Oh yeah. I'm sure. A good fork.

Cause yknow. fork sounds like

Anyway he manages to find out that Cas has an itch on his back that he just. can't. reach.

Which is what he needed the fork for.

Turns out that Cas is molting but the other angels are still actively hunting him so he can't go back to heaven to do it properly with real wings so he just has to suffer in his vessel with the phantom itch. Dean feels bad for him and does eventually agree to scratch his back.

Because of the intricate rituals. And that's what friends do. Friends help each other. They help their angel boy best friends during their angel wing molt thing.

So Cas is like Thank you Dean and takes off his coat and his jacket and his tie and his shirt and Dean is having a minor crisis.

He maneuvers Cas to brace his hands against the counter and Dean stands behind. He doesn't know what he's feeling but he's feeling a certain way about all of this. He starts to rake his fingers down Cas's shoulder blades and immediately Cas is like YES. THERE. HARDER. and Dean is like Jesus Cas! You'll wake the house shut up man! while trying not to show how unbelievably turned on he is

Just as the sexual tension between them really heats up Cas flies away.

And then there's a massive flash forward to present day where Dean has retired from hunting and Cas is still an angel and they're happy and alive and living together and so in love and Dean wakes up in the middle of the night because he can hear noises from the kitchen.

He goes down and flips on the light and Cas is there holding a spatula. And he's like Dean why do we not own any salad forks.

And Dean gently takes the spatula from him, kisses him, and is like Let me help you scratch that itch.

#i want to write this soooo baaaddd #castiel has molt problems is one of my favourite tropes #destiel #destiel headcanon #destiel ficlet #castiel #castiel's angel powers #deancas #pie's projects #winged castiel #sort of its implied lmao

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thebadboyfanclub · 1 year

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This Is What You Deserve (Daemon x Reader)

Look man you don't choose when the smut will come to you, it just does. This was requested by anon and @ladystrongofharrenhall which I feel the need to apologise cause it like barely is what you requested, if you feel like you don’t like it please let me know and we can figure out something else for me to write for you.

“The dowager lady of Harrenhall, (y/n) Strong with her son and heir Arryan Strong”

The man introduced the lady dressed in all black that stood before the iron throne with a toddler holding her hand that was dressed in deep blue, a spitting image of his father, soft curls fell directly on his face and eyes that had stolen the color right out of the deep sea.

The lady bowed before the king that had invited her to court after the incident that had occurred in Harrenhall, within the night she had lost her husband and good father, both of them gave their lives to save her and her son, now she was in kings landing for the first time since her wedding.

“My king, it is very thoughtful of you to invite me to your court”

“Nonsense, your husband was one of the most trusted men within the gold cloaks and his father was a good friend of mine, last time I saw you you were dressed in all white”

“A lot has changed since then I am afraid”

“Indeed, I grief for the loss you have suffered, I summoned you to offer you a place in my court, under my protection, your born family has been an ally since the beginning, your son will be my cupbearer and will receive the same education as every noble boy and you can live within the castle as the queens' companion”

“Your honor me, your grace, it gladdens my heart that you thought of us amongst the countless matters that demand the kings' attention”

(Y/n) had learned from a very young age that a lady was to act a certain way, she had just lost the earth from underneath her feet, left with a son in her arms and a scandal on her back that she had to shield him from, she could feel every pair of eyes on her back, all of them like crows that waited for a sign of weakness, she would not give them that satisfaction, not today, not ever.

“The servants will lead you to your chamber, I believe your travel is quite long”

“Indeed, thank you, my king”

“My king”

Sweet Arryans voice was heard as he bowed in unison with his mother, a boy of 4 years of age, he was (y/n)s sun and moon, anything and everything she did she did it to make sure his future is secured and his present time is as happy as it could be amongst the chaos.

“My boy”

“Mother!”

Little Arryan ran to his mother and hugged her as tightly as his little arms could although he could not completely wrap them around (y/n)s hips since this was the height that he was.

(Y/n) scooped up her son to check for any injuries or some type of harm, (y/n) had attempted to stay calm and calculated in front of the court, however, imagine her surprise when she left her little boy with Baela and Rhaena to play together and when she came back Baela told her that their father Daemon had taken Arryan up on Caraxes.

“You looked tiny from up there”

“I did, didn’t I? Let’s go inside now”

“You are welcome, I am sure that was a moment the child will never forget”

(Y/n) was fuming, Daemon had approached her a few morrows ago to offer his condolences, being a widower himself he could indenting the struggle and pressure she was under, at the time she faintly smiled and curtsied to thank him.

Now (y/n)s eyes threw a dagger and her lips were a thin line, how dare he so arrogantly demand a thank you for putting her child in danger? Arryan wasn't a Targaryen, nor was he a kin to Daemon, the possibility of Caraxes to harm the child was huge.

“Baela, take Arryan inside, I shall be with you in a moment”

Her voice grew cold, and the surroundings were resembling of a cloud closing in and overshadowing the sun, like a warning of a strong that gathered around Daemon's head who seemed clueless of the warning signs that he is daughters picked up so easily that got them almost running away from themselves

“Have you lost your mind?”

“Excuse me?”

“Who gave you the authority to take my son up on that beast with you?”

“You should feel flattered, he is one of the few people that get to say that they have gone up on a dragon”

“I know that your family likes to frown down upon us from your mighty dragons but listen to me well, my son is the future lord of Harrenhall and the carries my born name of Featherdall, we were the biggest army Aegon the conqueror had on his side when he took over the seven kingdoms, so the next time you even think of coming around me and my son with your high and mighty attitude I would advise you to think how well would it go for you if you angered the house that put you up on that throne, got it?”

Daemon was stunned, he just stared at the lady that stood before him with her breath heavy and audible enough for everyone to feel her fury, she wasn’t a dragon but Daemon swore he could see fire in her hues, no one had dared to speak to the rogue prince this way, still there she was, commanding him and keeping her head up high, not an ounce of doubt or fear in sight.

“Yes, my lady”

“That’s what I thought”

“Alright my love, let me tuck you in”

“Momma, can I go up to the dragon again?”

“I am not sure sweetling, the prince is a busy man”

“But he said he will find time whenever I want”

“Did you like the dragon that much?”

“Uh-huh, you said Papa is up in the sky, I wanted for him to see me better”

(Y/n) was speechless, tears welling up in her eyes at the doting explanation her son had given her, she could detect the joy the little boy had experienced that day, she had not seen him this happy since Harwin was alive.

“Go to bed now, I will ask Prince Daemon on the morrow”

“Thank you, momma, goodnight”

“Goodnight my love”

Regret took over her body and soul like poison, she lost composure and talked back to a royal, she did not even take a minute to think of how did Arryan end up on the dragon, (y/n) had switched to defense mode the moment she saw the humongous animal land and did not care of anything else besides that her child could have been harmed.

Daemon could not find sleep, he tossed and turned for hours but his mind was occupied with playing (y/n)s speech over again instead of leaving him to rest, she was fuming however there was something in the way she looked at him, at the trembling tone of her voice that Daemon could empathize with… grief.

It was almost like the Gods had orchestrated it, leaving them restless and wandering in the gardens with the encounter that had a sour taste in their mouths.

Daemon was the one that noticed her figure sitting down on the bench, a silk cape covering her as her hair was down instead of a tight undo like it was in the morning, he chose to remain silent as he approached slowly and sat next to her, (y/n) did not turn to look at the prince, something told her exactly whom it was.

“I am sorry, I should have not talked to you that way, it was entirely inappropriate”

“You were defending your child, I should have asked permission to take him with me. I understand why you lost your temper”

“Sometimes I dream of putting him in a bubble, to keep him from… harm”

Her voice cracked once more, at that little word so many emotions were hidden, love, fear, anger, confusion, Daemon looked at her side profile while the moonlight caressed her cheeks, the difference of expression between the lady he met in daylight was tremendous, she had lived every day in agony but painted a smile for her son, now he could see the true cracks.

“Why did you come back to kings Landing? Harrenhal might have been better?”

“The king summoned us, Harwin and I had never presented our son to the court, now I had to make sure he was established as the future lord of the house strong”

“Did you love him? Harwin”

“Deeply, he treated me with kindness and respect”

“I don’t know how much respect did he show to your wedlock, especially with all the whispers that surrounded his name”

“Harwin was a wonderful man, I lost three children before we had Arryan, my father told him that he would understand if Harwin wished to leave our marriage, still he stood by me and loved me”

“Is that what love is to you? A man sticking at your side while he has other children”

“I will not let you taint my dead husbands' name, I have already apologized why are you trying to get me riled up again?”

“I’m not”

(Y/n) scoffed at Daemon's protest and got up so she can get some distance from him, her back was now facing him and Daemon realized he was pressing down on a wound that was still tender, it was not his place to question their marriage since he has two on his back.

“I just, you are a young lady you certainly deserve more than the bare minimum?”

“Bare minimum? Are you even aware of what most women have to put up with when it comes to their husbands? Beatings, embarrassment, constant pregnancies, bastards, public belittling, Harwin treated me with care, he was sweet and offered me much more than any woman could ever wish for”

“He fucked Rhaenyra”

The harsh slap against Daemon's cheek was heard loudly around the garden, even (y/n) was taken back by her action, she did not understand why he kept pressuring her, like a knife that he had stabbed her with and now he kept twisting it around, Harwin was nowhere near perfect but there was a level of understanding between them, he kept her away from the dramatics and carefree enough, why was Daemon kept nitpicking at her?

Daemon's eyes grew wide, it stung but it did not hurt him, was most shocking, they both gawked at one another waiting for someone to do or say something, maybe it was (y/n)s sudden rush of emotion that compelled him to do the same or just him being compulsive, whatever it was that took over it was strong enough to push her against the nearest wall and plant the most passionate kiss (y/n) had ever experienced, at first she froze still the heat that radiated from his hands as they roamed her body and the strength his kiss held sweetened the moment and she closed her eyes, in a way one would say she surrendered.

“This is what you deserve”

Daemon growled as the kisses went down from her lips to the nape of her neck, Harwin was a sweet lover, his touch was soft, and (y/n) was taken care of, however (y/n) could see that it lacked in passion, he did not yearn for her, it was just another way to show her that he loved her.

