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azullumi · 28 days

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”know it’s for the better” ; aventurine

summary — memories come in waves and tonight, he’s drowning; the grief of his past haunts him and visits him in his dreams; alternatively, you comfort and assure him after his nightmare.

pairing — aventurine (w/gender-neutral reader)

warning — 2.1 QUEST SPOILERS (about his past)

tags — established relationship, angst with comfort, soft and kind of insecure aventurine, mentions of alcohol (he just drinks a glass that’s all), there’s some fluff if you squint, lots of metaphors, mentions of death, mentions of depressing and negative thoughts, all told and narrated in aventurine’s POV, i never proofread, 2.1k words ; one-shot

tagging — @toorurs !! dedicating this to you

note — this is what reading his character analysis, character essays, scene and dialogue interpretations, and his whole ass lore and dissecting each one of it does to you. day 3 of writing for him.

“kakavasha.”

he opens his eyes to the sight of his planet: seemingly empty, barren, as nothingness continues to stretch towards the horizon. there was nothing on this land but the stench of death and cruelty that lingers in the air—it was heavy, thick, as if the clouds were binding him down to the ground and forcing him to look at what once was. he could feel the ache in his chest, the feeling of familiarity starting to seep into gaps between his fingers, and the the lump starting to form in his throat.

he knew this place, the stones that surrounded him and the mountain that leered over him. he knew of this, was all too familiar with it—the sunken ground and disturbed dirt from when his sister knelt before him with tears in her eyes as she uttered her promise of reunion before she bid him her farewell (he’ll always carry her last words as if it was part of his existence). the memory plays in his mind all over again, the voice of his sister echoing:

“this is where we go our own way, kakavasha…”

“...this is a gift from gaiathra, and you are kakavasha, whose good fortune will bless your sister with success.”

“as long as you are alive, the blood of the avgin will never run dry. so run, kakavasha, do not be afraid, and do not look back…”

he could feel the rain starting to pour down on his form but he doesn’t run, he doesn’t move, he doesn’t seek for something that will shelter him from the cold. instead, he stands under the pouring rain with heavy shoulders and thoughts that seem to claw and scratch at him. no matter how much he tries to cover up and escape from his past, to run and run until his feet hurt, until he falls and crumbles to nothing, it will still haunt him. it chases after him; it hides in the corners of his room, behind the wallpapers, and amidst the settling dust and cobwebs, and it creeps up on tuesday mornings as he tries to revere the sun that once never shined on him. he’s always painfully reminded of the things that he has to carry—the weight of his sister who carries her parents, and who carries their parents.

“...the rain will accompany you, and the rain will bless you.”

the distant cries, screams, and roars all ring inside his ears but the sound of the rain breaking into smaller pieces as it falls to the ground that he walks on masks it all.

he feels so pathetic. the hatred that he has for himself continues to gather and manifest into his likeness to sing choruses of condemnation in the guise of shattered and broken praises that are shaped like knives, stabbing his guts and making blood spill from his lips (he doesn’t know what his mother looked like anymore yet he could remember the distinct smell and taste of iron as blood stains his skin).

“why are you all doing this…” he remembers what he answers to her sister before she walks off to her death. he remembers asking her as he covers his ears with his small hands—too weak and frail to even carry stones, much less move boulders. he remembers the pain, the confusion, the guilt of it all. he was just a small child who had too much to hold.

what even is the worth of his life? it was just merely 60 tanbas. even if he dresses himself in luxurious and expensive clothing his past self could never dream of having, it doesn’t rid of the grasp the ipc has over him; his shackles. the cold and harsh metal is not there anymore but he could still feel it tugging on his neck, he could still feel the letters burn as it engraves itself—death would have been a more merciful fate for him than being held by such cruel and dirty hands.

“kakavasha.”

aventurine opens his eyes to the sight of his ceiling. there was no empty land that is of semblance of his planet before him but instead there were the patterns, the walls, and the chandelier that hangs in the middle of it. he was in his room; the silence accompanied with the ticking sound of the clock strikes a balance between quietude and noise.

1:56, he looks at the time. it was still deep into the night—the stars cast its light into his room as it poured itself on the cold floor. there was a rustle by his side and he turned his head to look at you, peacefully sleeping in the comfort of his blankets and you mumbled something underneath your breath though he couldn’t hear it. your face scrunches for a moment before it relaxes into a soft one and he watches all of it happen; he wonders what you’re dreaming of.

unable to sleep—a heavy feeling resides in his chest ever since he woke up—, he slides himself out of the bed. slowly and silently, dare he might disturb your sleep. he slips into his slippers before walking off to the direction of his kitchen. he doesn’t even know what he’s going to do there; he’s not even thirsty nor hungry, he just follows where his feet brings him (that’s how it usually was for him, often aimless and wandering with no direction in mind, he just doesn’t where to go, where he belongs).

he’s not an alcoholic but sometimes he just seeks for the bitterness of the liquid—to replace the taste of blood on his tongue and momentarily feel what it’s like to have nothing on your shoulders; his hands are empty yet it holds so much. he pours himself a small glass, honey-coloured liquid spills into it and a few drops gets into the surface counter. he picks the glass up, swirls the liquid for a few moments and watches its motion, before he brings it to his lips and drinks it all.

the scent is harsh against his nose and the liquid burns at his throat. the taste was too bitter and he felt like spitting it all out but he didn't, he continued to swallow it until there was nothing left in his fill. he tried to think of something else, to avoid those thoughts from entering his mind: the plant there needs to be watered, that reminds me of the light bulb has to be changed, do i even have a future ahead of me?, the painting there is slightly out of place, am i even supposed to survive?, are you still in his room?

he wonders if you’re still tucked in his sheets, if you’re still sleeping in his bed, he wonders what you were dreaming of that got you mumbling and knitting your eyebrows, he wonders when you’ll walk away from him after you realize how ugly and utterly worthless he actually is.

“‘rine?” a voice calls out to him along with the light sound of approaching footsteps. as soon as you enter the kitchen, you are greeted by the sight of him: an empty glass in his hand with a newly-opened bottle of alcohol in front of him. it was currently 2 in the morning, your lover was missing from your side when you woke up but you found him drinking alone in the kitchen.

“what’s wrong, my love? are you okay?” you ask, worry following your tone as you spoke. but aventurine remains silent. he can’t tell you his thoughts, of the overwhelming despair that drags him back down to his misery, and it’s not because he doesn't want to but he can’t—it would break your heart.

(and you know his silence too well. you didn’t carve yourself inside his heart just for nothing, you didn’t consume his flesh to not know the humming of his thoughts inside his chest.)

“you know you can tell me anything, right?” you didn’t care that he’ll break your heart. you wanted all of him and that includes his hatred and anger. if it makes him feel better, break it, shatter it into pieces and you’ll keep on picking yourself up for him. even if you don’t have the ability to stop the downpour, you’ll walk with him through the rain.

after what seems to be moments of hesitation coming from him, he shuffles from his seat and approaches where you stood. and he lets himself fall and crumble for you to catch him in your embrace—he feels safe, he feels okay but the grief, misery, and guilt still tugs at his heart ever so often as it beats.

(“where do i put all of this grief?” he asked you once while you admired the stars with him. “you hold them until it turns to love.”)

you caress his back softly, a small act of comfort as you cradled him in your arms. he doesn’t put all of his weight on you but he pulls you close and buries his face on the crook of your neck, heaving out a sigh as he did; you let him, let him whisper his worries and write his thoughts on your skin.

“did you have a nightmare again?”

“…not really.” the faint smell of alcohol wafts to your nose as he speaks. “i just…”

“it’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it.”

“i’m sorry.” he says and you didn’t fail to notice the crack in his voice and the feeling of something warm and wet on your skin. you hold him closer, tighter, and you brush your hand against his hair, tangling your fingers in his soft locks.

“you have nothing to apologize for. it’s not your fault, kakavasha. nothing is ever going to be your fault.”

“it feels like it does.”

“no, no, my love… you were just a child. you did all that you can to survive and fulfill your promise.”

you start to gently sway him into the melody of your hum and he follows your form like the wind would on your hair. this continues for long until he’ll let go—you’ll hold him for as long as he wants to if it would lessen his burdens.

“i wouldn’t love you any less nor will i think of you as worthless.”

he has days likes this, days where he contemplates and thinks of everything, days where he doesn’t know what to do or what to say, days where he feels like he never changed and he’s still the same weak child who walked away from his sister instead of begging and asking her to go with him (the survivor’s guilt goes hard), days where it feels like everything is falling apart and he’s left on his own again, days where all he wants to do is to just cry in your shoulder—

“are you feeling better?” you ask him as he lifts his head from your shoulder; dry tears are left like trails of stars on his features. you cup both of his cheeks and wipe away the remnants of his misery and ache.

“mhm, a little bit.” he nods and you beckon him closer to your lips just so you could kiss his forehead before peppering his whole face.

—but there are days of warmth and sunlight. days where it all feels a little bit bearable and he can breath, days where every step he takes isn’t heavy, days where he could taste the kindness of the sun on his lips, days where he wakes up with you by his side and thinks he could have this forever, days where he could hear his mother’s lullaby that would comfort him, days where he could hear his sister’s voice telling him that she’s proud of how far he have come, days where everything feels okay and worth it.

years of these little bits of happiness—in silence, in chaos, in tranquility, in destruction—he wants a lifetime of it with you. and though kakavasha was never a greedy man, the ache, the yearning, and craving for those moments with you fills the empty spaces of his thoughts; you looked like what peaceful dreams are made of.

“i love you.” he knows that you know that already, he just thought he’d say it again.

#aventurine honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #honkai imagines #honkai x reader #honkai #hsr aventurine x reader #hsr x you #hsr aventurine #hsr x reader #aventurine imagines #aventurine x you #aventurine #star rail aventurine #aventurine x reader #aventurine angst #honkai x you #honkai star rail x you #azul.writes

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gremlingottoosilly · 3 months

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Ok what about kitty reader that finds some red string and starts to play with it, and what if kitty reader gets wrapped around in the red string all tied up just when the 141 monster yanderes gets back from hunting (their testosterones are runing so high)

Oh no, little kitty is all tied up and dumb because she resisted too much, and now her cute ass is on display for everyone to use...I'm sure that no one from your beautiful packmates is going to use this. Gaz definitely won't just haul you over his shoulder to everyone's dismay so he can drag you to his nest like the prettiest little toy and then play with your pussy that is way to wet for someone who meowls so much about not wanting for him to spread her legs and then tug on her fluffy tail...Gaz just killed a bunch of enemy monsters in the altercation, he wants someone cute to tell him how strong is he! Soap doesn't have the patience to let you be tied up, unfortunately( out of everyone, he'd love you tied up and cute - when he actually has time to make elaborate knots and not when his balls are going to burst from your tits sticking out so much while all tied up and perky. He promises he'd be gentle, but his claws are already ripping out the bindings and his tongue latches on your tits, keeping you in place. He would leave some of the string intact - mainly for your hands, so you won't be able to push him away or tug on his hair - but you're still stuck in a place like a lovely little plaything. Ghost wouldn't ever disturb the ropes because, fortunately, he has the power to just push his shadow tendrils in your warm, sticky holes, filling you up without the need to prepare you or spread your legs too much. If anything, he doubles down on the number of restraints - seeing you so helpless, with your tail wagging around in panic and your pointy ears trembling, he just loves to put his tongue everywhere, playing with the temperature. As a cat hybrid, you are warmer than a normal human - but oh, Ghost is so cold, he loves to suck on your hot pussy and make you squirm from the contrast( Price would be so mean( bullying you for being a dumb kitty who got stuck in the strings, and now her cute ass is on display for everyone( he is the type to leave you to be fucked by his teammates just so he could lift your limp body in his hands later, making his dumb little kitty warm his cock like a good girl. You are usually too squirmy and active to sit on his cock like a good girl - so it's only for the better that you're tied up now, not writhing away from him like some dumb girl who doesn't know any better.

#cod #cod x reader #yandere cod #tw: monster fucking #monster!gaz #monster!ghost #monster!soap #monster!price #price x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #ghost x reader #yandere ghost #yandere price #yandere gaz #yandere soap

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cammys-imagines24 · 5 months

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°•Being in a Relationship with Mizu•°

Mizu first met you on her travels and just like with Ringo, there was something about you that made her katana sharp edges soften.

How from day one you never viewed her as an evil Onryo, someone impure who should've died from infanticide long ago.

Through every trial she laid out before you, testing to see how you'd react, you were nothing but understanding.

First when she showed you her eyes you didn't so much as flinch. You smiled at her, warm as ever.

And then when she revealed herself to be a woman you embraced her with open arms.

As Mizu, you and Ringo went on, she found herself looking to you, thinking of you, your presence a balm to her battered soul.

Over time you eroded her walls as sea does to a cliffside.

Surprisingly, the swordswoman was the first to confess her feelings for you.

She told you she loved you when you two were sparring.

When she was teaching you how to fight, you had gotten the upper hand on her and as soon as you pinned her to the ground, laughing and with sweat dotting your brow, you just looked so beautiful that she just blurted out "I love you."

And as soon as she said those words to you she treated it like a sacred vow, more sacred than even her vengeance on those four men who wronged her.

Mizu existed to see her revenge completed but she breathed for you.

When the Samurai came back bloodied, you'd stitch up her wounds and mend her clothes.

When she'd take a swim with you after a tiring day of fighting, you'd personally undo her bindings and massage her sore chest.

Every small act of kindness you did for her out of love rendered her undone, her heart unspooling before you, opening up more and more.

And for every kind thing you did for her she repaid it tenfold.

Mizu would burn down all of Japan and the world for you. She would kill anyone who dare lay a hand on you.

And even with her rough hands, she treated you like delicate porcelain. Almost with reverence.

She never thought a monster like her could be fortunate enough to be with someone like you.

You became her home and as long as you were by her side she knew that when her job was done, that life awaited her.

You remind Mizu of what she needs to come back to, no matter what.

Your love is why she wants to continue to live.

#blue eye samurai #bes #blue eye samurai mizu #bes mizu x reader #mizu x reader #mizu imagine #mizu imagines #mizu headcanon #mizu headcanons #blue eye samurai x reader #blue eye samurai imagine #blue eye samurai headcanon #bes x reader #blue eye samurai fanfic

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harunayuuka2060 · 2 months

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Silver: It's funny how the demon brothers were fighting over who gets the privilege of being MC's lap demon, and now they're all chasing after them since they've magically turned into toddlers.

