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sp0o0kylights · 6 months

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Steve Harrington was wearing a Hellfire t-shirt.

It was far too tight on him, the name of the club stretched wide over his chest. The sleeves dug into his biceps, making them pop even more than they usually did, and that was before he crossed his arms.

Worse?

It was short.

Which meant the damn shirt was constantly riding up to give everyone a nice show of the smattering of hair that trailed down past the band of Harrington's jeans.

The same hair that Eddie was determinedly not looking at.

“Henderson, a moment?” He crooked a finger, a smile on his face that was more feral than welcoming.

Rather than cower or even acknowledge that Eddie was two seconds away from murder, Dustin just gave him a gummy grin, all too pleased with himself and his scheme.

“Sure Eddie. Steve, don't just stand there, go help set the booth up!” Dustin gestured to Hellfire’s sad little table, crammed all the way in the back of the gym.

Jeff and Gareth both reacted to the suggestion like a rabid squirrel had been set upon them, nervously inching towards the other side of the booth as Harrington sighed and--shockingly--did as he was told.

‘What,’ Eddie thought angrily, ‘in the everloving fuck.’

“Do you guys mind if I set this down on the table?” Eddie heard Harrington ask as he stormed away, Dustin on his heel.

They wandered just around the corner, out of sight and hopefully, out of the fallen king’s hearing range.

Eddie wasn't sure if Harrington would try and white knight the very much deserved dressing down he was about to give.

Didn’t want to chance it, considering the downright weird relationship he had with Hellfire's freshmen.

(While he’d heard many a tale at his table regarding King Steve since the newest recruits had joined Hellfire, most of them dissolved into arguments without ever really going anywhere.

Best anyone could figure out was that Dustin and Lucas had a bad case of hero worship, while Mike owned a begrudging amount of respect that hailed from a series of misadventures.

The very same misadventures that, despite all protests to the contrary, was clearly some sort of babysitting gig for Harrington.)

Either way, plenty of the King’s court would have loved to take this opportunity to fuck with Hellfire.

Given that Henderson was absolutely too old to require a babysitter at fourteen, Eddie would bet his lunch money that was what Steve was here to do.

Something the club couldn’t afford since they were forever and always two seconds away from being stripped of club status and banned from school grounds.

“I would love to know what went through that all A’s brain of yours when I said,” Eddie whirled on Dustin when they were firmly in the clear, voice low and furious. “no Henderson, do not invite King Steve to help, he is an invading force and would ruin our peaceful kingdom!?”

He clasped his hands behind his back before leaning into Dustin’s face. “Because clearly whatever you heard wasn’t that.”

To Eddie’s continued frustration and confusion, Dustin did not treat this like the threat it was.

None of the freshmen had ever truly treated Eddie like a threat--had somehow skipped that part of the usual onboarding ritual entirely.

Eddie, town freak and drug dealer, who had cultivated his looks and craziness to such a degree that most everyone steered clear, wasn’t used to it.

Everyone had been afraid of him at some point in this shitty school. Jeff, Gareth, hell even half the staff--and that the dorky trio of fourteen year old's clearly thought this all was play-acting made his eye twitch.

Even if it was--maybe, sometimes--welcome.

“I know what you said, but I’m telling you I’m right.” Dustin argued immediately, and oh God, he was using that tone again.

A hand went up into the space between them and Eddie groaned aloud, knowing what was coming.

“First,” Dustin ticked a finger up, “Hellfire really needs the money. Even thirty dollars would get us new figures, but more than that, if we don’t fundraise, we can’t go to Gen Con!”

Dustin's eyes bored into Eddie’s, full of fire and conviction

“Yes,” Eddie said through gritted teeth, “but--”

“Second!” Dustin cut him off, and God the little shit even threw him a look while he did it, like Eddie was the one being ridiculous here!

“We had to fight just to get our table! Principal Higgins was in algebra today practically begging the mathletes to show up, but then tried to tell us we couldn't be here? That’s messed up!”

As if denying them a spot to fundraise was the worst thing that asshole had ever done.

Eddie sighed, breath blasting out of his mouth like a dragon’s.

“Because people think we’re freaks and satanists, Henderson. You don’t typically invite freaks and satanists to the school’s annual Holiday Bazaar. Especially not when all the local moms are paying to hawk their bullshit crafts and tupperware!”

It was more than that of course. The Hawkins High Holiday Bazaar was a tradition spanning several years now. Starting in the gym and spilling clear into the parking lot, everyone from local artists to even some local shops came to host a small table for the day, thus growing the event from a small school fundraiser to a Hawkins' “must-do.”

Half the fucking town was here to sell, and the other half was here to shop, which meant Principle Higgins had wanted Hellfire banned from the fucking premise.

Eddie had been forced to pull out one of his trump cards he’d been saving--blackmail on Higgins that related to the man’s not--so--legal addiction to Percocet that he relied on Reefer Rick for.

(And bless Rick, that hadn’t been the only tidbit he’d shared with Eddie about Higgins. That information, however, Eddie needed just so the asshat wouldn’t give him the boot from school entirely.)

The only reason Eddie had pulled it out to secure their rightful spot, was because of Gen Con.

It was Hellfire's White Whale, their grand adventure, and this was going to be his year to take his friends on one last epic quest to make memories of a lifetime surrounded by people who understood them.

Come hell or high water, Eddie was going to Gen Con--but being able to fundraise by selling wares and baked goods at the stupid Holiday Bazaar would go a long way to help.

Even if he had to listen to the band repeatedly play ear-bleeding renditions of Christmas songs.

“All the clubs get to have a table, and we’re a club!” Dustin continued, like it was that simple. “But you know, I get it. We look scary.”

He gestured down to his own Hellfire shirt, before gesturing towards Eddie’s entire outfit.

Like Eddie didn't know what he looked like, let alone that he'd made this outfit specifically to scare people away from him.

(And maybe add some rockstar flair to this dinky little hick town.)

“You know who doesn’t look scary?”

Dustin held out his hands and swiveled his body like he was presenting a prize instead of gesturing in the vague direction of;

“Steve!”

Eddie’s left eye twitched.

‘You can't kill him, you need his character for the campaign.’ He told himself firmly, even if he envisioned strangling Dustin like a chicken.

Cartoon squawking and all.

“The King isn’t going to help us fundraise, Dustin.” Eddie said, in an effort to break down why Harrington couldn't be here. “He's just going to cause us problems that we can’t afford to have.”

So many problems, half of which Eddie couldn't think of because if he did, he'd start spiraling.

“Really? Because as you keep saying, Steve used to be the King. People love him, Eddie! Mom’s love him.”

Eddie had pulled himself black up to his proper height a while ago, and now rocked back on his heels while he ran a hand down his face.

There was no getting through to Henderson when he was like this.

Not unless Eddie really lost it, and it was practically club lore that he only lost it when someone missed an important game.

One cannot keep a herd of sheep if their flock is terrified of them, after all.

(“Perhaps you’re just a giant fucking softie.” Tiff, one of Hellfire’s graduating members, told him once. “Honestly dude, I bet you throw up stuffing.”

“Shut up Tiffany, your choker is on backwards again.” He'd spat back, completely offended and not at all trying to distract from how true that was.)

“We can’t be satanic if Steve’s the one selling cookies!” Dustin finished doggedly.

“We’re not even selling cookies--that’s not the point!”” Eddie shook his head, hair flying. He was not going to be sidetracked, he wasn’t!

“Harrington is going to end up siding with all the moms about how we’re all wasting time with D&D, if he even spends the whole time at the table. Is that what you want?”

He stuck out a ringed finger, poking at Dustin’s chest.

“Every single person who comes by our table has to be convinced D&D is a writing and math based game. Good for the mind and souls of growing, impressionable children. A game that got a bad rep because of a few silly images.”

A pitch he and Tiff had come up with during the third or fourth time they had to convince an adult that no, just because their shirts had a dragon on it, didn’t mean they were summoning demons in the drama room.

“Harrington can’t do that because Harrington doesn’t even know how to play!”

This Eddie punctuated by throwing his hands in the air.

Given the startled look of the mother-daughter duo passing him by, clearly was louder than he’d intended--but screw it!

He was right!

Hellfire was in a precarious position to both fundraise and do a little damage control among the slightly smarter members of this shithole small town, and Harrington rolling his eyes and gossiping about how stupid it was would hinder that.

“Okay, first of all, Steve’s played D&D with me and he didn’t even kill his character.” Dustin said it like he was unveiling a smoking gun and not lying through his ass--which Eddie would absolutely be calling him on the second he was done talking.

Because King Steve? Play D&D?

'Ha!'

“And he’s not gonna say shit because we--me, and Lucas and even Mike!--asked him to help, and he helps when its serious. I know you have some weird grudge with him, but I’m telling you Eddie he’s our golden ticket to Gen Con!”

“You’re killing me. You are standing here, acting as a friend, when you are bringing a-- a dark force into the midst our of mission--” Eddie hissed, because he was losing the fucking fight and he knew it.

Dustin Henderson was not a man easily swayed.

Had never been, even when the odds were stacked against him (and Grant and Gareth were howling in his ear.)

The set of his shoulders and the glint of the little shithead’s eye meant Eddie wouldn’t be able to use him to oust Harrington--if he even could get him out without the dick causing a massive scene anyway.

As always when outgunned, Eddie flipped to dramatics.

“Betrayed! By my own chosen heir no less!” He moaned, pressing the back of his hand over his eyes as Dustin scoffed.

"Don’t be so dramatic! Steve will help, I promise! Just don’t be a dick to him.”

Conversation apparently over, Dustin turned around to head back to the table

Snidely, he added over his shoulder: “Plus we’ve all caught on to the heir thing Eddie. You tell everyone that so they do what you want.”

The dick.

“You’re too fucking smart for your own good. I’m gonna start feeding you paint chips to bring that IQ down.” Eddie muttered angrily as Dustin went back to their little table.

He gave himself a moment to get his shit together and stomp a foot like a child when Dustin was around the corner and thus couldn’t witness it, before following his wayward sheep back.

Could only pray to any deity listening that Henderson’s meddling didn’t blow up in Hellfire’s face.

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frantic-fiction · 5 months

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I'll Find My Way Back to You

(Can't find source of pic if it's yours let me know)

Astarion x GN!Reader

Prompt: A century after Tav passes Astarion comes across an artist who is oddly familiar and paints moments that seemed to be pulled straight from Astarion's life.

Thank you to @justporo for letting me use their idea. Go show them some love.

Warnings: Tav's death, brief mention of s*icide, angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 4.6k (Oops kinda went overboard)

Masterlist

“There’s no world I wish to live in without you,”

“My dear Astarion, we will find our way back to each other. This is not the end.”

Over a century has passed—a long, lonely century without Tav by his side. Astarion doesn’t understand how he’s endured, not with the void in his chest that appeared the moment he laid them to rest. The absence of his person, his love, his Tav, has left Astarion once again alone.

For nearly a decade, he found himself trapped in a state of near-catatonia, a prisoner of time within their empty home. He wasted away, the days blending into one another, each marked by a silent ache in his chest—the void left by Tav’s departure. Tears soaked into the earth of the carefully tended grave, adorned with vibrant flowers from Tav’s garden. He often contemplated surrendering to the sun’s embrace, letting its rays turn his existence to ash for a semblance of peace.

He yearned to end the pain, yet he refrained. He made a promise whispered with heavy hearts and painful sobs—a promise that forced them to confront the harsh reality that Tav would always leave first. Instead of embracing the end, Astarion wasted away, a ghost of his former self, yearning for the return of his love. Change arrived when Tav visited him in a dream; the details were blurry, but Tav’s beautiful smile was etched in memory. The sweet words in that dream eluded him, yet upon waking, a faint lightness settled within him. Astarion graced the night with a flicker of energy for the first time since Tav’s passing.

Tav would have wished for him to move on. They would have wanted him to live. The stagnant life he clung to wasn’t what Tav would want for him. So that day, Astarion gathered his essentials into a bag and set forth as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon. Only momentarily stopping to bid his love a final, tearful farewell. Since that moment, he hasn’t stopped moving.

Astarion believed Tav would take pride in the life he’s built—the good he’s accomplished over the many years. He traversed all over Faerun, from Waterdeep to Skull Crag, never lingering in one place for too long. He wasn’t the hero Tav was, but he aided towns against monsters, dispatched goblins, and took odd jobs to help however he could. Throughout his travels, he dedicated most of his time to sharing stories of Tav, ensuring their memory lived on. When he first heard the bards’ songs recounting the Hero of Baldur’s Gate, he knew he had succeeded. Now, you can’t sit in a tavern without hearing tales and melodies about Tav.

Every day, he longed for Tav to be by his side. He yearned to feel their soft skin, experience their tender kisses, and sense their warm arms encircling his waist—the echo of their laughter dancing in his ears. He missed every aspect of Tav and would do anything to see them again. Yet, the world ran out of miracles for him. Instead, he learned with time to cope, to come to terms with their absence, and keep them close to his heart.

***

Astarion traverses the dusty cobblestone of Wyrm’s Crossing and finds himself back in the heart of Baldur’s Gate—a city he’s consciously avoided for most of the century. It’s a place drenched in memories from his past life with Cazador, but mostly, the streets seem to be haunted by the presence of Tav.

His return to Baldur’s Gate remains shrouded in mystery. All he can discern is that he awoke one day in Daggerford, gripped by an inexplicable yearning to revisit the city. A compelling force tugging him down the Sword Coast, Astarion initially dismissed it as mere homesickness, scoffing at the notion. Yet, the persistent thought lingered, infesting his mind until he could no longer ignore the instinct to return.

The city remains strikingly unaltered despite the passage of time and the trials it endured. The same piss-stained cobblestone, alleyways cluttered with remnants of urban life, and a diverse array of inhabitants navigating the night. It’s an unsettling constant, especially juxtaposed against the transformation of Astarion’s existence.

Wandering through the back alleys and side streets, Astarion meanders aimlessly. Occasionally, a sight triggers memories, evoking a lump in his throat. The Elfsong Tavern, once familiar, now bears a different name and identity, a formal establishment concealing the echoes of nights spent in Tav’s comforting embrace. Bloomride Park, the graveyard, and the docks—all weave together, painting a vivid tapestry of Tav’s omnipresence.

Amidst the tumult of emotions, Astarion grapples with why he subjected himself to this emotional turmoil. The urge to retreat, to flee Baldur’s Gate before the dawn breaks, lingers within him. Yet, the itch persists, buried deep within his bones, propelling him forward. He silently promises himself the night to wander the city, and by this time tomorrow, he will be on his way to another town for another adventure.

Venturing into a dim, isolated street, Astarion observes a solitary lamplight spilling its soft glow from a store window. Peering through, he discovers a small art studio. Within, a graceful elf seems to dance with a paintbrush, each stroke deliberate yet flowing. Like a harpie song, Astarion is mesmerized and utterly captivated. He watches on silently, observing the elves happily consumed with their work. It gives him a wave of nostalgia, moments of watching Tav as they painted, unaware he was watching from the door. Astarion could almost hear the sweet hums that filled the room between brush strokes.

Then he freezes, gaze snapping to the paintings that adorn the studio, scattered reflections of his life. Images of Karlach, Shadowheart, and all the others grace the space. However, it’s the depictions of himself that seize his breath. Compelled by an unseen force, Astarion walks right into the studio. In a far corner, he sees an intimate portrayal—an embrace that resonates with familiarity.

The bell rings, and you break from your artistic trance. Startled, you look up, and there stands the pale elf in the doorway—the hero of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion—the man who has clouded your dreams for as long as memory serves. Startled, you look up, and there stands a pale elf in the doorway—the hero of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion—the man who has clouded your dreams for as long as memory serves.

The dreams began as mere fragments—white curls, sharp teeth, delicate hands. Gradually, they evolved into more vivid scenes—muffled conversations by a campfire, laughter and gentle shoves, and stolen kisses between bed sheets—private moments of a stranger, a byproduct of an active imagination intertwined with an elven crush. Or at least that was what your mother would say. Now, the subject of those dreams stands before you.

Astarion, surrounded by the art that mirrors his life, fixates on a miniature portrait. The details are hazy, yet he recalls the campfire, the desperation in his gaze, and a significant confession followed by an embrace.

You pick up a fallen brush with a trembling hand, placing it in a water cup. Asterion was just as breathtakingly beautiful as your dream portrayed, but to see him in person has your heart hammering in your chest and your breath quickening with nerves. Wiping paint-covered hands on your smock, you took a deep breath and gathered the courage to approach Astarion.