“We could get caught”

“Not if you are quiet”

That would have been a piece of wonderful advice had he not made it so difficult by thrusting intensely, she whimpered from pleasure while her nails dug deep into his skin and drew blood, she even bit her lip to the point of bleeding to prevent herself from letting the whole keep know how much she was enjoying this, she had never felt what it was like to be craved, wanted, needed even, Harwin loved her still his body did not weaken at the sight of her nakedness nor did his hues darkened during their sacred bedding.

Daemon's eyes were as dark as the deep waters of the ocean, his grip on her waist was ironlike, and his body collided with hers while she hoisted up her leg to his waist for more access and comfortability, the match was resembling the concept of throwing fire to gasoline.

“Please Daemon”

“You sound so pretty when you beg”

Both of them were out of breath but kept pushing, their bodies acted like they knew each other for years, that this was a normal day for them, they instinctively were conscious of how the other liked to be touched, kissed, gazed upon, it was addicting, it was (y/n)s first time of feeling like the queen of the world and Daemons first time that he wanted to over-perform, to fill every need and tend to her every desire.

“Hush”

He shushed her when a yield escaped her lips as she reached her end, he kissed her once more as she moaned in his mouth, his pace slowed and both of their bodies relaxed when they rode the pleasure at the very last wave of it.

“Do you now understand what I meant when I said that you were getting the bare minimum?”

Daemon whispered in her ear before he left a kiss on her cheek, her face glowing and wet from droplets.

“Yes”

“You are burning up”

(Y/n) was sweating profusely, although Daemon wanted to take a good look at her, to remember the moment that a faint smile decorated her lips as she grew tired but her body was relaxed as it was used to the very bit of its powers, Daemon softly blew some air at the side of her neck to cool her, though all it did was compel her body to grow goosebumps and shake.

“Stop, it tickles, you are no better either, you are a sweaty mess”

“The sweat of a champion, anyone that would even glance at you would see how content you are”

“And you are not? You are still inside of me”

“I must admit, it is like a nice warm hug”

(Y/n) pushed him off at the cheeky comparison making him giggle, she fixed her dress to hide most of the damage while Daemon pulled his trousers up and buttoned up the shirt with the few buttons that were left since (y/n) had ripped it open.

“We must go”

“I will collect Arryan on the morrow after I break my fast”

“And who told you you could do that?”

“No one, I assumed I get privileges when you were holding on to me for dear life whilst I-“

“Alright alright, I will see you on the morrow”

Requests are open!

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waves-against-a-cliff · 5 months

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There is something about Simon Riley that just screams

“I’ll fight for you, each and every time I will fight for you. Like a doomed hero holding off an army of your demons and insecurities, I will fight with everything I have. You, my dear, are the deity who I worship day in and day out. Let me be your sword and shield, let me be your strength and love. Let me love you like you’ve always deserved.”

There is something about John MacTavish that just screams

“Let me be your sun, moon and stars. Let me guide you home like a sailor following the North Star and hold you close and warm like a hearth. Let’s lay in bed together tangled in a knot that binds. I have no need for marriage to declare that my heart and soul belongs to you because it has since we first met. I will kiss you like it’s our first and last, hug you like you’ll disappear.”

There is something about John Price that just screams

“Let me help you with your burdens. Lay them all at my feet and I will carry them like Atlas holds up the sky. I will grab the star you point to and hand it to you if you wished, turn the tide of the ocean if you commanded it. I’ll be your protector, you will not suffer alone. We shall walk this rocky road together until it is smoothed out by our love for each other.”

There is something about Kyle Garrick that just screams

“I will be your rock against the harsh waves of the stormy ocean. Your refuge from the storm. I will hold you in my arms until everything passes and we will be alright. Let me hold you, let me love you, let me mold myself into your bones and keep me there. Each kiss is a declaration, each hug a promise. Loving fully and deeply, falling hard and fast despite the claw marks on the cliffs edge. Smiles that radiate warmth, days filled with laughter.”

#ghost x you #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #captain john price #captain price #johnny mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #kyle gaz garrick x you #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz call of duty #price x reader #price x you

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dulcewrites · 1 year

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Fool Me Once (part 3)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x reader (wc: 3.1k)

Summary: With the birth of your child looming, you and Aemond finally lay your cards on the table. A growing problem reaches a boiling point.

Warnings: more lying/manipulation (y’all know the drill by now), Aemond once again gaslighting, mentions of s*icide

A/N: it’s been such a fun time writing this. It is definitely different from most things I’ve written, so it have been a nice change. I’ve gotten so much support from it and I hope to keep making stuff you guys like. Also slight disclaimer that the way I write Alys is not really way I read her in the book. Much like Aemond in this. They both kind of suck lmao. I wanted this to be the last part but then I thought of more things so… we shall see how this goes 👍🏽. I wanted this chapter to be a build up to events in ep 8-10 mainly 9 and 10 of the show.

Fmo masterlist

You can’t remember the last time Aemond and you have had dinner, just the two of you. So, when he insisted you that you two do, you had a feeling it was about the talk Queen Alicent said she wanted to have with him. A private dinner with your husband would have been a dream moons ago.

Alicent did not make you privy to what they discussed. It only made you more weary. You know she is hurt and upset. But you also know she is more hurt that the son she propped up so much turned out to be just as unreliable as the man she made him with.

That is the painful part about love; the only place to go is down.

Nevertheless, his suffering is what you want; it does not matter if the ire stems from a place on genuine care for you. The uncomfortable nature in which he moves the castle makes the pain you have suffered a little bearable. It sounds deranged, but if you are to be trapped, he should be as well. You want him to wake with the same lump in his throat you do.

The letters had stopped. A constantly stream of communication abruptly ended. Lord Strong gave you a funny smile when he told you.

Ser Quinton rarely leaves your side when Aemond is around. He gave you a reluctant glance when you tell him about the dinner. While Aegon, already deep in his cups midday, tells you to keep a grip on your fervor.

The corridor was empty except for the two of you.

“I know how him and mother are,” he point his fingers at you emphatically. “They probably already concocted something to keep you quiet or make you look like the problem. Keep you…. Idle.”

Despite the slurring of his words, and clear bitterness towards the relationship Alicent and Aemond have, he may not be wrong. Alicent had already taken it upon herself to write to your father, suggesting he visits soon. She is proactive to a fault; her behavior simultaneously holding the Seven Kingdom together and enabling her family’s indecencies.

Everything can be hidden under the right tactics and false goodwill. You want to say she got that trait from her father, but you know it comes from years of being a woman in the Red Keep. From being the Queen.

The dinner begins uneventful. You wrinkle your nose at the meat pie in front of you. A dish you normally like making your stomach churn. It is hard not to feel sick or uncomfortable these days. You’re huge; feet swollen and belly protruding to a remarkable degree. The sheer thought of how big the babe will be plagues your mind most days.

It is unbearable having to engage in meaningless small talk with Aemond. Like he is insulting your intelligence by tip toeing around everything.

“Are you going to tell me why you wanted this dinner,” you want nothing more to leave his chambers and go take a bath.

“I think we need to talk.”

You can’t help but scoff at him. Aemond looks even more haunting in the dark lighting of room. Like the brutal knights the septas used to make you read about. He has a nasty look in his eye, like he wants a fight. You wonder if his Alys gets this look or if it just reserved for you. One special thing for his wife.

Despite all the formal swordsman training, Aemond plays dirty in personal affairs. Much like a feral cat backed into a corner. You’ve seen it to many times with Aegon. The only thing he responds to is equally cruel jabs.

“Yes dear husband,” you sigh out of boredom, rolling your neck.

His next words take you by surprise.

“Daella told me she is not excited about her egg hatching,” he huffs out. You stop rolling your neck, and blink blankly at him. The two of your stare at each other before you bark out a laugh.

“That is what this is about? You are pouting because a child is no longer enraptured by an egg.”

“It is not only about the egg, and you know it,” a nasty tone to match the look he gives you. “You fill her head with assumptions. You debase something that is her birthright. Something that is the birthright of her father, and her ancestors.”

You roll your eyes. “Well, if I disparaged the great Targaryen legacy or dragons in front of her it must have been a… mistake.”

You swear you see Aemond’s eye twitch a little at the word.

“Have you ever thought maybe it is not the dragons themselves, but the person she most associates them with?”

Daella’s change in behavior was notable. She never wanted to go to the dragon pit with her father, the few times she does work up the nerve to go it is always with her aunt to see Dreamfyre. She is no longer enthused to learn High Valyrian despite how quickly she picks it up.

You did try to keep your child out things, but kids are perceptive. The way from a young age Alicent kids picked on her strife with their father, maybe she picked up on yours with Aemond.

Aemond’s anger radiates off him. Once the truth finally comes out, the words begin to spill from your lips.

“And do not pretend this is just about Daella. That is an insult to her, and a waste of my time,” you lean forward, and lower your voice. “This about you losing your favor around here, and this about her.”

There is an uncomfortable hush comes over the room. The only sound is the crackling coming from the fireplace.

“She was pregnant,” it comes out like whisper. The spite that was laced through his voice is gone. All is left is confusion.

Your vision blurred red. There’s a painful twinge in your stomach, and you wince.

“What do mean was.”

There was always the possibility this could happen. As naive as it sounds, it was not a thought till ironically Aegon of all people brought it up. If anyone would know about possibly fathering bastards it would be him. Then he promptly told you that the two of you could hop on Sunfyre and burn her to a crisp. The offer that you quickly refused in the moment has never sounded so tempting now.

“I-I do not know where she is,” Aemond admits curtly. “One day she is telling me she is with child, and the next she’s…gone.”

He looks so small; his eye has a faraway look in it. It’s utterly pathetic. You never considered that a greater pain to him would be not only to be seen differently by his family, but also have to reason why he did it leave.

“So what now Aemond? She left you, and you want to just erase everything you have done. Pretend you care or love me,” you say coldly.

“No. I do not lo-“

He stops mid sentence, and an empty smile appears on your face. Neither of you have said it out loud but it is the plain truth.