Lilia: ...

Lilia: How long have you been here, Silver?

Silver: Since the early morning. Belphegor invited me over to ask about MC's preferences for pillows.

Lilia: ...By the way, have you seen Malleus?

Silver: He snatched MC.

Lilia: Then who are the brothers chasing?

Silver: An illusion.

Lucifer: *giving a stern glare at Malleus after he got MC back*

Malleus: Forgive me. Force of habit.

Satan: The hell you mean 'force of habit'?

Lucifer: *sigh* That's enough. And you, *to MC*, what were you thinking?

MC: Luci!

Lucifer: ...

Asmo: AWWWWW~! They're trying to get away from being scolded~!

Belphie: Lucifer, let me hold them.

Mammon: No! I'll hold them!

Levi: H-Hey! I won the game earlier, s-so I will hold them!

Beel: Your hands stink. You'll give them a rash.

Levi: Excuse me?!

Malleus: How long will the child of man be in that state?

Lucifer: Before the day ends.

Lucifer: They turned into a toddler after signing a cursed document.

Malleus: I see.

Barbatos: MC finished all the documents within this week.

Diavolo: *chuckles* They are so diligent!

Leona: Diligent, you say. But I see that as being careless.

Vil: I agree. Were they always like this back in your realm?

Diavolo: Why, yes! That's how they captivated all of us!

Azul: Your Highness, I hope you wouldn't mind me asking. How is it possible for the Prefect to handle serious matters?

Diavolo: Ah. I don't know the answer to that. *chuckles*

Barbatos: However, if you are curious, MC once argued with one of the House Of Lords members.

Azul: House Of Lords?

Barbatos: Yes. The nobles who guard the king's throne.

Leona: Sheesh. And why did they do that?

Diavolo: There was a time they doubted my skill. MC was furious when they went for me and the brothers. *chuckles* I could still recall how they challenged them to a fistfight when they could no longer hold their patience.

Barbatos: It was truly a fascinating sight.

Diavolo: Afterwards, they considered MC to be someone willing to protect and ensure the safety of the entire Devildom.

Leona: Goody two shoes.

Vil: I hate to agree with Leona, but yes.

Azul: I had seen MC fight so this was not a bit surprising.

*The brothers and Malleus walking with MC (who is still a toddler)*

Barbatos: Ah. Have they fallen asleep from all that running?

Lucifer: Yes. Fortunately.

Satan: *the one carrying MC this time*

Satan: There's no work left for them, right?

Barbatos: Yes.

Satan: *smiles* Great.

Vil: However, the headmage would like them to resume their classes.

Mammon: Huh? Why?

Azul: The Prefect is still a student of Night Raven College. And they are responsible for Grim, so they need to be there to supervise him.

Leona: Speaking of that furball, where is he?

Lucifer: *points at the ceiling*

Vil, Leona, and Azul: *looks up*

Grim: Mryah! *is being tied upside down* Get me down here!

Lucifer: You are learning to become a great mage. Think of ways how to release yourself from those binds.

Grim: THIS IS UNFAIR!

Azul: *couldn't help but laugh*

*In Devildom*

Solomon: Huh? Diavolo and Barbatos have gone on a vacation with MC?

Mephistopheles: Yes.

Solomon: ...But I didn't receive a message that they have returned?

Mephistopheles: MC tried to get ahold of you.

Mephistopheles: If you'll be here around weekends, MC will surely appear to check everything here.

#twisted wonderland #obey me mc #twst mc #obey me brothers #twst malleus #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #twst vil #twst azul #twst leona #twst grim #obey me solomon #obey me mephistopheles #twst lilia #twst silver #twst x obey me

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keeksandgigz · 3 months

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the witch hunt

eddie munson x witch!reader

part 2 of "the love witch"

Summary: You've been good about keeping your magic a secret from Eddie, much to your dismay, so diligent on hiding your true self. What happens when you leave your potion cabinet unattended, he drinks one of your concoctions and turns himself into stone, leaving you to turn him back, right in front of his eyes?

CW: 5k words, no y/n, reader's nickname is 'witchy' , talk of the occult, wiccan practices, description of r's clothing, but no body description, eddie turns to stone, angsty angst angst but with a happy ending, witchy casts some serious spells in this one, mentions of witchy being depressed, eddie being a lovesick fool

thank u to my lovely @reidsbtch for beta reading I love u I love u I love u

Read part 1 here, Witchyverse masterpost here

feedback is always appreciated!

You've been good. You've been diligent. You've been following the rules of the coven.

To not share the gift with anyone, a secret kept under oath, hand over the binding of an old spell book, its surface course and rough, centuries of hands- young, old, powerful and weak, all part of the history of how that book came to be.

When you started dating Eddie, you were summoned, warned by your coven to keep the magic away from your human boyfriend, hidden under a veil of thin shame disguised as indifference.

And six months went by, then a year. You thought you were safe, you thought you'd gotten through the worst part of keeping the secret.

You deluded yourself. He loves you so much, there's no reason he would leave you, not even for a secret as big as yours. You've put protection spells around everything that involved actual magic in your house, the potion cabinet you kept in the hallways as decoration, the spell books hidden under a floorboard in your room.

Although he could not feel it, your apartment pulsated with raw magical energy in its purest form. You really thought you were safe.

A rainy November afternoon, you're tasked to bring some ingredients you've had stashed at your apartment to your aunt Hilda's house, a delivery from Janice- ingredients from Bulgaria, after your shift.

What surprises you about your aunt Hilda is that despite being a witch, she does not go unnoticed- living in one of the Painted Ladies house in the heart of San Francisco, all by herself and her cat, Arsenio.

She always invites you in for tea and a reading, so you step into her house, smelling of antique parchment, tea leaves and a mystical smell of pungent resin and wood, much different from your incense and dried flowers smell.

"I need to invite Janice over one of these days" she says in her veiled voice, pouring you a cup of jasmine tea.

"I don't know if she's going to be able to get out of Haight Ashbury, Aunt Hilda. She's like two- hundred years old or something" you laugh, rummaging through your bag for the delivery you visited your aunt for, placing the jars on the table.

She gasps in delight "You can't get those plants anywhere else, she must have paid a fortune for that blood from a vampire's fangs" she squeals, running to her cabinet to find a home for her new deliveries.

"How's your human, dear?" she asks from the kitchen, followed by clattering of glass and metal.

"Oh, Eddie's fine, he should be off work soon, maybe we'll do something after" you shrug, petting her cat, Arsenio, on your lap.

"And his handsome hunk of an uncle?" you roll your eyes at that.

"God, Aunt Hilda, gross" you groan, sinking in your seat.

"Let me know when he's back in town, I need to invite them both over one of these days, it might be nice. Shall we do a reading before I leave?" she sits back down at the small table and takes a sip of her tea, tarot cards in hand.

"Yeah, I'll ask him for his schedule" you finish your tea "Let me do a one card pull, I need to get home"

"You know, dear, you've been awfully nervous lately- so jumpy" She says, as she shuffles the laminated cards for what feels like forever,

"I'm okay, Aunt Hilda, just stressed with work" you lie, exhaling with anticipation as her wrinkled hand holds the deck. Your aunt's readings have always made you nervous.

You'd been jumpy for a while, the thought of Eddie finding out had been making you nervous, but you wouldn't dare to tell your aunt that.

She offers the deck to you, you pick a card and then give it to her. A gasp escapes her upon looking at it.

A panic rises through your body "What? What is it?" you ask, your bag already across your shoulder, holding on to its strap.

"The Tower" she mutters, destruction, unexpected change, awakening.

A shiver runs down your spine, one by one your vertebrae straighten "I just had a really bad feeling, dear. I would check in on your human boy" she places a hand on her temple, heart racing as you bolt out of your seat and leave.

On the train, panic settles in, wondering if Eddie was somehow connected to this.

A call startles you. It's him.

You tremble when nearing the phone to your ear.

"Hey, witchy, I'm at your house- I used the spare key. I just called 'cause I had a question" he says, voice dubious and vague.

"What is it, Ed? I'm on my way home"

"I was just wondering if it's normal that the cabinet in your hallway is open? I had to stop Circe from getting into it a couple times" you hear a meowing in the background, he must be holding her.

"What cabinet?" you feel your chest rise and fall at an incredibly fast pace.

"The one with the wilted flowers on them, it has a bunch of bottles. Are- are these fake potions?" There's an amused lilt in his voice, almost as if he's laughing at you. Fuck. The potion cabinet.

"Eddie don't touch anything, I'm literally here" your alarmed tone freaks him out, but he has no time to say anything as you hang up and enter your apartment building.

You run up the stairs, heart in your throat, as you reach your front door and slam it open. Eddie's head swings violently.

"Hey, witchy, what's wrong?" he stands up from the cabinet, holding Circe on one arm. You're heaving, irregular breaths, as you see he's still standing, alive, and breathing.

You close the door. "You didn't touch anything in there, did you?" you run towards the open cabinet, checking for missing bottles.

"Witchy, honey, I don't get why you're so jumpy about a couple of fake potions, they would actually be really useful for DnD" Eddie chuckles, reaching into the cabinet to grab a bottle, observing it up close. A greyish- blue liquid swirls inside the bottle.

"Eddie! Put it back! It's dangerous!" you exclaim as you reach for the bottle, but he's blocking you.

"Baby, I think you might be getting a little too carried away with this witchy stuff. There's no way you should be reacting like this over some water and dye" he swirls the bottle once again "I'll even drink it, show you it's not actually that dangerous"

A smug smile adorns his lips, as you watch helplessly while he uncorks the small vial and downs its content.

“EDDIE NO” You aren’t even sure what it is, which makes a panic set into your stomach, hoping you could reverse whatever he ingested.

“No, no, no, no, what have you done?” your head encapsulated in your hands, feeling the beady sweat on your hairline, falling to your knees with the realization. You’re going to have to tell him.

“See? Not dangerous, baby. I love you, but you need to do something about this obsession, it’s getting out of hand” he sighs “I’m hungry i’m gonna get some food” but before he can even take a step, the rumbling of stone fills the room.

You grab the empty glass vial and examine its label. Shit. He turned himself to stone.

In a panic, he looks at you.

“Witchy, what’s going on?” his eyes dart from you to his frozen legs, the stone spreading itself upward quickly “Witch-what- is that stone?” He goes still after that.

A statue. His cold, grey eyes staring up at you in a panic.

Tears brimming your eyes at the sudden realization that once you turn him back to normal he’s going to know.

His hands feel cold at the touch as you cling on to your boyfriend’s statued form. Mouth agape, eyebrows pinched in fear, it hurt you to see him like this. You were going to lose it all because of a dumb mistake.

A desperate scream bubbles inside your chest as you hold yourself flush against Eddie’s cold surface, wishing his arms could hug you back, having to come to terms with the fact that this is probably the last time you’ll ever see him in your home. You won’t ever get to hold him again.

Weak and teary- eyed you reach for your phone, wiping under your eyes as you try to stabilize yourself.

“Hello, dear?” aunt Hilda says through the phone.

“Aunt Hilda I made a really terrible mistake” you sob, shoulders shaking with the violence of your hiccups.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” the concern is palpable through her voice.

“I left- left my potion cabinet open and Eddie-” another string of violent sobs follow, rumbled deep in your chest, shaking you to your very core.

“What happened to Eddie?” The question is cautious, though unfortunately you could feel the alarm and sternness in her voice.

“He turned to stone” you sigh, exasperated, letting yourself sink into the sofa.

“Stone? How did a human man turn to stone?” ever the help, your aunt exclaims.

A dramatic exhale you feel like you’ve been holding onto “I left my potion cabinet open and he- and he has a spare key” you sob- all your fault for letting your guard down, all your fault for letting yourself care for him so mindlessly.

“He got into it thinking they were all fake, I tried to- to stop him” a siffle stops you “he was trying to be funny” a string of sobs followed, unable to speak any longer.

“You need to pull yourself together,” Hilda says, amidst your inconsolable sobs “you know how to reverse this” her voice is stern, yet shaky, she feels for you, having to let your love go.

“The mirror” you mumble.

“That’s right, get a mirror- circle of reflection, circle of protection” she reminds you “repeat those words, he’ll be okay, dear” you can tell that she is hurting, breaking the law of your coven, making you face consequences you haven't even thought of.

Would you be losing your power? Would you have to move away from him? In hindsight that would be a blessing, as you doubt he would want to stay, now that your secret is uncovered.

Hilda hangs up the phone as you scramble to get a mirror, and smear salt over his heart. Trying to reverse the spell that might have broken it.

The mirror faces your boyfriend, his features grey and scared- the last time you’ll ever see him in this lifetime.

Circle of reflection, circle of protection

The hand that is not holding the mirror is clutched on tightly to his chest, as you keep repeating the words.

The sound of rubble breaking makes your heart wrench, selfishly wanting him to stay a statue for a little longer, so you won’t have to say goodbye to him just yet, but the stone armor sheds, and his eyes are brown instead of dull and grey, and his arms move, as well as his mouth, closing in itself, breathing as if he’s come to life for the first time.

He rubs his eyes first, drowsy, like waking up from a one- hundred year old slumber. He looks around the room, it’s familiar to him, the smell of incense that was there, and then it wasn’t, blocked by the earthy smell of rubble and earth.

“What happened?” he mumbles, shaking his stiff limbs, kicking the broken suit of stone armor at his feet, your hand still on his heart “Witchy?”

His eyes are blown wide, memories of what had happened an hour before coming to the surface. The same panicked look adorns his face.

“The potion- it wasn’t” he begins, as you move your hand off of his body, much to your heart’s dismay. You shake your head.

“It wasn’t fake. None of them are fake” you mutter, staring at the floor, not even daring to look at him. There’s a quiet tension, an almost awkward silence, charged with pain and heartbreak, as Eddie realizes what you mean by ‘not fake.’

“And you brought me back from whatever I turned into” he breathes.

You just nod, head fixated on the floorboards and the rubble surrounding his feet.

“Does that make you-” he gulps. Can’t even bring himself to say it.

“A witch” you mumble under your breath “a real one,” your gaze falls on his eyes, dilated and sad, as his eyebrows curve up, a line forming on the bridge of his nose.

There’s once again an unsettling quiet between you two, as he tries to wrap his head around the news.

His chest feels hollow, where your hand had been just moments before, an unrecognizable phantom pressing down on his heart, rubbing salt in a gashing wound, hoping it would ameliorate it, only to make it bleed more.

He takes a few steps back, watching his step over the rubble, breaking his silence after what feels like hours.

