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thevalleyisjolly · 1 year

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There’s something really fascinating about the different ways in which the Hungry One is understood and conceptualized in Calorum. In the Bulbosi Church, it’s characterized as an apocalyptic Satan-figure, the cause of suffering in the world and the thing that will one day come to devour everything just because that’s what it does. Where things really get interesting is in the different sects within and around the Church. Adherants of the Ramsian Doctrine, for example, believe that it is necessary for the Hungry One to devour the world so that the Bulb can triumph over it - and they believe that the Hungry One will not devour the world so long as it contains “junk food.” In a similar manner, the Prophidian Heresy and the FDA believe that the Hungry One will not devour the world if it is full of waste -only the FDA consider waste to be general rot and decay rather than the Candians specifically, misanthropy vs xenophobia GO- and that this is therefore the key to preventing the destruction of the world.

Within the FDA and the Prophidian Heresy, there’s also an intriguing link between body and soul that contradicts mainstream Bulb theology. Whereas most of the Church believes in a rigid delineation between body and soul, that after death, the body returns to the ground and the soul (if it is not damned) goes to the Bulb, the FDA’s plan of filling the world with rot and decay so that the Hungry One will not devour it suggests, quite radically, that the body just as much if not more so than the soul is what the Hungry One devours. Mainstream Bulbians believe the stomach of the Hungry One is Hell for damned souls who do not go to the Bulb - the FDA seems to believe that the state of the material is just as important to the Hungry One as the metaphysical and that large enough volumes of rotting decay (which could also be the moral decay that comes with actions in war, but in this case the FDA themselves have the most rotten souls of all) can keep this Devil-figure from consuming anything, regardless of the state of the soul.

On a different level, with Karna, we find the idea that the Hungry One is not just a powerful over-arching entity but rather something which people can relate to and personally interact with. When Karna kills Sir Drunon and the woman, she takes part of their bodies and burns them “in offering” to the Hungry One. As the audience, we know that Karna is mechanically a warlock of the Hungry One, with the specific subclass of The Great Old One. Combined with the offering, the characterization of the Hungry One is as an active, powerful being who, to some degree, can engage with people personally. Not necessarily in a reciprocal way -you can burn an offering as a sign of respect or acknowledgement without any expectation of receiving something in return- but people like Karna can and do engage with it on an individual and personal level. Given the fact that when she kills, a new rotten spot appears on her body, it suggests that her relationship to the Hungry One does, in some part, go both ways, that there is something on the other side receiving her votives and responding to them.

Also fascinating to observe, when she kills Sir Drunon, she says “We are all eventual food in the maw of the Hungry One,” and immediately thereafter as she kills the woman he’s with, “I’m sorry, but we are all eventual waste.” This presents another perspective on the relationship between the Hungry One and the concept of waste. In contrast to the FDA or the Ramsian Doctrine, which believe that the Hungry One won’t devour the world if it is full of waste or junk, Karna’s statements suggest that the process of dying inherently involves becoming waste - and that the Hungry One will still eat that waste nonetheless.

Then there’s Cumulous and his specific monastic tradition (which is not actually one and the same as the Order of the Spinning Star because it’s stated that there are monks in the Order who draw power from the Bulb; overall, the Order seems to be more an organization of people dedicated to the same goal rather than a religious enclave of people with the same spiritual beliefs). In ACOC, the first thing Cumulous ever says is, “The Hungry One must feed.” It’s an interesting phrasing because there’s a very passive connotation - not “The Hungry One must consume” or “The Hungry One must eat,” but rather the use of the term “feed” suggests a little less agency and purpose. It isn’t going out looking for something to eat, but rather it is feeding on whatever it is given.

Later, Cumulous explains to the party that he does not worship the Hungry One and that it is just a source of power to him. He can tap into it, just like the Bulbosi miracle workers can tap into the Bulb, but it’s not something that has a real consciousness or its own will and he does not interact with it as if it does. Combined with his monk subclass (Long Death), the characterization of the Hungry One is less a supernatural powerful figure but more a manifestation of inevitable death and entropy. Very similarly to Karna’s perspective, it’s going to feed on everything eventually because everyone’s going to die one day. It might be today, if you happen to be a cheese sailor trying to murder your lawful child duchess, but that’s neither here nor there.

And as Lapin realized in his last moments and as he later showed to Liam, this seems to be the closest understanding to the actual nature of the Hungry One which we have encountered so far in either campaign. The Hungry One is just a cosmological ball (add that to the list of significant TTRPG orbs!) and while it certainly contains a lot of power, it doesn’t do anything with it other than eat what is delivered into its mouth. The power and the destruction and the death associated with the Hungry One? All of that has only been wielded or used by living people, for their own aims and agendas.

Anyways, all this to say that while I don’t think it likely to happen, my dream scenario is for a couple FDA members to flee the scene of whatever plan they had that some or all of the Scrumptious Scoundrels have managed to foil, and as they escape, they run straight into a group of Candian monks (aka what they were actually doing during the Ravening War). The last thing they hear, after all their scheming to “save” the world, is “The Hungry One must feed.” And it does.