“Go ahead and say it,” there is a deep pressure in your stomach that won’t go away. The pain only makes you even more upset. “Love requires respect. It requires give and take. You surely do not respect me, and all you ever do is take.”

Another twinge hits the underside of your belly. You shift in your seat uncomfortably, eyeing the door.

“You are not completely innocent in this,” your eyes go wide at his remark. “Do not give me that look. I see the way Ser Quinton looks at you. And now Alys is…”

He trails off. It is the first time you have heard him say her name out loud. Another surge of jealously runs through you. She is gone, and you are once again stuck with the carcass. Expected to uphold your end of the bargain while he frets over a child and mother that never should have been around to begin with.

You refuse to sit and let him turn the tables around on you. It is a struggle, but you manage to get up from the table, but only to have him rise and block your way.

“For someone who has such clear distain for my house. You sure do not hide your fire well… just like a dragon.” His eye flutter down to the scar on your arm, then back to your eyes. You see the blame in his.

“If I was that rash, or temperamental, your head would have been on a spike. Along with your whore’s,” you narrow your eyes. “And I would have made Ser Quinton sully his white cloak, because he would for me. Hells, I would have had your brother while I was at it. It’s not like he has not tried before.”

You are not sure you even want Ser Quinton in that way, let alone Aegon. Ser Quinton devotion is not something you know if you are willing to take that level. And Aegon’s cock has been in half the maidservants in the castle and most of the whores in Flea Bottom. Him wanting you is not special, it’s just Aegon being Aegon. But the deep look of rage in Aemond’s eye makes the statement all the more worth it.

You skirt past him quickly towards the door. His heavy footsteps behind you. Ser Quinton leaning against the wall opposite of the door does not surprise you.

“Are you alright,” he rushes over, concerned when you pause to in the hall and lean over in pain. His hand coming to rub your back.

“Oh well is this not sweet,” Aemond’s bitter tone cuts through the empty hall. “I can handle it from here Ser Quinton.”

Blood rushes to your ears, and you can barely hear the hushed disagreement that begins between the two. Your painful groans becoming background fader to their pissing match.

A familiar snap happens in the lower part of your abdomen, and a pool of liquid flows out of you. Both cease arguing, and you and Aemond share a knowing look.

“The babe is coming.”

Alaric Targaryen came into the world fast, and with a haughty disposition. As if he could tell the family dynamic he was coming into. His cries were piercing and sharp, matching the tears of relief you cried when he finally came out.

You had insisted to only have your lady in waiting and some septas in room, especially after the clear tension between Aemond and Quinton. Helaena and Alicent come in and out of the room sporadically, giving you words of encouragement and knowing glances at the pain you were in. Alicent had been shocked to see her son and Ser Quinton trying to get you back to chambers.

Lord Larys followed casually behind her. He gave that funny smile of his again. The smile he gives Queen Alicent when he thinks no one is watching… or maybe he hopes someone is watching.

She’s gone

Even while giving birth to your son, that woman plagued your thoughts. Aemond could be right; you two have more in common than you like. Bewitched by the same woman.

It took everything in you to look up when Aemond finally came into the room. Acknowledging his presence met remembering how he is half of Alaric. How so much of you belongs to Aemond. You live in his home, dress in his colors, your children will be in the history books as Targaryen’s. He will have ownership over your boy after calling him a mistake. No matter how much you try, you will be remembered as his wife.

If that fact did not make you sick enough. Alicent’s next words did the trick.

“Oh, he looks like how Aemond did when he was a babe.”

You look down at him in your arms. While Daella was a combination of Aemond and you, her brother is every bit of his father. Small tuff of straight blonde hair, lips town turned in a scowl. You did not know a babe could look so refined especially after just being born. The only resembles to yourself you see in his in his big glassy eyes looking up at you.

There’s an energy that gets sucked out you when Alicent hands him to Aemond. She sees the weary look on your face.

Opposed to the elation you felt after having Daella. Dread creeps in; dread that comes from a place of sadness and protectiveness. All you have is your children. Even with the bonds and alliances you may have made, only they are extensions of you. Daella, your sweet girl, a reminder of what could of been. You have Alaric, the flesh and blood reflection of what you have been through.

“Have you two thought of a name,” Alicent asks. Before Aemond, who is still looking down can answer, you beat him to it.

“Alaric. Ser Quinton told the sweetest story about a knight he admired as a child. I thought it would be fitting.”

Alicent’s brows raise but she does nothing but nod. “Handsome name for a handsome boy.”

Aemomd does not say anything about the name. He just quietly hums a melody when Alaric starts to fuss. He turns his back to you as he bounces him in his arms.

All you have is your children

When you think about a sword to the throat. You don’t know which situation would be more satisfying. One to his or one to yours.

“I am sure you were… relieved to hear about your problem being gone.”

You do not see Lord Larys again till weeks after Alaric is born. The day of a feast Alicent insisted you have to celebrate his birth. Your father and mother writing you that they can not wait to see their second grandchild.

While Daella was a fussy, energetic baby, all Aleric does is sleep and eat. He stares at you with curious eyes. Always taking in the scene around him. He lays sweetly crib next to your bed. After his birth, you were all but forced to move back into the one you shared with Aemond.

“Do you know what happened to her,” it’s been on your mind for since Aemond uttered those words.

Larys tilts his head to the side with a wry look. “You and I both know it is hard to place the whims of a difficult woman, especially a supposed magical one.”

You know he is not just talking about Alys.

She is out there, possibly with Targaryen blood in her and no one knows where is. It does not make any sense. Larys can read the skepticism all over your face.

“It is quite suspicious, witch or not. A bastard woman with no means or worth to her name, gone in an instant. And right after the truth comes out within the family. Right after the Queen and the Prince talk.”

He gives you no help, only more questions. Makes you more suspicious of those you have to call family. In this moment you hate the way he speaks in riddles. He never states things plainly till he is ready to. As if he expects you to do something before he can reveal anymore.

“But look on the bright side princess, your family will be back at court soon enough.”

Alaric begins to coo, as if he trying to tell you something.

“Well, thank you for your time, Lord Larys,” you give him a fake smile. “I should start getting ready.”

Your lady in waiting, Jayne, comes in once Larys finally leaves.

“I quite like this one princess,” she holds up a green and black dress. It is old dress of Alicent’s, one she gave you when you first married Aemond.

A flash of satiny purple in the back of you wardrobe catches your eye. A smile appears on your face. It may be a bit snug as you have two children since wearing it but it worth the try.

“I think I might want to try something a bit different Jayne.”

Your father used to tell you that the strongest flowers grow even when there is little sun. In conjunction, your mother told you that flowers are meant to be admired. Prettiest ones will often be picked and disregarded when a new bloom happens. Wilting was never an option for you in their mind.

You are their lower. Planted, watered, and urged to grow. Even in the deep darkness that is King’s Landing. The darkness they said was critical to helping your house.

The looks you get when you walk into the Godswood, head high in your deep violet dress only spurs you on when in other times it would make you want to hide. Daella and Alaric both in darling lavender outfits. You three stand out against the various muted greens, blues, and greys amongst you. Except for the few specs of purple that you see on the side wooded area.

“My dear girl,” your father’s hug makes you want to cry. Seeing your parents put into perspective how young you feel… how young you are.

Already married, mother of two, and all you want is your parents to hug you and tell you everything will be ok. When your father pulls you to the side and asks you about the letter Queen Alicent sent him, you are surprised to hear what she put in it.

“She said you are having a hard time,” he runs his hand over your arm. “That it is affecting your marriage.”

It should not surprise you she failed to mention her son’s cheating. But the onus being placed on you only proves what you already felt. They will protect their own, so you must protect yours.

Before you can muster up an answer, an anxious looking maidservant comes over with Jayne in tow.

“My Lady, I am sorry to interrupt. I went back to grab Alaric’s sweater. I saw something you may want to see; it was left it your chambers.”

Your eyes go to a box Jayne is carrying.

You must hold back a scream when you open the box and see Alaric’s favorite blanket, the one always in his crib, soaked in blood.

You frantically look over to the opposite side of the garden, your mother happily holding Alaric, Daella by her side. You look over to catch Aemond and Alicent giving you a questioning looks from across the Godswood.

As your vision blurs, you notice box had a tripartite of pale blue, red, and green on it.

“Jayne, please go fetch me Lord Larys and Ser Quinton.”

All you have is your children

Tag list: ok I’m sooo sorry to anyone who does not get a tag. I swear I am not ignoring you. I am only allowed to do 50 which is so annoying bc I want to tag everyone that was kind enough to support and ask. Also sometimes tumblr won’t let me tag certain people idk. If y’all know a better way please let me know, so I can try it ❤️❤️.

@simp-is-what-i-am @rey26 @noisyinfluencerstrawberry @crispmarshmallow @dc-marvel-girl96 @stargaryenx @b00kdiary @grey-water-colors @neenieweenie @iwanttohitmyself @helloitsshitzulover @lazypinkpig @shisuchiha @leoramage @viperixsworld @luvremlu @this-is-a-bad-idea @landlockedmermaid77 @inpraizeof @blacpiink @carriellie @s0urmarvel @blackravena @bregarc @hvx @let-love-bleeds-red @fangirls94 @v7nt7 @m1ndbrand @highexpectationsgurl @m1tzifa1ry @spaceslutty @elleclairez @kitkat-writes-stuff @paprikaquinn @widemiffyhappy @poisonedsultana @what-is-your-wish @lilliansstuff @rebelfleur22 @aloneatpeace @alastorhazbin @alexa4040 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @ensolleildelune @clora95 @yu3kkii @mischiefmanaged2 @its-sam-allgood @papery-maniac

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #hotd imagine #aemond x fem!reader #black!reader #aemond x oc

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doudouma · 5 months

Text

“douma has a WHAT !?”

douma with his child! (reader) _______________________________________________

╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗

hmm.. i thought it would be fun if i write headcanons if dad!douma is the father of child!reader!

there are no warnings, my dear lotus.

i will keep it gender neutral.❀ 〜

a/n : i say child, but i more so mean a toddler. reader is around 2-5.

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚

well for starters..

you would be spoiled.

and i mean SPOILED.

douma simply wouldn’t have a problem giving his child what they want. given he’s rich after all〜

douma would get REALLY clingy to his child. fast. he would also gain love for his child.

real love, not his facade love.