“Why didn’t you tell me this?” it’s a mere mumble, but the question was clear, hurt, and a little scared, maybe.

“I swore under oath that I would keep it a secret” you purse your lips, taking a step forward. Your heart shatters when he takes a step back.

His chest is stilled, breath caught in his throat, hands at his sides as he scoffs.

“You swore you’d keep it a secret? Is that why you’ve been so jumpy lately? You knew I was bound to find out and you didn’t tell me?” his head is reeling, betrayal cuts through him like a knife as more and more of looking at you twists the dagger in his chest.

“I didn’t want you to find out, Ed. I promised to my coven-”

“Your coven? There’s more of you?” you can’t do anything else but swallow on the knot in your throat, scratching and engorging with every word that comes out of Eddie’s mouth, and nod.

“And you let me drink the potion, God knows what it could have been” he trembles, a shaky breath escapes him.

“I tried to stop you, Eddie!” you reach for him, hanging on the feeble hope he’ll realize that you have never meant to hurt him in the first place.

“And- and what if you spelled me, huh? What if you spelled me to make me fall in love with you? Is my love for you not real?” that hurt you more than anything else he could have said, tears brimming your eyes, escaping from their confinement as they streak down your cheeks.

“I’ve never used my magic on you,” you admit, voice thick with salty tears “my love for you is real, as yours is. I never tampered with your heart, it’s not who I am” bottom lip jutted out and trembling, feeling on the teetering edge of the end.

“I don’t know who you are” a stab to the heart would have hurt less. “You’ve been lying to me for the past year about who you are. No wonder I was so in love with you, you made me fall in love with a person that doesn’t exist, you spelled me!” he’s trembling, you can see it in the way that his fists are balled up– something he does to stabilize himself whenever he’s upset.

And now he’s upset because of you.

“Eddie–” you take a step forward, he takes a step back.

“No. Don’t- don’t come closer.” tears well at the bottom of your lash line, as you watch him turn away, leave and close the door behind him. Words trapped at the bottom of your throat. Words you’ll never get to say again.

You’re not sure how long you stand there, staring at the doorknob, hoping that it might turn, revealing Eddie once again, ready for you to explain everything to him.

But the doorknob doesn’t turn, the door doesn’t open, and Eddie doesn’t come back.

You refuse to sweep the rubble from the last time he was in your apartment, hoping that the smell of him stuck to the cold stone, but there’s nothing left of him in your space.

The thing about love witches is that when the thing most precious to them, their hearts, break, the life force of their power fades.

So within a short span of days, you notice yourself being weakened. Simple spells become a hard feat, as you can barely make things levitate, sitting in the darkness of your room.

Days begin to merge into themselves, as you get yourself to work, then home, then work, then home. A repeating cycle you don’t intend to stop. You leave around the back side of the store, to not let Eddie see you while he’s on his smoke break, blending into the crowded streets of what once seemed like the best place in the world.

Your aunt Hilda doesn’t hear from you, and neither does anyone else. You fall off the face of the earth, hoping that your hours never coincide with Eddie’s.

But you can feel it from next door, the pain and hurt that radiates from the record store. You feel it in the way he speaks to customers, in the way he sighs as he gets off his smoke break.

You hear him ask Janice about you, she tells him that she doesn’t know, that she hasn’t seen you in a while. Respecting your wishes to let him live his life in peace.

But he wasn’t living his life in peace. In fact, Eddie was miserable.

He was miserable in the way that everything reminded him of you, in the way that if he stepped too close to your store (to make sure you were working that day), he’d smell the rose incense you’d light at your house. The one he would smell on your clothes.

The crystals that sat on his windowsill were now tightly packed and shoved away on a far up shelf that he would not be reminded of you. He burned every trace of you, the taste of betrayal bitter in his throat as he sat on his couch every night, always on the left side, because you sat on the right. A place for you was always carved in his mind, whether it was unconscious or intentional.

The smell of your shampoo lingers in the pink bottles in his shower, in the silk pillow you always slept on when you went over to his house. A silk shirt you left on his bed, gingerly placed on his pillow as he lets your smell engulf him. That’s the only way he can sleep.

There’s a fear deeply setting in, that he might just never be able to get over you. Despite the lies and the secrets, he will never be able to not think about you, not when the smell of rose incense or the color pink exist, not when long skirts and crystals and tarot cards and brocade rugs exist. Not when you exist. Not when you keep walking the earth, sadness seeping in every crevice and every crack of his walls.

He knows he can’t go on like this. Not while you roam the same streets he roams, waiting for you to turn around. Look at me, witchy, look at me.

And you’re so sad. He can see it in your eyes, in the way you don’t carry yourself like you used to– shoulders slouched, dressed in black like you’re mourning the loss of your heart. Mourning the loss of your love.

He debates going back to Hawkins for a bit. Going back to live with his uncle– leave this new world behind, just until the air has been purified of you. Until he’s no longer thinking about the witchy girl who haunts his dreams at night. Go work where his friend Steve works at, shitty, dead- end job, just for a bit.

Confine himself to the life of a hermit, just so he can allow you to live in peace.

So he goes back to Hawkins, under the guise of going home for the holidays. He picks up whatever jobs his uncle can’t do anymore because of his age, driving the beat up yellow pick- up truck in and out of town.

“I never thought I’d see the day Munson would come crawling back” he’d hear a couple of people say on the street. He’s never gone unnoticed, but now more so than before– integrated in the San Francisco scene, he did anything but blend in. And he swears he sees you a few times, walking around downtown Hawkins, your hair, your clothes, your bag. Prancing around like your life is back to normal.

Could it have been a spell? Did you spell him to not make him forget about you?

But he knows it isn’t like you. Not malicious, not even as a witch, he assumes.

He keeps himself up at night thinking about you. You’d never use magic on him. With a sound mind, he tells himself that’s true. Your love for him is real. Is his love for you real? Shivering in the freezing temperature of his uncle’s trailer he’d ponder whether what you had was real or not.

Real.

He drives himself crazy, the thought of you plaguing his mind.

Even his uncle grows worried, the purple bags under his nephew’s eyes, all the books on witchcraft Eddie could find at the Hawkins local library sitting on his desk. Staying up to read on anything and everything that could help him.

And when that doesn’t work he goes on his uncle’s shitty wifi he never uses to research anything about witches, about magic, about you.

You don’t sense him anymore. Not through the walls, not in his sardonic laugh. It’s like he’d vanished into thin air.

You find yourself stepping into the record store after a shift, asking his shitty coworkers what happened to Eddie.

And you’re so weak. So tired, it is even a feat to be able to make it through one full shift standing up, finding a stool to sit on. You’ve paled, eyes dark and lifeless.

“He’s gone back home for the holidays” one of the assholes who made fun of you says “left you stranded here all by yourself? Or did he kick you to the curb?” he smirks, and the other idiot laughs. You make a mental note to hex them for good next time.

If you don’t die first.

Eddie comes back to San Francisco after the holidays, and it’s like he’s never left.

Union Square has taken off the tree and the ice skating rink– he wanted to take you there. He thought you’d be good at ice skating. You’re good at everything. Or maybe it’s because you’re magic.

The restaurant you went to on your first date has closed down. There’s a smile creeping on his face as he remembers you laughing because he couldn’t eat with chopsticks. He misses hearing you laugh. He misses seeing you smile.

The tiny twinkle, the stars in your eyes. The way he’d braid your hair at night. Petting Circe, nestled in between you two in your bed.

He sees you for the first time since he’s been back on the porch of your shop. His heart shrinks at the sight of you. Eyes sunken in, buried in layers and layers of woolen fabric, staring blankly at the street in front of you.

The thing about love witches is that when the thing most precious to them, their hearts, break, the life force of their power fades.

He remembers reading that in an old looking book during the holidays. He wrote it down in his notebook.

A love witch. Thrives on being loved and being in love.

Her heart is only safe when her love is true and unfettered.

He sees it now.

He shows up to your house after talking himself into it for a week, with the excuse of returning a shirt. The same silk shirt he’d been sleeping on top of since he left you. He had it washed for you. It doesn’t smell like you anymore.

He knocks. Is it him or are his hands always that sweaty? Is his heart beating at a normal pace? Is his hair okay? And his breath? Oh shit, he has a zit on his chin.

“Go away Aunt Hilda!” he hears you say, grumpy and grouchy. The veiled sadness in your voice creates a rift between him and the door.

So he knocks. Again. And Again.

“Aunt Hilda I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this, I don’t want– Eddie” A breath gets trapped in your diaphragm, feeling your heart start picking up its pace for the first time in what felt like weeks.

“Hi” he gives you a tight smile, the silk balled up in a fist, purple with little black swirls on it.

“Hi, um, I– what are you doing here? Do you wanna come in?” you slither like a worm, that’s how you feel. The boy you’ve been pining and crying and suffering for is here. Right in front of you.

You look so much more frail than he’d remembered “I uh–” he holds up the fabric “you left this at my house”

“Oh, thanks. That’s sweet of you” Your heart drops, you really thought he was going to make amends with you?

You extend your arm, so he can give the shirt to you. So he can be on his way and be gone forever.

Hands, fingers, knuckles. He misses holding your hand.

“I heard you went home for the holidays, how was that?” you lean on the doorframe, hands crossed on your chest.

“It was good, I just spent it with my uncle. He told me to tell you happy new year, uh— even though we’re not—” he shouldn’t have said the last part, he sees you sink into yourself, gazing down at the hardwood floor. His stomach twists.

“What did you do for the holidays?” he asks. He doesn’t want it to be over, not yet.

“I just stayed in, I’ve been pretty sick lately, flu season in full swing. I’ve just been—”

“Your heart’s broken, isn’t it? That’s why you’ve been so sick?” your heart drops. How does he know all this?

He reads your puzzled expression “I um— did some research. That’s what I did most of my holidays. I just wanted to understand. I know you didn’t spell me, or whatever. You’re a love witch” he takes out a piece of paper, highlighted is a sentence, in light pink.

Her heart is only safe when her love is true and unfettered.

Your head is reeling, he hasn’t stopped thinking about you. He spent his holidays researching you, your kind. He knows you didn’t lie to him.

Tears begin to spill onto the old parchment, the tears you haven’t shed in the past two months resurfacing, as you violently jerk and sob in front of him. You missed him.

Eddie quickly steps into your apartment and closes the door, enveloping you in a hug. And it feels good for your heart, a soothing balm for all the cracks and wounds it’s suffered.

“It’s okay, witchy, you can let it out” he says, as you continue to sob on his shoulder. Soft shushing sounds as he caresses your hair “Shhh…shhh… I’ve got you” and it’s like he’s never left.

“I’m here now, I’m not leaving” his assurance makes your body feel whole again. He sits you both down on the couch.

“Witchy, I didn’t stop thinking about you for a second. I would see you everywhere, I thought I was going crazy” he begins, and maybe he sees a twinkle in your eye, something weak, almost like a heartbeat being revived.

“I thought going to Hawkins, just to distance myself would change things. But I’d keep myself awake thinking about you, all the time, wondering if you were doing okay.” His hand brushes yours, as you wipe your tears with the sleeve of your sweater.

“I would see you at work, or out and about and you looked so sad. And I just couldn’t explain to myself what happened to you, until I came across that book” he finishes.

And in turn, you don’t say anything, you just kiss him. It’s wet and messy with the tears and the saliva, but he immediately kisses you back, cradling your face in his hand. Your heart beats faster than it has in a while, and it’s like magically, your skin has a bit more color to it.

And Eddie sees the stars in your eyes again.

When you detach you just lay your head on his chest. You listen for his heartbeat, lulling you into a deep sleep, the best sleep you’ve had in two months. He follows you not soon after, Circe on his lap, as he falls into slumber with a peaceful smile on his face.

Once awoken from your sleep, you go make a cup of tea for the both of you.

“Witchy?” your head lifts at the nickname as you pour him his tea.

“So, are you a witch, a mage or a sorceress?”

You just roll your eyes and kiss him again.

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leighsartworks216 · 6 months

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can i request a tav x astarion where tav is mute? i wonder how they would be communicating

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

I really struggled with this request, but I decided to try again on a whim and whoooo boy it's a doozy. I also did not make Tav mute, but I played with a Paladin oath I have had on my mind for a looong time so they are effectively mute

Warnings: fear of death, blood, mentions of death/dead bodies, religion, anxiety, fear, being trapped, crying, swearing, angst, hurt/little comfort, possibly OOC

Word Count: 3,624

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

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You huff in annoyance for the fifth- no, sixth, time. Perhaps more. The vendor stares at you as though you’re insane, even though you couldn’t possibly be clearer! You exaggerate further, pointing at the potion, yourself, and your coin purse. If he would just mark how much the damn thing cost, you wouldn’t have to keep going through this!

Astarion sighs sharply. “They want to buy the potion,” he bemoans. “Now, please, tell them the price so we can move on.”

The vendor starts with wide eyes and realization on his face. He flushes from his cheeks, down his neck, and to the tips of his ears as he stutters out the price. You shove the money into his chest and grab what you’ve paid for, before stomping off. And if Astarion slipped an extra something in his pocket while the vendor was dying of his stupidity, who would really care?

He caught up in a few long strides. “We must find a better way for you to communicate, darling. I can’t keep translating for you.”

You made a few sharp gestures.

“I don’t see the big deal in carrying a paper and pencil around,” he answered with a scoff. “Or, you know, you could just speak. I know you can.”

You glared at him. That, he didn’t need a translator for.

This had been an ongoing argument from the very moment you ran into each other on the beach. When he had you pinned to the ground and you didn’t speak, he originally thought you were just being stubborn. When he finally let you go, you’d explained to him (in writing) that you’d made an oath of silence, and that you had nothing to do with the Illithid kidnappings.

Fortunately, you discovered early on that some hand signs were shared with the Theive’s Cant, which he understood quite well. When Gale and Wyll came along, one who’d learned some sign through books and the other who learned by helping people as the Blade of Frontiers, Astarion was relieved he wouldn’t have to translate for you. Except, you continued to drag him along to act as the middle man anyway.

His solution, proposed frequently both seriously and in jest, was to break your oath. An oath of silence was a ridiculous thing to promise anyway, especially now that you needed to communicate so frequently, but any time the suggestion was posed, you’d just level him with a hard stare.

“You know I can’t do that,” you signed, annoyed.

He rolled his eyes. “Ugh, Paladins. So dedicated to the chains that bind them.”

“To break my oath would be to lose my powers. Do you want me to keep reviving your ass during battle or not?”

