Aerixae - Jackie

saw this days ago but I wasn’t there yet… just got to ampert’s death. brb losing my mind.

this is canon btw

Something I love about Fizzarolli/Asmodeus is how clearly they serve to show the difference between wanted and unwanted sexiness.

They’re shameless and kinky and hopelessly in love and- importantly- that doesn’t mean either or both of them are up for anything!

From the jump Fizz has been clearly shown to be uncomfortable with the Fizzbot weirdos projecting onto him

and in this ep we actually see how much the parasocial sexual relationship with his fans causes them to over step and touch or talk to Fizz in ways that make him uncomfortable. This is in spite of him being loudly sexual and comfortable with being sexy onstage and publicly, but this ISNT in contradiction to that!

Asmodeus, Ruler of the Lust Ring, has strong feelings about consent! Consent is sexy and it’s not sex without consent.

It makes Mammon’s commodification of Fizzarolli and his sexuality all the more stark. 🤢

Hmm actually Lucy Gray is different from Haymitch and Katniss and Peeta because her tragedy is she caused the games to continue. If the games hadn't become entertaining, they wouldn't have continued and she made it entertaining because she was an entertainer - she saved herself but she doomed dozens more because she performed too well and it allowed the Capitol to make the games a performance in the later years. Haymitch's tragedy is that he couldn't end the games, Lucy Gray's is that she continued them.

Hungy deer 🦌

They’re silly (someone save me it’s 2am)

The Sound of Being Loved

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Possibly OOC. I'm posting this at like 12am and I am so tired sleepy but I needed to finish this Or Else

Warnings: some hurt/comfort, talk about The Scar™️

Word Count: 737

Masterlist

AO3

Astarion let out a stiff breath as your fingers brushed over the scar. The poem. The sigil. Whatever it was Cazador'd carved into his back.

You'd asked him about it before. He'd answer curtly and bitterly - as he’d always done when his master was the subject of conversation. But that was so long ago now. At least, it felt quite long ago. He couldn't really be sure. All he knew was things were finally dying down and becoming normal. As normal as things could be, anyway. And you couldn't stop yourself from asking again.

That's how you ended up straddling his thighs as he laid chest-down on the bed.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," you reminded him softly. You kept repeating the phrase when he tensed beneath your fingers, or got that quiet, distant aura about him.

He hummed, turning his head to peek over his shoulder at you. He offered the most reassuring smile he could muster. "Go on," he encouraged. "He's dead - it doesn't matter anymore."

You tilted your head. Sharp eyes studied him, searching for any hint of a lie. He sighed quietly as your hand massaged the back of his neck. "But it still happened," you said, "you still hate it."

He smirked, but his quiet voice gave away the false confidence. "You know me too well, darling."

"Yes," you leaned down to kiss his cheek, "I do." He turned his head slightly more to catch your lips for a momentary kiss. Your lips hovered over his, eyes boring into his soul, searching. "I can stop."

"No. Please. I... I want you to know every part of me. I trust you."

You kissed him once more, languid and sweet, before sitting back up. He closed his eyes and tried to relax under your fingers. They danced across his back, tracing each line in their circular pattern. One hand slid to his waist to thumb circles into his side. He wondered why for a moment. Surely it would be easier to feel each infernal letter with both hands? Then he realized: it was a distraction. You were giving him something to focus on while you studied his back. His undead heart stuttered in his chest.

“I could translate it,” you whisper. It’s a gentle offer. “If you wanted to know what it says.”

Cazador is dead, he reminds himself. Whatever the bastard carved into his skin, it shouldn’t hold so much power over him anymore. But the thought of knowing exactly what was written there… His lips pursed.

You pressed a kiss to his spine, in between the circles of text. He lets out a breath. “No. Let it die with him.”

You’re quiet as you go back to tracing. He wonders if you’re translating it in your mind. He… doesn’t mind the thought - not as much as he thought he would. He trusts you, enough to know you would take the words to your grave. They would never be used against him, held over him as leverage. They’d just sit in a corner of your mind and collect dust, until their meaning is lost forever. He doesn’t mind that at all.

Once you’ve felt all of the letters, your hand traces the circles themselves. Starting right at the center, you go out ring by ring. Where scarred lines branch off, you ghost your touch up and down the ridges. There are several at the bottom of the scar. It almost looks like dripping wax, sealed into his skin forever. Imagining what it was like hurts too much.

He peeks over his shoulder again as he feels your hands, full, flat-palmed on his skin, sliding over his sides. You lay on top of him, sliding your arms around him, squished between his stomach and the bed. You’re so warm. Your head rests between his shoulder blades, breaths sliding across his back and shoulders like a warm summer breeze. His body fully relaxed into the affection. All tension faded away, and he allowed his eyes to close in the comfort.

“I love you,” you hum near his ear. “My beautiful star.”

Astarion smiles. “I love you, too. My dearest blood donor.” He relishes in the way you laugh against him, full and bright and free. And he hopes, when he’s lived for centuries more, and loses the spark of life in his eye, he remembers exactly how it sounds to be loved.