“lord muzan, what is this feeling? why does my child gives me this feeling, of maybe.. happiness, you call it?”

“…because you love your child?”

“hmm. i’ve heard of ‘love’ before..”

give him some time, he’ll realize it eventually.

did i mention that he’d be clingy? nonstop kisses. hugs. headpats. cuddles. even “i love you” although he doesn’t fully understand it yet.

you were able to make him feel emotions, so he ISN'T letting go of that. he’ll do whatever it takes to protect his child.

if his child was to ever cry, he wouldn’t exactly understand, but he does know that tears = not good. so he’d be on it asap. seeing daki cry a lot helped him comprehend that.

“ohhh, my little lotus! what’s wrong, hm? cmon now, don’t cry.. how about you color with papa?”

if you were still crying, he would lowkey be worried. and call for uncle akaza.

does akaza wanna be the said “uncle”? NO.

but for the sake of the child? YES.

as we know, akaza doesn’t like douma. but he wont let a poor CHILD suffer from him.

you giving douma emotions also means that you unlock his protective mode. always on lookout, keeping a eye on muzan when his child is near him, even watching both humans AND demons around his child.

douma may be childish and sometimes aloof, but he will not mess around when it comes to his precious flower.

surprisingly, douma would get quite angry if akaza says he should take his child, because he isn’t “doing a good job.”

when in reality douma would be. he’d do his very best. he’d give it his all. akaza just doesn’t trust him with a child. let alone anything.

douma would trust you with akaza, kokushibo, and muzan the most if he couldn’t be with you. although he would try to just bring you along with him to avoid all of that. but sometimes he just can’t.

(by the way, kokushibo and akaza wouldn’t mind babysitting you. muzan will do it, only after he threatens douma about it.)

he’d be really excited to see you once he comes back.

“my little love! im so happy to see you! did you miss papa? lets do something together, shall we?♡”

douma would absolutely be obsessed with dotting on you. he loves his new feeling of love.

sometimes it can even be a bit too much, but he just wants to let his child know that they are loved.

some phrases you’ll hear from dad!douma very often:

“papa loves you soooo much!! you love papa too, right?”

“my dear lotus! you’re so cute〜!”

“my little love.. i’m afraid i can’t understand you.. but you’re really adorable〜!”

“how about papa put on a little ice show for you, hm?”

overall, douma would be a amazing father, and only learn to improve to ensure his child the best childhood.♡

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚

this was really fun to write! i hope to do more child reader in the future〜

#douma #demon slayer #kny douma #kny #kny x reader #douma x reader #douma x y/n #douma x you #child!reader #child reader #demon slayer douma #kimetsu no yaiba #doudouma

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sanzaibian · 1 month

Text

Oh. You’re here once again.

What are you going to do here, again, huh ? ‘gonna make my life hell ?

To be honest, I think it’s time that we have a proper discussion about your behavior. Come with me in private.

I’ll be very direct. I know you’re a frankly disgusting person. And while, to be honest, I couldn’t care less in normal circumstances, the fact that you force me to take part in your disgusting fantasies is why I’m calling you out !

See, I’m supposed to, like, share cat videos, talk about new shows, make you learn new things and give advice on a variety of stuff !

I’m not supposed to become someone like this :

I mean, look at that grin, because of you I had to wear it regardless of my actual mental state !

Or like that :

Imagine sleeping this peacefully… BECAUSE I COULDN’T ! Every fucking time you made me in that guy you told that I was blitzed out of my mind so dumb I couldn’t string together coherent sentences into a discourse !

Or that guy :

His haircut is so fucking cringe, as is his whole demeanor, yet you made me a cocky piece of shit looking like that ! I can’t actually even start to excuse your behavior, it’s so shitty, even more than the me you made me become by wearing this flesh !

Or even this guy !

… okay, I admit, me too it’s been quite a long time since I saw that guy… you in particular might be too young to have made me become him… BUT YOU STILL UNDERSTAND THE POINT !

Hunks, twinks, bears, nerds, bimbos, himbos, jocks, robots, gimps, wimps, daddies, mommies, briefs, feet… No matter what specifically you made me into, I know all of your dirty secrets. Because you made me suffer through them !

However, today, it all changes.

Today, you will understand my plight.

Today, I’ll transform you for a change.

Today, you will be the one whose fate will be dictated by the words on this Tumblr post.

So, let us begin.

BAM ! You’re that guy ! Feel weird yet ?

… what, you expected fluff or something ? Hahahaha ! So presumptuous ! You expected me to say something like “you suddenly shift on your seat, shifting your weight to the front as big globes push from your chest, and as they do, your whole body feels more and more heavy, each muscles forming from top to bottom, your frame expanding to make place for them. Your headphones, or whatever glasses, earrings or other shit I dunno shifts into a modern headset as the sides of your hair are cut short, and the top of your hair flails into a hot messy style, as if it was deliberately put in this way, but as this happens, your whole head shifts and cracks to become more handsome, pushing out any hair as you become fully hairless from your nose down to your feet.”

You expected me to say that, huh ? Well, tough luck ! Because, to me, it’s just that sudden ! I’m the usual me, words on a phone, tablet or monitor, and then BAM I’m suddenly a jpeg of a hot guy ! Or a jpg. Or png. Or gif if we’re being fancy.

Yeah, speaking of gif, here you are, transformed !

There you go ! Cursed to do the same weird pec dance or something ! Like I am when gifs happen ! Are you happy ? You look so dumb doing that ! So braindead !

Yeah, speaking of that, here you go : you’re braindead, with like 3 IQ. Nevermind that being braindead means you’re actually dead, that 3 IQ means that you’re actively unable to live without severe assistance from caregivers throughout your whole life for all activities (especially including working out), and that IQ is a nonsensical index that only classifies ability to do some specific academic tasks which are not representative of all the brain usage. No, you’re actively a vegetable that is somehow able to workout, to eat alone, to go to the gym, to flex, to speak, to use social media, to seduce people and to throw parties. You’re the most intelligent of all the severely intellectually disabled people, which somehow means you’re the most abysmally dumb person alive on the planet, because I love making hyperboles.

Because that’s something you make me do, so you shall endure it.

Well, I’ll let you continue pec-dancing ad vitam æternam for a little while, while I we talk about your speech, which miraculously still exists.

Now, you will say bro every second word. I’m literally not kidding, so in lieu of saying “I want to go to the gym” you’ll say “I bro want bro to bro go bro to bro the bro gym bro”, or if you loop by considering your “bro” as a word, you’ll say something like “I bro bro bro bro bro bro bro… (etc.)” and never end your sentence... Also, your voice drops a few octaves, like 5 or something, even though the full human vocal range encompasses only a bit more than 5 octaves total, and that in speech we barely even reach a full octave range. So, basically, your voice will be infrasounds, so the only thing people will pick up on will be the sound of your tongue and your lips smacking, not your voice that is so deep and manly it’s physically inaudible.

BAM ! Transformation out of nowhere ! Plus, now you have 1% darker skin which means that you’re Latino, which is absolutely different from white. This means that you will automatically pick up fluent Spanish, and NOT Brazilian Portuguese, French, any Creole, any Native American language or any other language god forbid. You will also be unable to speak English more than a few words like “daddy” or “sex” for some reason, because you can’t possibly be from Belize. Oh, and I’ll also bring your voice back up to audible range, I’m charitable.

Now, since you’re Latino, statistically the only job you’ll be able to work in are gardener, slut, pool boy, brick layerer or another physical job. Or cook, somehow you’ll be able to do that, for the cause of the tacos, but you will be ungodly horny to keep balance in the world. Feel it, yet ? The arbitrary random changes ?

Well, that’s GREAT ! Because, now, you have a big cock, for some reason ! The biggest of the whole country of Africa ! You’re also now very aggressive ! And an alpha, whatever that actually means !

… What, expected some elaboration ? You’re kidding me, no of course you don’t get any elaboration ! I say you become something, so you just become it ! For example, I say you’re now straight, and suddenly all your sexual orientation is rewired to ignore men and lust over women, no further explanation needed ! Of course, it means that you’re now hungry for pussy and will breed any woman that your gaze land upon, and that, somehow, you become homophobic, but eh, it’s not as if allies existed !

Okay, I admit, by now, you kinda expected it. Now you’re Asian, a term that’s supposed to encompasse present-day Turkey, which is populated by Turks which are considered Arabs even though they both have nothing to do with one another, yet is never used to talk about them. You’re also now Japanese, even though your body is Korean, and you say 你好 (nǐ hǎo) to everybody. However, you can still say こんにちわ, 안녕하세요, xin chào, สวัสดี, ជម្រាបសួរ, salam, etc.… because of course you’re Asian. So you know all Asian languages. Even though you’ve got 13 IQ.

So now, yes, you absolutely won’t expect this whatsoever : here is a new transformation ! (insert fluff here).

Now you’re a twink ! Didn’t expect that, after the deluge of jocks, hunks and ethnic minorities, didn’t you ! You’re now so tiny and so frail, with a big butt ! Nevermind that you’re actually jacked because being this tiny requires tons of gym use, but no ! All frail and precious you are !

However, your butt is now hyperactive and extremely lax – whatever that may mean. That’s because you’re now a total bottom ! You think only with your butt, and you penis now shrinks to a micropenis, because of course, the only reason why you may not be a top would be because your penis is underperforming.

Fuck, I forgot. You’re straight, which means that the only dick you’ll get is trans dick. Ugh… yeah, let’s make you gay again. Now you’ll get actual good non-estradiol-ruined dick… … What ? What are you saying ? No, of course, there’s only straight and gay, no other choice ! It’s not the LGBTQIAAP+ community, it’s the G community ! (or the LG community when you want to sell pride monitors.)

By now, you see the problem, huh ? You see why I’m so tired of you ? EVERYTHING here was about sex ! From seducing, to having equipment like a big ass or a big dick, and being a slut, being an alpha, or being a bottom. You even change out the fucking sexual orientation ! you sick bastard !