He sneered. “You couldn’t make an oath of vengeance or something? It would certainly be a lot easier to follow through on.”

You rolled your eyes and walked faster. You hated arguing about your oath. Wyll and Gale wouldn’t behoove you for it - so why did you bring him along, he wonders.

Astarion heaved, pressing against a stitch in his side that tightened with each breath. The fight was brutal. Everyone was bloody and exhausted. Shadowheart turned from the dead beast before them to help Wyll who lay prone on the ground. Karlach pulled her mighty axe from its head with a squelch and a crunch, cheering at the victory.

He chuckled breathlessly at her antics. Almost stumbling, he turned in a circle, eyes scanning the battlefield. The beast’s cronies lay still, scattered everywhere. Blood overwhelmed his senses. How did that saying go? Water, water, everywhere, but not a drop to drink.

He frowned. He looked around again. “Where’s Tav?”

Karlach’s whoops quieted immediately. She looked around as well. “They didn’t get crushed under this,” she kicked the creature in the eye, “did they?”

He shook his head. “They weren’t close enough…” He growled, frustrated, and turned to the magic-users. “Did you see where Tav went?”

Shadowheart supported Wyll as he sat up, groaning. They both shook their heads. “Last I saw them, they were over there,” the warlock croaked, nodding over to the side. “But I don’t know how long I’ve been down for.”

Astarion winced as he jogged over to where he said, stepping over and on top of dead bodies. He took another step. His foot did not collide with floor nor flesh. His heart lurched as the world fell out from under him. A hand grabbed the neck his armor and pulled him back, falling on his ass onto solid ground.

“Careful, Fangs!” Karlach chastised worriedly. She let him go, pulling them both to their feet and brushing him off. “You alright?”

His mind was still reeling. He nodded in a daze. All he could do was stare at the nearly-invisible chasm he’d almost fallen down into… And then his mind caught up.

He raced forward again, dopping to his knees right before the tear in the earth, and leaned over it. Even his darkvision couldn’t help him see what was below; it was so dark, like all light that fell into it was swallowed up. A heavy weight settled in his chest.

“Tav?!” he shouted down into the darkness. His voice echoed. He had no idea how deep it went.

The realization set in for Karlach as well. “Oh fuck…”

“Tav, are you down there?!” He waited a moment, but he was met with only silence.

Shadowheart and Wyll rushed over. They peered into the deep with concern. Astarion shifted so he sat on the ground, legs dangling over the edge. He remembered the feeling of falling. Fortunately, he couldn’t see how deep it was, so at least vertigo did not make it seem deeper; the shadow was doing a perfect job of that on its own.

Wyll grabbed his shoulder before he could slide forward. “Astarion, we have no idea how deep it goes, or what’s down there! You could be impaled on a spike before you ever make it to the bottom. We don’t know if they’re even alive!”

“And if they are?” he growled. “They could be trapped down there with no way of telling us.”

“And you’ll be trapped down there if you go after them!”

He couldn’t argue with anything logical. So what if he got stuck down there? He needed to know you were okay. His blunt nails dig into the stone edge, knocking loose flecks of rock and sediment. How could he just leave you down there?

Shadowheart looked around at the bodies. “We could make some rope. Lower it down, see if they grab on.”

He snorted mirthlessly, sneering at the cleric. “And if they’re too injured to?”

She glared back at him. “I don’t see you proposing any better ideas.”

Karlach and Wyll shared a look. It seems they’d have to be the level-headed ones here… “We can strip the bodies. Tie their clothes together until it’s long enough.” To hopefully reach the bottom, was left unsaid.

Karlach and Shadowheart got to work immediately, working to remove the clothes of their fallen enemies, scrunching their noses in disgust all the while. Wyll squeezed Astarion’s shoulder and joined them, trying to decide what clothes were in good enough condition to hold weight. Astarion stared into the pit for a while longer.

Your head spun. Everything ached. Each breath was like fire in your lungs. You bit your lip to silence your whimpers, biting down so hard you could taste iron in your mouth.

As the pain ebbs to a manageable level, you try to figure out where you were. It was dark. You couldn’t make out your hand right in front of your face. You couldn’t even be sure your eyes were open. You only knew they were when you looked up and saw light coming from far above you. It was dim and flickering - the flames of the braziers that lined the battlefield.

You blinked into the darkness, willing your eyes to adjust. Cautiously, you reached out your hands and felt around. The ground beneath you was covered in fine gravel, almost like sand. The finer sediment stuck to your hands when you pulled away. There was a wall behind you, possibly made from slate. It would be impossible to climb. With a muffled groan, you’re able to reach your foot out and touch the opposite wall. The effort leaves you panting.

You lay still on the floor for a minute. Clearly, you fell from quite high up. How far was still a mystery, but the fact was you did fall. When you’ve caught your breath, you feel for any injuries. Your armor restricts you, but it seems to have protected you for the most part. You’ll be bruised as hell, but you can’t find any open wounds. At least you were fortunate there.

You look up again. You can’t hear anything coming from above, but you’re unsure if it’s from the depth of the chasm or because the battle is over. You hope they are able to win the fight without you. All your companions are strong in their own right, you know they can pull through this.

You squint at the opening above. You think you see something moving at the top, but it’s merely a speck. Using the wall and gathering your waning strength, you push yourself to your feet. You heave as you lean against the slate. The silhouette is still too far away to make out.

T..av….

A distant cry, distorted heavily by the chasm. It takes a moment for you to recognize it as your name. Your heart leaps in your chest.

… av….. Ar… d..wn… the..re…

You can’t tell who’s calling down to you, but you take faith in the knowledge it must be one of your companions. The beasts wouldn’t know your name. Now you just have to signal them somehow…

You feel around your body for your sword, but the sheath is empty. It must have fallen elsewhere, perhaps only feet away, but you can’t see worth a damn. You try instead to cast a ball of light. It should be easy - it’s a spell you’ve cast a hundred times before. But as you strain to conjure even a spark, you become lightheaded. Your knees buckle, collapsing you back to the gritty floor. You try again, but you can feel your energy being sapped away. Your hand falls weakly to the ground.

You rest your head back against the wall and think. You can’t use your sword to hit the rock and make a sound, or defend yourself if something lurks within the darkness. You can’t cast a light, nor any other spell, lest you fall completely unconscious and make your chances worse. The more options you run out of, the more desperate you become. You try reaching out to their tadpoles, but they must be too far away.

You’re stuck.

A sob chokes you as it forces its way up your throat. Even that is muffled by you, by pure habit at this point. You’ve held your oath for years; you’ve learned how to stay silent even under the worst situations. Now it’s come to bite you in the ass.

You look up at the dim light, blurred through tears. They burn as they just keep coming. Your lip quivers as you quietly gasp for air. You’re going to die down here.

Your last option, you’ve already dismissed before it fully forms. You could break your oath, call up to them, cry out for help with the last of your strength. But to do that would leave you even more helpless than before. To speak was to lose your powers. Your god would rip them away in a heartbeat, until you plead for forgiveness; pray for hours and hours to swear your allegiance and dedication once more.

A slave to the chains that bind you.

But what choice do you have?

You try to catch your breath, slow the hiccups and sobs down until you can fill your lungs with air. You open your mouth, try to form the words, but it comes out as a weak sound, almost a poor facsimile of a donkey’s bray. You haven’t spoken for years, to do so now was an astronomical feat. You feel the burn of your god’s eyes as they watch you actively work to break your oath.

You try to speak again. You form an h sound, but it’s so quiet, it’s hardly enough to be considered speaking. You need to shout. You need to let your friends know you are alive down here. Anxiety grips your heart as you imagine being left down here alone, left to starve to death, or worse.

You swallow. You have to do this. You can do this.

“H..e..lp,” you croak out, a mere whisper. It’s raspy and breathy, but it’s a word. You feel your power being sapped away. You nearly sob again. Your god would abandon you down here. An unfeeling master who only craves loyalty. Astarion was right.

You take another deep breath and try harder. “H-elp..!” It’s still a strained rasp, but you hear it begin to echo off the walls. Louder. It needs to be louder. You cup your hands around your mouth. “Help!” Tears prick at the corners of your eyes at the burning in your throat. “HELP!”

Astarion’s hands are raw from tying knots. Karlach will bring him big piles at a time, plopping them down beside him, and he’d add them all onto the already-quite-long rope. It was perhaps 30 feet long by now, but he wasn’t confident it would reach.

Wyll sighed, exhausted. “We’re almost out of clothes, my friend.”

Astarion doesn’t look up, barely paying attention to the warlock enough to tell him to keep working. Calluses on his hands open and turn into blisters. He winces with each knot he pulls tight. But he won’t stop. How can he?

Shadowheart sighs as she pulls the pants off another corpse. She’s seen far more anatomy in one hour than she ever wished to again. Karlach sits down by the pile and pulls the other end of the rope into her lap. She begins working to tie more on.

They work silently, but rather efficiently. In another minute, the rope has grown considerably longer. Blood begins to stain Astarion’s end.

“Fangs, maybe you should take a break.” He shakes his head, frowning as he grabs a robe off the pile. Karlach is about to insist, get Wyll or Shadowheart to take over, when a sound comes from the pit. Astarion drops everything and scrambles over as fast as he can.

He tilts his head, facing his ear down into the depths. And he listens…

H..E..LP!

He immediately shouts down into the hole. “We’re going to get you out!” He rushes back to his feet and to the rope. The others drop their half-naked corpses, and Karlach finishes tying one last knot. They help Astarion drag it over to the pit, all lining up to hold onto the end, though, to be honest, Karlach will be doing most of the heavy lifting. He guides the end over the edge, and hurriedly lowers it down. He wants to throw it in, but he’d rather not throw somebody else over the edge with the sudden weight.

He’s knelt right on the edge, wide eyes staring, searching into the dark. He has no idea how close they are to you, or even if it’s long enough. He hopes your god is merciful enough to play with fate.

“Find the rope!” He shouts down. He hopes his voice is reaching you. “We’ll lift you up!”

It’s too quiet for too long. If his heart still beat, it would be racing faster than a rabbit’s on the run. Dread builds up, heavy and unpleasant, in his chest instead. Did you pass out? Was the rope long enough? Would he have to slide down and carry you back up? What was taking you so damn long?!

He’s a second away from removing his armor to climb down when the rope shifts, being tugged by something down in the darkness. He can only hope it’s you. He scrambles to his feet and gets in front of Karlach, grabs hold of the rope with bloody fingers, and begins pulling you from the pit.

Somehow they manage to work as a unit. He’s scrambling to pull you out as fast as possible, but Karlach manages to get him to slow down. If they could do long pulls, they could drag you out faster with less work. He worries his lip between his teeth. Each knot that slips over the edge adds to his anxiety. He’s waiting for the moment it reaches the end and nothing is there. He can only take solace in the fact he can feel your weight holding on. Gods, he thinks desperately, just keep holding on.

After an eternity of pulling, a hand reaches over the ledge. Karlach makes up for his absence when he lets go and falls to his knees at the edge. He reaches in and wraps his hands under your arms, heaving you up and, finally, back on solid ground. He pulls you solidly into his arms, sliding back away from the edge. He’s sick and tired of chasms.

You’re no longer wearing your armor, and your weapons belt is gone, too. Fine, black dirt sticks to your clothes and hands, and even smears across your face, washed away by a stream of tears. He wipes them away with one hand; he can’t give a damn about the blood he leaves in its place.

“I’ve got you,” he breathes. You sob as fall forward, your head landing solidly against his shoulder. Your whole body trembles and shudders with each cry. He’s disconcerted by the sound of your voice, no longer purposefully muffled. He threads his fingers into your hair, holding you to him. “Shh. I’ve got you. You’re safe, I’ve got you.”

If your body ached at the bottom of the pit, now you couldn’t even think about moving. Astarion had carried you as far as he could and then some, until Karlach had to take you from his arms before he dropped you. Even then, he stayed right by her side, watching you anxiously.

Back at camp, Shadowheart healed what she could, but most of her energy was spent during the fight. Haslin took over, but even the best he could do would have you bruised and in pain for the next few days. He went into the woods for ingredients to make a soothing balm.

Wyll helped you drink water, and Gale helped you drink some broth, to hold you over until he could make dinner proper. Lae’zel rifled through your veritable hoard of supplies to find you some suitable armor and weapons, and worked to sharpen and polish them.

When you were finally given the chance to rest, Astarion carried you from your bedroll into his tent, laying you down on his own bedroll. He provided as many pillows as you wished, as many blankets as you could ever ask for. He gathered a bowl of water and a fresh cloth and worked to clean the grime off your face.

You watched blankly, too emotionally and physically exhausted to process much. He passed the cloth over your forehead. It was blessedly cool, but the flash of red that crossed your vision could not be ignored.

Arms like lead, you willed a hand to grab his, stopping him mid-swipe. He winced as you pried the cloth from his hand, where it dropped wetly onto your neck, and ran your thumb along his palm. Blisters and blood covered every inch, skin torn and peeling in places. Without even thinking, you try casting a spell to heal him.

Whereas before, when you tried to cast a spell, you could feel it draining your energy from you, now you just felt nothing. It was like dipping a bucket into a well and coming up empty. There is no more magic within you to fuel a spell. Tears prick at your eyes again.

Astarion sighs, long and low. “You don’t have your magic.”

It takes far too much effort to even shake your head. You take a breath, and through the rasping pain, you speak. “They… took it away when… I called for help…” You swallow thickly. Your voice was foreign to you.

It was foreign to Astarion, too. He could recognize the way you signed, the slight variations of years of experience against Gale’s book-perfect signing or even Wyll’s slower, more purposeful movements. He associated it with you so strongly. To hear you speak was like watching a ventriloquist put on a show.

A bitter feeling took hold within him. Just like all gods, all masters, all people with power to laud over another, you were abandoned in your darkest hour, by someone you spent so long dedicated to. Prayers, offerings at alters, your faithful silence - it would never be enough, not to a god who always craved more.

But now isn’t the time to say I told you so. Gently, he removes his hand from your grasp. Your hand flops back to your side. He takes the cloth from where it rested at your neck, re-wets it, and continues cleaning your face.

He doesn’t say anything as he wipes away your tears, catching them before they have a chance to slide down to your ears. When the sobs choke you, he helps you drink some water. When your sorrow lulls you to sleep, he tucks you in and stays by your side, a faithful argus.