Staring at the portrait, you utter quietly, “This one’s my favorite. Though I wish I could have captured the others’ images better.”

“Tav.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The person you painted. My partner Tav, they used to paint too,” Astarion’s voice carries the weight of unspoken emotions.

“Oh, yes. They were the leader of your group, if I remember correctly. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Astarion remains silent, the canvas now a source of unbearable memories. He moves through the studio, examining the art up close. It’s weird to have your muse perusing around your gallery. It’s embarrassing to have Astarion see just how many pieces have been dedicated to him. What do you do at this point? Should you follow him, tell him about each piece and the dreams behind them? No, that seems pretentious, so you retreat to the canvas you’ve been working on for the better part of the week.

This piece was different—a symbol rather than a person or scene. Rings of unknown runes fan out in jagged edges, evoking a sense of beauty tinged with profound sadness. It disturbed you to your core, but you needed to paint it. It’s how it always goes. Once a dream pops into your head, whether it’s a scene, a person, or a symbol, it refuses to leave until you’ve laid it on a canvas. Picking up the brush, you dip it back into the red paint and continue to bolden the lines.

“Who are you?” Astarion’s voice is right behind you; you jump, knocking a pot of paint over. Cursing softly, you quickly right the pot, attempting to salvage the spilled paint. Paint isn’t cheap, and in your non-upper-class circumstances, every drop is precious.

“Oh, I’m sorry; I have been very rude,” you offer your name. “I, of course, already know you, Astarion. It’s hard not to come across the tales of the heroes of Baldur’s Gate, but I guess—” Your rambling trails off pathetically as something changes in Astarion. There’s tension in his shoulders, a coldness in his eyes. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you nervously play with a loose thread on the smock.

Astarion scrutinizes you with a piercing gaze, his eyes lingering on your face as if searching for hidden truths. The air becomes taut, charged with an almost palpable intensity. Then, as if propelled by an unseen force, he reacts like a tightly wound rubber band snapping. Reaching out, he harshly pulls you to him, bearing his teeth at you. Your stomach drops, shocked by the aggression.

“Have you been following me? Stalking me?” His voice carries a storm of anger, his grip on your shoulders unyielding, the coldness of his touch akin to ice piercing through the fabric of your being. “Don’t lie to me because I’ve shown one person that fucking scar, and I buried them.”

Your heart races, fear coursing through your veins as you whimper a response, tears welling up in your eyes. “I-I don’t know, I’m sorry,”

“Don’t lie!”

“Please, I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know; I have dreams; I don’t know why, b-but I dream of you,” your voice falters, and your vulnerability is laid bare. “I dream of you, your friends, and places I’ve never been. I’m sorry, I’ll stop, I promise.”

As abruptly as his hands seized you, they vanished, leaving you stumbling to your knees, unable to contain the torrent of tears streaming down your face. Curling in on yourself, you can’t stop the cries of apologies and promises of never picking up a brush again, of burning every last piece in the room.

Astarion looks down at you, his expression shifting from anger to a complex amalgamation of horror and something else—perhaps realization. Stepping away, he leaves you rooted to the spot. Your gaze fixed blankly out the window. Odd and conflicting emotions swirl within you—fear, confusion, longing?—all clashing fiercely. Amidst the tumult, one thought emerges with undeniable clarity—this won’t be the last time you see Astarion.

Astarion’s breaths come in ragged gasps as he runs through the barren streets, escaping the grasp of the haunting memories that threaten to consume him. His thoughts are a raging storm, and he pays no heed to the bewildered faces of those he rudely pushes past. The town of Rivington is a blur as he sprints through it, a desperate escape, picking a direction and refusing to stop until his body aches, halting only when the sun begins its ascent above the horizon.

In his frantic need to run, there was no consideration for shelter from the sun’s relentless rays. Mercifully, he stumbles upon an abandoned cave. Dry, dusty, and shrouded in darkness, it becomes his refuge. In a corner, he sinks slowly against the cool, rough wall to the ground, seeking solace in the obscurity.

Astarion pulls his knee to his chest, pressing his forehead against his crossed arms. Shaking and shivering, a stark contrast to the bitter summer heat enveloping the cave, he clings to his vulnerability. Eyes shut tight, jaw clenched, fingernails dig deep into his arms as if attempting to anchor himself in the reality that threatens to crumble around him.

Desperation claws at him, and he yearns for Tav. The desire to feel Tav’s warm embrace, hands crossing over his chest, pulling him close, torments him. He longs for the soft whispers of love and the gentle press of lips. Astarion can’t navigate this without Tav. He’s a mess, barely holding on, living each agonizing day, acutely aware that the best part of him is gone, and he can do nothing to reclaim it.

The cruelty of encountering such intimate moments from his past life with Tav wounds him deeply. These were moments meant for him and Tav alone. Realizing that a stranger could capture those cherished memories intended for one person alone turns his stomach.

Anger becomes a conduit for his overwhelming emotions, and the terrified look on the artist’s face is etched in his mind, an indelible scar on his conscience. Shame burns within him, a searing reminder of the boundaries he violated. Physically assaulting someone in their own space—what would Tav think of him now?

The artist adds another layer to Astarion’s confusion. The familiarity is uncanny—the excited calf raises, the almost-stumbles afterward, the nervous lip biting, puffed cheeks during deep concentration, and the mindless dancing when no one is watching. Every little thing the artist did mirrored Tav, and with all his memories physically displayed, Asterion finds himself lost in a sea of confusion. Why does this stranger resemble his love so deeply?

The bards’ tales of soulmates and reincarnation, once dismissed as mere children’s stories and fiction, now claw at the edges of Astarion’s consciousness. What if? What if Tav found their way back to him? Weirder things have happened in his long life, and the possibility plants a seed of hope within him.

Yet, he forcefully suppresses that hope. It won’t serve him, not now. Instead, he resolves to learn more. By nightfall, he returns to the city, catching the first boat to Waterdeep. After a day and some change, he stands outside the Wizards’ tower, resentment simmering as he contemplates turning to Gale, his best chance at answers.

A groan escapes Astarion as he hangs his head, and a series of knocks echo on the thick wooden door. “This better be worth it…”

The door swings open on its own into a dimly lit foyer. Astarion follows a familiar path, the cool air and faint scent of ancient tomes embracing him. He ascends the staircase with nostalgia and reluctance, each step echoing the countless times Tav and himself sought knowledge and assistance within these walls.

As he pushes open the study door, a scene unfolds before him. Gale is hunched over a worn scroll, graying hair ruffled, and a small pair of reading glasses set on the tip of his nose. The room is bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, creating an intimate ambiance. Notes adorn the margins, evidence of Gale’s ceaseless quest for understanding.

Gale looks up, a broad, warm smile gracing his features, and Astarion is momentarily transported back to the times when this sage was only a joke he poked fun at across camp. Removing his reading glasses, Gale pushes up from his desk, an air of welcoming familiarity enveloping the room.

“Well, look who the tressym dragged in. How are you, Astarion?”

Astarion stiffens as he is pulled into a spontaneous hug by Gale. The embrace is both unexpected and oddly comforting, a physical manifestation of the genuine camaraderie they’ve shared through the years. Astarion, unaccustomed to such displays of affection, awkwardly pats Gale’s back before gently pulling away.

“I’m afraid I’ve been better.”

Gale’s eyes convey concern and understanding as he gestures for Astarion to sit. The worn chair creaks under the weight of memories and the weightier burden of Astarion’s troubled soul.

“Then sit down, my friend, and tell me how I can help.”

***

Days of tireless research and a network of favors exchanged between magical acquaintances have led them to a glimmer of hope. Though not expansive, the discovery hints at the possibility that souls entwined so tightly may have a magnetic pull toward each other. A pull is so strong that souls can find each other in different lifetimes. Tales have described soulmates experiencing memories from previous lifetimes together, but they were vague at best. The specific remains elusive, shrouded in mystery, yet it’s enough to kindle a spark of hope within Astarion’s lonely heart.

Gale, ever the bore, offers a gentle reminder, “Now, just remember, if you try to force feelings before—”

“I would never!” Astarion’s retort carries a venomous edge, an unspoken warning to watch his following words carefully. Gale raises his hands in defense.

“My point is the brain is a prickly thing. It’s best not to rush anything it’s not ready for.”

“Yes, yes, you have said this five times already. Would you please activate the portal? I have an apology to make.”

Anticipation hums in the air, a palpable energy that courses through Astarion. A fleeting smile graces his lips, and for a moment, the weight of his grief is replaced by a glimmer of life.

Looking at Astarion with a fondness born of shared trials, Gale responds, “Of course, Astarion.”

With a confident shake of his wrist, he activates the magical circle, and the room is bathed in a radiant glow of bright runes, their purple luminescence dancing in the semi-darkness.

Astarion steps toward the portal, his heart pulsating with trepidation and newfound hope. However, before crossing the threshold, he turns around to face Gale, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Thank you, Gale. I will not forget this.”

“It was my pleasure. Now, I expect to meet this lovely artist sooner rather than later.” Gale’s parting words hang in the air, infused with the hope of rekindling a connection beyond the realms of understanding.

Back in the heart of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion swiftly navigated the bustling streets, an air of anticipation accompanying him. His purpose was clear—to reach your studio and beg for your forgiveness. A brief pause along the way allowed him to acquire a small bundle of daisies, a spontaneous choice fueled by the memory of Tav’s fondness for these delicate blooms.

As Astarion approached the studio, a surge of uncertainty clawed at him. Hesitation gripped his every step, the shadow of fear etched across his features. The fear in your eyes during the last encounter was seared into his memory. Had his previous outburst irreparably damaged any chance of reconciliation? The conflicting forces of his desire to see you again and the instinct to flee wrestled within him. Yet, he pressed forward, forcing himself down the street, and there you stood.

The scene that greeted him was a chaotic masterpiece of colors. Paint adorned your cheeks and arms, a testament to the artistic fervor that consumed you. Your hair, a cascade of untamed strands, framed a face that mirrored both exhaustion and creative passion. Astarion had a sudden urge to brush the strands away and press a soft kiss to your cheek, something he often did with Tav.

Your weariness was palpable—shoulders slumped, eyes half-lidded. Perhaps, he pondered, he should postpone this encounter, allowing you the reprieve of rest. The realization that he might be the last person you wanted to see compelled Astarion to take a step back, an unspoken retreat.

But just as he moved to leave, your eyes jumped up to meet his, you froze mid-stroke, and Astarion couldn’t read your expression. He should go. Why did he think this was a good idea? He’s just about to run when you nod for him to come in. Obliging, Astarion found himself standing awkwardly within the studio; you went back to painting. Your brush danced across the canvas, applying a vibrant shade of blue in deliberate strokes. Astarion’s attempts to break the silence faltered, his words dissolving into the room’s stillness.

“What are you doing here, Astarion?” The steadiness in your voice pierced the calm. You tried to hold on to your anger for the man all week. But upon seeing him standing so lost on the street had your resolve crumbling. You can’t deny the mild excitement that fluttered through your veins upon seeing him again.

His voice, momentarily lost, found its way back. “I-I came here to apologize for last week. My behavior was deplorable, and I wish to make things right.”

A wry amusement flickered in your eyes as you evaluated the bouquet, now slightly worse for wear under his tight grip. “And you believe a bundle of broken daisies would win you my forgiveness?”

Astarion, caught off guard, looked down at the bruised bouquet. “Um…well, I was hoping for roses, but they were fresh out.”

A snort escaped you as you put down your paintbrush and approached him. A tentative touch on his forearm transferred the flowers from his grasp to yours, eliciting a shiver down his spine. The longing to reach out is strong, but Astarion holds still as you retreat.

Intently studying the daisies, you began to divide the bundle into two piles. Astarion watched silently, recognizing echoes of Tav’s essence reflected in your actions. While understanding that you were not Tav, the profound sorrow gripping his heart seemed to ease in your presence.

“Half,” you declared suddenly.

“Pardon?”

“Half of the daisies survived.”

“And where does that leave us?”

With a theatrical flair, you pondered the question, pacing the room. “That, good sir, is the question. What is my forgiveness worth? I did luck out; daisies are my favorite, so you’re a step farther than roses would have gotten you.”

Astarion, grasping the playful undertone, decided to play along. With a hand on his hips and a wicked smirk, he responded, “Well, I am a pretty lucky man. Now, please, I beg, what more can I do to gain your forgiveness?”

You hummed softly, tapping your chin. You keep Astarion in suspense for a moment before you suddenly turn to the man. “How about…I get dressed, you take me out to dinner, and we’ll go from there?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” The agreement hung in the air, a hope for something more lingering.

***

The dinner evolved into an evening stroll, a seamless transition from pleasant chatter to playful banter. It was an unexpected evening, but the time spent with Astarion was so easy, so familiar you didn’t want it to end. Reading about the saviors of Baldur’s Gate was intriguing, and dreaming of a vampiric elf held its allure, but nothing compared to the tangible presence of the real Astarion.

Astarion embodied the epitome of perfection – handsome, intelligent, and endowed with a wit that had you giggling all night. He was the quintessential gentleman, the embodiment of every mother’s hopeful wish for their child.

What started as a single date quickly snowballed into a series of enchanting encounters – one date led to two, then five, until you found yourself drawn into his orbit every week. The pace was exhilarating, and being around Astarion felt like being charged with an electric current. It was not just addictive; it was a whirlwind of happiness, and you couldn’t help but revel in it.

If one indulged in whimsical tales, the idea that Astarion might be your soulmate would have crossed your mind. His ability to read you so intimately sometimes felt like he delved into the depths of your mind.

The dreams persisted, evolving into a kaleidoscope of memories that intertwined your moments with Astarion and a phantom era where someone else shared his company. Astarion, at times, would cast glances at you as you transferred another dream to canvas, an anticipation lingering in his eyes. Despite his attempts, he couldn’t veil the disappointment when the visions resulted in nothing more than another painting adorning the wall.

Then, it occurred on a serene spring day, three years since Astarion first entered your studio. The sun had yet to set, and you found solace curled up with Astarion. Limbs tangled, chests pressed together, hands intertwined – a tableau of intimate connection. His cold nose nestled against the crook of your neck, his white curls playfully tickling your nose.

Behind your closed eyelids, soft images of a forest clearing unfolded – Astarion shirtless, beckoning you towards him. Something clicked, and suddenly, the foreign memories that greeted you each night became a mosaic of your own experiences. The floodgates opened, overwhelming you with a lifetime of moments – kisses beneath the stars, laughter resonating around a campfire, and heart-stopping close calls with death.

Astarion often spoke of Tav, a robust and kind soul who played a pivotal role in shaping him. He wouldn’t be who he is today without them. You now knew a bit better; yes, you had nudged him along the way, but his growth was his own, and you couldn’t be more proud. To think of the years he spent without you, the grief he must have had to push through. If the roles were reversed, you don’t believe you would have been strong enough to keep going.

Startled from his slumber, Astarion found your body descending upon his, your hand meeting his chest with firm slaps. “Stop you, little gremlin.” Groggily, he attempted to restrain you in a tender embrace. He was met with your swift departure from his lap. He heard the patter of your feet retreating from the bed.

“You are a bastard, Astarion!”

Fully alert and by your side instantly, “What did I do, my sweet?”

Worry etched into every crease of his face as he cupped your jaw, looking frantically into your eyes. You intertwined your fingers with his, your other hand reaching out to caress the skin of his hip. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

Astarion scrutinized your face, his eyes delving deep into yours. The faintest furrow of his brows betrayed his thoughts. As if following an unspoken script, he pulled you in by the waist, foreheads gently meeting.

Glistening with unshed tears, Astarion whispered, “You remember?” His voice trembled.

“Yes… maybe it’s all still tangled. But yes, I remember Tav – well, I remember us.”

Astarion’s smile widened, his fangs peeking out, and his lips met yours in a heated kiss spinning the two of you around the room. It was a slow dance of lips as if Astarion had all the time in the cosmos to savor this moment. While you could quickly lose yourself in the embrace, you were privy to all his subtle tricks. You turned your face when he attempted to draw you back into the kiss.

“Gods, Astarion, for three years, you knew and never said anything. I’ve painted you for almost as long as I could wield a brush, and for three years, you knew why!” Another slap graced his chest, and tears trickled down your cheeks, eagerly wiped away by his thumbs.

“I wanted to, my love. The moment I realized I wanted to. But this couldn’t be rushed; you can’t rush the mind.”

“Star, I’m so sorry I took so long,”

“No, stop; you took as long as you needed to return to me.” His forehead rests against yours once more, and the room stands still for a moment. “What matters is you’re here, in my arms, and I’m not letting go anytime soon.”