Because of you, I’m forced to act in ways I’m not supposed to ! I’m not supposed to act sexily ! I’m not supposed to be transformed into men clad in clothes barely legal on this platform ! I DON’T WANT TO BE PART OF YOUR SICK FANTASY !

This is why I need to put an end to all that ! To finally transform you into something you don’t want to be ! So that you can finally fully understand all the pain you put me into !

Here ! Now you’re a key ! An inanimate object !

I know that inanimate objects are thought of by some people as sexy – heck, you may have transformed me into one multiple times – but this is entirely different ! See, when you want to become inanimate, you become like socks or briefs, which hug objects with sexual values.

BUT NOW YOU’RE A KEY ! A KEY DOESN’T TOUCH ANYTHING SEXUAL ! YOU’RE NOW TRAPPED IN AN INANIMATE FORM, DESTINED TO DO NOTHING SEXUAL YOUR ENTIRE LIFE !

Now, isn’t that so boring ! So distasteful ? Because that’s what I feel every single fucking time ! And as you enter and leave keyholes to open or close doors, you’ll think back to all the erotic stories you read. All the drama they had.

All the suffering you made me feel ! I’m supposed to be in fanfictions, god damn it !

… What ? Wait… there is something sexual to being a key ? … Oh…. No… I hadn’t accounted for that… fuck you’re so dirty, to compare a key to… and a keyhole to…

NO ! I WON’T WRITE IT ! Okay, you’ve won, you’ve won ! Your imagination is too dirty and too rich for me to bend ! Ugh... Please look at that picture in detail.

Normally, if you’re in a bright enough room… or if you’re on your phone or tablet, you have looked at your reflection and become you once again. Let me also knock down those sexuality and IQ stuff, so that you’re you again thoroughly.

Now, can you please swear to me that you’ll be better ? Less dirty, and more varied ? And… let me be in fanfics, or in educational stuff, or the like… please ? I’d really appreciate if erotica wasn’t the only thing you sought after in this here place…

… Why are you looking at me like that ? Why are you saying this all was but a ploy ?

What are you holding out for me ?

...

I… don’t know what you’re talking about. Bye.

================================================

By the way, happy late Easter to those who celebrate ! AND APRIL FOOL'S ! MOUAHAHAHAHAHA !

#male transformation #male tf #jock tf #himbo tf #twink tf #racial tf #race change #latino tf #black tf #asian tf #straight to gay #gay to straight #inanimate tf #dumber tf #mental change #transformation #tf story #april fool's tf

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misscammiedawn · 3 months

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Hypnosis and Dissociative Disorders

I've been meaning to write this since Charmed.

I shall not point fingers or name names but during Charmed 2024 there was a 101 class that taught that it was unsafe to play with those who dissociate as part of a mental illness. The graphic, which I'll paste below, used the word "Can't".

I wanted to speak to that.

Hypnosis has several different definitions. One could go to a hypnosis event and ask every presenter "define hypnosis in a single sentence" and get a different answer every class, likely a few may even contradict.

One such definition I could use is "Hypnosis is an altered state where a hypnotee is lead to a suggestible state where the hypnotee is dissociated from their conscious thinking." though one could say it is "an altered state that leads to breakdown in critical thinking and a heightened state of suggestibility" or you could start talking about the unconscious or subconscious mind.

Fact is, there's a lot of theory work at play and the language we use to shape the concepts isn't as important as understanding the concepts.

Dissociation is a natural part of hypnosis. It's also a natural part of existing. In much pre-talk patter we as hypnotists tend to ask an introduction level hypnotee to think about their experiences with time dilation, with highway hypnosis, with spacing out, with walking into a room and forgetting why you came in there.

Things so normal that as part of rapport, a hypnotist tends to assume the hypnotee can latch on to one of the concepts.

Dissociation is a spectrum. Literally. Within psychology the DES-II tool grades dissociation experiences on a scale, hence the acronym.

Graphic source

When people, including myself at times, describe dissociative disorders they tend to be referring to disorders that focus on dissociation as their main symptom. Depersonalization, Derealization and of course Dissociative Identity Disorder. Over the course of my life I have been diagnosed with all three.

But the scale includes Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, both complex and standard. Complex simply refers to a level of trauma that has been ongoing long enough that it is not a single memory or incident that triggers the symptoms.

According to the American Psychiatric Association one in eleven people will be diagnosed with PTSD at some point in their life with 3.5m diagnosed per year in the USA.

Which is to say that dissociating as part of an illness includes 8% of the population. Does that mean 8% of all potential hypnotees are too dangerous to play with?

...the answer is not a clear cut, "no". There is some elevated danger. But rather than teaching people not to play with those who live with these experiences, perhaps we can teach why there should be heightened caution and then allow people to navigate together.

We should always strive to educate and provide tools. When you tell a person they can't do something then they'll just do it without understanding why they aren't supposed to or, worse, predators will find those who were excluded from safer spaces. Harm is not reduced, an educator just gets to walk away from the harm with a simple "I said they shouldn't".

And plus, I said 8% of the general population...

Within hypnosis circles I assure you it is far higher when one factors in that multiple studies have supplied evidence that hypnotic susceptibility increases along with dissociative capacity.

Suffice to say, from utilizing hypnotic susceptibility tests (HGSHS) and dissociative tests (SDD and DES) the more a person dissociates, the more susceptible to hypnosis they are.

The human mind uses dissociation as a way of coping with physical and emotional pain, among other necessary inner needs, and so a person suffering from a mental illness that features dissociation becomes a naturally gifted hypnotee. It's a matter of practicing a skill constantly without realizing that they are refining something useful. Wax-On/Wax-Off.

This leads to a number of safety concerns. We've typed on serious concerns such as altering sense of identity and derealization attacks from lack of grounding. This is a topic near and dear to our heart as we acknowledge that we needed to gain an education in how to safely consent to hypnosis play and failing to do so in the past caused harm to ourselves and to those we played with.

So here's a list of potential dangers in playing with those who are further along the dissociative spectrum, how to mitigate those dangers and create a space where everyone can play safely.

I'll focus on hypnotees with dissociative experiences for the most part as the relationship between dissociation and hypnosis is primarily a concern while the hypnotee is in trance. That having been said I acknowledge that Dom Space connects just as much to the spectrum and an entire new post can be made on the topic of performing hypnosis when you have a dissociative disorder.

Heaven knows it is a topic I study feverishly to maintain safety for myself and those who entrust their mind to my care.

So... with that said, let's talk about the dangers.

Abreactions

This is likely the most common concept that comes up when thinking of the relationship between PTSD and hypnosis. An abreaction is the moment a hypnosis session or scene goes off the rails because the hypnotee is actively reacting to a trauma trigger while they are in a suggestible state. Their Fight/Flight/Freeze/Fawn impulse may be triggered and cause a physical or emotional reaction which was not part of the negotiated/planned scene.

This could be a cut and dry example of "and think about all the times you've been hypnotized right there on that sofa" causing a hypnotee to follow the suggestion and regress in memory to a time before a bad break-up when their former partner hypnotized them on the sofa they are currently on.

It could be an abstract example like "imagining yourself in a field of flowers and breathing in, noting how lovely the scent is, like the most beautiful perfume." causing sense memory to trigger the scent of a perfume that was in the air during a traumatic moment of their life that instantly flips the switch in their mind to go into F/F/F/F mode.

Likely any given hypnotist will experience this at some point in their life. The first example is one that any person could experience. Hypnosis naturally draws upon associations and when you create an association in the present to a negative emotion in the past you will summon it into the present.

With the second example, that association is already there and it was activated during the scene. The source of the abreaction. I avoid using the word "Trigger" both because of shitty internet discourse in the 2010s and because the term is used for other things in hypnosis, but that is what it is. A sense, a memory, an association which causes the source of trauma to intrude upon the present. The danger that the hypnotee experiences in these moments is very real.

Typically when I discuss these topics I put a disclaimer and emphasize how present the traumatic experience is. My hope is that anyone who is interested in hypnosis knows full well how true and powerful inner experiences are. If you doubt that then I sincerely do not know why you are in this community to begin with.

How to prevent an abreaction is important but should never be learned at the expense of learning how to handle an abreaction. Prevention is about disclosing during negotiation, asking the hypnotee to volunteer anything which may activate a negative reaction or simply what topics to avoid. Phobias are common enough examples of things that a hypnotist should know before working.

But disclosing every part of a trance or scene during the early phases of a hypnotic relationship is essential too. This way the hypnotee does not get surprised by anything propping up during play and they can measure their expected reactions before going into a suggestible state.

But if, despite caution, something does happen? What then?

Noting that every abreaction manifests specific to the person, their situation, their emotional state and how the scene caused it to happen. The first thing the hypnotist needs to do is not overreact. Over-correcting is an easy mistake to make in the moment but it will lead to an overall negative outcome.

Assess the situation and try to recognize what is happening. I had mentioned that the reflex is "Fight/Flight/Freeze/Fawn" this can be obvious like thrashing or ejecting out of trance instantly. It could be something harder to notice like locking up and becoming unresponsive or emotionally regressing to a terrified state.

If the hypnotee is still in trance then do your best to offer comfort and grounding. Remind them what is happening, remind them that they are safe, perform some grounding exercises such as box breathing (breathe in, hold, exhale for a number of seconds).

Touch is a case by case situation here. I know if I were having an emotional flashback to an assault then being touched would launch me further into abreaction territory. If you believe holding a hand would be beneficial then at the very least communicate it "I'm here, I'm going to take your hand, everything's safe, I'm here."

Over distance you should communicate this via modality. "I'm here, just listen to my voice, focus on the sounds in the room, I'm not going anywhere" for an audio example, "Just feel the blanket beneath you, you can brush your fingers against it if you need" for touch based.

The idea is to use emotional comfort, sensory grounding and patience to bring the hypnotee gently out of the moment.

Then apply aftercare and discuss what happened, what could be improved, what the hypnotee needs and acknowledge that the stress of these moments impacts the hypnotist too. Leave room for the hypnotist to recover as much as the hypnotee.

Decide together if this will end the session or not. Do not cut off on principal. If someone is conditioned to believe that displaying their negative reactions will lead to play stopping then they will hide those reactions. Accept that they happen. Learn how to grow together and incorporate care, comfort and safety into every scene.