---

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astaroth1357 · 1 year

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Witchy Requests: The Reality of Summoning a Demon Lord

Contents: Violence and demons being demonic

~♡♡♡~

Summoning Lucifer

First off, this is not even remotely easy to do.

Lucifer does not get summoned away very often because it takes a witch at least comparable to Solomon's skill to pull it off. Of the small handful of people who can, only a couple are crazy enough to try (so he already knows them all by name).

Not only is this hard to do logistically, Lucifer also HATES being summoned with a burning passion. It messes up his schedule, gives him a pounding headache, and it's pretty humiliating to be ordered about like a dog on a lead.

Anyone summoning Lucifer has put some seriously strong spells in place to keep him in check. It'll take more than a salt circle to stay protected because he'll just blow that crap away with his wings.

It's well known that he will attack the second that the caster gives him the opportunity. Even so much as looking away could leave enough of an opening for him to fry them to a crisp. Extra potent magic chains and bindings are about the only things that ensure safety....

Deals with Lucifer are extremely costly due to how pissed he is just being there. He doesn't stop at their soul. Depending on the day, he could ask for any number of other sacrifices before he so much as lifts a finger. A person summoning Lucifer must be prepared to lose almost everything...

That said, he always fulfills his contracts to the letter and employs very little trickery. If the agreement was unclear, then that's on the summoner. Not him. They get exactly what they asked for.

There was a rumor going around for a time that if Lucifer was summoned with classical music in background, he'd be easier to deal with. Unfortunately, a naive young witch gave it a try and found out that "easier to deal with" Lucifer is still willing take off a hand or two no matter how sophisticated the room sounds.

Solomon has only managed to summon him twice. The first time was in a bid for a pact (which ended in a very wrecked office) and the second was an attempt to ask the questions about Michael that Simeon refused to answer (he let him go pretty quickly after receiving a death glare that would have turned his hair white if it weren't so silvery already).

Summoning Mammon

So like. It's pretty easy to do, but it ain't cheap.

Mammon only shows up if the caster can offer up some serious wealth in return. We're talking sprinkling the summoning circle in gold coins and Rolex watches to make it happen. They don't get to keep any of it, either. He's taking that as the "entrance fee."

Though he's generally a pretty safe summon, Mammon's motivations are directly tied to how much wealth he's gonna make off of their time together. Bribes aren't just encouraged, they're expected, and he gets pissed off if they think he'll do any work for free.

Since he encompasses the sphere of Greed, he sees a lot of witches and the like who summon him for a bit of luck or to increase their chances of acquiring ill-gotten gains. He usually demands a cut of whatever they manage to get from his help, on top of what it already took for him to play ball to begin with.

The only witches who get to skip his exorbitant prices are, unfortunately, the ones whom he already owes money to and it is degrading to say the least... He tries to keep MC out of that as much as possible and he'll straight up toss anyone who brings it up.

There's an urban legend around witching circles that of you can get Mammon to kiss a Grimm and give it to you, you'll have good fortune for an entire year. He doesn't really believe it himself but he still gave one to MC, just in case.

Solomon hasn't ever tried to summon Mammon, though he knows that he could very easily. He's not too tied to wealth or material possessions, so he's never needed his assistance to start with. If he ever summons him now, it's usually just to ask how MC is doing since the two are so close.

Summoning Levi

Often more trouble than it's worth...

Summoning Levi is really only useful for a VERY small handful of problems, nearly all of which concerning the Devil's Sea in some way. He's the only brother with any jurisdiction over it, much less the ability to talk to fish.

The issue is that Levi hates being summoned just as much as Lucifer. It drags him right out of his comfort zone and puts him a space where he feels like he's being judged for how useless he is... Thus, he'll spend the whole time sulking, irritated, and hissing to be left alone.

Levi has to be spoken to with extreme care because setting him off could result in the caster getting crushed by all 200 tons of Lotan then swept away in the flood that comes after.

Those who can appease him with video games and anime fair better, not by much because he gets even more irritated if they get details the wrong or seem like a "fake fan" (yes, unfortunately he gatekeeps 🥲). Only the most otaku of witches are safe from his temper.

In truth, main reason that anyone summons Levi anymore is for nautical travel through the Devil's Sea. The dude is like a living compass with precise latitude and longitudinal coordinates built into his DNA. But asking for that is also a one way ticket to meet Admiral Levi who is even WORSE to be around than the Otaku version...

The first time Solomon summoned Levi, they actually got along pretty well (largely thanks to Solomon's equally copious knowledge of TSL). He was only looking for the scales of a specific sea monster, but the two ended up chatting for a while. He thought that he could have made a pact with him right then and there, but Levi asked if he liked The Magical Ruri Hana and his answer to THAT shut things down instantly...

Summoning Satan

Practically the OG demon to summon despite being around for the least amount of time.

Satan is one of the easier brothers to summon because he spent a few centuries spreading around just how to do so in the human world. He wanted an excuse to leave the House and piss off Lucifer by fucking with humanity. Architect of the Satanic Panic right here.

I suppose you could say that in his younger years, Satan was something akin to a rockstar in witching terms. Even non-witches knew of him, just not a lot of the accurate details.

Satan was really the "ground zero" for humanity's pop culture surrounding demons. He used to use it as a chance to let loose from Lucifer's constant pressure, so he played up the persona of the "charming, charismatic bad boy with a homicidal mean-streak" beautifully.

You would also have to be a lawyer if you wanted to make a solid contract with him. He was wicked smart even back then and put it good use by tormenting the humans more. That classic phrase, "Deal with the Devil" came from the amount of times he'd gleefully screw someone over.

Since then, he's calmed down considerably and is even a little embarrassed about his old persona if anyone brings it up. He's much more refined in his modern day dealings, though he'll still make a nasty deal or two just to keep the humans on their toes.

Satan's fondness for cats is the reason why cats got tied to witchcraft in media. It was common knowledge that if you summoned him with a cat present, then he would be too distracted to give you a bad deal. Ever since then, it just stuck.

Solomon's true first interaction with Satan was when he summoned him one day to get some advice about making a pact with Lucifer... It was one of his worst ideas to date and he still has the mended ribs to show for it.

Summoning Asmo

Very easy with low risk... for the most part.

Asmo LOVES getting summoned out by witches. It feeds his ego something fierce. So he never makes it all that hard to do, however...

Those who summon Asmo quickly learn that it cannot be a one-time thing. Or if it is, it better fucking stay that way.

Asmo ties a lot of self-worth to how "in demand" he is, so after a witch summons him, he'll keep a tally on how long it takes for them to summon him again.

If they do so quickly and regularly? No issues. He couldn’t be happier! If they take too long between summons though...?

Fury. He'll come at them laying curse after curse because how DARE they forget about him like that!! And after, uh... whatever he did to help them out, no less!

Most witches just preemptively make a pact with him since they know that calling on Asmo is more like an ongoing relationship than a simple business transaction.

Ironically, despite the fact that Asmo wants to be summoned so badly, he is incredibly picky about the kinds of work he'll do. He won't do anything that could ruin his manicures, mess up his hair, strain his muscles, dirty his skin, cause a breakout, make him frown-

All of this absolutely stems from that time he was summoned by Solomon and tricked into doing hard labor to build his Temple. You live and learn, then throw the people who treat you poorly into the desert as punishment. Or something like that.

Summoning Beel

A very unwise decision unless you have the resources of a sultan.

Beel isn't exactly hostile by default, if anything he's very easy going all things considered. It's just that his stomach does a lot of the talking in contract arrangements...

After summoning Beel, the caster has to try and keep him fed at all costs. If he's eating, he's docile and easily negotiable. If he's hungry, he will eat them without hesitation. He's just going to go for the most filling thing in the room and, unfortunately, that tends to be the human in front of him.

As long as they have ten or so caterers on speed dial, deals with Beel are very straightforward. He's refreshingly forthright compared to the rest.

Sure, the first thing he usually asks for is permission to eat them, but he can be easily dissuaded by offering up something else to fill his stomach in their place. He's not bloodthirsty, just hungry.

For a short time, it was theorized that summoning both twins at the same time would make their interactions more safe, but that was quickly canned when it was discovered that Belphie would encourage Beel to eat whomever brought them there... He was not a good influence at all.

Solomon did actually try to summon Beel once thinking that he made enough food to keep him satisfied for a talk. Beel didn't even get three bites into his tuna salad before he lost consciousness... When he woke back up in HoL, he didn't have any memory of it and Solomon tactically decided to never mention it again so he could avoid future arguments.

Summoning Belphie

Blacklisted. Not allowed.

For centuries before MC showed up, Belphie was considered one of the most dangerous demons for a human witch to summon. Full stop. Even worse than Lucifer. The guy's bloodlust was unreal.

How exactly was the weakest brother considered the most deadly to interact with, you ask? Cold, hard manipulation.

Belphegor knows he's considered the weakest. He knows that he doesn't look like much of a threat. He even knows how to play into that "sleepy and harmless baby brother" image that he's spent so damn long building up.

Belphie is even better at persuasion than Satan. He can make whoever summons him feel silly, no, embarrassed for ever thinking he was a threat, then attack them when their guard was down.

Even if they keep him contained, his contracts are notoriously filled with wordplay and deceit. At best, he'll twist the terms around so he doesn't actually have to do anything. At worst, it'll become a death warrant with more than just their life on the line...

All of this, of course, was Belphie back when he still hated humans. But even after settling down with MC, he's in no rush to go correcting any records. He quite likes having his nap days uninterrupted, thank you.

One of the most horrifying rumors about summoning Belphegor is that if you sleep afterwards without fully sanctifying the room, he'll possess you in your sleep. There are still witches to this day who travel to the Devildom with sage in their pockets just in case they see him and need to start cleansing the area immediately.

Much like Mammon, Solomon has also never tried to summon Belphie. Sure, he can be somewhat unscrupulous, but even the witty sorcerer knows when the risk outweighs the reward.

Summoning Diavolo

Really only possible in theory because there has never been a successful attempt.

No one is very sure why all attempts to summon the Demon Prince crash and burn so easily. Solomon himself as spent centuries trying to work out the logistics.

Is there just no sacrifice comparable enough to bring out a being of his magnitude?

Are the sigils and chants required so ancient and esoteric that they've long been forgotten by mortal minds?

Do the summoning circles work but Diavolo, by the nature of his power and authority, just "opts out" of showing up if he feels like it?

Solomon has tried summoning Dia numerous times and every attempt has left him with nothing but wasted materials and broken dreams. This is basically his white whale. Don't bring it up or he'll get pouty.

Summoning Barbatos

Another unwise decision that leaves many with nightmares years later.

Barbatos is an... interesting case to summon. Like Lucifer, the caster has to be incredibly talented. Though unlike Lucifer, Barbatos doesn't react with such upfront vitriol.

To be clear, he is NOT happy. He is NEVER happy to be called away so suddenly from his lord. But it comes across more like a frigid aura of contempt and malice than the white hot hostility of all the others.

Put simply, it just feels like you royally fucked up in ways you can't even process.

The most unnerving thing about accepting a contract with Barbatos is that he will always agree to whatever is asked for with no complaint, but he'll never say what he wants in return.

The terms of all demonic contracts are that whatever is asked must be balanced by an equal sacrifice, but since Barbs NEVER identifies what he plans on taking, it leaves the caster to wonder what they've loss...

Every bad event from then on gets overanalyzed to the point of paranoia where the caster victim tries to identify if their debt has finally been paid or if he may still come to them one day and demand what he's owed...

Solomon doesn't know it, but a popular theory among his peers is that what Barbs took in exchange for their pact was his mortality in hopes that the centuries of loss and isolation would make him go insane. It's a silly little rumor, but it does still make Barbs chuckle whenever he hears it...

#gearing up for nightbringer #obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #obey me hc #obey me scenarios #obey me solomon #obey me barbatos #obey me diavolo

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spockandawe · 1 month

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And finally, the big conclusion! When I was planning to not really binderary, getting copies of these books was my big goal. And then when I did binderary after all, I, uh, ended up with two sets of two books. And let's not even talk about how late these are in the grand scheme of things, these have been in my plans for literal years, and I originally intended to get them done well before official translations started releasing (I'm doing great!!). But here they are! Thousand Autumns and Peerless! TWICE!!!!

Okay. Okay. So here's the thing. These books are long. Thousand Autumns is something like 450k, and Peerless is closer to 550k. I hate splitting cnovels. I didn't want to sand instead of trimming. I wanted to keep these books as pairs (because Peerless has my favorite danmei ship of all time, but doesn't hit as hard without the Thousand Autumns context, and EVERYTHING hits less hard without knowing that yan wushi is out there. existing.)

These goals are not terribly well aligned with the facts! The facts are that those are awfully big books to fit into a single volume, if I want to use my guillotine! This is another driving force behind my small text theme of the month. It made the typesets a goddamn nightmare, and my initial copies of the books were done on half-legal paper, which I've never done before and may never do again. I finished those, and those are... big, heavy books. Not super portable. Time to see if my eyes are good for four point georgia, and spoilers, they ARE.

Set one, the large set, I wanted to use more of my snake leather. I had this GORGEOUS purple and green and black iridescent hide that i was determined to use, and fortunately I had just enough of the perfect fabric to pair with it.

But.... meanwhile, I've been buying peacock fabrics since 2021 for the sake of Feng Xiao. I had to use at least ONE of them! Fortunately, I've hoarded enough fabric that I was able to find a nice harmonious floral fabric to cover thousand autumns, and then had a nice duo bookcloth to make spines for them both! These books are quarter-legal, and the font is genuinely SO small, but still, pleasantly readable for me, my favorite customer 😂

These books were SO MUCH work to typeset snd bind, but I'm still so excited about how both sets came out! Because of my own impatience with repeating myself like, literally two days later, i redid a number of decorative elements in the typeset as well as the binding. Different chapter headers, different dividers, totally different vibes for the endpapers! This was a big project to ask from myself in such short order, especially when I was starting to flirt with burnout, but I genuinely couldn't be happier with the results :D

#crafts #bookbinding #binderary #oh no how have i tagged either of these #thousand autumns #peerless #qian qiu #wushuang

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veryinnovative · 2 months

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fifty shades of black

~2k words. nsfw. bratty experienced sub james and inexperienced dom regulus. jegulus microfic/snippet based on this post which i do recommend reading for some context so u kinda know what's happening since i have apparently decided to just go unchronological and do whatever the fuck. though, regulus has gotten some more experience at this stage of the fic.