#dimension 20 #the ravening war #dimension 20 spoilers #the ravening war spoilers #karna solara #cumulous rocks #a crown of candy #long post #can you tell i've been losing my mind over the hungry one lore and calorum cosmology for the past three years?#like the hungry one; i am being FED by all this juicy juicy lore we're getting from the ravening war

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weirdly-specific-but-ok · 3 months

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READ 70 PAGES OF THE GOOD OMENS BOOK WITH WHICH I HAVE HOMOEROTIC TENSION AS WE KNOW

WE ALL KNOW ABOUT THE HOMOEROTIC RIVALRY BETWEEN ME AND MY COPY OF THE GOOD OMENS BOOK. WE KNOW. IT STARES AT ME, I STARE BACK, IT DARES ME TO READ IT AND FALL IN LOVE WITH CROWLEY MORE, I REFUSE. WE PUT THE UST IN LUST ETC.

BUT TODAY/YESTERDAY (RIP SLEEP SCHEDULE) SINCE I WASNT ON TUMBLR, I READ TILL PAGE 70 OF THE BOOK (TILL THE PART CALLED WEDNESDAY) AND GOD FUCKING DAMN. I READ IT LISTENING TO AN AZIRAPHALE BOOKSHOP AMBIENCE AND WITH CHOPIN PLAYING AND CANDLES LIT. ANYWAY. THINGS THAT HAVE STUCK OUT TO ME:

Crowley. Just everything about Crowley. God I love him. I fucking love him. This is why I avoid reading the book. I'm such a slut for Crowley. It's manageable on the show when I know it's an actor. But WORDS CROWLEY? WORDS CROWLEY IS REAL. I AM SO IN LOVE.

Aziraphale has perfectly manicured hands. I'm pretty sure this has been mentioned three times in the first 70 pages. Three times at minimum. I forget how twink he is in the show (idk how) but man the book does NOT let you forget and I love that.

Crowley absent-mindedly sank a duck. Aziraphale called him my dear (fanfic authors everywhere: write that down write that motherfucking shit down it's better than porn). Crowley un-sunk the duck. The duck was cross.

CROWLEY DID I MENTIONED CROWLEY OH MY BABY FANCIED THE JAMES BOND DECALS HE WANTED TO LISTEN TO VIVALDI COZ THEY WERE SO STRESSED AFTER RECEIVING THE ANTICHRIST THEY LOVE GOLDEN GIRLS (I LOOKED IT UP AND OH CROWLEY) THEY DRANK FOR A WEEK AFTER SEEING THE SPANISH INQUISITION THEY OMG.

THE DRUNK SCENE. I FINALLY UNDERSTOOD THE DOLPHINS CONVERSATION. OMG THESE TWO FUCKING FOOLS I ADORE THEM.

Crowley IN THAT SCENE AND AZIRAPHALE IN THAT SCENE HOLY SHIT. CROWLEY JUST LISTING OFF ALL THE THINGS SHE KNOWS AZIRAPHALE LOVES.

AND OMG. The CONVOLUTED FUCKING METAPHOR CROWLEY COMES UP WITH INVOLVING A LITTLE BIRD FLYING TO THE ENDS OF THE UNIVERSE AND PECKING A MOUNTAIN AND COMING BACK AND DOING IT ON LOOP. FOR WHAT? JUST TO SAY THAT WHEN THE MOUNTAIN WAS GONE, HEAVEN WOULD STILL BE PLAYING THE SOUND OF MUSIC.

As usual just like me Crowley shot himself in the foot with that metaphor. Because AZIRAPHALE, THE LEGEND, STARTS SAYING THE BIRD MUST BE IMMORTAL FOR THAT, AND THEN SAYS NO ACTUALLY THE BIRD IS BEING CARRIED IN A SPACESHIP AND THE DESCENDANTS EMERGE FROM THE SPACESHIP and poor crowley is saying SO THE BIRD REACHES THE MOUNTAIN and azi excitedly says IN THE SPACESHIP and AAAAAAAAA-

Anyway right yes sorry what were we doing oh right the book.

Anathema is so adorable as a kid what a little brat holy shit I love her. I want to see all her homework written in Middle English. I want to know which teacher finally summoned the balls to correct it.

NEWT MON CHERI HE'S SO EXCITED ABOUT ONLY DESTROYING THE HOUSE'S POWER CIRCUIT WITH HIS EXPERIMENT. Because apparently last time he fucking caused a power outage in the whole block. Or county. We stan an optimist (no one talk to me about Crowley being an optimist I will go feral and rip your larynx out).

THE THIRD BABY DID NOT WIN PRIZES FOR TROPICAL FISH. THIS IS LIKE THE ENDING OF VILETTE WHEN CHARLOTTE BRONTE GOT GUILTTRIPPED BY HER DAD INTO WRITING IT AS AN OPEN ENDING BUT WE ALL KNOW IT'S A TRAGEDY FUCK ME.

CROWLEY THE PRAY THAT HE DOESN'T IT SOUNDS SO SUAVE IN THE SHOW BUT IN THE BOOK IT LITERALLY SAYS "AND FLEES". THE CHAOTIC ANXIOUS MOTHERFUCKER MAKES A RUN FOR IT.

AZIRAPHALE FUCKING GLOWERING AT CUSTOMERS AND SCARING THEM AWAY USING EVERY MEANS SHORT OF PHYSICAL VIOLENCE IM DEAD THAT LITTLE BASTARD PEAK CROSS INTROVERT ELDRITCH MONSTER ENERGY.

I CAN'T WAIT FOR ADAM TO ENTER (WELL AS A NOT BABY) AHAH.

I HOPE WARLOCK IS OKAY.

CROWLEY BEING DESCRIBED AS A YOUNG MAN DOES THINGS TO ME. AS DO THE DARK HAIR AND GOOD CHEEKBONES. DON'T EVEN TALK ABOUT DOING WEIRD THINGS WITH HIS TONGUE. I AM A SLUT FOR HER. IT'S TIMES LIKE THIS I REMEMBER WHY IM GREYACE AND NOT ENTIRELY ASEXUAL. IT'S CROWLEY.