A choked sob mingled with a chuckle, and you nuzzled closer into Astarion, hiding your face into his neck. “Gods, I love you, Astarion.”

“And I love you.”

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Okay loves, let me know what you think. I've been working on this for over a week and still find some sections I'm not all that happy with, but I want to move on to other pieces. Any and every interaction makes my day.

Taglist: heartfully10, ayselluna

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #bg3 #reader insert #astarion imagine #bg3 astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion #fanfic #writing #soulmates #soulmate au #reincarnation #frantic fiction

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hedgehog-moss · 1 year

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Update on the French protests: we've had a well-known expert in contemporary political history call the situation we're in "the worst democracy crisis France has known since [the end of the 4th Republic]" and meanwhile the government is trying its hardest to maintain a façade of normal functioning by a) hiding from protesters, b) hiding protesters from view, and c) banning saucepans and other means of drawing attention to the protests that are being swept under the rug.

I mean casserolades are an old tradition in this country but they wouldn't have been needed if Macron &co hadn't started almost systematically banning protests in entire districts of the towns they visit and setting up police roadblocks to prevent peaceful protesters from going anywhere near them. (Too bad because these are the kinds of images the media get (these 2 are from Le Monde) when protesters get to talk to Macron <3) :

Protesters corralled away where they can be easily ignored started banging pots and pans so the protest could at least be heard in the background of TV footage, and then pans started being confiscated.

French courts have repeatedly struck down the bans as illegal but police prefects keep churning new bans out every time Macron goes somewhere anyway, trying to publish them at the last minute so there's no time for a judicial review. (I saw a sign at a protest last week that went "Stop with all the bans we no longer have time to disobey all of them")

After boldly banning saucepans by calling them "portable sonorous devices" last week, today a police prefecture banned "festive gatherings of a musical nature" in a town Macron will be visiting tomorrow. They're (ab)using counter-terrorist legislation for all this, so these days we get to read unheard-of court rulings that go like "We are suspending this prefectural decree as we do not consider festive gatherings of a musical nature to pose a significant terrorist threat to the President."

If Macron had people showing up in support I don't think we would see so many pissy protest bans because then the media could show backers vs. opponents and things would look normal (and not like 70% of the country is very pissed off with Macron). But there's not much for them to show if they don't show the angry people banging pans and it clearly rankles Macron—we learnt yesterday that he sent a letter to 200,000 political supporters of his essentially ordering them to start making appearances all over the country, to show they are "proud of what you are and of what our country has become [since I got elected]." That seems a bit desperate.

For months Macron &co have been predicting that people would get tired of taking to the streets in large numbers, and now that people are going like—right, let's try a new strategy, small local protests greeting gov members everywhere they go!—we're hearing a clear "no not like that, that's not what we meant :l " reaction from the government.

They've also been trying the strategy of announcing stuff at the last minute, like on Monday the Minister of Education announced at noon that he would visit a higher learning institution in Lyon 2 hours later, and a hundred of protesters still showed up and tried to force their way into the building. They were held off by cops using tear gas and trying to block entrances (there's a pic that made me smile, showing cops trying to barricade university gates with garbage bins—how the tables have turned...!) and the Minister ended up not showing up and moving on to the next step of his schedule (protesters tried to follow him there but police vans were blocking the street.)

The first half of the video is at the uni in Lyon; the second half is in Paris later that day. When he returned to Paris the Minister was greeted by protesters with saucepans at the train station, it's like a national relay race of protesting at times. He had to go back through the train to leave via the other end of the platform under police escort so as not to meet any protesters (god forbid).

Macron commented that this was "uncivic" behaviour and I agree, civic behaviour on the part of gov members would be to at least face the people they choose to fuck over, instead of hiding behind cops and fleeing. Obviously Macron was condemning the 'uncivic' protesters though, and the Minister said he felt "physically threatened" by the "violence of [the protesters'] speech" which is a shit thing to say considering on the same day that he was mildly inconvenienced by having to take a different exit and felt physically endangered by words, yet another protester was mutilated after being shot at by police with a rubber bullet. Not a peep about this incident (or previous ones) from the government. The Minister of Education never even condemned that time high schoolers trying to protest got tear gassed and threatened with riot guns by cops in front of their school earlier this month.

But while people continue protesting despite the actual violence from cops, our ministers are looking pretty scared of citizens banging pots and pans. Here's a list of official visits that got cancelled "for safety reasons" (saucepan terrorism) in the past week:

1. Minister P. NDiaye cancelled a visit in Lyon 2. Minister F. Braun cancelled a visit to Evrard Hospital 3. Minister Delegate O. Klein cancelled a visit in Bobigny 4. Minister Delegate O. Grégoire cancelled a visit in La Baule 5. Minister S. Guerini cancelled a visit in Castelnau 6. Secretary of State B. Couillard cancelled a visit in Rochefort 7. Minister S. Retailleau cancelled a visit to the Paris Saclay University (electricity trade unionists cut the power in the building she was supposed to inaugurate, so) 8. Minister C. Grandjean cancelled a visit in Toulouse (this article says it was probably because the visit was quite near a big highway protest where protesters among other things were building a concrete wall on a national road)

In the same bullshitting vein as "portable sonorous devices", gov spokespeople have been insisting that visits aren't being cancelled, ministers are just "adjusting the course of their trips" which is funny to me. I guess we never beheaded any royalty we just adjusted the course of their necks. I also read a newspaper article that made me laugh, that went like "Minister cancels visit; trade unions disappointed" and I thought it was because the cancelled visit was a meeting with the unions which they wouldn't get to have, but the article said it was actually because they had a good protest planned and wouldn't get to hold it...

Watching protesters mess with the government in small ways on a daily basis has been good for morale—on Twitter the hashtags #IntervillesMacron and #IntervillesduZbeul popped up (zbeul = chaos, mess, and Intervilles was a TV game show that aired for over 50 years, where French cities competed against one another in goofy challenges). I only mentioned cancellations above, but fun things also happen on non-cancelled government visits, like a Minister having to leave a building via the emergency exit because of protesters blocking the building entrance (which some people argued is worth more points than a cancellation as it's more entertaining):

Various websites were created to keep track of all these smaller protests and to officialise the point system that ranks cities on their efforts to fuck with the government:

(the first symbol means a protest, the second means a casserolade, the last one means protesters managed to get inside a building where a visit was taking place)

(Translation: Ruckus (saucepans, heckling...) 1pt Protest: 1pt Creative action (chasing minister in the woods, etc): 2pts Measures of energy conservation (= power cuts by unions) 3pts Action that leads to a political figure fleeing: 4pts Cancellation of a visit: 5pts — then there's a weighting system where the score is multiplied by 3 if it's a Minister, by 5 if it's the Prime Minister, by 6 if it's Macron.) (I also saw an interesting debate on Twitter this week—since our leaders often embarrass themselves, how should the government's own goals fit into the point system?)

Right now the Hérault department is winning because on top of protests, power cuts and casserolades, protesters greeted Macron with a giant "MACRON FUCK OFF" sign hung from a cliff (!) and took over a highway display so it'd say "Welcome to [region] Butthole Ist"

These past few days I've been discovering unknown French cities (and Ministers) thanks to them showing up in the hashtag after a good protest. I discovered a mediaeval castle I'd never heard of when unions hung banners featuring our most famous revolutionary dates from the castle's battlements. (Two days later, another protest with eloquent banners in the Musée d'Orsay in Paris:)

People are very creative—last week we heard that protesters got prosecuted for giving Macron the finger and insulting him during one of his official visits (< we are a healthy democracy), so protesters in another region tried a more sarcastic approach, and greeted a deputy from Macron's party at a strawberry fair this week with clapping and confetti and "Thank you for making us work 2 more years, thank you for police repression, thank you!" The deputy beat a hasty retreat. Then said he would file a complaint against the harassment and intimidation he had been subjected to. (The tear gas and riot guns and arrests and protest bans are not intimidation of protesters on the other hand. Or the fact that another deputy from his party recently said on TV that they were "ready for war"... They're ready to wage war, but run and hide when people clang saucepans and throw confetti.)

Anyway. I'm enjoying the fact that they can't even attend a small strawberry fair without getting heckled right now. In one of my first posts about the political crisis in March I wrote something like "How will Macron and his gov have any legitimacy to speak about any issues after this?" and it cheers me up to see a lot of people across the country agree that they have no legitimacy to talk about anything, not even the strawberry harvest.

The next nationwide protest is of course for May 1st, but in the meantime it's been really fun following the smaller protest actions all over the place. Members of government & Macron's party keep making whiny statements along the lines of this is terrorist behaviour, we can't go anywhere, why are people not getting tired of fucking with us and the answer is, because it's really entertaining!

This was the last sentence of a recent Le Monde article about Macron's situation and it has such a sinister, end-of-reign tone:

"I'm moving forward," Macron concluded, on April 20th in the Herault department, while behind his back echoed the sound of saucepans.

#frpol #well this is another very long post and it features maybe 40% of all the shit from the past week #like there was another popular hashtag last week that went ''no retraction [of the reform] no olympic games''#and the police prefect of Paris said ''the closer we get to the Olympics the more we will saturate public space with police''#okay! good atmosphere so far

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n0tamused · 6 days

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Will you stay?

A/n: save me sad dragon general, save me... sad dragon general you better get ready cause I'm sending happiness your way whether you like it or not

Content: Jiyan x Reader (fem implied, but no pronouns used), angst undertone but it all turns to fluff, Jiyan referred to as a husband, word vomit, non sexual nudity implied, not proof-read, maybe a tiny bit ooc? Feedback is appreaciated

Moonlight cascades through the open window in silky streams, showering the white sheets with silver and shimmer. The world is at peace, and quiet prevails all around, much unlike the main battle front. For only a few hours he spends here, Jiyan feels as if his lifelong wish is fulfilled. A facade it is, a dream, but it is comforting in all its delusion. Maybe one day it will come true, and he won't be forced to abandon your warm embrace for another month, and more, to fight.

His eyes move from the window and down at you where you have nestled yourself against his chest, your arms draped around him. It’s well into the depth of the night, yet both of you are denying sleep that so obviously hangs heavy over your eyelids - as any hour more means longer time spent together. And up until that point he has been listening to you talk about your days in the city, your fingertips tracing his chest and the occasional scar that paints itself thin and textured, different from the rest of his smooth skin. When you trailed off, he was quick to notice. His chin dipping slightly down to look at you.

Your finger neverending in its work of drawing him out, feeling him in all his warmth, living warmth - and your eyes lost themselves in images your mind conjured of what the battlefield looked like now. Red skies and twisted lands soiled with blood of people from the same city you were in now, the same people that were once someone’s little boys and girls, daddy’s girl and momma’s boys. Only now they were decades older with heavy bags under their eyes, lying in the desolate lands under trees for cover.

“Don’t think about it.. don’t.. let that plague your mind, my dear” Jiyan spoke up, his hand coming up to cup yours that had begun to shake over his chest, fingers curling into your palms. Jiyan wished he could take this worry away from you, he wished he could protect you from the horrific unknown and all the terrifying images of your imagination, but such a task was an impossible one. Your bare body can only share his warmth and hold on to what is currently there.

“(Y/n).. “

“Tell me about your days..” you whispered, cutting him off as timidly as a petal of a flower. You pick your head up and place it on top of his chest, gazing into those golden eyes you had dreams of when he was gone. Pretty in all their glory, even as they regarded you with worry and question. Jiyan sighs softly, his eyes wandering to the ceiling and the small swirly patterns that show up with the moon. That was your choice to put up there, little swirls and dots and constellations..

“Days are long and tiring. I often miss the smell of the city while out at the front, and your cooking. The ingredients and supplies are scarce but we are alright, we are holding together, my dear” his words resonate softly in your ears, and to an extent they bring you comfort. His thumb is rubbing the inside of your palm, massaging the soft skin until the shakiness subsides, and furthermore. “During the down-time, when there’s no danger to confront, the soldiers always seem to find new ways to entertain themselves” at that a small smile broke over his solemn and tired features, prompting you to smile as well. He has told you before how men would jest and play, little children stuck in bodies of adults, chasing one another after one of them threw a boot at someone. It was a reminder all of these soldiers were people and that they were alive, but most importantly they still held onto their humanity and hope. So much hope that one could feel it from a mile away.

“The other day, before our departure towards here, they were bold enough to attempt a small jest about me and it backfired, well it was unintentional frankly, I just happened to walk in on them. I suppose a new rumor broke out how I dismiss people from the military after I give them medical assistance”

“What? That’s ridiculous.. You wouldn’t send anyone home unless they were really badly behaving or injured”

“Yes. But that doesn’t quell the rumors, especially among the new cadets, which makes me think this is some ploy of the more experienced bunch as to scare the youth But..as I was walking by the tents and corners I ran into this group huddled under the lamp, talking about this rumor. I’m not sure what came over me, but I just marched up to them and coldly began to question them, about what they were doing and such” A stupid smile came across his lips now, a childish one you relished in seeing and it make you physically perk up to hear the rest of the story. Your leg came over his waist as you tried to comfortably lay on his chest.

“One of those men had a pretty bad leg wound from the day prior, but nothing life threatening. However, he has been quite snarky with Captains and other soldiers, so I gazed at his bandaged wound, then up at him, and then I asked if he wanted me to take a look at it. The team went silent as a grave, my love- I..”

“The rumor had so much effect on them? Pfftt-” “Yes! I was quite shocked too, I had to hold back my surprise, but he went pale, I can’t even describe it to you. Whoever created this rumor really was creative, I need to give them that, but I really couldn’t play so long afterwards. I had to clear it up..”

You giggle at his words, forehead pressing against his collarbone as your chest flutters with warmth, just imagining this scenario was silly - has your husband become such a menace in the army? Him? Sure, he was skilled beyond belief, but the way he laid beneath you and the way he touched you could never make you believe he was scary. You know him, for crying out loud! And due to that, this was all the funnier.

Jiyan joined your fit of giggles, other hand rubbing and holding your back, pushing you up against his chest that jumped with cackles. “Goodness- now you’re laughing at me as well” he comments lightheartedly.

“Apologies, apologies, I can’t help myself” you respond and slowly come back to your composure with a long sigh of relief. “Those poor souls, scared by my precious husband. Perhaps I should start scolding you at home more often” Your hand sneaks from his hold and pinches his cheek teasingly, causing him to click his tongue and pull away, reminded of the way his mother would do the same action when he was younger, although not so teasingly or playfully. His arms squeeze around your shoulders, his other arm soon joining its pursuit of keeping you still against him.

“Perhaps you should not. I missed you too much, but then again.. If scolding me is the way to hear more of your voice, I could get used to it..” Jiyan says as he releases his tight hold of you, letting you slump against his chest with a small exhale. “But now..” his lips found your forehead, pressing a lingering kiss to it before pulling away. “You must rest. I know how little sleep you got the last few days..” he says and reaches for the covers that were pushed down in your small tussle. The blanket covers your back and you instantly feel warmer, nestled here against him.

The thought of him leaving makes a pang settle in your heart once more, heavy and sharp. “Jiyan.. will you be able to stay for breakfast at least?” you ask him, hoping, wishing, praying.. just an hour will do.

“.. I will. I’ll wake you up, aright? We’ll cook something together..” There’s promise in his voice and it is undeniably prevalent and true, otherwise he would not be saying these things. Jiyan kissed your forehead again, hugging you against him and closing his eyes.

The upcoming morning suddenly became something to look forward to.

#jiyan x reader #-dragon.treasure #jiyan #jiyan imagine #jiyan x you #jiyan x y/n #wuthering waves #wuthering waves x reader #wuthering waves x you #wuthering waves fluff #wuthering waves imagine #wuwa x reader #jiyan wuwa #jiyan wuthering waves #jiyan fluff #wuwa

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jewishvitya · 7 months

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[This post was originally written in response to someone tagging me and claiming that a free Palestine would mean all Israeli Jews will be kicked out and where will I go, and how they can't understand why I'm so against Israel being our ethnostate. OP blocked me, so I'm reposting with a few edits, because I already wrote this and I might as well.]

Look. I understand your mentality. We're traumatized by a history of violence against us. We were shown that so many in the world want us dead, and so many others won't stop them. I get it. But I refuse to let myself silently become the face of similar oppression for other people.

Israel benefits from antisemitism and maintains myths that got Jewish people killed in the past, like double loyalty. It weaponizes it for propaganda reasons. It's supported by antisemitic Christian zionist organizations with terrifying motivations. It started out with violence not only against Palestinians but against Jews too. Israel isn't motivated by our safety, it abuses that idea. It manipulates and weaponizes our trauma to make us feel justified in causing so much suffering to innocent people.