The chime of a bell rings out as James enters the shop, bringing with him a gentle end-of-winter draft and his customary breeze of self-confidence that makes Regulus' skin break out in goosebumps all over. It’s late February, still ways from spring, but the potted flowers lining the shelves swoon at him just the same.

James Potter had that sort of effect.

“Hello, love,” he greets him, donning that dazzling smile like he’s swooped the sun out of the murky evening skies and swallowed it whole. Regulus could endlessly wax poetry about him and his mouth—the color, the plumpness, the self-assured slanted uptilt of his lips.

But he doesn’t, no. He watches how James approaches the counter like a spoiled cat who’s so sure he’s about to get what he wants. Because James doesn’t learn, or refuses to, at least. Especially if last night was anything to go by.

“Have you been good, Potter?”

James shakes his head and frowns at the name, the huff he lets out almost indignant as he staggers for breath. His cock is slumped against his stomach, terribly weepy with sad, thin dribbles of cum that are the aftermath of a ruined orgasm.

“And do bad boys deserve to cum?”

He shakes his head again, furiously blinking through the tears. Over a month ago, Regulus would have caved underneath the crushing weight of guilt. He would have bitten his lip and worked James’ cock up again, a victim to crocodile tears and the angelic drawl of a voice he couldn’t resist. Fortunately, since then, Regulus had developed a significant tolerance and remained impervious to his relentless pleading. All the while maintaining that convincing pretense of stark indifference that had resulted in a whole reversal of roles. Because he had James whining the past couple of scenes, sputtering and cursing threats, fighting against binds, and biting on Regulus at every given opportunity.

Tonight, James doesn’t fight back, because his cock is spent but still wholly unsatisfied. There’s a glint of fear in his eyes, together with arousal and a glowing spark of pride.

Regulus yanks him by his curls. “But I let you, and what do we say to that?”

James’ mouth parts around a soundless gasp. “Thank you.”

Regulus quickly dispels the thoughts with a barely noticeable shake of his head. The last thing he needs are the flashing images of James’ sweat-sheened skin and quivering legs, the needy pitch of his voice when Regulus’ hand dragged down his chiseled chest towards—

“It’s rude not to greet customers.”

Blinking his vision back into focus, Regulus glares up at James who is sporting one of his knowing smiles like he can pry into Regulus’ brain and tell that with one look at him, he had been sucked into a vacuum of explicit and very vivid images.

Of course, other than being a multi-billionaire and head of Potter Enterprises, James Potter is also a telepath. Add it to his extensive list of redeeming qualities.

Regulus sighs, pinches his nose bridge, counts to five, and looks down at the register because he doesn’t trust what may come out of his mouth if he stares at James for a moment longer. “What do you want?” On cue, James’ lips part, and before he can answer with something unequivocally witty, Regulus interrupts him, “Other than me. An actual order.”

As expected, James’ mouth falls shut, though the amused smile never really disappears. “A latte, please. Double shot. Pump of caramel.”

The vocal emphasis on pump would have drawn a reaction out of Regulus a month ago, but he has spent enough time to no longer feel bothered by certain commentary. Instead, he casts a quick glance at the clock before jotting down instructions on the paper coffee cup.

“It’s getting late, you’re having a decaf.”

James’ eyebrows shoot up to his hairline before he looks at Pandora who is manning the bar. She grins at him, waiting for confirmation, undoubtedly bemused by their interaction and Regulus’ slow growth into a role, and chuckles when James offers a meek nod. “What he said. Decaf.” Pandora quirks an eyebrow and he hastily adds, “Please.”

That was also Regulus’ doing, teaching the spoiled brat to say please. It did him good to see the newly acquired habit extend into other areas of life.

“You still want a pump of caramel syrup with that?” Pandora asks innocently, not bothering to mask a laugh when James looks at Regulus for permission, again. It’s become somewhat mundane: those brief, fleeting moments where they seamlessly fall into their dynamic.

Regulus nods and Pandora is off with a hum, letting the ground beans fill her portafilter as she makes a start on his order. James reaches for his wallet but Regulus shakes his head, preventing him from taking it out with a single gesture. “No need. It’s on the house.”

Maybe freebies from a non-coffee chain act as personal affronts, seeing the frown etch itself deeply between James’ brows and the way he petulantly retrieves his hand from his pocket. This, they still need to work on: James’ spending habits and Regulus’ aversion to receiving gifts or anything material, really. Nine days ago he had opened his door to a wreath of expensive, rare flowers imported from various parts of the world and Regulus had given him an earful about it. Still, the harsh reprimands weren’t enough to discourage James’ attempts to shower him with expensive gifts because just two days ago he suggested getting Regulus an unfathomably overpriced watch. Quote on quote suggested as if the stupid box wasn’t peeking at Regulus from where it had been poorly concealed.

So, James had resorted to acts of service, the expensive kind.

While James is ridiculously rich, Regulus barely scrapes enough together to pay his rent. He is working two jobs at the moment, a fact that irks James greatly for more than just one reason, and luckily none of which involves tarnishing his reputation by having a dom who is terribly broke. That had been one of Regulus’ insecurities, and James had been very quick to dissipate them.

“So, dinner?” James asks after taking a sip of his coffee, though not without casting Pandora a quick, grateful smile.

Regulus nods as he undoes the ties of his apron. Officially, he’s still got twenty minutes on the clock, but it’s quiet and Pandora assured him that she could close up alone and that for once, Regulus deserves a night off to himself.

His encounters with James have been hasty the past couple of days, especially considering his hectic work schedule and demand to cover shifts. And as respectful as James was when it came to Regulus’ decisions, it was very apparent he struggled not sticking to Regulus like adhesive every waking moment.

“Wait,” comes James’ voice when they finally make it out of the store and towards the car. He rushes past him and reaches for the door. “You need to let me do this, remember?”

“I can open my own door, James,” Regulus sighs.

“And I can order my own coffee,” James retorts. He waits for Regulus to slip into the seat before closing the door and rounding the car to get to the driver’s seat.

Weeks, and for some reason, Regulus struggled more with the non-sexual side of their dynamic.

“It’s not only the sex aspect, Regulus,” James had told him the second day after they signed their contract. “It’s about serving and seeing to your needs. Pleasing you in more ways than just one.”

“Isn’t a dom supposed to do that?”

James chuckled but swallowed all humor down when he saw the tight line of Regulus’ pursed lips. “I mean, this isn’t the movies, you know? There are so many more provider subs than there are doms. You’d be surprised, honestly. Most of us have all that we need and are looking to relinquish that control for once. Also the money, I suppose. It feels good getting you gifts.”

“I am not about to be your accountant and track how much you spend on me, James. There’s a limit.”

This time, James fails at stifling his laugh. “No need, I already have someone tracking my funds. But feel free to give me a good spanking if I splurge too much on unnecessary things.”

“Like towing my old car and getting me a new one?”

James shrugs at the memory. The very one Regulus had been livid at him for and Horace had to spend a whole day trying to get back a battered old Toyota. “Spending money on you doesn’t count.”

“And what if I say it does?”

“Then I’ll have to be a good boy and listen.”

And James listened particularly well. Well, at least when he could get something out of it. Because strung-up James who had not been able to get his hands on Regulus properly for any extended period of time, listened very, very poorly considering Regulus had specifically instructed him to drive them to this cozy, small falafel spot that undoubtedly put crack in their garlic sauce seeing how everyone’s pitas always overflowed with it.

Instead, the car veered off the main road and right on the one that led it to James’ apartment. One of his apartments, at least. The one closest to them.

No complaint from Regulus, truly. In hindsight, he might have confused his appetite for something else entirely. Definitely has, now that his mouth is being eaten by James as he’s clumsily led away from the front door and further down the dimly lit hallway. James’ tie is undoubtedly still in the elevator where Regulus had yanked it off for better access to his chest.

“You,” James breathes against his lips as he yanks Regulus’ shirt off his head, “have been returning my gifts.”

He’s hoisted up against the wall, practically shoved against it with how a picture frame rattles off and falls onto the floor. Regulus allows his head to loll back with a gentle thud as James’ mouth works down his throat, hot and greedy.

“I told you—” his words are interrupted by a sharp hiss when James decidedly makes use of his teeth rather than tongue, working marks around his clavicles. “I don’t want expensive gifts.”

There’s a muffled sound of dissent against his neck before James brushes his clothed erection against Regulus’, drawing out moans from the both of them.

“I told you,” James gasps out through his labored breaths, tongue laving across the sharp line that is Regulus’ jaw before coming to tug onto his earlobe, “I want to spoil you. Be good for you.”

Regulus had chided James for that too, told him he had to learn other ways that could earn him Regulus’ praise. James hadn’t liked that in the least. He didn’t like being told no. Not then, not now. Not ever.

James drives his hips forward again, chasing after the friction and pressure. The hold he has on Regulus’ thighs is bruising in a way that's guaranteed to leave marks.

“Am I being good?” James’ hot breath fans against Regulus’ ear, the skin around it wet from where his mouth had been, slick with spit as James keeps sucking the soft, tender spot below.

“Tell me.” James’ hips jerk where they’re slotted between Regulus’ thighs, uncoordinated now, bordering on frantic, his voice desperate, “Say that I’m being good for you.”

“Be quiet,” Regulus hisses as he bucks his hips, painfully hard against the seams of his jeans and aching for some relief. He's panting as well, trying not to lose himself in the vortex of delirium and instead regain some semblance of control. There's the wall behind his back and James' sturdy chest pressed against his own, the frenzied rattled beating inside his ribcage that Regulus feels against his.

James whines against his neck, still pathetically rutting into him and Regulus shushes him, carding his fingers through the sweaty, tangled curls that stick to the dewy skin of his neck before grabbing a fistful.

“You want to be a good boy?” he whispers into James’ ear.

James frantically nods against his neck and starts grinding against him harder, moaning unabashedly when Regulus meets his movements and tugs onto his hair.

“Then put your mouth to good use.”

#jegulus #james potter #regulus black #jegulus fanfiction #jegulus microfic #starchaser #sunseeker #james x regulus #ino microfic tag!#i cant believe i wrote this right after cursing out my deadline #i fr just write when im stressed and surrounded with exam woe

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gtsdreamer2 · 2 months

Text

Beach Gate

April 12th. The day they told everyone to stay out of the water. It was all over the news for weeks. They were releasing a small amount of radiation waste into the ocean. Scientists ran hundreds of simulations about how the water would be safe just one day after the release. Something about dispersement and currents. What they hadn't calculated were the hungry organisms in the water that would feed on the radiation and mutate.

Sebast was relaxing in his chair on the beach. He was on holiday and figured a lazy afternoon at the beach would be the best use for the beautiful day that it was. The beach was moderately crowded, but it was a school day, so it was mostly adults relaxing and enjoyimg the water. Sebast was reading the daily paper, but couldn't help but steal glances at all of the beautiful bikini-clad women that he was fortunate to be surrounded by on this clear, sunny day. He started to dose off while reading the article about a strange algal bloom that scientists were only just starting to study. As he slept, the water all along the shore suddenly began to glow a dark purple as the irradiated algae began to flood in. Woman and men alike were quickly covered in the bloom. As the beach goers exited the shimmering sea, two things became apparent. Firstly, the algae seemed to slip and slide off the men and children before receding back into the ocean. Secondly, the purple globs seemed to congregate and cover only the women, sticking to them and binding to their skin. At first they tried their best to remove the unwelcome algae, but as the masses of purple microfauna began to completely coat the women, their demeanor quickly changed from panic to pleasure.

Sebast awoke, startled as the screams turned to moans around him. Looking to the woman closest to him, he could only watch in fascination as she spasmed on the ground. Mashing her hands over her body, she forcefully massaged the purple goop against her skin. Slowly the algae was being absorbed into her and the irradiated creatures caused her body to swell and grow, which only seemed to fuel her pleasure.

"Fuck, this feels amazing!" She cried out, quickly breaking free of her inadequate clothing. All around him similar situations were playing out. The women began to surge in size at varying paces depending on how much algae they had been in contact with. Some women quickly realized this and ran back into the ocean, scooping up massive handfuls of the creatures and lathering them onto themselves. As the women on the beach began to only break the ten foot mark, those in the sea were quickly doubling and tripling that as their increased volume gave the algae more space to bind to.

Sebast watched as a hierarchy quickly formed. The massive women in the ocean were now big enough to block the much smaller women from growing any larger. This led to the woman that was closest to him coming up to him with a children's pail. She towered above him while she batted her long lashes. "Um, could you take this into the water and bring me more of that purple stuff? I want to be bigger and I promise I'll give you a big reward!" She pressed her chest together as she stuck out both her arms to hand Sebast the pail. He eagerly took it and waited for an opportunity. As one of the monstrously large women in the water started fighting over resources with another one, he made a dash for the shoreline, quickly scooping up a bucket's worth of algae. One of the titanesses watched playfully as Sebast delivered the pail. The woman eagerly dumped it over herself and rubbed it into her skin, quickly gaining a meager two feet in height. "I'll never catch up to those goddesses at this rate. Thanks anyway sweetie." She said, kissing him on the cheek.

The biggest of the sea queens laughed at the mini-giantess's attempt to gain some size. "That was pathetic." She taunted. "Watch and learn." The tide was forced outward as the kaiju sized woman lowered herself into the sea, leaving only her nose above the waterline. Suddenly she opened her mouth and sucked in hundreds of gallons of seawater and all the algae with it. Great volumes of purple water filled her cheeks as she gained another hundred feet in only a few moments. She moaned through her closed mouth, careful not to lose any growth fuel until it had all been absorbed into her. When her growth finally slowed, she sprayed clear water at all the onlookers that were now even further dwarfed by her.

"What a rush!" She boomed, her voice resonating for miles against the tiny eardrums it came across. At her new size, she had no trouble throwing the closest women to her size out onto the beach. "This is all mine!" She roared, throwing her arms out and scooping miles of purple onto her skin, which rose above the water higher and higher. She groped her massive chest and rubbed herself all over in a display of pure carnal dominance. Sebast just watched in awe as the women that were still much larger than him cowered before this ascending goddess. He turned to the one who he had helped grow and grabbed her hand. "Let's get out of here before she crushes us all!" He said, showing her another pail full of algae. She giggled before lifting him up and scurrying off somewhere safer.

#gts #giantess #size kink #sizetumblr #macro #size difference #minigiantess #mega giantess #growth #g/t writing #follower request

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i-cant-sing · 1 year

Note

Babyfushi after forcing bananami to please princess with her :

Babyfushi : do you feel bonita ? 🥺✨

Bananami: I feel bonita

Oh for sure. Nanami knows better by now to just sigh and play along than to refuse your chubby little face that literally drops when he tells you "no." Its better to sit down and pretend to eat whatever air-snack you've made him while wearing a tiara than to deal with you sobbing to Gojo about how "Banananananamin hates me!"