I LOVE THE SUBTLE JOKES LIKE I DON'T EVEN GET SOME BUT THE DRY TONE IS HILARIOUS. LIKE HOW BOTH WARLOCK'S HEAVENLY AND HELLISH TUTORS READ FROM THE BOOK OF REVELATION. AND THE CUTTING COMMENTARY LIKE HOW THE DOWLINGS' SECRET AGENTS WERE TRAINED TO REACT TO WOMEN IN LONG ROBES. OR THE POLITICAL COMEDY WITH ALL THE CULTURAL ATTACHES AT ST JAMES. IT MAKES ME AMUSED EVEN THOUGH I HAVE NO CONTEXT. I WISH I UNDERSTOOD THEM MORE.

SORRY WHY AM I YELLING ABOUT THIS BEFORE 6 IN THE MORNING FUCK I FORGOT MY SLEEP MEDS NO WONDER IM STILL AWAKE AND HYPER ALSO CROWLEY ALSO AZI ALSO ADAM I HOPE MY LITTLE PLANTS MAKE IT.

WHEN IM DONE READING THE BOOK I WANNA REREAD IT OUT LOUD TO MY THREE LITTLE PLANTS TO MAKE THEM GROW HAPPY AND KNOW WHOM THEY WERE NAMED AFTER.

#good omens mascot #weirdly specific but ok #asmi #maggots #good omens #good omens fandom #crowley #aziraphale #neil gaiman #terry pratchett #newton pulsifer #anathema device #adam young #book omens #good omens book #lgbtqia #the nice and accurate prophecies of agnes nutter

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abrideofdrogons · 6 months

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the discourse for today is "dany stans" are making up that daenerys is magical

when literally

daenerys is azor ahai. ( When the red star bleeds and the darkness gathers, Azor Ahai shall be born again amidst smoke and salt to wake dragons out of stone. The bleeding star has come and gone, and Dragonstone is the place of smoke and salt. ) daenerys hatches dragons for the first time in centuries & this rebirth is quickly followed shierak qiya, the red comet.

george said it himself: "The whole point of the scene in A Game of Thrones where Daenerys hatches the dragons is that she makes the magic up as she goes along; she is someone who really might do anything."

she spends the first novel having dragon dreams that result in the resurrection of dragons

the warlocks in the house of the undying want to cannibalize her & her magic to become stronger themselves

this entire passage btw:

"Half a year gone, that man could scarcely wake fire from dragonglass. He had some small skill with powders and wildfire, sufficient to entrance a crowd while his cutpurses did their work. He could walk across hot coals and make burning roses bloom in the air, but he could no more aspire to climb the fiery ladder than a common fisherman could hope to catch a kraken in his nets." Dany looked uneasily at where the ladder had stood. Even the smoke was gone now, and the crowd was breaking up, each man going about his business. In a moment more than a few would find their purses flat and empty. "And now?" "And now his powers grow, Khaleesi. And you are the cause of it." "Me?" She laughed. "How could that be?" The woman stepped closer and lay two fingers on Dany's wrist. "You are the Mother of Dragons, are you not?" (ACOK, Daenerys III)

ALSO claiming daenerys is male gaze is so whack when you know damn well she's a genre breaking character

#asoiaf #daenerys targaryen #pro daenerys targaryen #of course the person who said this is a stansa who ships jonsa

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bladesmitten · 5 months

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do you ever think about how Wyll's like second ever camp event is him getting tortured (put through The Torment Of The Hells?? drastic physical changes he did not consent to??) on screen in front of the whole camp and he tries to act like that was an okay and deserved thing for Mizora to do to him

During that scene with Karlach's confrontation, Wyll already knew that was something bad going to happen to him if he let her live. That's why he tries to rationalize it at first--"You served [Zariel]. That's enough to damn you."--and he still hesitates after--"You're asking me to trust a devil." But he saw the tadpole vision too, he knows Karlach is just a tiefling. He's been misled once again; he doesn't want to believe it, but the evidence is right there and he cannot deny that.

The thing is - he didn't know that he'll only get transformed. As far as warlock pacts go, he should have died or got sent straight to hell as punishment for disobeying orders. Fully knowing that possibility of dying or worse, Wyll saves Karlach anyway. Because it's the right thing to do.

In a way, I don't think Wyll thinks he deserves his punishment. His first line when you talk to him after is "Gods damn her straight back to Hells." and "I did what was right. And Mizora made me pay for it."

He has some awareness that he doesn't deserve what happened, but at the end of the day, he's still pacted, so he just takes whatever Mizora dishes out on him while trying to make the best out of it that he can.

Wyll also says, "It was worth the sacrifice," and that's pretty much the sum of his character. To be self-sacrificing time and time again. And maybe he thinks it's a sacrifice that he consciously makes instead of something that's thrust upon him without giving him a choice. Just like his pact, and just like everything else in his life. If he rationalizes it as a choice he makes, then he's not a victim, he's not abused or exploited. He's a hero, and heroes just have to make sacrifices for the greater good sometimes.

(Contrary to this, he does have a choice and it's a choice he keeps making, which is to do good things with his powers, rather than just succumbing to Mizora's evil influence. With his pact, he could've easily ran away and left the city to burn, and with Karlach, he could've easily followed Mizora's orders and killed her. But in both cases, he doesn't. Standing up to the devil on his shoulder is something that takes great strength.)