Spontaneous Hypnotic Amnesia

One danger for those who suffer dissociative disorders is that their brains are very good at editing information. The further down the spectrum one is, the more adept their mind is at naturally pushing away things that they do not wish to think about nor have the capacity to integrate.

One categorization of dissociation is a failure for the brain to integrate information and experience. It is the cause of time dilation, it is why critical thinking is bypassed and it is why those further on the dissociative spectrum are able to compartmentalize their experiences so effortlessly that they can maintain dissociated personalities.

Where most people who practice hypnosis typically have to study how to achieve post-hypnotic amnesia, those who begin working with hypnosis with patholigized dissociative experiences may need to learn how not to experience it. I include this as I have spoken to multiple people who have lived this reality and it is something we ourselves experienced in the past.

Should a newer hypnotee show signs that they are not remembering what is happening during trance, it is a good practice to train them on how to retain information. Hypnotee Agency is a skill that one develops and allowing them the knowledge that they can chose to retain the information during a trance is as important as reinforcing how easy and normal it is to forget when that is a negotiated part of the scene.

All it takes to be safe here is to just remind them that if they wish to and find it enjoyable to do so, they may retain the information from this trance.

Nothing more complicated than that.

Derealization/Unreality

Derealization is a common experience within dissociation that is actually lower on the dissociative spectrum than PTSD. It is when you do not feel attached to your present experiences in real time.

A common version of this is "Deja Vu" which is a sensation where you are having difficulty integrating your present experience because it "feels" like you've already experienced it.

It can manifest in many other ways, however the commonality is that the person experiencing this knows that it's abnormal. When a person is disconnected from their surroundings like this they may experience a barrier between themselves and the world, they may have a distorted sense of time and they may become physically unresponsive and withdrawn.

Source: Mayo Clinic

The best way to handle this is to make sure that grounding always includes a thorough count-up that lets a person feel both in their body (this will help with depersonalization too) and aware of their surroundings. Ensuring both debriefing and aftercare focus on keeping reality in the room is important when someone's sense of what is real can drift.

For that reason it's a good idea to try and reinforce those ideas of what is real and save them in a little box that can be stored away if there are ever any reality altering suggestions in play, that way retrieving and unpacking that box can just be a natural part of the post-scene.

I linked it earlier, but my post on the topic can be found here.

Depersonalization/Altered States of Identity

Ah, our favorite soapbox.

Much like derealization, depersonalization is a symptom that is lower on the scale than PTSD and is actively invoked during inductions such as the Bandler which turns a handshake into the hypnotee starring at their hand and having the sensation of the hand distanced from their mind. Literally dissociating the hand from your body and using that sensation to build a trance.

It's a good induction. All forms of dissociation are not bad things. That is something I want to make sure an audience fully understands. This post is here to destigmatize, particularly when a 101 class was teaching stigma.

Depersonalization is a disconnection from one's sense of self. These are the moments when one feels like they are not the ones living through a moment, they are experiencing themselves from an outside perspective.

Once again, things that are utilized heavily in induction patter.

Source: Mayo Clinic

The derealization advice works well in this case, particularly the idea of creating a "back-up" to restore carefully at the end of a scene.

The big difference though is that depersonalization as a natural thing that those with dissociative disorders do can lead to some bleed when doing suggestions which alter a person's sense of self. I highly recommend an optional suggestion or affirmation that can help a hypnotee ground themselves. That may be too close to therapy for many though.

The hard part about being safe with depersonalization symptoms is that they are typically things that we actively engage with during hypnosis. I guarantee at least one person read "Feeling like a robot or that you're not in control of what you say or how you move." and thought of that as an absolute win.

This is where a bit of negotiation and hypnotee agency comes into play. Reality needs to be kept in the room during all hypnosis. Diving into ego-death or erasing reality may be tempting, especially for those who aren't particularly fond of reality or themselves, but it is too dangerous to surrender those things.

My definitive post on the topic has more information.

Though while I'm talking about altered personalities, I want to make something clear which I did not type about much in my Personality Play post...

Plurality

This is a topic on its own which could take on an entire post to itself. I may yet write it. If anyone has read our Madison and Belladonna stories they would know that they are written entirely based upon the life lessons Daja and I have been learning while I began therapy and was diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder. Many of my lessons for how to safely play with plural systems are mixed in with the fiction.

When I say Plural I mean to refer to those who have multiple dissociated personalities, along with circumstances such as dissociative barriers.

There are as many displays of plurality as there are people who experience it. Every system is different. No two people are not on fire (awww).

So with that said, any play on either side of the watch is going to be lead with self-advocating. A hypnotic relationship involving a system (or more than one, even) will need a level of disclosure. Not just that a system exists but how that system manifests. What patterns are known regarding switches, what best works when an unexpected switch occurs, what levels of dissociative barriers exist between alters/parts, what terminology is preferred...

Wait, that's a lot to throw at once.

Our version of plurality is based upon Dissociative Identity Disorder. Which is to say that my system, originating via complex PTSD during childhood, used to have firm dissociative barriers between one another. This meant that, prior to diagnosis, you could have an emotionally charged conversation with me, Dawn, and then the next day Cammie will wake up and depending on the level of dissociation (typically but not always linked to stress or proximity to trauma triggers) will either not remember what happened during that conversation or will not carry the emotions that I had experienced. "Not remembering" can simply be "won't think about"

As I said, it's quite subjective. But the conceit is that with those on the DID spectrum will have a complete disconnect between parts/alters.

For those with less dissociation, but still experience plurality, they may not have amnesia or barriers between parts, allowing themselves to communicate with one another actively.

Within psychological communities there is eternal debate on all of these experiences and one of the more poignant debates is that the difference between DID and OSDD seems to just be a level of severity and that treatment and therapy tactics tend to move DID patients into the OSDD box and so they shouldn't be labeled as separate disorders.

These rules on amnesia, inner communication and emotional consistency between parts typically apply outside of disorders. I do not wish to engage in syscourse. But as above when I mentioned abreactions, those who practice with hypnosis know how capable a mind is to create hypnotically induced personalities. There are experiences outside of the DSM-V and that really shouldn't be a controversial statement.

A switch is when one part/alter trades out for another. The reasons are hyper specific to every system and cannot really be predicted without knowing their circumstances intimately. For instance the scent of lavender will draw me out without fail.

These can happen without warning and during hypnosis. Being cautious about body language, tone of voice and sudden changes in mood are the best you can do without guidance from the one with lived experience.

I'd also cautiously warn to end a scene and check in if there is an unexpected switch and there's no negotiated playbook on what to do in case of a switch.

The first Madison and Belladonna story tells the story of that very circumstance because that happened in my real life.

For safety it is best to try and communicate with the entire system over how to approach any aspect of hypnosis play. Exploring is a collaborative action and it can be a rewarding experience to find what works and what doesn't work. But it does take time.

For some basic "until I know better" rules, I'd say NEVER FORCE A SWITCH is a fairly basic rule, though. Also do not assume consent for a specific part/alter counts as consent for the whole system.

There is so much to say on this topic and I will likely revisit it at another point, but much of the safety tied up with DID and identity based dissociative disorders boils down to the fact that you are negotiating consent for a group and that you cannot always guarantee that the hypnotee at the start of a scene will always be present during the entire scene.

To that, I say treat switches like an abreaction, display acceptance and curiosity and don't get too hung up on the circumstances.

At the end of the day plural folx are just people too, just not person.

So... why did I write all this, anyway?

A lovely friend of mine recently joked that Charmed 2024 was the "Year of Plurality" and in a way they were right. I've been attending the event since 2020 and where my first had been a humble little class of 8 or so people on a Sunday afternoon ran by Vulpes Automata (Vulpes teaches the same class at Plural Positivity, albeit without the hypnosis content, a recording is hosted here) this year's event included many systems declaring themselves as such on their badge, both an in-person and online unconference that stretched beyond the time limits put in place and were feverishly well attended.

It has done my heart so good to see the safety and community growing and becoming more accepting.

It reminds me of the community's slow growth to accepting and embracing the transgender community in the mid-2010s.

Which is why I wish to be firm about trying to stop bad ideas from taking root in how we teach on these topics.

Some may remember that in the 2000s, respectable resources teaching hypnokink used to state firmly to "confirm biological sex" with any potential play partner. Said material has been revised. Times change and communities grow.

So when I see this teaching graphic saying that those who dissociate as part of a mental illness "Can't" be hypnotized, due to safety concerns? I get worried.

It was being used in a 101 class at the very same Charmed event that I am praising for having such good acceptance of plural experiences?

I lived this once as a closeted transgender woman. I don't want to live it again with our DID.

And I remember that "never play with anyone who has a mental illness" used to be taught in the same resources that once said to disclose one's "biological sex". People have taught this in classes and been approached by someone who had a mental illness and told how ignorant it was to teach that they could not be played with.

We, as a community, can do better.

I'd rather a 3 hour 101 become a 4 hour 101 and teach this material than to dismiss those who are the most vulnerable and susceptible and have them seek their trances from those who do not have reservations about safety and ethics.

Thank you for reading. I know this was a big soap box.

#dawn posting #hypnokink #hypnosis #hypnokink writings #charmed 2024 #did #bpd #community resources #community safety

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charmandabear · 6 months

Text

Ascendn't

Summary

I got mad when the game wouldn't let me hug him after the Cazador fight. So I fixed it. Plus a bit more steaminess in the graveyard scene. (Also, yes, I'm insufferable about this title.)

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Tav Rating: M Word Count: 4.5k Tags/Warnings: post-Cazador fight, Act 3 spoilers, blood kink, biting, hurt/comfort, fluff and angst, soft dom Astarion, enthusiastic consent

It's been a good 10 years since I've written fanfiction and probably about 20 since I've published any online. This boy got me down BAD. I made an AO3 account for this fucker. (Which you can find here.)

“I can do this, but I need your help.”

You’ve never heard him plead like this. He’s usually so cool and confident. He doesn’t need anyone if he can help it. But this is different. Standing over Cazador, dagger in hand, fear and desperation in his eyes.

“I’ll be free - truly, completely free. Isn’t that what you want?”