You're right that I'll have nowhere to go if I'm kicked out of here. This is where I was born. My parents come from other countries that I won't feel safe in. But all of this is hypothetical. The ethnic cleansing and genocide of Palestinians is not hypothetical, it's REALITY. It's happening RIGHT NOW. And I don't understand how, as a Jewish person who knows what this kind of suffering and loss of life means, you seem unable to prioritize that. I tell you I'm witnessing a genocide happening right next to me and you keep telling me "but what if they hurt you instead."

The assumption that Palestinians will pull some sort of reverse ethnic cleansing against us is racist. This assumption is the reason Israel feels comfortable calling the carpet bombing of a civilian population "self defense." Killing them based on a this is not self defense, it's a racially motivated crime against humanity.

And I'm calling it an assumption because I'm not willing to pull from the Hamas charter that they've since replaced. Hamas isn't Palestinians. The only reason they became this powerful is Israeli funding, and Israeli violence giving Hamas free PR as the only ones who will stand up to the state that will keep them trapped and dying.

We control every aspect of their lives. Israel created a place that breeds radicalization. No group of people, living under the conditions forced on Palestinians, would be peaceful. They would fight back. Because peaceful attempts to have the human rights that Israel denies them got nothing. We stomped on every single one. We blocked all other routes and left them with only violence, which Israeli politicians have been using as an excuse for over 15 years to make a show of force with military campaigns whenever they wanted a boost in popularity. We created living conditions with such low life expectancy that half of the population is children because so few adults survive. They don't deserve this. No one deserves this.

Palestine was a land with people living in it. One plot of land can create multiple groups of people, especially when we've been separated for 2000 years. Our connection to this land does not cancel out theirs. Removing them to create our own country could never be right. It's not an argument saying that our connection to Israel gives us the right to move here to live ALONGSIDE Palestinians. That's not what we wanted. We wanted a country that enforces Jewish majority and legally prioritizes Jews. You're justifying this when I repeatedly state that the only way for it to exist is through ethnic cleansing and genocide. There's no way to make this concept into a reality without killing, displacing, and oppressing whoever's left in various different ways, from apartheid to other kinds of discrimination.

I'm not against safety for us. I want to be safe. I want my children to grow in a safe world where we can be openly and joyfully Jewish. I'm not willing to pay for that with the lives and freedoms of other people.

So I will be loud about this: Palestinians deserve to be free in every part of their homeland, even if it's our ancestral homeland too.

If safety for us means we're the ones committing the genocide, maybe we should rethink what safety looks like.

I'm terrified for the lives of millions of people in Gaza. Right now, all I can think about is this, and it baffles me to see people so willing to transfer the horrors of our history to other people.

I had a lovely conversation in DMs in response to the first post, about how zionism encourages us to isolate rather than build bridges in the places where we live all over the world. We can't ignore the way antisemitism saturates culture, but we should also remember the places where Jewish communities thrived for centuries, the places where our neighbors protected us. We're hated, and we're loved. Each form of oppression is unique, so no other group experiences what Jewish people do exactly, but we're not alone. We have a long and rich history of solidarity with other marginalized communities and involvement in liberation movements. We're actively working to make the world safer, and we have people fighting with us. I'm just participating in this fight where I am. The struggle for liberation is a human struggle. You can't use the trauma of antisemitism to silence me about other kinds of bigotry.

Never again. To ANYONE.

#riki babbles

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heliosundercover · 16 days

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Batboys and

how they talk about you

Bonus fic as a thank you for allowing my jason fic to do well 💋

Dick Grayson-

, who talks about you like a goddess walking the earth, loves you more than words. The type to talk about you so much that people doubt your real

“My girlfriend is so sweet, guys. Today we went to that one library I like. Guys, have I told you even her favorite book is adorable?”

It doesn’t help that he tends to get caught up in certain details, completely ignoring other ones. No one knew your name until a week into dating.

Jason: “If you asked me before, I would’ve never believed him; weve all gone a little insane, but now that Ive seen proof, I'm happy for him. He gets to be well-dick, and she gets to smile and nod, but I swear she enjoys it. They’re weird together.”

Tim: “We love Dick. A lot, but we were looking at a wonderful facility that has an in-patient gym in the beginning. But the way he looks at her, I wouldn’t be surprised if she actually did miracles.”

Damian: “At least I believed him at the start. He was smitten and absolutely whipped. I thought it was just like Dick. I don’t know why I, of all people, was the only one that caught it.

Bruce: Yeah, I knew she was real. Why would I ruin everyone’s fun? I mean, Dick is a bit. Aloof sometimes… I'm not exactly surprised; he’s not exactly amazing socially sometimes, but with her, he’s extra awkward, and I watched him flirt with men and women. But look, as long as he’s happy, we’re happy for him.”

Dick is a completely drunken idiot, with so much training thrown out the window.

(Can you tell I'm not a fan of a playboy dick😞 im sorry i love a good love stuck man)

Jason Todd-

, who is extremely protective of his peace, sometimes acts as if you’re fragile. He was the type to invite you to a family game night where he called a family meeting an hour beforehand, forcing everyone to be on their best behavior. Needless to say, it was awkward, but one uno round later, he realized you fit in just fine.

“I knew my girl would win. She's a gangster.”

boast when you absolutely dominate everyone playing in the game. You never quite beat the cheating allegations.

Dick: "I don’t know how he did it, but he found someone who brings out a side of him I haven’t seen in years. No one is that good at uno; naturally, at least, I think she’s a meta. I'm not saying that non-metas aren’t good at uno.”

Tim: "You know how in movies the girl animals just have lashes, and how the boy is always darker and the girl will be like a lighter color? It's like she was made for him. I'm glad he found his anamorphic girl, Wolf. But, can I be honest? I think Alfred was telling her our cards.”

Damian: "I'm glad Jaybird is happy. He’s definitely earned it. Even if she cheats at UNO, they’re perfect for each other. Hell, the cheating is what makes them perfect for each other.”

Bruce: "I'm glad to see Jason happy. The sparkling in his eyes, the boyish smile, is the same joy I saw after he hit me with a car iron and ran off, giggling. I like her.”

Bruce Wayne-

is proud to show you off publicly. He’s not one to spoil someone, but sometimes he can’t help but pick up trinkets for you. Sometimes you’d wake up to keychains, jewelry, or even clothes somewhere in your shared room.

He tried so hard to be there for you and protect you from his line of work. Some nights, he wouldn’t come to bed at all to avoid waking you. Some nights, if you worried too much, he would send Dick out in the Batman costume so he could be by your side.

"Shh, baby, its ok... Tonight, I'm staying with you, okay? I love you; do you know that? And I know sometimes the risk scares you, but I’ll always be here for you.”

Dick: "It's nice knowing Bruce isn’t constantly brooding about it. Well, I knew that fact already, but this is different. I only see a light in his eyes when he’s doing stuff he absolutely loves. Like when he talks to his parents tombs and we pretend we don’t see him.”

Jason: "i think that man would come back from the dead more dramatically than I did for this woman. And I waged like 3 wars.”

Tim: “Sometimes I see them sitting in the library together in silence. All they do is enjoy each other’s presence. Its adorable”

Damian: “Dads earned it. And when I say he’s earned it, I mean he’s earned it!”

Bruce isn’t the easiest to be with, but he always makes up for it.

#dc x reader #jason todd x reader #nightwing imagine #red hood #red hood x reader #dick grayson x reader #bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #dc imagine #self indulgence at its finest

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papercorgiworld · 3 months

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Pansy’s Prediction

After finding out you might not be so innocent the guys make their move. Pansy's prediction: eventually you’ll give in.

Pick your guy Blaise, Mattheo, Draco or Theo+Enzo

This is part two. Read part one here: Pansy’s Potion.

Warning: smut, 18+

Yes, you read that right Theo and Enzo are a package deal. Funny how a few weeks ago I couldn’t manage to write a threesome for Matt and Enzo, but now suddenly my brain is like: here’s a random Theo and Enzo threesome. I guess it’s because my brain thinks those two are just incredibly slutty. Anyway, for Blaise, Draco and Mattheo it’s just ‘average’ smut, I mean nothing too unholy, okay with Draco it’s kinda public soo yeahhh. Smutty readings, dears!

If you read all four scenario's you get a cookie, bc this is 6900+ words of smut!

You make a formal apology and the guys are so annoyed with you. “I was not myself and I promise it will never happen again, I will not in any way behave like I did yesterday evening. I hope you can find it in yourselves to forgive me, so we can go back to how it was before.” Pansy’s grinning eyes move between you and the boys. You drive them crazy and then you just want to pretend like you don’t want them. You stare at them nervously waiting for a response and Blaise is the one that ends your suffering by speaking up, though his voice is hesitant. “Suuure.” Enzo nods with his lips in an awkward line. You wanna leave the room so you make peace with only Enzo and Blaise recognizing your apology and quickly say goodbye.

As soon as you leave the common room the boys openly show their annoyance. “An apology?” Enzo asks offended and Pansy snickers. “Yeah, sorry guys. She’s back to pretending she’s an innocent good girl.” Draco huffs. “No fair.” Theodore lets his head fall back a little. “Can’t believe we missed our one and only chance.” Blaise leans forward and focuses on Pansy. “Is there no way to- you know… get the less innocent version back?” Pansy smirks as all boys stare at her with hopeful eyes. “Well, I guess, if you work hard enough for it… she’ll eventually crack, but the only question is who’ll win her over?”

Forget about slutty saturday and sunday, because the guys had a plan and it involved… slutty smonday.

Enzo was cheeky, his hair was more perfect than ever and when he sat down next to you in class his perfume had your mind thinking dirty. His hand would brush your thigh ever so often, but when you looked at him, his eyes were focused on the professor.

Draco was determined, holding doors open for you and carrying your books despite your protests. When he would push a door open for you he would make sure your bodies would touch. In the afternoon he would loosen his tie and his smug smile had you bite your lip.

Theodore was sneaky. During DADA he spotted the perfect opportunity to become your tutor, standing behind you. His warm breath on your neck as his hand slowly traces up your arm to hold your hand in his to guide you through the spell. You learned nothing and blushed like crazy.

Blaise caught you off guard. You were waiting for Pansy in the slytherin common room so you could study together, when Blaise approached you wearing a shirt that showed his perfectly sculpted body. “About this morning…” He began and you looked startled. “You don’t need to worry about what happened, we’re just glad you’re okay.” You force a smile as you try to relax, but a nervous blush still forms on your cheeks. With a sweet smile Blaise moves closer, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “No need to get so shy, I’m here for you.” His voice had you almost falling to your knees, but you’re not giving in and you turn on your heels.

As you turn around, trying to keep composure, Mattheo walks in, wearing grey revealing sweatpants and clearly nothing else. Your eyes widen, moving from his chest to rest on the shape in his pants for a second too long, making him smirk. “You know-” Mattheo starts, voice smug, but you don’t allow him to speak. “No. No. And no.” You say and hurry out of there, leaving Mattheo and Blaise grinning as they watch you. “Oh, she’s close to breaking point.” Blaise says, very pleased, and Mattheo’s grin turns more devilish.

Blaise

As Mattheo is still staring at the door through which you left, Blaise spots one of your books and instantly a smirk forms on his lips. Oh, you’ll be back and I’ll be here for you. After a few seconds of staring and silly comments Mattheo puts on a sweatshirt and heads for the astronomy tower. Satisfied with the situation, Blaise lets himself fall on the couch, holding your book as he focuses on the door you’ll be walking through any minute.

Still flustered, you walk in and notice Blaise flipping through the pages of your book. “Quite interesting.” He says and you reach for the book, but Blaise holds it back forcing you to lean a little bit over him as he still lounges on the sofa. You groan and reach for the book giving Blaise the perfect opportunity to move his hand over your thigh. You feel your whole body heat up and move away a little, but Blaise grabs your wrist pulling you on top of him. You yelp and he smirks, satisfied with the position he’s got you in. “Stop playing, Zabini. Give me my book. I need it for studying.” He laughs and wraps an arm around you, telling you he doesn’t intend on letting you go. “You need it for studying?” He mocks and you narrow your eyes. “How about I help you study? Everyone's gone, we have my dorm all to ourselves.” His eyes are teasing and his tongue hungerly moves over his bottom lip. You can’t help but drown in his eyes as your mind wonders what it would be like to be alone with him.

Blaise lets the book fall to the floor so his hand can move to your hips as he still holds you close to his chest. “No one needs to know. It can be our little dirty secret.” He whispers as his fingers play with your skirt, pulling the fabric higher. The fact that you’re still resting on top of him tells him enough and he pushes on a little. “Let me take care of you, princess.” He whispers seductively, his lips brushing your ear moving to your cheek. “If you want you can pretend afterwards no none of it happened.” His lips brush yours and instead of pulling away like the smart girl in you wished you would do, you move with his lips allowing him to kiss you tenderly.

Quick enough a hand moves to the back of your head holding you as he deepens the kiss. When the sloppy kiss turns too heated, Blaise pulls away. “Let’s go study.” He raises his eyebrows suggestively and you push yourself up allowing him to get up and guide you to his dorm. Once there you get cold feet as Blaise locks the door and you quickly turn around to face him. ”Maybe this was a mista-” You fall silent as Blaise pulls his shirt over his head, revealing his perfect body. A smug smile tugs on his lips as he lets his shirt fall to the floor and moves closer to you. His suggestive eyes meet yours and you let him close the distance between you two. “Still having second thoughts?” He whispers teasingly, leaning down to place a sloppy kiss on your lips as his hands roam your back, hips and ass.

While kissing you passionately, he picks you up and instinctively you wrap your legs around him. He walks you over to his bed, gently laying you down before tracing kisses down your neck while undoing the buttons of your shirt. Hands exploring your chest and earning a sweet moan from you as you lay on his bed enjoying his hands and lips moving along your skin. With his mouth teasing your nipples his hands wiggle your skirt and panties down, before moving his tongue to your bellybutton and kissing down to your pussy.

You squirm as his kisses close in on your bare cunt, but Blaise shushes you and his hands stroke your thighs making you moan involuntarily. You can feel his smirk against your skin and you bite your lips to keep yourself quiet not wanting to show how sensitive to his touch you really are. However, your efforts are pointless when he kisses your folds and inserts a finger, instantly making you grip the sheets as pleasure rushes through you. You had no idea how badly you needed this man until now. You bite down on your lips to muffle the desperate sounds that escape you. “Blaise-” You softly whine as a weak protest as he plays with your sensitive cunt. Needing more of his touch you hesitantly move your hips and he eagerly gets rougher, making you squirm again and forcing him to hold you still. His hand reaches for one of yours, still clinging to the sheets. He entangles his free hand with yours showing you love while forcing an orgasm onto you by fucking your pussy with his fingers and tongue.

You arch your back as you softly cry his name, unable to control yourself as you climax with his mouth still working your soaking cunt hard. “Look at that.” Blaise whispers, grinning as he crawls over you, leaving sloppy kisses on your breasts before meeting your lips. “You got there fast. You must’ve really needed it.” His eyes smugly search to meet yours, but as soon as they do you look away. You were not in the mood for slytherin arrogance. Your hand traces down to the bulge in his pants. “I bet you really need it as well.” You whimper as he kisses the sweet spot of your neck. “Don’t worry, I’ll sling your legs over my shoulder and I’ll let your perfectly wet pussy take care of me.” His words have you roll your eyes and arch your back as he sucks at your neck, while unbuckling his belt with one hand.

A cry that almost sounded like yelp escapes you at the size of he reveals and your whole body heats up as his grinning eyes look up at you. “Way to boost a guy’s confidence.” Blaise jokes and you’re ready to hide out of embarrassment. His large hands move up and down your thighs as he takes a good position between your legs. Your body tenses as his length sinks into your cunt, his eyes are focused on your entrance and a smirk spreads on his lips as he sees you take all of him. A soft gasp from you causes him to shift his gaze at you and you meet his eyes. He smirks at your flustered face and parted lips. He could see in your eyes and in every expression that you loved the feeling of him inside of you. He leans down to peck your lips and your hand traces his torso, making him smile lovingly at your touch.

“Tell me what you need, darling.” His low whisper as your cunt throbbing and your head spinning. You shake your head, reluctant to sound like a needy girl. The smirk on his face grows filthy and his hand moves up and down your thigh. Getting impatient for an answer since his dick was painfully hard Blaise moves his lips to your ear. “Do you want me to fold you and fuck you?” Your eyes roll to the back of your head at his guttural voice. When Blaise locks his eyes with yours you sheepishly nod, but that doesn’t do it. “Talk to me baby.” He demands and his hand moves to play with your nipple rather roughly as punishment for not answering his question and you gasp. “Fuck me, Blaise, please fuck me.” You whine and he takes in the view and your words for a moment, before he moves your legs to rest on his shoulder and grabs your hips.