#ask #Anonymous #uhhhh this got long sorry #wyll #wyll ravengard #<- posting this in the tag bc god knows we need more wyll-centric posts instead of whatever the hell is going on in there #i also kind of misread this ask at first - i thought it was about the writers' decision to have this transformation happen on-screen #but maybe i did read it right the first time so uhhh anon if you're out there let me know #*

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mysticwolfshadows · 20 hours

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I see a lot of Arthur making Merlin Court Sorcerer after learning about his magic (and forgiving him for the lies). But I want to see more of... Arthur just not realizing how powerful Merlin is. Like, Arthur finds out, and then realizes that Merlin uses it for chores and dropping tree branches on bandits. He doesn't know about him being a dragonlord, or about Nimueh, or about the prophecy. So Arthur thinks Merlin is just another sorcerer.

So then, when the laws are changed and they're talking about getting a Court Sorcerer, Merlin isn't brought up at all. Merlin doesn't care, either, since he doesn't want a title. So they try one person, and they turn out to be shit, Gaius refuses because god damn he just wants to retire, and there may have been a few assassination attempts during interviews.

So Camelot doesn't have a Court Sorcerer forever, but they have sorcerers everywhere, and Arthur needs advice on magic, so he asks Gaius and Merlin, the only sorcers that he knows. So they teach him about what they know. Like warlocks being rare people with inate magic power. And how being able to cast spells without incantations is extremely difficult and only done by the most powerful of warlocks.

And then, almost a year into not hqving an offical Court Sorcerer, they're preparing for the 1 year celebration feast of the ban lifting, when an assassin shows up out of nowhere. And Merlin, tired and working overtime to get this feast ready, just shoots the assassin a look, and the man crumbles to the ground.

The knights and Arthur are just... so confused. And poke the motionless on the floor. And then look at Merlin, who is still smoothing out fancy linen tablecloths. Andd Arthur just kinda points and asks, "did you...?"

And Merlin just glances over and nods. And Arthur looses it.

"You used magic. Without an incantation. And you never told me you could?!"

Merlin just blinks. "Didn't think I had to?"

That night, at the feast, Arthur anounces Merlin as Court Sorcerer, much to Merlin's horror.

#merlin #merthur

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siempre-bucky · 2 years

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take the day

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Summary: After his training flight gets canceled, Cyclone gives Jake the rest of the day off, allowing him to play hooky with his son. Or Jake Seresin has bad parents and will do anything for his kid's happiness.

wc: 2k

A/n: I saw this tiktok once and it was of a boy asking his mom if she was having a good day with him and ahhhhh I knew I needed to write a dad!Jake fic.

Jake had been waiting for this day all month, a beautiful shiny new plane was ready to be tested. He set many reminders on his phone, the test’s title written in red ink on every calendar. It was a mistake on Cyclone’s part for the boost Hangman’s ego had when he got the phone call. He smiled at the sun peeking in through the blinds, this was going to be his best ride all year. The blond gathered the thick manual off his desk and started to make his way to the door, only to be stopped by his superior. “The test’s been canceled for today,” Cyclone told him evenly.

It felt like a punch to the gut; hopes and dreams were crushed in a little temporary office. Jake’s face only slightly fell, his nose twitched and his lips dipped into the smallest of frowns. “Understood, sir,” he responded formally.

“Take the rest of the day. You deserve it, Hangman.”

The door shut with a soft click of the lock and Jake slumped back in his chair in unison. Taking the rest of the day off seemed like such a foreign concept, did Cyclone of all people smile as he said it? He furrowed his eyebrows and let his eyes fall to the framed pictures on the old oak desk. He could call up Javy, grab a drink after the other man finished—his eyes continued to scan—he could find you and haul you into the supply closet like all the times before. He passed the wedding photo and let a smile grow on his lips as he looked at the photo of his son on his best friend's shoulders.

“You’re sulking,” you giggled as you opened the door, closing the blinds before making your way to him. “It’s a good look.”

Jake rolled his eyes and shifted in his seat, his arms finding their way to the sides of your waist, pulling you into his lap. You touched the medals on his khakis and smiled fondly at his wings. "He wants me to go home," he said, still astonished.

An amused snort came from you, your lips tugging upward into a smile "Whatever will you do?" You sighed dramatically, emphasizing your teasing with a playful roll of your eyes.

Jake smirked and flashed his eyes towards the door before kissing the side of your neck. "We could find a closet," he hummed, "just like old times."

"No way! Not with Cyclone and Warlock running around."

Fine, he thought, pressing his back against the chair. "Well, I was thinking…" Jake suddenly paused, hesitation creeping up the back of his neck.

Sick? The boy's not sick, he can stay at school. Jake was twelve and had appendicitis.

Back in my day, we powered through. Are you cryin'? Pathetic, Jacob. Get out of my damn truck and get to class. Jake was fifteen and just lost his beloved grandmother.

"...nevermind, darlin', I'll just go home. Sleep a bit."

You carefully stroked his well put together hair, being mindful of the gel that kept it together. "Jake," you scolded, "talk."

He swallowed the lump of displeasure and forced his green eyes to look at your reassuring face. "I was thinking about takin' Luke out of school early. Do some errands, spend some time together before you get off."

There was a small pause that Jake took note of immediately. He watched your face for every slim movement, any indication that it was a terrible idea. Then you smiled.

"Oh, Jake," you chuckled, "he'd love that, baby."