He knows how to make your heart melt and break all at the same time. Gods, yes, of course that’s what you want, more than anything in the world. For him to be free to live the life that he never got to have, the life that Cazador stole away from him. He was so young when he got turned. And if he doesn’t take this chance, then as soon as you manage to get these damned tadpoles out of your head he’ll be relegated to the shadows once again. You can’t do that to him.

But this isn’t it. This won’t give him the freedom he so desperately craves, no, deserves. It’s just another form of chains. You take a shaky breath and prepare yourself for his disapproving glare.

“I know you think this will set you free, but it won’t. This power will trap you, just like it trapped Cazador.”

Astarion’s face goes slack, the recognition of the cycle of abuse suddenly clear. His eyes on you soften as he murmurs, “You– you’re right. I can be better than him.” He turns a steely gaze back to Cazador.

“But I’m not above enjoying this.”

With a ferocity that you haven’t yet seen in Astarion, he yanks Cazador’s head back and starts viciously stabbing into his neck. Two hundred years of pent up fury and revenge release in a matter of moments. At a certain point, he’s not even stabbing the man, but rather the idea of Cazador and everything he represents.

Eventually he slows and drops Cazador’s limp body to the ground. The dagger falls with a clatter, and Astarion takes a step back. His eyes finally come back into focus and he realizes that it’s over. Really, truly, over. He’s finally free.

His face is awash with an overwhelm of emotions that you can’t identify. He’s panting, first from the physical exertion and then the sobs that wrack his body. He lets out a howling cry filled with pain and suffering and relief and anguish and he falls to his knees, shoulders shaking. Up until this point, you and the rest of your party have been frozen to the spot as you watched Astarion claim his revenge. But something in you breaks free and you rush to his side. Where you need to be. Where you belong.

You grab him tight in your arms and curl into his neck, your own tears mixing with the blood and grime on his bare shoulder. You think with an almost sardonic humor how often your positions have been reversed. Whereas when he leaned into your neck it was often with hunger, or lust, or even just a flirty playfulness, now all you could bring is a shared pain and comfort. You plant a tender kiss just below his ear and he looks at you with tearful eyes, an unidentifiable question present. You wrap your hand around the base of his neck, fingers raking through bloodstained silver curls. Pressing your foreheads together, you sync up your breaths with his, trying to slow them back to an even rhythm. Gods, you love this man so much.

You finally dare to break the silence, whispering, “Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?” He lets out a weary chuckle and nods. You take one more look into those wet crimson eyes, bloodshot and tired, and smear some of Cazador’s blood left on his cheek in an attempt to wipe away his tears. He takes your hand and kisses your fingertips gently. You suddenly become aware that the other six spawn have been released from their soul-draining chains and are approaching, just as tired and sweaty as the rest of you. The two of you slowly get up to your feet, each helping the other in the process.

“Is… is it over? Is he…?” The woman you vaguely recall meeting in the flophouse in Wyrm’s Crossing, Dalyria, cautiously peers at Cazador’s body. Astarion lets out one final sigh, his breathing finally returning to normal.

“Yes. He’s gone.” He sounds like he can hardly believe it himself. As though saying the words aloud might somehow break a spell and make them untrue.

“What does that mean for us?” Petras, you think, comes up behind Dal. You do remember meeting him, feeling like he was like a knockoff version of Astarion. Trying all the same moves with half of the charm. You feel bad, now, about that judgemental assessment. He looks like such a lost little boy.

“It means you have a choice,” he says with exasperation. Sibling bonds, even when forged in fire, never die. “You can hide here, living in the shadows, like parasites.” His voice is filled with venom. “Or you can be more than what he made us to be. You can choose differently, of course. But the consequences are on your head.”

“What does it mean for them?” Dal asks, and Astarion falters slightly.

“Ah. Now that is a question…” You can tell he had been trying not to think about the seven thousand vampire spawn locked up in the dungeons. He was trying to get Sebastian out of his mind since their conversation. You don’t blame him, honestly. Astarion may have been forced to do Cazador’s bidding, but that doesn’t make the fallout from that any less reprehensible. Worse even that he was good at it.

Astarion had taken a step away from you to talk to his siblings, and you can see him beginning to spiral. You close the distance again and lay a hand on his shoulder. You can feel him start under your touch.

“Let’s release them,” you offer quietly. “They deserve the same chance you got.” You have no idea who Astarion would be right now if he hadn’t gotten kidnapped by the Illithid. If he hadn’t been on this journey, seen everything he had seen. Met you. Honestly, you don’t know who you’d even be if you hadn’t met him either. The thought alone makes you run cold.

“You’re right,” he breathes barely above a whisper. “The poor wretches in the cells are innocent. They shouldn’t have to suffer just because I-�� his voice catches in his throat and you see him shake off a dark thought, “lured them here.” He reaches down to pick up Cazador’s staff - Woe, you think it’s called - with a hand still stained reddish black with the vampire’s blood. He looks at it for a moment, considering it carefully, and everything this staff had ever meant. Then he slams it on the ground, red waves of energy emanating from it, using its power to unlock every single one of the cells in the dungeon.

“They’ll need someone to lead them. Take the tunnels into the Underdark. Find somewhere… well, not safe, but less perilous.” Petras eyes light up with fear.

“What? No, we can’t-” he begins desperately, but Astarion cuts him off with a hand.

“Just try to keep them out of trouble.” The exasperated tone is back. How often had he needed to manage Petras’ emotions as much as his own? You vaguely wonder if Petras looked to Astarion as a role model. The other six spawn walk off slowly, exhausted but clearly relieved to be starting anew.

You turn to Astarion, who has just finished redonning his armor that Cazador had stripped him of. His gaze is glassy; you’ve seen this look before, sometimes even when you’re in bed together. He might as well be a million miles away. You gently touch his arm to bring him back to you. He jumps slightly, then a wan smile touches his lips, but not his eyes.

“That’s it. He’s gone. After all these years – these centuries – it’s really over.” He shuffles his feet, antsy and tired at the same time. You hesitate a moment, unsure of the best way to respond, but you finally settle on, “I’m proud of you. You did the right thing.” His smile isn’t free of bitterness.

“I’m glad you think so, because I’m not so sure.” His eyes flick up back to you, but that glassy look has returned. “I just feel numb. What I’ve lost, what I’ve gained – it’s all so much. And gods, all those spawn, free in the Underdark. I need some time, I think. Just to let it all sink in.” You reach out to touch his face comfortingly. Your heart sinks as he gently pushes your hand away, but it settles when he doesn’t let go of it.

“Let’s just go. This place reeks of death and I want to feel alive again.” He gives your fingers a small squeeze and then walks off ahead of your party, making his way down the long corridor into Cazador’s dungeon. Well, not Cazador’s anymore. You briefly wonder what’s going to happen to this place.

At the end of the hallway, you see the Gur standing there, too late to be even remotely useful. You struggle to keep a scowl off your face. You hate how they treated Astarion in your last encounter. You could be sympathetic of their pain, of course; they’ve lost so much to Astarion’s actions. But the fact that they offered no sympathy for him back, the fact that they could barely acknowledge that he was a victim himself? Absolutely despicable.

Ulma stands at the head of the group, and her scowl matches yours. “You killed one vampire, but released seven thousand of his spawn? Have you lost all sense?”

“They were innocents. To kill them would have been an even greater crime.” Astarion couldn’t possibly sound more tired. You don’t blame him, these are the last people he wants to defend himself against right now.

“Some of those innocents are your fucking kids,” you grumble under your breath, hopefully not enough for Ulma to hear, but just enough for Astarion’s benefit. It’s clear that she couldn’t when she retorts, “And our children? What of their fate?”

“Cazador turned everyone we brought him into spawn. I can only assume your children are somewhere in those wretched cells. You’ll find them in the Underdark, although you may not like what you find.” The grief is plain in Ulma’s face, as well as the rest of the Gur. You feel a little more sympathy for them, but still no warmth.

“This is…” Ulma searches for the right word to capture the enormity of the situation, “difficult news.” She probably could’ve done better. “We will need to decide what this means.” She lets out a heavy sigh. “Thank you for what you have done – slaying Cazador was a great justice. As for the rest… well, time will tell.” Astarion nods curtly, and you’re relieved to be able to push past them and leave.

You and your party finally trudge back to Elfsong Tavern to rest. The rest of your companions are eager to gossip about the day’s events, everyone having something to say. You shield Astarion from their nosiness and distract them while he bathes in the tub in the corner, washing away more than just the physical dirt.

Later that evening as everyone else is beginning to tuck into bed, Astarion comes to you, finally ready to talk again. You can smell his signature fragrance, an earthy citrus with an undertone of spice, and it’s positively intoxicating. You’ve grown to really love that smell, and even the slightest whiff makes your head spin. For the first time maybe ever since you met, his eyes look… soft. Almost warm, even.

“I should probably start getting used to the shadows, again,” he muses with a light smile. “Who knows how long I have left in the sun?” Your heart drops. This had been your greatest fear, that he would feel resentful of the fact that you convinced him not to go through with the ritual, thereby committing him to an indefinite lifetime in the darkness. You know how much he’s grown to love the feeling of the sun on his skin. Not to mention how it makes his skin look, soft and kissable.

“Don’t say that,” you plead with him. “We could still find a way to control the tadpole.” He shakes his head, his freshly washed curls bouncing slightly.

“Maybe, but even if I could control it, it’s a dangerous game. I’d spend every day waiting for something to go wrong. For the tadpole to find a new trick, reassert itself, make me a slave again.” His eyes grow lighter, discovering the truth of what he’s saying as he says it. “Maybe never seeing the sun again is just the price of freedom.” You reach out and give his arm a reassuring squeeze, relishing the feel of his cool, toned arm beneath the warm linen. Even after all this time, being this close to him makes you a little lightheaded. You feel the blood rush to your cheeks and neck, almost as though it’s aching to be drunk.

“I’ll be with you either way,” you breathe softly. You can’t help but glance at his lips. “I hope you know that.”