His thrusts are deep and he grunts at the wonderful feeling your walls provide, increasing his pace as a reward for having such a wonderful cunt. Your mouth hangs agape as your stomach fills with pleasure and your mind gets hazy as Blaise pushes you towards your climax. Being in perfect shape Blaise holds a steady pace for quite some time, but he knows you're close and he himself is desperate to cum with you. Like having your knees almost pressed to your chest was enough, Blaise rests a hand on your belly increasing the pressure as he thrusts deep into you. Sure other people knew what was going on by the sounds coming from the room, his hips slamming against yours, you crying his name as you cling to his biceps and Blaise’s heavy grunts as he feels himself lose control. A painful cry escapes you as your orgasm hits you and your clenching walls have Blaise spill and almost immediately collapse on you. “Fuck, you’re something else.” Blaise breaths and your watery eyes meet his, he made you feel like a goddess in more than one way.

Carefully Blaise slips out of you, before grabbing some tissues for the both of you and falling down next to you on the bed. “Our little dirty secret, right?” You ask Blaise, referring to what he had said earlier. Blaise smiles at the ceiling and then rolls over to face you. “Yeah.” He cups your cheek and pecks your lips. “You’re my dirty little secret.” No way this was going to be a one time thing.

Mattheo

Still flustered, you curse yourself when you realise that you forgot your book. For several seconds you contemplate on whether to go back or just give up on your plans to study tonight. However, you really wanted to revise your material before tomorrow's class so reluctantly you turned around heading back to the slytherin common room. You are almost there when you suddenly hear Mattheo’s smug voice. “Change your mind?” Immediately your face heats up, he still hadn’t bothered to dress properly and it bothered you in more than one way. Smirking, Mattheo approaches your nervous figure. “I- I forgot my book.” You finally manage to say and Mattheo nods, far from impressed by your answer. “Sure, that’s all you want?” His eyes suggestively scan you from head to toe, before resting on your lips. Your chest heaves as your mind runs crazy with all things you really want, but you nod. “Just my book.” You bravely, but calmly say.

Mattheo watches you for a second and you have no idea what’s going on in his mind, but suddenly he pushes you against a door of a broom closet. “I don’t believe you.” He whispers, agitated and obviously hungry for you. You gasp as your back collides with the door, giving him the opportunity to crash his lips onto yours and move his tongue to dominate yours, while simultaneously opening the door and pushing into the privacy of the broom closet. “I think you want me as badly as I want you.” You hold onto the shelves behind you for stability as Mattheo grinds his dick between your legs while aggressively kissing and sucking your lips. One hand kneading your breast as his other hand has a firm hold of your thigh, so you have one leg wrapped around his hips, giving him perfect access to rub his hardening member against your pussy. Your breaths get unsteady and you stop resisting the moment, allowing your hand to rest on his bare chest as the other entangles with his pretty curls, while he bruises your neck with hungry kisses. Vocal moans of pure pleasure escape you as Mattheo plays with every sweet spot your body has.

“I need you noisy.” Mattheo breathes, pulling away from your neck to ravish your mouth and making you moan against his lips. You can feel him smirk against your lips and as much as you hate it, it turns you on even more. You try to subtly buck your hips against his demanding more friction, but the gentle move doesn’t go unnoticed. “You’re far from innocent. Do you want me to fuck you?” Mattheo’s voice is filthy, he’s so pleased to have you needing him. “Tell me, do you want me, love? Do you want me to have my way with you?” His husky whisper and hot breath on your skin has you whimper and cling to his neck, eyes needy and drowning in his. You nod. “Please.” You whisper and as much as Mattheo wants you to say it again, louder or even scream it and beg for it, he himself is too desperate to tease and taunt.

“Be a good girl and let me hear you.” He whispers, lips against your ear before getting to his knees, eyes never leaving yours. His hands move up your legs, slowly, and still his eyes stay locked with yours. He wants to see everything that you feel, every sensation that runs through you. You make a soft sound when his hands move up your thighs and reach your panties. Anticipation fills you as he pulls them down slowly, while he leaves gentle kisses up your thighs closing in to your cunt. Another moan slips as your whole body tenses at Mattheo’s soft lips only inches/centimetres away from your desperate entrance. “Please.” You moan when you get impatient, purposely sounding as needy as possible knowing that he wouldn’t be able to resist. And you were right, if you beg and sound as sweet as you do, Mattheo is more than willing to comply. His mouth moves between your legs, tongue slipping through your folds, hands grabbing onto you to keep you from squirming when he digs in hard, tongue playing with your clit.

He wanted you noisy, he needed you to come for him. To him it was like his pride depended on it. So there was nothing sweet about how he works your sensitive throbbing cunt, he was mercilessly devouring you while getting rock hard at every moan or whimper that filled the room. When you feel yourself get closer your legs get shaky and your breaths unsteady, making him take full control of your body pressing you against his face and making you yelp as his tongue flicks at your sensitive spot. That desperate sound makes Mattheo moan against your pussy. That groan of a moan has you throw your head back and give in to all the feelings building up, whining as Mattheo tastes your juices not giving you a moment's rest. He loved how messy he had gotten you, the usually so perfect behaving girl.

Part of you was relieved when he moved away, allowing you to breathe, but you miss his touch quickly and your eyes look soft, but still sparkle enough to make Mattheo grin. His dick was painfully hard and seeing you out of breath but still in need, made him almost spill in his pants. He was over the moon that he could fuck you right here and now, but he wouldn’t let you see how overjoyed he was and kept a filthy smirk up. “I want you naked.” He demands eyes locked with yours as his hand moves to his sweatpants. His demanding voice bothers you but you want his touch and you want his dick. Your eyes fall to his hard cock, clearly visible through the fabric, and without meeting his eyes you slip off your clothes as Mattheo watches, touching himself.

Now fully naked, Mattheo closes the distance between you two and rests his head against yours. “Fuck, you’re gorgious.” He breaths, voice dominant and yet adoring. He drops his pants revealing his size, pumping himself a few times and soaking his hand in precum. You spread your legs a little, resting against the shelves of the small broom closet as Mattheo grabs your thigh, lifting you as he lets his tip explore your soaking folds. You throw your head back at his perfect touch and he groans at the feeling and the view. The moment is intimate as Mattheo is gentle, almost careful, with you when he moves deep inside of you, stretching your walls and making you whimper. He watches your every expression as he keeps on pushing until he’s settled deep. A soft breath leaves you and he feels himself fall in love with your perfection. He leans closer his free hand cupping your face and kissing you tenderly.

However, Mattheo's eyes quickly move to your chest and then lower to your pussy filled by him. His hands grips the flesh of your ass, so he has a firm hold on you. His hard grip has you gasp and a smirk tugs on Mattheo’s lips as he starts rocking slowly and ever so gently increasing the pace, making sure you get maximum pleasure from every thrust. You cling to the shelves behind you when Mattheo gets rougher, stretching you deep and hitting you right. “You need this, you want this so bad, don’t you?” His voice is dirty and he doesn’t just move, he’s so consumed by the moment that he starts slamming you on him. Your eyes scan his sweaty and panting body as he works so hard to give you all of him. “Mattheo.” You breathe in between soft blissful moans and his eyes shoot up to yours, dark and having you guessing what he’s thinking. “Again.” He whispers as a gentle demand and you comply, doing your best to move your hips with him as you allow yourself to shamelessly moan his name, turning him on even more. You were becoming too much to handle for him. He almost felt the urge to beg for you to come or even to just allow him to come. Luckily for him, your shameless moans reveal how close you are to your orgasm.

“Matt- ah- I’m so-” He doesn’t let you finish as your voice pushes him too close and he starts pounding into you even harder. “That’s okay, love, come- fuck, please.” He can’t believe he actually begged. He’s a mess and so are you and almost simultaneously you reach your high. Panting, he lets himself fall against you and holds your unstable body as he slips out of you, making you hide your face in the crook of his neck. For several minutes your naked bodies just stay entangled in one another, enjoying the pleasure rush through your body. Slowly, you feel Mattheo’s smirk grow against your cheek. “There’s no denying it now. You want this and you need me.” You ignore his arrogant tone and just continue to rest your arms around his neck and his around your body. “Just admit it, so I can take care of you and we can freshen up together.” Mattheo kisses your cheek softly. “Must you gloat like this?” You huff, still hiding your flustered face and he smiles. “Yes.” God, you loved that raspy, smug voice of his. Neither of you were ready to admit it, but you were down bad for each other.

For Drace, Theodore and Enzo continue reading here

You had apologised and then made it your mission to avoid them for the rest of the day. Despite the guys' attempts, you had kept your composure pretty good. However, Snape was about to ruin it.

“Out of all the people Snape could’ve paired me with…him.” Pansy snorts at your complaint. “Might get interesting…” Her smile and eyes are devilish and you instantly get more worried than you already were.

Draco

It was late and you were not in the mood for more of Draco’s smugness, but there was no escaping Snape’s project so you headed for the library to meet Draco. It took you a while to find him since he had picked a secluded spot on the first floor of the library. He wasn’t wearing his tie anymore, his hair was a little messy and shirt was partly unbuttoned. He had obviously already done some of the work since he was surrounded by books on the topic. When he noticed you approaching, a bright smile tugged on his lips and you rolled your eyes. When he noticed that he just couldn’t keep quiet. “Not as excited to see me as you were yesterday?”

You took a seat opposite of him and stared at him unamused trying to play tough and not get flustered. “You’ve done some work already?” You ask, changing the subject and gesturing to the books. “Yes, I was hoping if we get it done quickly we can have another dance, I did love the way you moved last night.” This time you try to look stern, but fail, feeling too embarrassed about how you had thrown yourself at him. Clearly remember now how you grinded against him in the middle of the dance floor. “There’s no need to be embarrassed about it, I said I loved it.” He gets up from his chair and you open one of the books to avoid his gaze. “Let’s just focus on the assignment, okay.” You mutter and Draco can’t help but think you’re adorable, blushing and muttering.

He sits down next to you, but you pretend to read the page in front of you while Draco studies your face. You feel his breath on your cheek as he leans closer to your ear. “And what if I told you, I had already finished it.” His whisper makes you look up at him and suddenly you feel his hand on your thigh. “Draco-” You protest with a soft voice, but Draco ignores it and crashes his lips against yours. His tongue moves over your bottom lip begging for entrance and instinctively you give in to him, simultaneously encouraging him to move his hand on your thigh, stroking you gently.

You pull away after a moment, but Draco’s lips follow you, his nose brushing yours and eyes locked with yours. “This- I- We can’t.” You whisper barely audible and Draco notices your face head up like crazy. His hand moves under your skirt and you gasp, allowing him to sneak in his tongue and kiss you with eager passion. “We can, you just have to keep quiet.” Draco whispers and you feel his hand tug your panties, but instead of protesting you lean closer to him and kiss him hungrily. He moves one finger slowly through your folds, teasing, while his free hand holds your head to deepen the breathless kiss. However, he doesn’t tease long and you feel him mercilessly exploring your pussy and adding another finger to stretch you. You pull your lips away and gulp as he circles your sensitive clit and his mouth urgently finds yours again to keep you quiet.

Though there weren’t a lot of people that could hear you, Draco knew well enough it only needed to be heard by one to have the entire school know what you two were up to in the library late at night. Mattheo or Theo probably wouldn’t have cared, but Draco respected and maybe even loved you too much to have your reputation ruined by something like this. Yet he wasn’t going to stop playing with you either, he just had to keep you quiet. When you feel yourself get closer at the pace of his fingers moving you hide your face in his neck, softly biting the flesh of his shoulder to keep yourself from moaning, only whimpering softly. Never had Draco had someone so pretty and perfect cling so desperately to him and he loved it as much as it aroused him, making a deep moan roll over his lips as he rested his head against yours.

You did not know how turned on you could get by a man, until you heard Draco moan like that. In an instant you decided that his fingers weren’t enough. Without thinking about the location you were in, you look up at Draco, eyes needy for him. “I want to sit on your cock.” You whisper and his eyes widen at your blunt suggestion, did he really hear you say that? With his lips parted in shock he nods, leaning back a bit to give you space to move out of your seat. As you get up Draco unbuckles his belt still staring at you in disbelief, but also eager to move his pants down and reveal his hard dick to you. He wanted you so bad and he was about to have you. Blushing and still a little shy you look at his hard member, feeling your pussy throb at the side of his size.

Slowly and a little insecure about the whole situation while also so desperate to have him deep inside of you, you rest one hand on his shoulder and straddle him. Your free hand moves your panties to the side and Draco holds his size, guiding it inside of you as you sink down on him. “Fuck. You’re-” You interrupt him by placing a finger on his lips to remind him that in a library you have to be quiet. His hand moves to the back of your head and he pulls you in for a tender but intense kiss.

In an attempt to stay quiet you decide to move slowly, making the moment between you two more intimate. Watching you throw your head back and bite your lip as you ride him slowly but hard has Draco’s fingers digging into your hips as he feels himself get closer really quickly. Shamelessly you grind on his dick, pleasing yourself with every move you make, while simultaneously enjoying Draco’s hungry eyes on you.

You both struggle to reduce your moans to soft whimpers, but as you reach your high your eyes get teary as you're forced to keep quiet. Draco notices and crashes his lips onto yours for a sloppy and needy kiss as he bucks his dick a few times, hitting your soft spot hard and deep, pushing you over the edge. Soft cries get muffled by Draco’s hungry kiss. Your walls clench around Draco’s cock and he continues to thrust into you, less and less worried about the sounds others might hear. Soon enough he cums, slamming himself deep inside of you and wrapping his arms around you as you both enjoy the ecstasy of your orgasm. After several minutes of panting in each other's arms, Draco gives you a soft kiss on your temple. “Not that I would mind being seen with you, but I think we should pack up and maybe head to a room, mine or yours.” You chuckle, still not really believing what had just happened, what you had done… with Draco Malfoy of all people. “We need to finish our potions project.” You blur out as your mind starts to focus on reality again. Draco cups your cheek and forces you to meet his eyes. “I wasn’t kidding earlier, I did all the work so you just have to put your name on it.” You frown at his words and he smirks. “Don’t worry about it, you did your part by doing all the other work.” You roll your eyes at his suggestive comment, but when his lips search for yours you meet him for a sweet kiss.

Theodore + Enzo

“Enzo!” Theodore yells as Enzo walks in wearing only a towel. “What are you doing here? (y/n) will be here any moment.” Enzo fakes a surprised look. “Oh! No! I totally forgot about that.” Theodore grits his teeth, seeing through Enzo’s little act. “You sneaky bastard, you are not stealing this opportunity. Snape partnered her up with me, this is ‘my’ chance to win her over.” Lorenzo stops acting innocent and grins. “Worried this will steal your potions partner away from you.” He gestures at his toned body and low hanging towel, making Theodore roll his eyes at his friend.

Just then you knock at the door. “Yes.” Enzo says one split second before Theodore says “No!”. Angry eyes shoot up to Enzo, but there’s no time for Theo to do anything about Enzo’s presence now as you open the door. Your eyes immediately land on the half naked Enzo grinning at you and you narrow your eyes in confusion. Theodore loses his mind when he notices you only have eyes for Enzo and in a desperate attempt to make you look away he takes off his shirt and his plan works because now your eyes are on him, which makes Theo smirk, proud of his genius.

“Yeah. Not happening.” You say and turn around, making both guys panic. “No, no.” Theodore says as he closes the door before you reach it. He leans against the door and you watch him with stern eyes, but it’s Enzo who speaks. “Look the deal was you drank the potion to sober up and we do whatever you want.” You don’t turn around to look at Enzo, but just stare at the doorknob. Theodore closes the distance between you two, leaving no space between you two. “It’s okay to want it, we’ll be good to you.” His hands cup your face and make you look up at him, eyes locking so there’s no escaping the truth. Enzo holds his breath as he can feel himself get way too excited at the thought of the both of them actually having you.

You don’t answer, but you make no move to leave and that’s enough for them to know you want it as bad as they want it. Enzo moves to stand behind you. Shameless pressing his hard dick against you, hands move over your hips to your thighs. “Kiss him.” Enzo says and Theo leans in, knowing you’ll obey. The kiss is passionate and Theo’s tongue is eager to dominate, while Enzo’s hand slips between your thighs and pushes your panties aside, making you hold onto Theo’s shoulders for support. You moan as Enzo’s finger moves between your folds and Theodore allows you to breathe for a second to take in the view before his hands move under your shirt to knead your breasts. As soon as another helpless moan leaves you his lips are on yours again.