But omg imagine toddler reader getting down on one knee and proposing to Nanami with a ringpop, because she panicked when Gojo teased her and told her that he was gonna marry Nanami before her.

Now Nanami is glitching because what the fuck is he supposed to do? How does he handle this situation without you ending up in tears?

Fortunately, Megumi came just in time to haul you away and spare Nanami from answering. Toddler reader is just about crying to be let down so that she can marry Nanami, and now Yuji and Megumi are trying to console you, but you are beyond grief and finally, Sukuna takes over Yuji's body after seeing the distressed state you were in.

"Why are you crying, brat?" He asked you, crossing his arms.

You sniffled. "I wanna marry Nanami!"

Sukuna narrowed his eyes. "No."

"No?"

"No."

"But why?" You wailed loudly.

"Because he's not worthy of you. And you promised me last week that you'd wait for me to take you as my bride once you're of age, didn't you?"

You tilted your head in confusion, while Megumi behind you paled. "I... dont remember?" You confessed.

"Yes, you're stupid, I'm well aware. However, you have promised me to be my wife. And I intend to hold you to that promise."

Megumi shook his head. "You- you can't do that-"

Sukuna grinned, an evil glint in his eyes. "Oh but I can. She promised me. I accepted. You know that promises with curses can't be broken."

Megumi was far too shocked to speak, while you're still sniffling. "So... you'll marry me?" You asked.

Sukuna nodded. "I will. And to prevent you from marrying anyone else because you are a little idiot, I will give you this." Snapping his fingers, a beautiful gold ring with a large ruby stone appeared in his hands. Taking your chubby little hand in his, Sukuna proposed.

"You will marry me."

"Yes!" You answered cheerfully, as he slid on the ring to your finger, the ring immediately binding around it to the appropriate size.

"No spell, no curse, nothing can remove this ring-"

"What if I cut my finger?"

"..."

"Hm?"

Sukuna's gaze hardened. "I won't let you. If you try to hurt yourself, I'll punish you. Now swear you won't do it."

"I promise, 'kuna!" You grinned before pulling out your ringpop, coincidentally it's also red. "I got a ring for you too!"

"That's candy. And you were going to give it to someone else."

"Oh? You don't want it-"

Sukuna snatched the ringpop from your hand, forcefully pushing it on his finger but it didn't fit past the first knuckle. "No, give me that stupid ring."

"We're engaged!" You cheered, clapping your hands, not realising that this is not some pretend play.

Sukuna nodded, leaning down to bump his nose with yours. "Engaged, bound together for eternity- same thing."

"You're mine forever." Sukuna said before leaving, letting Yuji take over again, all while Megumi is sitting there shell shocked with just one thing going through his brain:

WHAT THE FUCK?

I'm thinking that Naoya is absolutely losing his shit once he finds out, Gojo and Nanami are going through every fucking spell book in history to break the ring, and Toji is on a violet spree and is spending day and night on how he's gonna kill Sukuna because like hell he'll marry you or let anyone cut your finger off.

#yandere sukuna #yandere sukuna ryomen #yandere sakuna #yandere jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere nanami kento #yandere nanami #yandere gojo saturo #yandere gojo #yandere gojo satoru

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letshavedeernnertogether · 2 months

Text

We'll meet again

the plot is: (Y/n) summoms a demon, Alastor, to save herself from awful men and they make a deal. We'll see what comes next in subsequent chapters :>

I used she/her because it seems to me that the heroine has her own character and I thought it won't be right if I write you/your and than the heroine will make something out of your, reader, character, but I still used Y/n because I wanted to make you feel closer to this story and Alastor

english is not my mother-tounge, so I'm very-very sorry about the mistakes I must have made :'<

Part one, the summoning

Away! Farther from this place, as far as possible! It was just incredible to stay here for any longer. Although she couldn't leave this place she still could disappear for some time.

(Y/n) was running through the forest. Cold october wind rustled in her ears and scratched her cheeks, stained with tears. She breathed hard, suffocating with sob and run, but didn't want to stop to recover her wind.

She turned from the path and ran deep into the woods. She could barely see, where she was running, blinded by tears. The mist embraced her shoulders and waist, as if it asked her for a dance. Trees were bare and grey, the grass scratched her ankles. She often stumbled over the roots and stones, almost fell several times, but didn't stopped.

(Y/n) thought how marvelously would it be, if the Death would find her there right now. If she fell and bled until William, riding on the horseback, would find her, to took her to the cold and dirty marriage bed.

She was running until she ran out into a forest border, circled by high pines. There she fell exhausted.

She hated her existence that moment. She wanted to disappear. How awfully, how disgustingly, how abominably she felt! That dirty pig who dared to call himself their family's friend and who almost...

She wanted to kill him, she almost did it, when he grabbed her roughly and tried to press her lips against his. Only a memory made her shudder in disgust. But fortunately, a maid entered the room that moment, and (Y/n) ran away taking an occasion.

Now she cried her heart out.

If only she had the power... The power to take revenge. To do anything. To be anything.

She read about such power. In the books that (Y/n) called classics just because they were old, and that her mother called worthless, as they "don't teach how to live". (Y/n) always replied that these books taught her how to feel.

These books brought her up, even if their authors lived centuries ago. They told her about love, only one immortal love, and what a person could lose to get it.

The influence of these books was stronger due to the fact, that the house, where she lived, was located in the middle of nowhere, and throughout her life she communicated only with her parents, their few friends and servants.

Shaking with sobbing, she was lying on the ground. She knew that everything she read was just a fiction. There never existed any fausts, nor mephistos, nor witches nor evil forces. But she wished it weren't so.

So maybe she could try..?

She remembered a book, she found in the attick. Black leather binding, old yellow pages, blackletter.

"Circle, animals' bones and special words," she muttered.

After a while everything was done. All she had to do is to cast a spell.

Alasor was in his radio studio and he was going to start a brodcast. He made himself a cup of coffee, tuned the radio in and only just sat in his chair when something started to happen.

Everything around him flicked and rattled; the air was filled with red and black shadows.

"What is it?" he said.

Invisible force seized him and he felt the smell of rotten leaves.

Not even three seconds had passed, when the radio studio was empty.

Alastor found himself sitting on the ground in the middle of circle somewhere in a forest border. He saw a beautiful and frightened young woman in front of him. The hem of her long light dress was stained with mud. Hair was messy and her eyes were red of tears. She looked at him with her eyes wide opened, stilly moving her lips.

A human.

Alastor understood that he was still sitting on the ground and quickly stood up.

He noticed how small was this woman. He was tall enough even among the demons; and now standing opposite her he realized how small people were.

"Oh, god," she said and covered her mouth with her palm, "I can't believe. Am I insane?"

The man dusted his suit.

"If you summon a demon and then calling the god for help, then..." he almost closed his index finger and thumb, "maybe slightly mad?"

His voice sounded like coming out of a radio. His wide smile full of sharp yellow teeth gave (Y/n) the shivers. She was amazed at how classically devilish he looked. Could it be because of the colour of his clothes? He had a red pinstriped suit, a red shirt with two intersecting stripes forming something like a cross on his chest, a bowtie, black trousers and shoes with red toes. In his hand he held a strange cane that looked more like a microphone. His eyes were red, and she felt how hypnotical was his gaze. His hair was also red but with black tips. On the top of his head she saw ears and small antlers. "A deer demon?" she thought.

"Well," he said, "are you still going to remain silent and stare at me?"

He throwned but was still smiling.

"Sorry, it's just not every day you summon a demon haha" she began to stroke her hair.

"So is it your first time, hmm?"

She looked at him with her cheeks red, "Summoning? Yeah, exactly..."

(Y/n) thought that his voice was anodyne despite who he was. She couldn't deny that she found him all attractive.

"Well, dear," said the man, "tell the truth it's my first time either! Alastor, pleasure to be meeting you, quite a pleasure!" His speech became faster and he held out his hand (Y/n).

He was still in the circle and (Y/n) was out. She tipped her head and asked, "You can't cross this circle, can you?"

He was still holding his hand out her.

"I'm quite sure that you can," he said, gazing at her with a sharp smile.

"But I'm not actually sure if it's safe for me," (Y/n) replied.

He tilted his head sharply, and she heard something like a radio was crackling.

"What a bold girl," he thought.

He smiled wider and put his hands behind his back.

"Ha! Very well, dear! Now if you don't mind, explain me, why have you summoned me?"

Her face became severe; in her eyes he saw something very similar to the thirst for a revenge.

"I want the power."

He looked up at her.

"A demon like you can give me the power, right?" She looked at him with hope.

"What kind of power do you mean, darling?"

She hardly breathed, gazing at him.

"I want to be the one who can't be harmed or even touched by men. I want them to regret they meeting me."

He was surprised indeed, "Why such a unique request?"

She hugged herself by her shoulders, "Just make it," she said.

Alastor noticed how subdued and frightened she was.

Some people say if a person seeks for a devil's help this person is weak, desperate and lost their heart. But in actual fact, not every person dares to do it. Only a fearless, confident in their strength and knowledge and slightly mad, will make a deal. Of course, a lot is contingent. Nobody will ever say that Ambrosio was a strong and brave man. But the inner strength and spirit of Faust, his desire for knowledge and willingness to do anything to achieve his dream, can be envied by many. And Alastor was pretty sure about the strength of this girl. He was actually interested in her soul.

"Let's make a deal," he said holding his hand out again.

(Y/n) looked up at him. She was thinking. What would happen if she did it? Would she end up in hell? But wasn't her own existence hell already? But it was worth it, right? To sell her soul to save her body. Madness, some would say. Maybe she wasn't actually sane that moment, but she did want to revenge.

She came closer and erased a line between her and Alastor. She took his hand and a green light filled the forest. (Y/n) saw how his antlers grew much bigger, the smile stretched from ear to ear, his eyes glowed. She felt like something had changed inside of her.

And then silence.

"Well, dear, here is the contract. You must sign it." He gave her a parchment covered with dark red ink.

She took the paper and read it.

No matter how hard she tried to find something ambiguous in the document, she couldn't. "I guess a demon gets your soul not with a trap in papers but with the formulation of your wish," (Y/n) thought.

And as the formulation of her own wish in papers seemed strange, she asked the demon, "I don't remember that I said something about the demons," she wanted to show Alastor the strange line in the contact, but he was already behind her shoulder.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

She responded with all-knowing tone, "I said, that I don't wanna be able to be harmed by any man, but you wrote here, that I don't wanna be harmed by any demons too."

"Why not, dear?" Alastor looked in her face. (Y/n) could see her reflection in his crimson eyes.

"My dear, I don't fill in the contact, you do." He drew himself up to his full height, "My job is to fulfil your wish in any way, that I think fit. You're the only one who formulates your desire, which is written here in the form you thought about it. So I believe it was you, and you only, who thought that you should be protected by demons too."

All of this he said smiling, accompanying his speech with graceful gestures.

"Evidently, you faced the demon," he put his hand on his chest, "me, and decided to save yourself from such a dangerous fellow." Alastor laughed and she couldn't hide her smile. His laugh was very infectious.

"Honestly, I find you better that most men I know," and before Alastor could realized what she said, (Y/n) asked, "But what about this part?"

(Y/n) pointed at red letters, where was said that neither men nor demons couldn't even touch her, unless she allow them to do it herself, with all her heart, completely trusting them.

"I'm sure, I couldn't think it. This point makes me defenceless. Also, I don't allow those I even trust to touch me. I don't like touch." She was serious as a heart attack.

Alastor leaned over her again to read red cursive. She mentioned that he smelled like fur and wood, and she also noticed a slight smell of coffee. "Can't believe a demon smells so nice," she thought.

"My dear, I must confess that I maybe thought this when we shook hands. Incredibly, how different the contracts between demons are from the contracts between a human and a demon!"

She frowned in cofusioun.

"I mean, my dear," he continued, "it would be quite difficult for you to never be interacted with anyone, there should be at least several men that you trust, aren't there?"

"No."

"Then don't worry!" He placed his hand on her shoulder and their cheeks touched, "this point doesn't mean anything for a reserved woman like you!"

He stood straight again.

"But how could be your thoughts written here?" she exclaimed. "Didn't you tell me several minutes ago, that I'm the only one who fills in the contract?"

"It's written in description of my protection of you," his voice became lower, "And as I mentioned before only I decide how to do it," and than backed to normal.

"All right," she sighed. She suspected that it was a trap, something that she would regret later; but she didn't want to worry about it too much. She was sure in her distrust of people.

(Y/n) continued on reading. It was a part of what Alastor would do to protect her.

"As you see, darling," Alastor looked at his nails, "I will always be by your side." He smiled wider at her.

"I give you my shadow," He hastened to add, "well, only a part of it, otherwise you would have my shape of shadow hahaha!"

She glanced at his shadow. Yeah, it would be difficult to explain why did a girl had a shadow of a tall, slim, deer like man.

She looked at the contact again. She sighed and signed it without hesitation. Before she had time to finish the last letter, the contact disappeared in green light.

Alastor stood in the bright green light holding out his hand. His antlers grew larger, reminding the branches of a dead wood. His smile was stitched, and on his forehead (Y/n) saw "X".

They shook hands and all of this had disappeared.

"Well, dear," Alastor adjusted his jacket, "now I'd like to warn you that this shadow has quite a cruel character!" He grined.

(Y/n) looked at her shadow under her feet. It had the same shape as usual, but it was much darker now. And then she saw how the shadow changed its shape in the place of the head. A long sharp arc appeared there. It looked like a smile. (Y/n) felt a shiver run down her spine. The smile disappeared.

"It'll get rid of your evildoers." The demon came closer. "But you need to remember, my dear, that it won't help you, if you let them harm you." He made her look at him, raising her chin. "You're invulnerable now, but you still can be harmed by any woman or anyone who you trust. So choose wisely."

She didn't move. She felt hypnotized, and his touching gave her a little tremble. "What did you say about touching just a moment ago?" said an annoying voice in her head.

"Funny, I told you to chose wisely who to trust, but still I can touch you." Alastor was smiling at her and ran his thumb down her chin. She still didn't move. He drew himself up straight and let her go. She blinked as if coming out of a trance. He put his palm on his chest saying, "I'm very flattered."