Jake's nerves subsided and the unknowing tight grip he had on your waist softened. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

—

Luke's eyelids drooped, green eyes barely focused on the board in front of the class. His science teacher droned on—he wouldn't be able to tell you anything he learned from that class. His head started to slowly slip off the hand that was holding him up.

"Luke Seresin.” The door opened, and a frail older woman scanned the seventh-grade science class. The boy in question looked up, shyly raising his hand. The woman sighed, “Pack your things,” she instructed, “you’re leaving early.”

Suddenly, he was much more awake. He slid off his chair and grabbed his books, ignoring the various faces of his classmates. Placing his backpack around his shoulders he hurried over to his teacher to get his homework before following the woman.

The gears of his mind started to turn. He rarely got to leave early, most of the time it was you coming to pick him up for a doctor's appointment. Luke grimaced at the thought of the upcoming dentist appointment. Was that today? He hoped it was his Uncle Javy. Luke loved when his uncle came to pick him up and play hooky when he was on leave.

Luke took a deep breath as he walked up to the large wood doors separating him from the front office. His jaw was slightly clenched, praying that it wasn’t the dreaded cleaning. The door clicked as the middle schooler pressed the bar, opening it.

His eyes looked upward to the figure standing at the front desk, politely making small talk with the receptionists. His eyes widened as the frame and accented voice clicked in his mind, “Dad!” Luke gasped. The familiar tall muscular frame with tanned skin and a sweet smile turned to him.

Jake chuckled at his excitement and outstretched his arms for him, playfully grunting as his son ran into his stomach. “Hey,” he laughed, cradling the back of his head.

"What are you doing here?"

Jake let his happy face falter, "Your ma said you have a dentist appointment," he lied.

Luke's face fell instantly, the sound of a drill echoing in the back of his mind and making his teeth hurt. He grumbled and threw his head back but allowed Jake to usher him outside the school. "Do I have to go?" He whined.

"There's no appointment, son. Don't need those ladies giving me funny looks," Jake explained, checking behind him to make sure no one could still hear him.

"Then wh-"

"Thought we could go to the hardware store and then the auto part store," Jake hummed, tilting his head side to side.

Excitement bubbled in Luke's stomach, a bright smile spreading on his face. "Then burgers after—from the diner on the beach?" He asked with a light tilt in his tone.

Can we get lunch on the way home, dad?

We have lunch at home. Money doesn't grow on trees, Jacob. How dare you ask me that. Jake knew his family was loaded, there was even an expensive bottle of scotch in the backseat.

Jake lovingly stroked his son's hair, forcing the memories away, and made sure he would forge new ones in his son. He playfully scoffed and kept moving him along towards the truck, “Well I guess we have to,” he said happily.

—

Jake looked through the streaks in the glass, silently judging the two men playing football in the sands technique. He shook his head and took another bite, witnessing an easy throw being missed. It wasn’t even three o’clock yet and he was exhausted from the boy with enough energy to power the city. He smiled fondly at how Luke would walk up and down every aisle of the part store and ask questions, even sharing the bits of knowledge he picked up about his dad's truck. The toothy grin and bright eyes made the exhaustion all worth it.

Luke peered up at his dad as he ate his burger. "Dad," he started in between bites. He swallowed and spoke again, a sliver of caution in his tone, "Are you having a good day with me so far?"

A jolt went through the aviator's heart, and then another when he caught the sight of Luke's green eyes looking at him with all the hope in the world.

Validation.

A part of him hated how much this day was turning out to be a bitter trip down memory lane. Jake gave up asking his dad about things when he was fourteen, the grumpy one-worded answers, tightened grip on the steering wheels and deep frowns were enough. Disappointment chipped away at Jake until he was able to build armor strong enough to deflect the demeanor. He wouldn't let that be Luke, he wouldn't let his eyes grow dim and shoulders slump like his own.

Jake leaned forward and smiled, "I'm having the best day with you, son."

The boy shifted happily in the red faux leather seat, his smile growing miles wider. "Cool," he laughed lightly before starting on his small pile of thin fries.

They ate in silence until Luke saw the jukebox sitting in the corner and begged his dad for a couple of quarters. The boy gleefully ran to the large red box with a clenched fist full of coins and scanned through the old songs, his tongue poking out in concentration. A smile broke out onto his face as he finally found the song he was looking for and pressed the cream colored numbers.

"Slow ride?" Jake whispered to himself, looking around at the speakers attached to the wall.

"I know you liked this song," Luke reminded him cheerfully as he returned to the booth.

"Your mom hates it," Jake chuckled in return.

"But why? You play it all the time."

"I had our DJ switch our first dance song halfway through at our wedding," he reminisced, "she never fails to remind me."

Luke loved hearing stories about you and Jake before you had him. They weren't the rehearsed stories his pops and grandma told to keep their image in pristine condition. Jake told him everything that was age-appropriate, you two were mostly an open book with him.

"Kinda like how she tells everyone she's the better pilot."

Jake's eyes narrowed and his lips became pressed in a tight line. "Now that's what we call a lie, son. No one is better than your old man."

Luke smiled and gulped down the last of his meal, "I believe you—just don't tell mom."

"Scouts honor," Jake mock saluted and laughed. "Why don't we head down the beach?"

Luke gasped and hurried out of the booth, "Can I play in the water? I have my gym clothes in my backpack!"

The blond nodded, and followed him out of the booth calmly, throwing a few bills on the table. Luke grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the door, even refusing to let go as they walked to the truck.