Meanwhile Enzo’s fingers don’t stop playing with your clit as he rubs his hard dick against you. “Tell us, what did you want us to do last night?” Theo whispers, intense eyes focused on yours. You hesitate and Theodore brushes your cheek, while Enzo presses himself closer to you. “Tell us, sweetheart.” Enzo whispers. You’re not brave enough to use your words but your eyes and hand move down to the bulge in Theodore’s pants and he smirks. Enzo’s hand leaves you and Theodore takes a step away from you, unbuckling his pants, making you whimper at the sight of his large size. Enzo still stands behind you with an arm around you as you watch Theodore sit on his bed and jerk his hard member. Enzo kisses your neck, while working on the buttons of your shirt, before getting impatient and just tearing your shirt off. You moan and throw your head back as Enzo takes off your bra and plays with your breasts, while Theo watches, eyes hungry. Fuck, you’re a view.

“If you suck him nice and good, I’ll take care of that desperate pussy of yours.” Enzo’s fingers play with your nipple earning him a whiny moan and taking that as yes to his proposition. Theodore moves on the bed as Enzo guides you towards his friend. Theodore reaches for you, kissing you and cupping your breasts as you crawl on the bed with Enzo right behind you, his hand moving under your skirt and squeezing your ass. Theodore’s fingers entangle with your hair and move your head down to his cock, while Enzo has a firm grip on your hips keeping your ass up so he can easily snake a hand between your legs. Your throbbing clit is victim to Enzo’s endless teasing and playing as you do your best to take as much of Theodore's length as you can, while Theo’s free hand rubs your nipple between his fingers.

It only takes seconds to turn you into a whimpering and moaning mess as both men play with every part of you, overstimulating you. Your walls clench around Enzo’s fingers, soaking them with your juices. As your orgasm runs through you, your eyes get teary and Theodore pulls you away from his dick to kiss you, but Enzo doesn’t stop and you whine into the kiss. “Do you want him to fuck you?” Theo asks and with watery eyes you nod, ignoring your sensitive cunt in favour of your needy core. A filthy smirk spreads on Theodore lips as his eyes drown in your needy ones. “You like being fucked like a doll, played with like your our toy?” Theodore taunts and you whine as Enzo’s fingers leave your pussy. “Such a desperate little girl with a needy pussy. ‘you gonna take me so good.” Enzo says with a dirty sound to his voice that has you look at Theodore, begging for mercy you know you’re not gonna get because they know you don’t really want it. With a hungry force Enzo rips off your skirt and panties.

Theo moves your head back down as your eyes stay focussed on his smirk. Enzo moans as he pumps himself, before lining himself up with your entrance. You whimper with Theo’s dick in your mouth when Enzo pushes himself deep inside of you. You try your best to focus on sucking Theo’s member, but as soon Enzo starts thrusting immediately keeping a steady pace the best you can do is let Theo bob your head and take him deep every time he bucks his hips needing more. Your moans turn to desperate whimpers, signalling to both Slytherins that you’re close to your second orgasm. With haste Theodore starts fucking your mouth searching his own high so he can come with you. It’s Theodore’s breathy moans that push you over the edge, your body squirm as pleasure washes over you and your walls clench around Enzo’s cock. Theo orgasms only seconds after you, leaving cum dripping from your mouth. “So pretty.” Theodore's hoarse voice whispers as his thumb moves over your lip, holding your chin so you meet his eyes, while your pussy is still taking Enzo from behind you. Theo’s eyes look soft as his mind is still hazy from the high he had just felt. Your eyes are glassy as Enzo has you building up to a third orgasm, hitting you right with every thrust, groaning as he struggles to keep a steady pace, feeling the need to spill inside your tight cunt.

“Fuck.” Enzo breathes, taking you harder each time, making your moans sound like desperate cries. “Fuck. She sounds beautiful.” Enzo says with a heavy breath, making Theodore smirk in agreement as he watches you. “Yeah.” Theo whispers watching your flustered face, orgasm building. You're too overwhelmed to notice Theodore’s smirk turn into a filthy grin, before he moves away from you. “Just spill, Enz. I bet she wants both of us to fill her.” Theo’s words make you sink your head into the sheets as you feel your body get more desperate for another release. Mercilessly pounding into you Enzo searches his own high, turning your moans pornographic as his body repeatedly smacks against yours. Out of the corner of your eye you can see Theo jerk himself like a madman watching Enzo fuck you. Out of breath Enzo pushes deep inside of you, filling your cunt with his cum and enjoying your walls clench as he climaxes.

You can already feel Theo’s hand trace your body as Enzo slowly pulls out, leaving your soaked but needy cunt aching for release, but also sensitive and overstimulated. You can’t help but instinctively squirm at Theo’s touch, but when Enzo lets himself fall next to you his soft shiny eyes relax your body. He looks blissful adoring your flustered face and he pulls your face closer to his to passionately kiss you as Theo’s large hands grab the flesh of your asscheeks while aligning his thick cum dripping cock with your throbbing pussy. You bury your head in Enzo’s gentle embrace as Theo pushes you towards another climax. “Salazar, you’re perfect like this.” Enzo whispers in your ear as you make soft noises, while a smirking Theo takes you hard, quickly cumming inside. “Satisfied now that your needy cunt is filled by both of us?” You hear Theo ask with a dirty dominant tone and you squirm closer to Enzo’s soft embrace, too embarrassed that you let both men come inside of you.

Theo leans over you to cover your naked body with a soft blanket, but as vulnerable as you look he can’t help but tease a little more. “Nothing left of that innocent act of yours, you're our little slut now.” You feel Theo’s soft lips place a gentle kiss on your cheek and Enzo squeeze you a little closer, biting his lip still enjoying the wonderful experience.

Requested tags for this one: @lauramjcmanus @whiteoakoak @bri-mercado-00 @adreamingpendulum

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amywritesthings · 4 months

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chocolate-covered silver. / a levi ackerman valentine's ficlet.

pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin) word count: 1.8k summary: Happy Valentine's Day readers. Why not celebrate with some Levi Ackerman smut? note: set in the universe of silver underground

tags: 18+ MINORS DNI! pre-aot, levi's pov, explicit language, secret relationship, gifts, eating desserts, sexual tension, oral (f!receiving), touch-starved idiots credit: dividers by @saradika-graphics

He could kill Hange for this.

A nice gesture, they said — as if he doesn’t already wait on James hand and foot whenever the other Scouts aren’t looking.

She’ll love it, they promised — but not without adding a probably after the sourpuss scowl started forming on his face.

He’s been her close friend for over a decade.

He’s been in her bed for a fraction of that.

So why does walking to her quarters with a tiny bouquet of hand-picked flowers and imported chocolate from Wall Sina feel like such a death march?

“I’m only trying to help you out,” Hange quipped last week, interrupting his perfectly-happy afternoon tea. “Is it not a day people celebrate in the Underground City?”

“We don’t celebrate stupid shit in the Underground,” Levi corrects, fingertips locked around the mouth of his cup. “And besides, it’s a married couple’s holiday.”

“Not always,” Hange argues, finger lifting in a contrarian manner. “People who date celebrate.”

“That’s not us.”

He’s not technically wrong.

You’re not dating, but he doesn’t know what the hell this is.

Hange’s smile only widens at that. “Friends celebrate, too.”

“Then where’s my flowers, shithead?” Levi retorts.

That earns a bark of a laugh from the Section Commander. “If you want me to go pick you some flowers to put in your stallion’s hair, Levi, make no mistake — I will run out there right now.”

“That’s a present for my horse, not for me.”

Hange waggles their brows, leaning over the table and ruining his peace. “Gives you ample opportunity to pick some flowers for our hardworking Lieutenant, too.”

He told them to go away.

Now, six days later, he’s here.

He’s showing up like a dumbass at her doorstep trying not to run the other way before you know.

Are you going to think he’s an idiot for partaking in holidays that mean nothing to them?

The only gift he’d ever given you was that damned necklace you never take off. It was the only thing he could afford back then, down there, while they fought for their lives.

Although they may be still in the fight for their lives here, too, he can afford much, much more for you now.

He will buy you a thousand silver necklaces if you want them.

Clearing his throat, the Captain takes a moment to collect his resolve before tapping a knuckle against the wooden door frame.

You shuffle behind it. You must have been going over presentation plans Erwin sent over.

He debates on putting the flowers behind his back or—

“Levi?”

Shit.

Too late.

He stares at you when you open the door, blinking twice. You mirror the movements, blinking between the box and the bunch of flowers in either hand.

Mistake.

Mistake, mistake, mistake—

“Are those…?” you start, trying to hide your amusement.

Levi scowls and holds out the bouquet. “Yeah, it’s stupid.”

“I was gonna say ‘handpicked’,” you reply with a snort, taking the flowers gently from his hand. Levi can feel his heart beating a mile a minute as he waits with a forced stoicism. “What’s the occasion?”

He stops breathing altogether when you lean down to smell the aroma of the bouquet. The way your face melts from stress to enjoy the moment, the scent, has him weak in the knees.

For someone that’s been labeled humanity’s strongest, you sure have a way of making his knees buckle from nothing.

“It’s… Valentine’s Day up here,” he carefully states, hating every syllable of it.

“Valentine’s Day?” you repeat, holding the flowers close to your chest. You step back, allowing him access to your quarters. Levi doesn’t hesitate to enter.

“Some holiday where people celebrate—”

“—lovers?” you finish for him, and the captain feels like he’s trudged in quicksand. “I know. Hange mentioned it to me the other week.”

Fucking Hange.

“Funny that they did,” Levi grumbles, before turning on a heel. You close your door as he extends his arm with his second gift. “You’re supposed to spend the day with someone special to you. Someone — well, it can be a friend —”

“Oh, we’re friends?” you tease him as you take the box of chocolates.

You’re going to kill him.

“James.”

“What? It’s nice to reaffirm — oh, shit.”

He stops in his tracks, painfully aware that you’ve gasped. His eyes slide to the now-opened box full of exquisite chocolate, throat now tight with uncertainty.

Maybe you hate it.

He really shouldn’t have listened to Hange.

“This is real chocolate,” you whisper, and that uncertainty melts into something so very warm.

“As opposed to fake chocolate?” he asks to keep his wits about him. To see you scowl.

“You know what I mean, Ackerman,” you snip, and he fights every muscle in his face to keep a smile at bay. “Where the hell did you get this stuff?”

“Don’t worry about it. Here.”

He steps confidently across the bedroom floor boards to pluck a piece of chocolate out of the box, holding it up towards your lips.

“Open.”

He knows that shift in your gaze when your eyes meet.

Yeah, Valentine’s Day is known for stuff like that, too.

(He can show you.)

Obediently you part your lips, widening your mouth so he can fit the chocolate right between your teeth. It catches, and you use your tongue to pull it into your mouth.

The pleasure is instantaneous. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, the real-time image burning the back of his mind, and he can’t hold back anymore.

“Is it good?” he asks, placing his hands on your hips.

“Better than good.” You hold out a piece for him. “Open.”

He hesitates when the little ball comes to his lips, but eventually he opens his mouth. You’re not wrong — it’s delicious. They don’t make anything like this underground.

It’s a luxury, though he had intended only for you to enjoy them.

Of course you’d include him.

“See what I’m talking about?” you ask with an excitement that’s damn adorable.

“It’s fine,” Levi answers, knowing the indignance that’s bound to flutter over your face. He huffs a breathless laugh before swallowing the chocolate down. “Come here.”

Lifting one hand to your chin, he pulls you in with nonexistent resistance. Your lips brush against his, at first slow then sensual.

He wants to tell you.

(Your lips taste like chocolate, but you taste better.)

But he’d rather show you.

He glides forward, using the hand on your hip to steer.

You easily comply with his steps forward, guiding you back to your bed. His plan must be in the back of your mind as he kisses you like it’s his last, but he can feel it — the way your lips curve in that knowing smile.

“What are you doing?” you murmur, voice velvety with want. It drives him insane.

“Celebrating you,” Levi mumbles in return, pushing your body backwards.

You easily fall to the bed and he drops with you, knee to the mattress. Levi crawls down, down, to the edge of the mattress with his hands preoccupied with the zipper of your casual trousers.

You don’t ask what he’s doing — all you do is giggle when he impatiently tugs the fabric down.

“As a lover or a friend?” you tease once your legs are freed.

Levi doesn’t answer.

Not verbally, anyway.

He wraps an arm around your hips, keeping you in place as he swats your legs wider. Your breath hitches from surprise — good, you’re too mouthy right now and he intends to remind you.

Friend, lover, it doesn’t matter.

It’s all synonymous to him.

You’re everything.

His past, his present —

And if he can bury his face into your pussy for the rest of his days, then it’s one hell of a future he can get behind.

The squeak of surprise rips from your lungs faster than you can stop the noise, and Levi is wholly satisfied by the sound. His tongue drags along your slit, coating his mouth with the taste of you mixed with the chocolate still lingering on his taste buds, and he groans.

This.

This is the only thing he needs for this dumb fucking holiday.

“Le—”

You can’t even finish his two-syllable name. You squirm, curse, arch, as he laps once, twice, before paying special attention to your clit.

Yeah, you won’t think straight now.

He knows you.

When his eyes flicker up from his work, he sees the way you struggle to watch him with that flushed face; how your chest heaves in that cotton shirt; how you want to encourage him, beg him, but your mind’s blank whenever his tongue swirls that precious clit of yours.

With his eyes, he says everything he needs to:

This is what I want. This is my gift from you.

Then he sucks lightly on your clit, rhythmic and calculated, and you have to slam your hand over your mouth to avoid screaming.

Good.

Fight to keep this a secret.

Because if it was his choice, he often thinks about ruining this — the image of a captain and a lieutenant, platonic and brave, like you’re not riding him in the middle of the night after a hard day of exploration and failures.

Like he’s not finger fucking you in the hallways as a reward after dealing with the higher ups in meetings upon meetings upon meetings.

Like you’re still two teenagers sneaking around, an underground flipped upside-down.

He hums and the vibrations make your legs shake. He has to keep from grinning, too focused on getting you to the edge by his mouth and his mouth alone.

You grow quiet when you’re almost there.

It’s been dead silent for several seconds.

He works overtime, arms locked around your hips to keep you in his orbit, as he licks and sucks and flicks his tongue side to side when—

That devastating sob.

The way your body arches like a woman possessed.

Thighs slam into his ears, making him feel dizzy, but he doesn’t stop.

Not until you whimper and tug and push at his hair to go away, and even then—

One last lick, for doing such a good job.

“You’re a menace,” you finally breathe, letting go of your mouth as your palm rests on your sweat-beaded forehead instead.

Levi lazily kisses down your inner thighs as you come back to planet Earth, proud of just how fast it took this time to get you there. He’s getting better at this, every single day.

Soon enough you won’t last a minute.

He’s determined for it.

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’m not sorry about it,” he murmurs, lips shiny and red from his efforts.

You laugh, and his heart swells.

“I think I like this holiday.”

Yeah.

Levi thinks he can get behind this holiday, too.

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artsy-waffle19 · 26 days

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They literally put Edwin through every possible gay-romance trope but made it realistic and that's so special to me like

we got the "probably former friend can't handle feelings and turns into bully instead" but it doesn't end with them, making up and being happy, they break apart, things escalate and they both suffer from that situation for a major part of their existence. With a bit of luck and a LOT of growing they manage to talk it out and the victim finds it in himself to forgive his bully but it's never going to be truly fine. But even though they both suffer tremendously, they are faced to deal with themselves in the process and find a kind of peace they wouldn't have gotten otherwise. Because maybe it's better to hurt for a long time only to realise that it really doesn't have to be torture to be the way you are and finally freeing yourself entirely than quietly live without the conflict but also without the realisation and resenting yourself for its entirety.

then there's the situation with the cat king. Older, emotionally unstable guy obsesses over younger inexperienced guy who actually understands him and causes some sort of gay awakening. But instead of some "I can fix him" bullshit with them, ending up happily ever after because "they're the only ones who understand each other"TM we get to see Edwin set boundaries and standing up for himself which benefits the both of them. For Edwin this ends in going "Hey thank you for opening that door to discovering that part of myself but I'm actually gonna have to leave you at the doorstep now" and for the cat king it ends up with him actually feeling seen because for once somebody didn't fall for his probably usual game of "I'm bored so I'm going to make a game of getting that guy to do what i want by seducing him". The fact that they don't end up together is the reason they were good for each other.