[SPOILERS FOR THE NEW HELLUVA BOSS EPISODE]

This scene genuinely made me pause the episode and start crying

Not only was there an imp who had broken horns like Fizz

But they also knew sign language

Not only did fizzarolli's smile brighten at the kid compared with the rest of the audience

But he even did sign language with them and encouraged for them to not only be a clown like him, but whatever they wanted

Heyy x3 I dont really know if you are comfortable with this so its ok if you dont want to write anything like this but anyway. I suffer from tourettes and would like to See an eddie x reader with tourettes fic. Like they are New at hawkins and of course the freak because of the tics (like head jerking etc) but eddie is instantly in love or something like that? Thank you So much :) <3

eddie x reader with tics

warnings: reader has a condition that makes them tic, reader is bullied, reader goes through anxiety during school, self-degrading thoughts

hi love, thank you for being my first request ever!!! i personally don’t have tourettes, and i don’t want to portray it in the wrong way, so i’m going to write this but generalize the reader with having any tic condition!! i only get minor anxiety-induced tics so if anything is wrong, please feel free to correct me!! again, i mean no harm or offense with this fic if anything comes off wrong!! hope this is close to what you were looking for <333

Hawkins High. A new school. A fresh start.

Or so you thought.

You escaped your previous school having had a tight-knit friend circle that always made you feel safe. Arriving to this new territory, you were completely alone. Vulnerable. The thought of having nobody sent a shiver down your spine.

Your anxiety spiked the second you took your first step into the threshold of the building. I’ve entered the gates of Hell, you thought to yourself. And with every glance around the packed hallways you proved that thought to be true. Demons scurried around the corridor in the shape of girls in bright green and white cheerleading outfits. Fire erupted with every glare from cliques of gossiping students loitering about the lockers. A crumpled up slip of paper with your locker number and combination was held in your fist, fingers not daring to move an inch. You managed to mask your movements until you reached your locker.

You tried to enter the combination you had on your sheet of paper, with no luck.

You try again. God this is embarrassing. You’re a senior in high school and you can’t even unlock your locker?

Another attempt. Fuck, are there people staring at me?

You try again, and fail.

You can’t mask any longer, the pressure releases and you find your head jerking wildly towards your locker. A small sense of relief washes over you, followed by instant dread.

Well now they’re definitely staring. You manage to unlock your locker quickly.

You cant even muster a glance around the hall as you hurriedly gather your possessions and shut your locker, rushing to your first class.

Only six more hours and forty-five minutes. Hooray.

After a grueling three hours, you find yourself in the cafeteria with a tray in hand. Your classes were, for the most part, successful. You stayed quiet and kept to yourself for the day. Your favorite period of the day was band, having made a couple friends. Robin Buckley introduced herself, and showed you to the cafeteria. Band was enjoyable, the director is incredibly entertaining as a teacher, and the students are all a bit outcast so it isn’t hard to fit in. Your tics were minimal for that period, but the period before had been Calc I. And oh, how you hated math. You jerked your head a number of times, usually followed by a sound. A few boys seemed to snicker at you, but you tried to shrug it off.

Lunch can’t be that hard, right?

Wrong.

A few of the boys from Calc, all of whom were wearing varsity sports jackets, approached you in the lunch line.

“Hey look, it’s the weirdo who wouldn’t shut up in math!”

Another chimed in. “Are you really gonna be so annoying all year? You were so distracting! Who even are you, anyways?”

The bullying was enough to set your ticks off, your head jerking and hands repeatedly balling into fists. The boys cackle and call you all sorts of names. It feels endless, until you feel a strong hand around your waist.

“Just go with it,” a voice whispers quietly in your ear.

The voice gets louder. “Fellas, I’m gonna need you to step away at once.”

Through your tics, you manage to look up and see a head of long brown hair and a pair of beautiful chocolate eyes.

“Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it, freak?” The boy standing in the middle says smugly.

A wild smile appears on your saviors face. “It would be such a shame if your mom found out about aaaall that bud you bought for last Friday’s party, hm? Oh no, Jason, I don’t think that Jenny would like that one little bit.”

A string of curses and complaining accompanies Jason and his gang’s departure. By the time they leave you, your tics have subsided and are a lot less bad than before.

You look back to the mystery man. “Well, uh, thank you for that.”

He flashes you a wide grin. “Anytime, doll! The name’s Eddie Munson. Are you new to Hawkins?”

“Yeah actually, it’s my first day here.”

“Well, would you allow a fellow ‘freak’ to show you around?”

Your lips curve into a smile and you nod. “Are you sure? I mean, I’m sure you have much better things to do.”

He looks around dramatically, arching an eyebrow and pointing to his chest. “Little ‘ol me? Have something better to do than talk to a cute new kid? Never!”

You giggle at his actions, head jerking forward. You blush a bit. Shit. “Oh, I’m so sorry, that was a tic! God, I’m so sorry I can just find someone else to sit with-”

His arm snakes its way over your shoulders. “What? No! I honestly barely even noticed it. I don’t mind in the slightest, dude!” His eyes meet yours. “It makes you even more special than those brain-dead basketball idiots. I like it, it’s different! End of story.”

And that was it. Eddie never once judged you for a tic, and rarely brought them up unless you wanted to. He giggled with you at new vocal tics that surfaced and were silly, and never batted an eye if you were ticking in public.

Little did you know, but you had the metalhead’s attention the second you walked up to your locker across from his. He was enamored by the way you dressed, and your (in his words) beautiful face. When he saw you tic, it was just another thing added to his ever growing list of reasons he wanted to be yours. He knew from the moment he saw you that you were the one for him.

And (spoiler alert) you were definitely his.

© ragnarokk 2022 / don’t copy, translate, or post my work anywhere

this post is exclusively for people with dirty rooms

this post is specifically for people who know their room is a mess, but their brain won't let them clean it. this post is for you. I love you and I see you