—

The sun had just begun to go down when Luke finally emerged from the water and Jake put on his sunglasses to block the sun’s glare. “You still not tired?” Jake questioned as he balled up a towel and threw it at the kid's face. Luke yelped and ripped it off and began to wipe the water off his face.

He dropped to his knees and continued his work on the sand castle he abandoned. “Nope!” he laughed, reaching for his plastic bucket. Jake slumped further in his beach chair, allowing his eyes to slowly close, listening to Luke’s commentary and the smell of the ocean lull him to sleep.

Jake figured only five minutes had passed when the roar of planes woke him up. It was nice while it lasted, maybe Cyclone was right… he needed to take the day. He opened his left eye and watched Luke look up to the sky, looking up at the Navy planes in the air. When he was younger he’d wave at them, asking if the pilot was you or his dad, but now as he grows older he just stops and looks up at them fondly.

“Do you think mom’s having a good day?” He asked, his gaze focused on the plane zooming above the clouds

“Why don’t you ask her yourself!” A new voice entered the space that made both the Seresin men perk up. Luke was the first one to jump up from off the ground, racing right into your embrace. “You have salt all over you,” you giggled, bending over to kiss his forehead.

“Dad let me play in the water! Oh, oh and we got food at the diner,” Luke started to ramble until he saw the other person step onto the sand. “Uncle Javy!” You were finally able to breathe as your son let go and ran up to his favorite person.

Jake walked over and wrapped you up in his arms, letting you nuzzle into his strong chest. “Good day?” you asked, humming in contentment.

You felt Jake put his chin on the top of your head, nodding. “The best,” he answered, watching Javy hoist his son over his shoulders and walk him to the water and throw him into the wave. “Remind me to thank Cyclone.”

“Look how happy he is,” you sighed happily, Luke’s infectious laugh making its way to your ears. Jake held you a little tighter. “You make him happy.”

Jake wanted to scoff and tell you that you didn’t have to lie, that he was a subpar father, and that Luke would run as soon as he turned eighteen as he did. He didn’t remember smiling like that, having a family love a kid as much as they all did the boy with matching green eyes being thrown into the ocean. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x fem!reader #dad!jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #hangman x you #jake seresin imagine #top gun #top gun maverick

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fafnir19 · 7 months

Text

Witchcraft isn't for Boys

As I walked into the house, I couldn't help but feel a sense of resentment towards my new stepmother, Sandra. I’m Luke and have recently turned 18. As I don’t have any income as student, I still live together with my dad. My father, Joe, had recently remarried, and now we were moving in with her. There was just something about her that rubbed me the wrong way. Maybe it was her overly cheerful demeanor or her constant need to be in control. Whatever it was, I couldn't stand her. Months went by, and Joe was away on another one of his business trips. It was during this time that I stumbled upon Sandra's dark secret – she was a witch. And not just any witch, but a powerful one. Sandra was faced with a dilemma. Should she kill me to protect her secret or train me to become a witch like her? Ultimately, she chose to train me, even though it was highly unconventional for witches to train boys. As my training progressed, so did my magical abilities. With each spell I mastered, my athleticism seemed to grow as well. I was transforming into an athletic jock.

One day, overwhelmed with heartbreak, I approached Sandra and asked if there was a spell that could make me more irresistible to the opposite sex. She gave me a choice - I could have the spell but at the cost of my name. After much contemplation, I decided that sacrificing my name was worth becoming utterly irresistible. The ritual was performed, and Sandra bestowed upon me the name Logan. The spell worked like a charm, and all the girls started chasing after me. However, the spell had some unintended side effects. My wardrobe underwent a drastic change; I found myself wearing tight pants, open shirts with rolled-up sleeves, and loafers. I looked like a character straight out of a trashy romance novel.

On top of that, since it was a parent's privilege to name their child, I now saw Sandra as my motherly mentor. I had transformed into Sandra's ideal son, a far cry from the teenager who detested her presence.

One day, out of the blue, Grandmaster Dorian paid us a visit, only to discover me by Sandra's side. Needless to say, he was livid that Sandra had taken it upon herself to train a boy without his permission. Sandra apologized and defended her decision, highlighting my great talent. A few days later, while Sandra was away, Dorian came by again, this time with a peace offering for me. He brought clothing more fitting for a wizard - tight black velvet pants, a form-fitting black silk shirt, and black slippers. Dorian suggested that I try on the clothes. Intrigued and flattered, I obliged, even if I thought they looked somewhat silly. Once I had the clothes on, I realized they were enchanted. My body hair vanished, and my family jewels shrunk. The silk shirt opened by itself, revealing my hairless chest.

To my astonishment, Dorian explained that it was my punishment for being trained without his consent. My shrunken balls would make me obedient to him, and the loss of body hair and exposed chest would serve as a reminder that I was merely a boy who needed to be guided by a strong man.

Dorian took me to his place, and with a snap of his fingers, I found myself on his couch. His magic compelled me to spread my legs as he positioned himself in between them, stating that he was going to make me his apprentice. Much to my surprise, my body responded with arousal. Dorian, wearing a wicked grin, remarked that it seemed my "engagement" with him had already been decided. Under Dorian's tutelage, I began to learn the art of dark magic. With every lesson, I became smoother, more conceited, and a bit of a bad boy. Dorian's plan came to fruition, for I transformed into a smooth-talking, snobbish bad boy. I now donned tight black pants, boots, and hip-length bomber jackets that accentuated my athletic physique. My hair was slicked back, and I had become a damn good-looking young, arrogant, and ruthless warlock.