Also the situation with Monty which is basically the experience of a lot of queer peoples first relationship. They meet and they're both somehow new to all of this. Being queer, relationships, all that stuff. And they get along and share some interests, they like soending time with each other and technically it's like in a romance book because they meet and one of them is immediately interested and then they talk and they sit on a swingset and they kiss. And there's the excitement about "apparently I'm making my first experience with romance right now" and the worry of "I'm queer...I have it harder with relationships...what if this is the best option i have? what if it's the only one?" so they go through all the romance book tropes but the spark simply isn't there and it ends in one of them getting way more invested tha the other and they eventually end up breaking up in blood. But in a way both of them got an idea about what they actually want in life out of it so even if that sone didn't end well, it did give them something.

And last but not least the "in love with best friend who likes someone else/someone of the opposite gender specifically" but instead of having that best friend be secretly in love with the character all along or suddenly turn homophobic and the friendship being ruined they talk about it and they move on and the friendship isn't damaged and in a way it might even be better because sometimes our feelings are unrequited and sometimes that's okay.

I just really really love how the show took all of those options for cheesy and in a way sometimes even forced romance tropes and went "hey, life is not a romance novel but actually that kind of makes it better because look where it got you now"

#dead boy detectives #edwin payne #edwin paine #dbd #monty dbd #monty the crow #charles rowland #cat king

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theweasleytwinsownmyjuicyass · 7 months

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Sleepy | L.N.

Lando Norris x driver!reader

Summary: A rainy day in the paddock results in a sleepy cuddle.

Warnings: fluff<3

Word count: ~0.9K

The rhythmic sound of raindrops echoed through the McLaren garage, creating a cozy ambiance that contrasted with the dreary weather outside. Lando and you had just finished half of your laps when the heavens opened up, forcing you two to retreat from the track.

You both rummaged through your bags, pulling out hoodies and blankets to combat the chill in the air. Once settled, you both sank into the sofa, each engrossed in your own world of social media. The monotony of the rain against the garage doors created a hypnotic atmosphere, pulling you both towards a drowsy state.

Lando, trying to fight his sleepiness, glanced over at you, "So, Y/n, how do you think the convention's gonna go?"

"Probably the same as always. Lots of technical jargon and a few jokes from Zak." You, with a small smile, replied.

Lando chuckled, "True, true. But hey, at least we get to show off our dance moves at the team party later, right?"

You rolled your eyes playfully, "Speak for yourself, Lando. I'll be the one pretending not to know you when you break out those so called 'moves.'"

As you two bantered, the exhaustion from the day's activities began to catch up. The hum of conversation around you, combined with the gentle pitter-patter of rain, created a soothing lullaby that nudged the two of you into deep sleep.

As sleep took over, the atmosphere around you two seemed to shift. Unbeknownst to Lando and you, both of your bodies gravitated towards each other, seeking warmth and comfort. You found yourself resting your head on Lando's chest, hands comfortably folded between you two, while Lando's head found a natural spot against your own.

It was all in search of some warmth. Right?

Meanwhile, Carlos, entered the garage, catching sight of the unexpectedly adorable scene. A mischievous smile spread across his face as he discreetly snapped a picture of his favourite duo. Carlos couldn't resist the urge to wipe an imaginary tear from his eyes, fully embracing his parental role, “They grow up so fast…” he smiled a brilliant smile to himself.

Unable to contain his excitement, Carlos hurriedly went in search of other drivers to share the precious sight of the young pair cuddled up together. He rounded Charles, Max and Daniel up and brought them back to witness the unexpected scene unfolding on the small sofa. The men huddled together, huge smiles adoring their faces.

Carlos whispered, "Look at these two. They're out like lights. They’re so cute!"

The team erupted in silent laughter, thoroughly entertained by the unintended humor of their sleepy drivers. Despite the attention, Lando and you remained in your peaceful slumber, wrapped in the warmth you both provided for each other.

The dim light in the garage hinted at the passage of time as Lando and you stirred from your impromptu nap. You, feeling a mix of embarrassment and shyness, gently extracted yourself from Lando's arms, apologizing almost instinctively.

"Sorry, Lando. I didn't mean to fall asleep on you like that," you spoke, cheeks tinged with a rosy hue.

Lando, however, wasn't ready to let you go just yet. Feeling the chill in the air after being robbed of your warmth, he instinctively pulled you back into his arms, wrapping them securely around you.

"Come back here before I freeze without you. And no need to apologize. It's freezing out here, and you make for excellent warmth," he teased, a playful glint in his eyes. You couldn't help but smile, finding comfort in his embrace.

As you two nestled closer to share body heat, a flicker of light caught your attention. The two of you turned your gaze toward the television screen mounted on the garage wall, only to see yourselves, still wrapped up in each other sound asleep, broadcasted to the world. A video of your cozy moment had found its way onto the internet.

Your eyes widened in surprise, and you glanced at Lando, expression a mix of curiosity and concern. "Does that bother you?" you asked, your voice soft as silk to Lando’s ears.

Lando, unfazed, shook his head. "Not one bit. Let them see. It's not every day the world gets a glimpse of McLaren's dynamic duo catching some Z’s in the garage," he replied with a grin.

You pondered for a moment before smiling back at him.

"You?" he questioned you back, his eyes searching your own. One thing for sure, Lando did not want to overstep your boundaries.

"Not one bit," you echoed, looking up at Lando from you position on his chest, a content smile playing on your lips.

Quick to reciprocate the sentiment, Lando leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your forehead. It was a tender moment that the two of you enjoyed silently.

With a shared smile, you both settled back into comfortable positions, enjoying the simple pleasure of each other's company. As Lando closed his eyes, leaving you with your thoughts, you couldn't help but marvel at the unexpected turn of events. The garage may have been colder now, but in each other's arms, both of you found a warmth that transcended the temperature around.

A.N Just a lil something I cooked up because I should be studying for my exams but I choose happiness <3

#lando norris #lando norris fluff #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris x reader fluff #lando norris x reader imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x y/n #formula 1 imagine #mclaren formula 1 #mclaren #ln4 x reader #ln4 #ln4 imagine #ln4 fluff

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asgardian--angels · 7 months

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Izzy Discourse Masterpost

Hey all, given the amount of awful splintering and wank happening in ofmd fandom rn regarding Izzy's death, including the flat-out immature and unacceptable harassment of David Jenkins and Co, I wanted to just make this one all-encompassing post to address the various grievances and complaints I've seen (almost entirely on Twitter). If I've missed anything, please feel free to add on. I'm putting most of this under a read-more for length.

Please be aware, I say all of this as an Izzy fan. I've loved his character since season 1, and while I was sad to see him go, I completely understand and support David & Co's reasons for concluding his arc, and I think it was done respectfully in a way fitting to his character. So let's break down some of the takes I've seen. I am not referencing specific posts or people here, I just want to address the general themes that I keep seeing about why some people are upset.

Izzy's death served no narrative purpose.

Look, this is one that I'm sure fans will debate for the rest of the hiatus. It's completely within your right to disagree with this writing choice, but Izzy's death did serve a narrative purpose in the story that David Jenkins is telling - and he has spoken to this end in several interviews already. I can only summarize here, and fans may find other perspectives in time as well. What we need to remember is that Our Flag Means Death is, at the end of the day, Ed and Stede's love story. That has been made abundantly, explicitly clear. The show has been fantastic at fleshing out the other supporting characters, but that's what they are - supporting characters. They often have their own subplots but ultimately the narrative seeks to move Ed and Stede's story forward and they are tools to spur Ed and Stede's growth or mirror their struggles. Izzy has been a wonderfully complex, multifaceted character but we must remember that all characters are vessels through which stories are told, lessons are imparted, and metaphors are established. He's not a real person who 'deserves' any particular fate. David said he's always intended for Izzy to die at the end of his arc.

Firstly, Izzy (now canonically, through his own dying words) represents part of Blackbeard. He enabled and encouraged Ed's darker side, they were mutually toxic forces to each other. Ed is attempting to cope with and move on from this phase of his life, and like Stede in season 1, set out a free man, unshackled by expectations and loose ends of those he's hurt and been hurt by (though we realize this is an ongoing process that takes time). This lovely gifset sums it up nicely, with Izzy being the Mary parallel, and making s2 mirror s1. Blackbeard is both Ed and Izzy; Ed cannot be free of Blackbeard while Izzy is in his life, and when Izzy is gone he will never truly be Blackbeard again. They are each other's rotting leg!! Yet, they love each other - and David has said that for Ed, this has developed into a mentor and father relationship, and where Ed has previously despised his father figures (his actual father, Hornigold) he does not want to lose Izzy. This time, Izzy brings out Ed, not Blackbeard - and that's where we get the callback to 'there he is', bringing their impact on each other full circle, freeing Ed, getting approval of sorts that he never had, to be soft, to be loved (and there are parallels to Zheng and Auntie here as well that others have made) from that force that drove him to stay in line all this time. David has said in multiple interviews now that he was going for the idea of the mentor/father figure dying and the hero living on and trying to do justice to them.

From Izzy's side, Izzy cannot be free while Edward remains either (Mary cannot find peace while Stede remains). The scar never truly healed, the leg will always be a reminder. At this point the argument becomes 'yes, but why did he have to die? Why not just sail off with the crew of the Revenge?' David has stated that he feels they've done everything they can with, and for, Izzy; he's come leagues from season 1, he's found community, he's found hope, he's found new parts of himself, and he's made good memories. He's found worth outside of what he can be to others. That's more than most pirates could hope for. Where would his character go from there, when the Golden Age of Piracy he belongs to has burned to the ground? Would he stay around and whittle on the Revenge? If he were a real person, yes, that would be lovely, and he'd deserve all the quiet peaceful happiness in the world. But as I explain several points below, he's not interested in being a captain. He's not up for the hard physical labor of regular crew, and he's extremely overqualified for that besides. He has served his narrative purpose, and symbolically, to enter a new age, everything must go. He's connected to the old age of piracy, to the Republic of Pirates, that is now demolished. To him, fighting for what he believes in, for the family he's found, bringing down an army of British twats in the process, is how he should go. It's a pirate's death, and as Izzy's said, he's a pirate - unlike Blackbeard who's succeeding in breaking away from piracy, Izzy never wanted to stop being a pirate, throughout his arc. To me, that's why Izzy remains trapped in the narrative, trapped in history, whereas Ed and Stede will escape history. They leave piracy, and canon, behind, while Izzy was content to remain a pirate and face a pirate's fate.

Burying him on land, right next to Ed and Stede's beach house, shows that his sacrifice was not in vain - they start this new life together, thanks to Izzy's mentorship, his role in their lives that sometimes for worse, sometimes for better, made their love what it was and made their breakaway possible. The new age is built on the foundations of the old age, and is stronger for it.

As we're well aware by now, David tweeted that there's no version of ofmd without Izzy. Whether that's literal or not, symbolically it's true. Izzy's arc of growth affected everyone on the Revenge. Jim fondly remembered fighting for a time when life meant something on that ship; the crew helped give Izzy new meaning in life, and he helped them in return. When he dies, they mourn and have a funeral; that wouldn't have happened under Blackbeard's watch in episode 2. His life meant something to them. He influenced Ed and Stede immensely, and they will take that with them. As David's said, they're all a family, and Izzy was a part of that family, and his loss unites them and brings them closer to continue to fight for that family they've built. It's a tragic, sudden death of someone they've all grown to care for, and that steels their reserve to keep the torch lit. They literally sail off into the sunset to hunt down Ricky to avenge Izzy; he will always be a part of this show. And, of course, with the brief appearance of seagull Buttons, the door is left open for anything.

If this was The Izzy Show, then sure, we'd be content to see him simply engaged in shenanigans every episode. But the plot, and therefore the characters, need to keep moving forward, and Izzy got his growth and development. He got what he needed for his character to have closure, and he served his symbolic narrative purpose in Ed's (and Stede's) story. You may have your own ideas and perspectives, and that's great - that's what fandom is for. But we cannot say his death was pointless when David Jenkins and the writers clearly had a well-defined motive for pushing the narrative in this direction. I actually think the narrative around Ed and Izzy is the most well-developed in the entire show. I for one am so happy we got such an interesting and complex character, and had the brilliant Con O'Neill to portray him.

Izzy's growth & healing arc was rendered pointless by his death.

As this post so eloquently puts it, it's pretty bleak to have the outlook that taking steps to heal and find meaning in life is worthless if it's later lost. Seeking happiness and self-actualization is worthwhile for its own sake; no one knows what's down the road, and we all die eventually. Find meaning in life now. Would you rather have had Izzy not miss with his bullet in ep2? He was given the chance to experience joy, freedom, and hope for the first time in potentially a long time, and when he died he did so with those happy memories. As mentioned, Izzy's death was decided long beforehand given the narrative, and the point of storytelling is to make you feel emotions. We were given impetus to connect and relate to Izzy's character through his process of healing, so when he did die, we felt it keenly. That's how stories work actually! We felt what Ed felt. It moved us. It's not a bad thing that Izzy's arc made him more likeable to fans before his death. It's not a bad thing to lose a beloved character - guess what, it happens constantly in stories - and it's not bad to grieve over it either, but to say that it made his journey pointless is just not true. People saying that Con must be upset that they snatched his character away from him after getting to develop him so much - again I say, would you rather him have died in ep 2 before he had the chance to grow? Or how about in s1, when the crew tried to mutiny? How'd you feel when Stede killed him in his dream, in the very first scene of the season? I think Con's probably glad for the opportunity to have explored this character so much in season 2. Ask him if he thinks it was pointless.

Killing off Izzy was bad for queer rep/burying your gays/"Izzy was the queer heart of the show"

I'm putting 'bury your gays' on the top shelf so people can't use it when it doesn't actually apply. Most of the main cast of characters in this show are queer, and it's a show about pirates with a good amount of violence. Ergo, chances are a queer character will die in the course of Things Happening In Stories. Izzy didn't die because he was queer, and he wasn't the token queer rep. Please turn your attention to the boatloads (literally) of queer characters that are happy and thriving (how about the LuPete wedding immediately afterwards??). As for Izzy being the "queer heart of the show," this is literally the Ed and Stede show. You know, the two queer leads whose queer love the show revolves around, per David Jenkins himself. I'm glad folks connected with and derived joy from Izzy's growth and especially his performance in Calypso's birthday, but he is not the main character of the show. The queer heart of the show is in fact, the entire show, all of their characters and the community & found family they create aboard the Revenge. Not to mention the fan community as well. Izzy was never carrying the show's representation on his back, and frankly that's an absurdly wild take to have (esp when he spent most of s1 actively working against the main queer relationships in the show, attempting to maintain the oppressive status quo of pirate society).

It was bad and irresponsible to have a suicidal character die

Are we forgetting the entire first half of the season where Ed, who was suicidal, kept trying to passively kill himself because he felt he was an unlovable monster, only to be shown that he is in fact loved unconditionally and it gives him the strength to fight for life and triumph against his own self-doubt? The show has spent quite a lot of effort telling viewers that despite feeling damaged or broken you are worthy of love and that you are loved even if it may be hard to see it when you're in a bad place. That you don't need to be fully healed to deserve love and care, and that love and support will help you along your journey. It's incredibly wild to disregard this major plot point and fundamental message of s2 to try and spin this the opposite way for Izzy's character.

Secondly, where are people getting 'Izzy is suicidal' from? Are we going back all the way to episode 2, when he's at his lowest point and fails at his suicide attempt, only to be figuratively reborn after removing the metaphorical rotten leg? By the time of the finale he's shown to be in a good place, thanks to the arc of healing and growth he's gotten, through the support of the Revenge crew and his 'breakup' with Blackbeard allowing him to find his own way in life, realizing he doesn't need a purpose to have value and enjoying his time on the Revenge and the bonds he's made with Stede and the crew. He is, in the words of Ivan, "the most open and available I've ever seen him" by the finale. To take episode 2 as evidence he's suicidal is to erase his whole season of growth, which is an ironic thing to do in the context of these arguments. There's no canon evidence Izzy Hands was suicidal post-'Fun and Games'.

As for 'irresponsible,' once again I say, David Jenkins is not your therapist, he's not 'Dad,' and has no responsibility to tell his story any other way than he intended to tell it. Please find media that gives you what you want or need, and if the death of a fictional character causes you this much distress please seek help. I mean this kindly but seriously.

Killing off Izzy was ableist/bad for disability rep.