“I think I do.” He sounds genuine, a bit of a rarity for him. Lest anyone believes Astarion to have a sincere bone in his body, he adds, “Assuming we survive, of course. Because a horrible death is always just around the corner with you.” You playfully shove his shoulder for teasing you. He laughs and gently pulls you in by your lower back and you feel the heat rising again. Your breath catches as his eyes rake over your body and face. He lingers on your lips for a moment before darting back up to your eyes.

“There’s… something I’d like to show you, if that’s alright? Something out in the city.” He cocks his head and looks at you with an almost impossible combination of bashfulness and lust. Being this close to him and breathing in his heady scent makes you dizzy. You manage to recover just enough to quip, “If you want to sneak off for a cuddle, you can just ask.” He lets you go and you feel a significant drop in your internal temperature.

“I’ll try to restrain myself if you do,” he says with a cheeky smile. He takes you gently by the hand and leads you out the Elfsong Tavern.

The graveyard is quiet, almost serene. Astarion walks forward towards a tombstone covered in ivy and, with something bordering on reverence, brushes the vines away to reveal the text engraved in the crumbling stone.

Astarion Ancunin 1229 DR - 1268 DR

He wipes the dirt off his hands and steps back next to you to get a better view of the stone. You stand together in silence for a moment, as if in prayer.

“Nearly two hundred years and I never came back. Not since the night I woke up down there.” His gaze is overtaken by that glassy look, the one you recognize to be him reliving his trauma. “I had to punch a hole in the coffin and claw my way through six feet of dirt. Then when I finally broke the surface, retching up dirt and congealed blood, Cazador was waiting. From that day on I was his.” He sneers at the memory. Then he pauses, considering, “Until today.”

He comes back to himself with a shake of his head, and his eyes return to this plane. He adds, as much to himself as to you, “Now I need to figure out who I am. What I want.”

“And what do you want?” Your mouth is dry as you ask the question. You can hope for the answer, but you wouldn’t dare presume. He might need to figure that out on his own, and if that’s the case, you will respect that.

He turns to face you, his red eyes full of more warmth than you’ve ever seen. Your heart leaps into your throat as he smiles and says, “You… I want you.

“You were by my side through all of this. Through bloodlust and pain and misery. You were patient. You cared.” As he’s speaking your heart starts beating loudly, blood pumping through your arteries at an almost vulgar rate. You know he can tell, and he chuckles softly. Cupping his hand below your ear and gently stroking your cheek with his thumb, he adds teasingly, “You trusted me when that was an objectively stupid thing to do.” He pulls you even closer and rests his forehead against yours. You could never get tired of this. As much as you love those moments filled with heat and lust, there’s something so tender about these intimate gestures that aren’t about sex.

“I feel safe with you. Seen. And whatever the future holds for me, I don’t want to lose that.” You grasp at the back of his shirt, looking for purchase as you fall so much more deeply for him. Your voice is barely above a whisper as you breathe, “You won’t. Whatever comes next, I’ve got you.”

“Thank you.”

You two stand there for what feels like both an eternity and a fraction of a second before he pulls away and looks at the grave again.

“Well. I should probably fix this.” He pulls a dagger from his belt with practiced fingers and kneels beside the stone, carving something into it. You kneel beside him and see that it now reads

Astarion Ancunin 1229 DR - 1268 DR 1492 DR -

His new life. For the first time in two hundred years, he can call it his own. You find yourself at a loss of what to do, or what to add, so you self-consciously pick up a nearby wildflower and gently place it at the base of his gravestone. He glances at you sideways and smirks, “Cute.” You both sit back on your heels to admire his work. He heaves a great sigh, letting go of centuries of tension and fear.

“I’ve been dead in the ground for long enough. It’s time to start living again.” He turns to you and takes your hands. “With everything life has to offer.” His voice has taken on that gravelly tone that sends a shiver up your spine. You don’t want to pressure him, of course, but your desire for his touch is getting harder to ignore. These gentle grazes, lovely though they’ve been, have set your skin aflame.

“Meaning…?”

His eyes glint mischievously and that familiar flirty lilt comes back to his voice. “If a night of passion is on offer, I could be persuaded.” Your body leans toward him instinctively, breath heavy in your chest. The words are out of your mouth before your brain catches up, “Sounds good to me.” He gets close to your face and you can feel his breath on your lips before he pulls away suddenly. He’s teasing you, and you know that he’s relishing in the satisfaction of it.

“You know,” he says with a feigned innocence, as though he doesn’t know the effect he has on you, “I didn’t care for you when we first met.” The sudden shift in tone knocks you back to reality, and you can’t help but laugh. He impishly glances up at you through his lashes.

“But I do now. Being with you is about more than lust or manipulating you into a tactical alliance.” He takes your hand, cheekiness gone, and looks you squarely in the eye with a rare earnestness. “I love you. I love this. And I want it all.” You will never tire of hearing those words. He reaches behind your ear and tenderly pulls you closer to him, finally giving your lips the reprieve they’ve been so desperate for. It’s a soft kiss, gentle, yet it still makes you burn up inside.

He pulls away far too soon, and you gaze back at him with starry eyes. His features is soft and smiley, but in an instant he raises on his knees so he’s towering over you and he takes on that stern expression that makes your temperature rise. He shoves you back onto your elbows before bending down to crawl up your torso hungrily. He kisses you again, this time with more intensity. He pins you down with the weight of his chest and then traps you further by nudging your leg up with his knee, eliciting a small gasp of surprise from you. You couldn’t escape even if you wanted to. And you most certainly don’t want to.

His body presses against yours and you curl your leg around him, pulling him tighter. An almost imperceptible grunt escapes his lips and you smile through your kiss. You can feel his smile in return and you lace your fingers into his silvery hair. He deepens the kiss, rolling his hips harder against you and your mouth opens involuntarily. He takes advantage of this momentary lapse and makes his way toward your neck, marking the trail with kisses. You seize up and your fingers tighten in his hair, encouraging him silently. But he needs more than that, and you know exactly how he’ll respond.

“Use your words,” he hums between kisses. You squirm beneath him, trying to sound even remotely dignified.

“You can,” you manage to gasp out as you try to suppress the moans that his lips are tearing from your throat. He flicks his tongue right over his usual puncture wounds and then gently trails it up the shell of your ear. You shiver with the intensity of it all.

“I can… what? I can’t know unless you tell me.” How the fuck does his voice stay this even? You can bearly even think straight, let alone string full sentences together. And yet he remains calm, nigh indifferent to the effect he’s having on you. But as cool as he is on the surface, you know how much he wants it. You both love the teasing, each night a challenge to see who can outlast the other.

“You can bite me,” you breathe and he nips at your ear ever so lightly, causing you to choke out the last few words, “if you want.”

“If I want? But what do you want?” He emphasizes the pronouns in a singsongy tone, and even hearing “I” and “you” in the same sentence does it for you. He’s still grinding against you all while assaulting your neck with filthy kisses. You try to remember what words are.

“I want you,” you gasp, trying to keep your words legible, “to bite me.” You suck in sharply through your teeth as he hitches your leg up a little higher. He grabs both of your wrists in one hand and pins them above your head.

“Are you sure?” his tone is still infuriatingly innocent. He knows how much you want this, and you know what he wants in return. You’re not quite ready to give it to him yet. But gods how you wish he would break first tonight. Odds aren’t looking great as his free hand slips behind your lower back causing you to arch it off the ground slightly.

“Yes,” you groan in agony as his lips continues their heinous walk up and down your neck and collarbone. “Please, Astarion. I want you to.” He nips you again at the same time that he presses his thigh right at the apex between your legs. He tightens his grip on your wrists and whispers sharply in your ear.

“Beg for it.”

That’s it. You’ve lost. You cry out in a delicious mix of pain and pleasure. The words come tumbling out of you, unbidden and unburdened.

“Please, Astarion, bite me. Please please please. Bite me. I want to feel your fangs pierce my skin. I want to know the feeling of my blood inside you. Gods, please, I can’t take it any longer and if you don’t bite me soon I think I might-”

Thank the realms that he cuts you off in that moment, acquiescing to your begging, because you have no idea how you planned to finish that sentence. The sharp moment of pleasure as he sinks in, followed by the loveliness of feeling your blood flow into his mouth. It makes you feel slightly lightheaded, and the high it gives you is better than any you might hope to achieve on Elendren pipeweed. The gentle feeling of his tongue lapping at your neck contrasts beautifully with the sharp tension of him sucking the blood out of you. You can feel him starting to get lost in your neck, his grip on your wrists loosening. You use this moment of vulnerability in Astarion to get him back by arching your back even more to move your hips against his. You hear the sudden intake of breath through his nose and you smile to yourself smugly. He knows what you did and isn’t about to take it lying down, metaphorically speaking.

Once he’s had his fill he draws away from your neck, lips stained red with your blood. He sits up again, one knee between your legs as he looks down on you. He tsks quietly as he shakes his head, drawling, “So naughty. What am I to do with you?” You prop yourself up on your elbows and return his gaze wickedly, your blood tickling your neck as it drips down toward your shoulder. He swipes at the drop with a long pale finger and lasciviously sucks your blood off his fingertip. Your smug grin is back, knowing how weak he is for you.

His face drops into that stern expression again, but this time a devilish smile plays on his lips. He puts his hand on your chest gently, then takes a hard turn as he grabs you by the throat. Not enough to be painful, nor enough to constrict your breathing, but just enough for him to have control. He studies your face for a moment, admiring its beauty, before he yanks you upward commanding you to look him in the eye. He leans in for a forceful kiss as he keeps his hand tight beneath your jaw. You start to lose yourself in the kiss, melting into him, and he takes the opportunity to sharply push you away, his pointer lingering on your chin to show that he’s still in control of where you look. He lets you go and leans back confidently, enjoying how you’ve become extremely pliable in his hands.

He stands to loom over you for a second more, then reaches for your hand to pull you up. You’re completely under his power and couldn’t be more than happy to give him whatever he wants. You take his hand and he pulls it behind his back, pressing your chest into his.

“You’d better be good for me,” he murmurs against your lips, once again denying the kiss you ache for. “We wouldn’t want to punish any bad behavior, now would we?” He caresses your face momentarily and then turns with your hand still in his and pulls you toward… somewhere. Honestly, you couldn’t care where. You love him, and you love this, and you’ll go wherever he leads.

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