Sandra was no longer viewed as a maternal mentor in my eyes. Dorian asked Sandra how she felt about what he had done to me. He insinuated that he had been too lenient with her in the past. Furthermore, he hinted her that he would soon make me her superior, eagerly awaiting the day I would rule her with an iron fist and cruelty.

#male tf #male transformation #warlock tf #nerd to jock #magic tf

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dilatorywriting · 1 year

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Monster Mayhem: Little Red Rapscallion

Gender Neutral Reader x Jack Howl Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: 'Dear Evil, Overlord, Patron. Please stop sicking your demon guard dog on me. I'm only trying to help. Kind Regards, Little Red Ridinghood'

A/N: Thank you so much to @insideous-beez for the brain rot, which became brain fertilizer, and eventually a functional story; This one is a bit darker than the other installments due to the Warlock/Evil Deity goodness, so there is a bit more horror here!

[PART 1]

Your grandmother had always told you to mind your manners when it came to the creatures who made the forest their home.

Or, well. That was a lie. Many lies, really. If you wanted to be nitpicky.

Firstly, the old crone who lived deep within the borough of the cursed trees wasn’t actually your grandmother. At least, not in the biological sense that seemed to matter most within your little, provincial, town. She was just a kindly, wrinkled, turnip of a woman who found you wandering the mudflats one day and decided she liked your spunk and general lack of self-awareness. She patted your head, served you strange, bubbling, teas laced with sweet magics, and always returned you to your fretful parents by sundown. And so, she was Grandma. Even if calling her that aloud made your parents go nearly green and had the local shopkeepers crossing themselves and spritzing you with Holy Water.

Secondly, Grandma had never told you to keep to your manners. Usually, she encouraged the opposite. (‘Why not curse them, huh?’ she’d complain loudly. ‘They’re thieving bastards, the lot of them.’ ‘Grandma,’ you’d sigh. ‘The street cleaners are just doing their job. They didn’t mean to steal your dead racoons.’) The idea of her demanding you act ‘proper’ and ‘kind’ was damn near laughable. But what she did enforce upon you with all the firmness of a world-weary teacher was the concept of not fucking with that which ought not be fucked with.

And the sprawling, Shaftland Forest was not to be fucked with.

It had always been a great, creeping, thing. The trees would groan and whisper as you passed, and when their sharp branches tangled in your cloak like grasping fingers, it never felt like an accident. The animals that lived beneath those trees were even stranger—wild, large, beasts with glinting eyes and an arcane mysticism about them that left icicles in their tracks even on summer days, or tangled the undergrowth into something that moved.

The people of your village did not enter the Shaftland Forests. They put up signs, and wards, and spun cautionary tales to every traveler who dared step even a single foot into their teeny, terrified, homestead.

You visited regularly. Because you were half-stupid at least, and because Grandma lived in those woods. And while she’d cautioned you about treating her habitat with care, she’d promised ages ago that so long as you were sweet to the forest, it would forever be sweet on you too.

‘There is a great power in these trees,’ she’d hum to you, as she stirred a simmering pot that looked to be filled with the blood of… something you probably shouldn’t think too hard about. ‘You would have been a lovely gift for it, you know.’ She laughed under her breath. It didn’t sound like a joke. ‘But you were too precious to ruin like that. So he decided we ought to keep you.’

You had no idea who ‘he’ was supposed to be, but you always made sure to shower the forest with compliments. As thanks for not using you as whatever being a, uhm, lovely gift entailed. ‘Oh what nice leaves you have,’ you told many a tree. ‘And what large petals have bloomed today,’ to all the flowers. You’d always been safe in these woods—sheltered beneath a bubble of golden affection and the soft scents of the richest perfumes. The forest always welcomed you with open branches and the coo of creaking bark.

Which is why the twisty field of black thorns blocking your usual pathway gave you pause.

You reached out a finger and prodded one of the sharp points. It bit into your skin with the clear intention of drawing blood, before swaying away at the last moment to twine loosely around your wrist.

Huh. How peculiar.

“May I pass?” you asked the thorns.

The shivering web of ebony tightened along the path and you frowned.

“May I pass, please?” you tried again.

The briar patch seemed to heave with a gusty, angry, sigh. You were about to reach forward and try your luck one more time when a deep, rumbling, snarl curled out from the shadows beyond. Out of the sea of roiling darkness and dainty thorns strode a great, white, wolf. It bared its teeth at you in an expression that was entirely unpleasant.

Immediately you held up your hands in placation and took a wide step backwards. The wolf just kept growling at you like you’d murdered its entire family or something else equally egregious. It skulked forward soundlessly, ears pinned flat.

“My apologies,” you said, dipping your chin in a gentle bow. “I didn’t mean to overstep. I’m just trying to use this path to—”

The wolf lunged at you with a near roar, and you just barely managed to roll out of the way with a shriek. The thing landed hard in the dirt where you’d just been not a moment prior, and it swung its great, fanged, maw in your direction.

“Apologies, old one,” you tried again, just as Grandma had taught you. “But I really just—”

The wolf snapped, nearly taking off your fingers, and you folded over like a turtle that had been upended on its back—rolling around helplessly with your limbs flailing wildly as you went. The sharp crack of your head against the ground left your brain rattling around like dried beans in a can, and you could taste the copper sting where you’d bitten down into your tongue. The failed cartwheel had set you back a solid fifteen feet from the wood’s edge, and the wolf huffed at you—a stupidly pointed ‘stay away’ if you’d ever seen one. It glared at you with glowing, golden, eyes for a long moment before melting back into the shadows.