It seemed to (Y/n) that she saw some kind of softness and his eyes. But a sardonic grin appeared at his face again.

"Well, my dearest, with this I say goodbye to you." Alastor stepped in the drew circle. He looked around him and sayid to (Y/n), "Interesting, dear, but it seems to me, that I can't leave you until you command."

She looked at him. She understood that she didn't want him to leave. His face, his voice, his manner of speaking... She already missed it.

Did he saw a regret in her eyes?

"It was a real pleasure to get acquainted with you," Alastor said.

"Shall we meet again?" She asked and made a tiny step forward.

"I'm sure we'll do."

She gazed at him, pressing her hands to the chest. They would meet. He gave her power. She was saved. They would meet.

She took a stick and completed the erased circle.

"Goodbye, Alastor."

(Y/n) was left alone.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x y/n

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colubrina · 3 months

Note

idk if you have a TikTok or if you keep up with the HP fandom over there; but apparently manacled by SenLinYu was posted on Amazon for purchase (not by the author). It’s since been removed but was up for more than a couple days. And there were individuals on TikTok that just didnt understand why others were getting so upset. Like let’s disregard the fact that someone other than the original author profiting off this work, but I actually saw people that were very firm in the belief that they could sell fanfic. Whether that be through book binds, cases like this, or commissions/Patreon. I’m an elder gen Z, and I remember coming into the fanfiction spaces pretty early on maybe like 07-08?? I think I was 9-10 reading HP fics on fanfiction.net and very vividly remember everyone being super specific about “this is not my sandbox, I’m just playing around” or “If you recognize anything, it doesn’t belong to me”. So I’m always surprised by people that really don’t see a problem with it. I’ve even seen people claim that it will either fall within the limits of fair use or that it would be a PR nightmare for someone to go after someone. I guess I was 1.) just wanting to rant about how shortsighted I think it was to someone that was around in fanfic space before 2015 and 2.) get thoughts from an author that I feel like has had several popular/successful fics in the fandom.

Yeah, I've got a TikTok. I never post anything, but I try to share anything people make that's nice about my old fics. I always have this half-assed feeling like I should make things but I don't. (https://www.tiktok.com/@colubrina_)

2. Congrats to Senlinyu on her book deal - very cool!

3. And yeah, I saw that people were doing that, and I wish I was surprised but I'm not. There's always been a not-insignificant part of the dramione fandom that sees the fics as 'belonging to the fandom.' They will post them on sites where the author doesn't want them. They will host PDFs online even when you directly ask them not to. They will rehost fics authors have taken down, orphaning them on AO3 so they can't be stopped. They don't see it as stealing because they see the fics as public property. It was probably just a matter of time before they started trying to host them on Amazon. It's frustrating for sure, but it does feel a bit like 'here we go again.' It certainly doesn't fall under fair use, and I think Manacled might be one of the very few fics that will have a legal department eager to keep it offline so the publisher can make their money from it, but other people will be less fortunate. Fic has become enough of a part of the ecosystem it's not at any kind of risk as an artform. But, yeah, it sucks. Be nice to your authors. Respect their wishes. Don't do this shit.

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 5 months

Text

Eddie Munson's royal fuck-up

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 11

Prompt: Royalty AU

Rated: G

CW: none

Tags: Rockstar Eddie Munson; Royal Steve Harrington; Meet cute; Flirting; Secret Identity; Sort of angsty/open ending

"So, tommorow…" Chrissy says from behind the folder they've been provided. It looks so posh with its dark green binding, the royal sigil embossed on it in gold print. Eddie hates it. It probably thinks it's so much better than the other folders. "When you're introduced to Prince Steven, you're to address him as Your Royal Highness. After that, you call him Sir."

"What, really? Dude, at least buy me dinner before we start with the kinky shit."

Chrissy shoves his feet off the desk, which almost makes him topple off his chair.

"Can you take this seriously? A royal visit is an important matter. We can certainly use the publicity-"

Eddie's hand crashes down on the desk. "I'm a fucking rockstar, Chris. That ain't enough publicity? This place is my baby, mine. What does that royal asshole know about what it's like to have a rough childhood? He thinks he can come here, give a little speech, smile for the cameras, and suddenly it's all about him?"

"What, now you care?"

He whirls on her, but the look she gives him makes him freeze. Chrissy sighs.

"Eds, you are so busy with the new album and the tour, you haven't even met the new volunteers. I said I'd manage the place, and that's fine. But you must trust me. Just do it for me. Please?"

The skate park has new graffiti, and he hasn't even seen it yet. Eddie exhales his cigarette smoke and watches how it curls up to the sign spelling Hellfire Youth Center.

Maybe Chrissy is right. Maybe he should be here more. Maybe he's been so caught up in the whole fame and fortune thing, he's losing sight of what's important, like-

"Watch out!"

Like guys on skateboards barrelling towards him.

Eddie throws up his hands. The guy tries to swerve, completely tips his precarious balance, and goes flying off the board and right into him. They land on the asphalt with an undignified oomph.

"Shit, sorry," babbles the guy and tries to disentangle his limbs from Eddie’s. "Couldn't brake-"

"S alright," Eddie hears himself say, even though his ass hurts like a bitch from the impact and he can already feel the bruises forming. "You can fall into my arms any time."

Skateboard guy blinks up at him and - fuuuck, he's cute! In a scrungly, beanie-stuffed-over-chestnut-locks, black-rimmed-nerd-glasses kind of way.

For a second, nobody says anything.

"For fuck’s sake," someone swears, and then little Max Mayfield is running towards them, ginger braids jumping with the movement. "I told you to be careful."

"Sorry," cutie with the glasses says again. Eddie has never seen him around. He must be one of the new volunteers Chrissy mentioned. "Guess I'll need to practice some mo- ow, shit!"

His hands fly up to cradle his knee. There's a hole and a rapidly spreading bloodstain in the fabric of his jeans.

"Oh fuck," Eddie says, and whips his bandana from his back pocket to press it to the wound. "Red, why don't you hop inside and get the first aid kit? I'll stay here with …"

He trails off expectantly. Cutie's eyes go wide.

"I, erm … Dustin."

"I'll stay here with Dustin."

Dustin, it turns out, isn't just cute, but also fun to talk to. He doesn’t gush about what a huge fan he is or ask for an autograph once. Eddie never thought he'd appreciate that one day, but it gets really old really quick.

Instead, they jump from one topic to the next, sitting on one of the benches and watching Max go on her board. Dustin has a quick, sharp wit and isn't afraid to counter Eddie’s jabs with his own, delightfully bitchy sense of humor. Damn, to think he almost missed this one. He really needs to be around more.

"I love this place, y’know? You created something great for these kids."

Eddie jerks to attention. The sun has started to dip, casting Dustin’s smile and the hair poking from his beanie in a soft golden light.

"Thanks man," Eddie murmurs, and feels the bitterness boil back up. "Some people seem to think it needs better publicity, though."

Dustin shuffles awkwardly, winces when the movement pulls on the Care Bears bandaids Max has plastered all over his knee.

"You mean the royal visit?"

Eddie huffs.

"Yeah, man. I mean, what are they expecting me to do, bow and grovel while his Royal Doucheness prances all over the place with his perfect hair and fancy suit and thank him for it? It's not like he cares about these kids, it's all just a gig to him."

Dustin draws his bottom lip between his teeth.

"You can't know that. Maybe he does care. Maybe he's-"

Eddie barks a laugh. "Oh, give me a break. All the royals are good at is looking important and spending our tax money. I can fucking do without-"

"Steve? We gotta leave, c'mon."

They both whip around. A fancy black limousine with tinted windows has pulled up in the parking lot behind them. A gruff looking man is holding the back door open and looking at them expectantly.

Dustin sighs and stands.

"Coming, Hop."

"Wait, wait, what?" Eddie babbles as he walks towards the car, shoulders in a sad little hunch. "What's going on? Who's that guy? Why's he calling you-"

And then it clicks.

"Oh fuck," Eddie says.

Dustin … no, Steve … no, Steven - Crown Prince Steven fucking Harrington - gives him a tight smile while the man ushers him into the backseat.

"Thank you for your time, Mr Munson, I'll see you tomorrow. I'll try not to be too much of a douchebag, I promise."

The door clicks shut.

The car glides away.

Eddie buries his face in his palms.

"Jesus fucking Christ. He's the fucking Prince."

Beside him, wheels grate on asphalt as Max brakes.

"Wow," she deadpans. "You're in some deep shit."

Eddie groans.

Tomorrow is gonna be a long-ass fucking day.

Part 2

All my holiday drabbles

#steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie brainrot #steddie fanfic #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #steddie ficlet #steddie holiday drabbles #hype's holiday drabbles

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hearts4hughes · 10 months

Text

caught | jack hughes

lake house summers au

a/n: this took me forever to write for no reason at all. is it narcissistic that i’m falling in love with my own au? probably but idrc. enjoy!

tags: @sweetestdesire @hughesluv @michaelrikas @spideyy @longlivehughes

it had been two weeks since the ‘confession’ between you and jack. also meaning, it had been two weeks of trying to keep your relationship a secret together. it wasn’t some ‘forbidden love’ that no one could know about. it was simply just a beautiful secret that binds you together. the thrill of keeping your relationship a secret adds an extra layer of excitement, intensifying the bond you share.

every stolen glance, every brush of your fingertips sends sparks coursing through your veins. but as much as you long to shout your love from the rooftops, you both understand the necessity of keeping it hidden.

you navigate the treacherous territory of keeping your relationship a secret with care and precision. your friends and family remain blissfully unaware of the love that blossoms between you and jack.

the sun dances upon the calm waters, and laughter echoes through the air as you all gather on the deck, soaking up the idyllic surroundings. you and Jack exchange knowing glances- as well as interesting texts.

as the afternoon unfolds, games and laughter fill the air. the tension between you both grows with every stolen touch and meaningful glance, yearning for a moment when you can freely express your love.

“y/n, can you go grab me some beer?” trevor asked, laying sprawled out across the pool chair. “thank you,” he answered himself before you even got the chance to open your mouth. usually, you would’ve argued with him. telling him you weren’t his maid and that he’s a grown man who can do things himself; however, this sparked a chance for you and jack to get some alone time.

your gaze quickly found jack’s. he read you like a book, figuring out exactly what you were thinking without you articulating it. huffing, you got up and began making your way to the kitchen.

“i’ll help you.” jack suggested and shot to his feet. he sent you a quick wink as his back was fully turned to everyone else. he almost even wrapped his hand around your waist but stopped himself before he did.

“it’s only one beer, i think she’s fine-”

“shut up trevor, he’s just trying to be nice!” you snapped, causing trevor to scrunch his nose in annoyance and stick his tongue out at you. you flipped him off in response.

as soon as you get into the privacy of the kitchen, jack grabs your waist, pushing you against the counter, and bringing you into a passionate kiss. the moment, filled with tenderness and affection, catches you off guard, and a spontaneous giggle escapes your lips.

you break away from the kiss, a smile dancing on your face as you look into jack’s eyes. his expression is a perfect mix of curiosity and amusement, mirroring your own joy. the world around you fades into the background as you revel in the moment.

"what’s so funny, babe?" jack asks, a playful glint in his eyes. his hands move from lower back to your upper thighs, lifting you up to sit on the counter.

blushing, you find your words, your voice holding a certain playfulness. "you’re so eager, rowdy," you tease, your gaze locked with his.

with the roll of his eyes, he stifles out a laugh, “do not call me that ever again, and of course i’m eager! it’s fucking torture sitting next to you outside and not being able to hold and kiss you.”

“you are a simp, jack hughes.” your smile deepens, your hand reaching up to cup his face. you lean in for another kiss, a sweet and lingering connection. the touch of jack’s lips against yours is like a thousand fireworks exploding, filling you with a sense of bliss and contentment. it’s in these stolen moments of tenderness that you realize how fortunate you are to have each other.

"jesus, what’s taking you guys so long? are you making the beer from scratch?" luke stands at the entrance of the kitchen, his eyes widening in surprise. “oh, shit…” time slows to a crawl as shock washes over you, freezing you in place.

panic floods your senses as you scramble for a response, desperately searching for words to salvage the situation. instinctively, you shove jack away. he stumbles back, mouth hanging agape as luke’s eyes flicker between you and jack.

luke’s gaze shifts between the two of you, his brows furrowed with a mixture of confusion and curiosity. “were you just making out?” his voice carries a hint of disbelief as he tries to make sense of the scene unfolding before him.

“no!” you blurt out.

“yeah,” jack replies at the exact same time.

you and jack turn to look at each other in a synchronized motion. luke twists his head in confusion, “huh?” you both are just as confused as him.

you find your voice, finally, and in an attempt to explain. "jack and i are dating,” you pause to take a deep breath, “we have been for a few weeks but you’re the only person who knows.” the weight of secrecy begins to lift, replaced by a sense of newfound trust. you and jack exchange a glance, silently acknowledging the unexpected turn of events.

luke’s eyes widen further, his surprise transforming into a mix of realization and understanding. he takes a step closer, a wide smile gracing his lips. "haha i was right! i knew there was something going on between you too!” he exclaims, a glimmer of warmth in his eyes.

“i’m sorry, what?” jack asks, completely dumbfounded. “there was no way you knew.” he scoffs.

luke quirks an eyebrow, “i mean you two weren’t exactly being discreet about it. the winks, the weird looks, you two were obviously hiding something.” were you and jack really being that obvious? looking back at it, you definitely were.

“well shit,” your voice is laced with slight defeat. “who knew lukey had a love radar.” he stifles out a laugh in response.

as the three of you stand in the kitchen, the air buzzing with a newfound sense of camaraderie, you feel a deep gratitude for the unanticipated moment. it was seriously getting hard for you to keep your relationship a secret from everyone. at least one other person knew about it.

“so can i tell everyone that i was right? i’ve got money to collect.” he asks, his eyes lighting up. it might’ve been shallow to bet on his older brother’s relationship but who cares? a little extra cash couldn’t hurt.

“no!” you and jack respond in unison. he rolls his eyes, “but i bet a lot of money!” he whines like a child- reminding you that he was the youngest brother.

“i don’t give a shit about money, if you tell anyone, i’ll smother you in your sleep.” jack retorts. luke holds his hands up in defense before disappearing back outside.

this was going to be a fun summer.

#lake house summers au #hearts4hughes #new jersey devils #jack hughes #nhl imagine #hockey blurb #jack hughes au #jack hughes fic #jack hughes blurb #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagines #nora's writings 💐

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