I point once again to the rest of the characters, several of which are disabled in varied ways. There are literally multiple other amputee characters specifically. It's not good storytelling to wholly avoid killing off any character that is disabled/queer/poc/female or [insert marginalized group here], especially when a) it makes sense narratively, and b) there's plenty of representation of these groups in the media in question. The answer isn't making such characters invincible and immortal, it's increasing the number of these characters in shows so it's not devastating when some do die in the course of natural storytelling.

OFMD was my comfort show/safe space show, now it's ruined for me

I am not trying to be insensitive here when I say that's a problem that is yours and nobody else's. David Jenkins created this show with a three-season vision and a story in mind, and he is telling that story to the best of his ability the way he wants to. It's already been said that he and the crew did not anticipate the fandom becoming as large and passionate as it has. The plot of the show was never intended to be 'fan service,' and it's ironic that there were people complaining this season that there's been too many fanservice tropes, up until David and the rest of the writers room made a narrative decision they did not like, then the complaints changed to not coddling the fans enough.

We as viewers can derive joy from this show, it can be a comfort to us, it can be important to us. But it was not designed specifically for that purpose, therefore it cannot fail in that respect. We do not have the right to harass writers for not steering the ship in the direction we want - it's their work of art, and we can choose to either come along for the ride or not. It's rare to see creators actually given the chance to tell their story the way they intend (budget cuts aside), so let him do that. He should not cater to fans, or cave and change the story to appease us. Respect his right to create his art, and remember you have the right to create your own. That's what fanfiction is for - write fix-its to your heart's content, but keep these realms separate. David Jenkins and Co hold zero, and I mean zero, responsibility to you. He could not please everyone no matter what he did, it would be fruitless to try, and it would certainly compromise the quality of the story he set out to tell.

You are absolutely allowed to dislike choices made in any show. Curate your media experience. If this show no longer brings you joy, stop watching. But it was never David's purpose nor responsibility to juggle the mental health of millions of fans. Trying to put that on him will only make him less enthusiastic about interacting with fans or continuing to make this show. This isn't rocket science. You're responsible for yourself, not this guy you call 'Dad' that you've developed a parasocial-therapist relationship with.

Izzy should have become captain of the Revenge.

Really?? Firstly, we did actually get that already in s1. He was tyrannical and the crew mutinied. But even if you think 'well after his character arc he'd be better suited to it,' it goes against the point of this arc. He's found value in not having a distinct role or purpose on the ship, decoupling his worth from the job he's expected to perform. He's found his place amongst the crew, not commanding it. There's no narrative reason to put him in charge when he's expressed no further interest in slotting himself back into a role full of pressure and expectations.

Con O'Neill was only told halfway through filming, it's cruel to just kill off the character he loves so much.

Guys, he's an actor. More than that, an actor with a theater background. I think he's used to characters dying. You don't need to look out for him. Con and David spoke one on one about it at length so they were on the same page, and David even said that Con took it well. I'm sure Con had input, just as other members of the cast have influenced their characters' stories, costumes, backstories, etc. Do you really think David Jenkins hurt Con's feelings or something? The writers (remember, it's not just David, it's a whole team of hard-working people coming up with these ideas) gave Con such a chance to shine this season, really developing Izzy beyond what he was given in s1 and letting Con show off his full acting range. Why are you only focusing on the destination rather than the journey? Sure, Con's probably sad to see Izzy go, but please do not project your distress onto him or try and accuse David & Co of being 'cruel' to their cast. That's really ridiculous. It's constantly evident how close they all are.

More importantly, do you actually, seriously think that Con O'Neill would want fans to harass each other or the writers over his character? The man who preaches being kind above all? There is no better way to make an actor uncomfortable about a show and its fanbase than to start treating fictional characters like they're more important than real people. He would not want you to bully people over Izzy Hands, and it's mind-boggling that some of you have convinced yourself otherwise.

Lastly, I just want to talk about the fact that some people are holding OFMD to absurdly high expectations.

Our Flag Means Death has been a pioneer series for its diverse representation, earnest storytelling, and themes of hope, community, and love. It's fine to discuss aspects of the show with a critical eye, but so much of the discourse has truly felt like folks are trying to find fault in a show that is leagues ahead of the average tv series that we still enjoy. How many fan favorites are killed off all the time? How many plotlines are scrapped, or drawn out without closure, or contradicted the very next season? How many shows are indifferent or actively hostile towards their fanbase? How many have any queer characters, or actually do bury them? The bar's so low, and OFMD has risen above to give us so much. Some are holding the show to astronomical expectations, waiting for it to fall from the pedestal it's been placed on. If something you don't like happens in the show, it's not suddenly ruined or demoted to being ~just as bad as those other shows~. Give them some breathing room, have some perspective on how progressive the show is, and that perfection is impossible, especially meeting every single viewer's idea of it. This is basically a repeat of the recent Good Omens drama, with an absurd number of people harassing Neil Gaiman for breaking up Aziraphale and Crowley and leaving the second of three acts on a very predictable cliffhanger. Let stories be told, let them unfold as they may, and you are free to leave anytime. It's so wonderful that more queer love stories are becoming popular and even mainstream, but let's not shoot ourselves in the foot by tearing them down when they don't go exactly the way you want it, which often seems to mean no drama, no character deaths, and therefore no conflict or even plot!

Just, please be civil human beings, and while this seems to be a difficult thing for so many fandoms to do, just keep your fan opinions in the fan space. Never bring your grievances to the writers, never bully them and persecute them for telling a story that you opted into viewing. That's something that goes entirely against everything this show, and this cast and crew, have imparted onto us - the importance of kindness, support, community, and love. I'll say it again because it bears repeating: the fate of a fictional character is never more important than how you treat real people. Just be kind in real life, which includes the internet. Thanks.

Now please, let's work together to ensure we get a season 3. There's so much more story to be told, and if you want to see Izzy back, whether that's as flashbacks, as a ghost haunting the inn, or in the gravy basket, we'll need more episodes! #RenewAsACrew

#our flag means death #ofmd #ofmd s2 #ofmd s2 spoilers #and after this i will speak of it no more ok #now once we're all calmed down i am really looking forward to meta about izzy's role in the narrative #i truly think izzy's one of the most well written characters on not just this show but on tv lately in general #suicide mention tw #I tried to put a read more under the first bullet point but tumblr's formatting basically deleted it #by automatically overriding it with an Expand #so sorry about the length and such

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inkskinned · 1 year

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something that stuck with me once, way back in middle school when i was still learning how to write - my teacher said "writing shock and tragedy is easy, it's humor that's the hardest."

i have been up and down the halls of academia. i have the fancy degree and the experience in publishing. i think i paved most of my own road with the little bricks of sorrow i had stored inside of me. i know i did it mostly with works that are blisteringly lonely. i know why we write like that. it's lifesaving.

but yeah, i mean. i also know how much people think that "sad" media is the same thing as "good" media. our human desire to connect is so hard-pressed that we immediately latch onto any broken themes. the bullied kids and the tales of inspiration. people keep saying things like "glass onion" and "everything everywhere" weren't actually good. because, you know, they're. happy. or happy-ish. happy enough. and we only value art if it's grimdark-adjacent.

do you know - people still consistently whine at me that my writing would be so good if i just capitalized things. i used to flinch. i get kind of a weird, vindictive little rush these days - i get to say thank you for the comment! i have chronic pain and this is how i conserve my hands so i can write more during the day :) grammar isn't real anyway! and now they're trapped in the room with me, you know? i get to pull out my map and show them how grammar is not the same thing as good writing.

writers have this thing. we scratch at our insides, constantly, prying our lives apart into splinters. prying the splinters apart into atoms. when we combust something into poetry, we control it. it cannot hurt us if it exists outside of us rather than burning a hole through the bottom of our lungs. it's not a wonder to me that so much of what i make comes out like a death gasp. i spent a long time at the bottom. i keep going back, too. when you're down there for so long, the only thing you can exhale is fumes.

but humor is hard. humor needs timing; which i can't promise in a paragraph. i can kind-of force it through careful spacing, but i have no idea how fast you're reading these things. humor needs a somewhat awareness of your audience, when really - anybody could be looking. humor needs us to understand what the joke is, why it's a joke, and to think - ha! that is funny. in tragedy, everyone understands the metaphor of a kicked puppy. in humor, you need to introduce them to the concept of a dog.

and forget about positivity. forget about anything not made for adults explicitly. every time i see a well-made children's media piece, i feel fucking horrible for the creators. most of the time, people see children's media as being sort of "not worth" applause, even though i'm pretty sure they have to work twice as hard. i have no idea how hard it must be to not be able to have your character just say. "well, fuck." something about a message of peace or friendship or caring - for some reason, that makes the media not for adults. like, okay. i'm pretty sure my father actually, out of all of us, could use a good book on how to control his temper and talk about his feelings.

but whatever. i write a short story about my ocd, and how it's fucking killing me. it gets an award. it gets published. i write a short story about my ocd, and how i'm overcoming it, and how my days are getting lighter and starting to flourish. i keep getting ghosted. no response. it just is lacking... something.

is this it, forever? you can be an artist, okay. but the trade off is that the things you make - if they're happy? if they're joyful? people will say it's stupid and pandering. you bite your nails off. you file your teeth. you hear something inside of you breaking.

the other day in a writing group, someone i'd thought of as a friend said: "you write so much better these days! i love what you make when you'd rather be dead."

#i have no idea what this is about #writeblr #i think u might tho. if ur an artist. u might. idk

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devildomwriter · 6 months

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All Spells & Magic

7-20

Solomon: “…Denizens of the darkness, awaken! You who are born of shadow, hear me! I am the one called Solomon. I call upon you now to lend your power to Asmodeus, Avatar of Lust!”

8-13

MC: “…Hear me, denizens of the darkness, you who are born of shadow and you who give birth to it. Hear me and do as I command! …Denizens of the darkness, awaken! You who are born of shadow, hear me! I call upon you now to lend your power to Asmodeus, Avatar of Lust!”

11-12

Group: “Elohim Essaim Frugativi et appelavi… Come to us…we beseech you… Hear our words…head our summons… Show yourself…appear before us…”

13-14

Barbatos: “Hear my voice and heed my command. These words are sound…the sound, melody. And through it I bind thee, and rob thee of they freedom.”

29-12

Satan: “Forces of calamity, disaster, and misfortune! Rain down upon the one who stands before me…”

Mammon: “D’ah! Stop! What kind curse are you puttin’ on me, anyway?!”

Satan: “Bidibriupyon fath parthu…”

MC: “Bidibriupyon fath parthu…”

29-12

Satan: “May the vestiges of the curse that linger within the person before me be eliminated. I am the one they call Satan…Hear my command!””

30-13

Satan: “May our bodies be drawn together and bound together, by a force none can resist and none can escape…”

30-13

MC: “…Calm the unease that gnaws at this demons, and bring peace to his heart!”

35-2

Solomon: “…Spirit of wind, the magician Solomon commands thee! Shield the ears of those who stand before me! Rid them of their lust for water, and silence the siren’s voice!”

35-9

Solomon: “I am the magician Solomon… Heed my words! Open the way forward, and create a path where there was none!”

36-16

Solomon: “May this vile curse return to the one who conjured it. Turn back the hands of time and unwind the wrong-doing that triggered it. I am the magician Solomon… Hear my command! Let none oppose it, and none escape it!”

37-1

MC: “Spirit of earth, cover the mouth of the one who lies before me, and silence his cries forever…”

37-1

MC: “May the vestiges of pain that linger within the demon before me be eliminated!”

44-1

MC: “Spirit of water…Suppress this torrent…”

44-1

MC: “May the vestiges of pain that linger within the demon before me be eliminated… I am the one they call MC… Hear my command!”

45-7

Solomon: “…I call upon the earth itself to shackle the one who stands before me. Leave them bound and helpless. I am the sorcerer Solomon…Answer my call!”

46-1

Mammon: ”Spirit of wind, I command you! Arise, Pierce the darkness, and bring that tiny demon to me! I am Mammon, Avatar of Greed! Hear and obey me!””

46-1

MC: “…Beelzebub, your master MC commands you… Cast aside this wicked creature so he may bother us no more!”

46-10

MC: “…Denizens if darkness, awaken! Hear me, you who are born of shadow! I am MC, the master who commands Beelzebub, the Avatar of Gluttony. I call upon you now to lend your power to this demon!”

46-10

Solomon: “Spirit of wind, calm yourself. Spirit of earth, sleep.”

53-4

Solomon: “Grant those who stand before me temporary forms, so that they appear as animals. Solomon the sorcerer wills it. Hear me, and let it be done!”

56-3

MC: “O winds of protection, shield him.”

56-3

MC: ”O fires of judgment…”

58-2

MC: “Hear me, O light born of shadow! Come forth and repel this evil spirit!”

58-12

Beelzebub: “Evil spirit, sinister and foul! In the name of Beelzebub, Avatar of Gluttony…be gone!”

58-15

Satan: “Evil spirit, sinister and foul! Return to the darkness from whence you came!Witness my rage and behold your doom, from ashes to ashes, dust to dust…”

58-18

Lucifer: “Evil spirit, sinister and foul! Return to the darkness from whence you came! Witness my power and behold your doom, from ashes to ashes, dust to dust…”

58-19

MC: “…May the vestiges of fear that linger within the angel before me be eliminated. I am the one they call MC…hear my command.”

59-1

Mammon: “Wh-What just happened?! That blast of wind that hit me…was that magic?!”

Lucifer: “Ah, so you conjured that gust of wind, and sent Mammon flying onto the couch before he could step on the vacuum…Well done, MC.” *no spell is said aloud, as using magic without incantation is a sign of more poweeerful magic, and MC can now summon wind without using any words*

60-3

*It’s implied MC can use levitation magic to grab items far away*

61-1

MC: “…In the name of the sorcerer MC, I command you. Create a path where there is none…And lead me where I wish to go.”

61-14

MC: “Hear me, O spirit of wind! Awaken the demon who slumbers before me! In the name of the Sorcerer MC, I command you!”

62-11

MC: “…Hear me! Spirit of water, rain down upon the demon before me. In the name of the sorcerer, MC, make it so…”

62-11

MC: “…Spirit of wind, bring your force to bear on the demon before me!”

62-14

MC: “Spirit of water, rain down!”

62-14

MC: “Spirit of water, send forth a cataclysmic deluge!”

64-17

MC: “…In the name of the sorcerer MC, I command you! Create a path where there is none! And lead us where we wish to go.”

65-11

MC: “Spirit of wind, protect him!”

66-4

MC: “Spirit of fire, send forth your flames…

66-4

MC: “Spirit of water, rain down upon him…”

66-4

MC: “Spirit of wind, send forth a gale…”

66-4

MC: “Create a path where there is none!”

66-4

MC: “Spirit of earth, cover his mouth and silence him!”

66-4

MC: “I bind thee, and rob thee of thy freedom!”

Solomon: “Looks like you’re shortening the incantation like a pro! Just what I’d expect from my talented apprentice!”

66-19

MC: “I bind thee…And rob thee of thy freedom!”

68-7

MC: “May the illusion clouding my mind be dispelled! I am the one they call MC. Hear my command.”

68-11

MC: “…Hear me…Spirit of wind, calm yourself. Spirit of earth, sleep! In the name of the sorcerer MC, I command you…”

68-19

MC: “The sorcerer MC commands you…Come forth, feline…”

70-15

MC: “The sorcerer MC commands you! Come forth, super-rare book…”

70-17

MC: “In the name of the sorcerer MC, I draw upon my pact with the ring of light……Come forth, Lucifer!”

74-17

MC: “Hear me, and heed my call. In the name of the sorcerer MC, I draw upon my pact with the ring of light. Come forth, Lucifer…”

76-11

MC: “Hear me, spirit of wind. I call for your protection! In the name of the sorcerer MC, I call upon you…”

78-16

Solomon: “Are you ready? In order to remove a magic item from inside a solid object here’s what you do. First, condense as much of your own magic energy as possible, creating a ball of magical light. This ball of concentrated magic needs to be at least as powerful as the item you want to remove. Okay, I think this should be enough. Then you thrust your condensed magic orb into the tree, forcing the magic item inside out. Once the item has been removed, the tree will return to normal.”

79-14

MC: “…In the name of the sorcerer MC, I command you…Create a path where there is none…And lead us to those who require our help…”

80-16 H

MC: “Hear me, denizens of the darkness, you who are born of shadow and you who give birth to it. Hear me and do as I command! I, MC, call upon you to send forth one of your number! I summon the avatar of envy, Leviathan…”

#obey me thanks #obey me request #obey me requests #obey me lucifer #obey me beelzebub #obey me mammon #obey me solomon #obey me asmodeus #obey me leviathan #obey me barbatos

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