You spat out the cocktail of mud and blood pooling along your tongue, and wiped angrily at your sore chin. The forest had never denied you before. So maybe it wasn’t your lovely, lonely, trees that were sending you away. Maybe it was just this stupid wolf. Maybe the beast was trying to make a stand—to usurp the role of whatever spirit had ruled over this dark land for so long now. You grumbled and made your way back to your feet. It was fine. Your forest was strong. It would never lose to such a stupidly fluffy opponent. You’d just have to try again tomorrow.

The next day you armed yourself with a small arsenal of goodies. Daggers, ropes, armloads of talismans, and kindling, and rations. You hoisted your bow across your back and carefully plucked at the soft fletching of the arrows. The feathers buzzed beneath your fingers, and after a moment of uneasy hesitance, you cautiously replaced the weapon where it hung over your bed. Grandma had never liked the idea of you carrying weapons in the forest (‘it invites troublemakers’ she’d warned), but if something really had gone wrong in her woods, then it was better to worry about asking forgiveness than permission. And surely you could argue for a dagger. The bow… With its weighted arcana and strange, dissonant, strength felt like something dangerous.

So you apologized to the rippling thorns before cutting them back with swift, precise, strokes of your blade and starting down that familiar path to Grandma’s cottage.

You made it about fifty yards before one of your talismans began to ping worryingly. The tingling thrum along your side was just enough of a warning to keep you from being mauled outright.

The White Wolf lunged from between the trees and you skittered out of the way of its attack. For such a huge creature, it was so silent. And its gleaming, downy, coat should have more than given away its position in the gloom. There must have been some kind of magic to it—something old, and ancient, that let the beast slip through the darkness unseen.

The Wolf situated itself firmly in the center of the path, hackles raised and shoulders hunched like it was readying itself to pounce.

“I need to get through,” you told it, firm, and raised one of the Protective talismans. After a heavy moment you scowled and bit out, “Please.”

The Wolf snarled and propelled itself forward. It latched its overlarge teeth in the fabric of your red cloak and quickly began to drag you to the ground. You frantically flailed about, and just managed to avoid those glinting fangs enough to thrust the talisman up into the beast’s ribs with a heavy smack. The charm lit with a brilliant, amethyst, gleam and sparks shot through the air. You let out a triumphant, ‘ah HA!’ And then all that magic fizzled out like a dying candle. You gaped in horror as the ‘one hundred percent foolproof, don’t you worry about that child’ Protective talisman fluttered to the ground like a discarded bit of newspaper.

“Oh, shit,” you croaked, as your cloak was shredded between the wolf’s canines with a horribly shrill wriiiiiip.

You sprinted like a bat out of Hell, tearing through the undergrowth and only just managing to collapse beyond the border of the tree line before the wolf could snap its jaws around your ankles. You curled your limbs protectively up beneath you, and watched through a veil of cold sweat as it paced along the foliage—leaving no tracks in its wake.

Fine, you thought bitterly. Two can play at this game.

The next morning you walked North, beyond the only safe paths you knew. Carefully, you began to scuttle your way up the nearest, gnarled, tree. The bark groaned and rattled beneath your fingers, as if disquieted. But there were no trails of white fur yet darting about the underbrush, so you offered the tree a hasty apology before climbing higher.

From there, it was only a matter of cautiously hopping from branch to branch. Normally when you’d tried ridiculous feats of stupidity like this in the past, the trees seemed more than eager to help you along—practically reaching out with their branches to catch you in their willowy, wooden, fingers. But they seemed stiff today, testy. The leaves themselves seemed to complain as you went, and you shushed them as politely as you could.

There was a sharp bark from beneath you, and you looked down to see the Wolf circling your perch in a frantic, pacing, dance.

“Hello!” you beamed, perfectly, poisonously, pleasant. “Nice to see you too!”

The Wolf sneered, lips curling up into a tight, tense, bow over its fangs.

You leaned forward, keeping a hand securely looped into your roost.

“Aww,” you cooed. “Is it too hard to climb up here with those big, fluffy, paws?” you mocked, wiggling your own fingers contentedly. “Bet someone really wishes they had opposable thumbs, huh?”

And then, like you were being smited by God Himself, the branch beneath your feet cracked clean in half, and you plummeted to the ground bellow with a harrowing screech. Naturally, you landed right at the wolf’s aforementioned stupid, fluffy, paws. Its great head lowered, and you could feel the heat of its breath as it growled into your face.

With a pathetic little ‘eep!’, the talisman tucked into the back of your boot burst into life and you flickered like a janky illusion. You stumbled to your feet a dozen or so yards away, fighting the urge to double over and barf. Slipping through planes was unpleasant at the best of times, let alone when under actual fucking duress.

The Wolf blinked its wide, golden, eyes at the empty space beneath its paws, and then whipped its head in your direction like a blood hound. You pushed yourself upright with the help of the very tree who had betrayed you so thoroughly, and began your hasty retreat.

You crashed through a curtain of thorns and out into the open with a gasp.

You rolled forward like the world’s most inelegant acrobat and came to a skidding halt in the dirt. You sat up with an achy cough, dislodging muck, and rocks, and leaves from your windpipe.

The Wolf prowled behind you—its glare a set of golden pinpricks in the gloom.

“What is your problem?!” you wailed.

The wolf tossed its head, like rolling its eyes wouldn’t have been enough. And snapped at you with another one of those pissy, bitten off, growls.

“You know what?” you seethed, swinging back onto your knees to jab a finger at it accusatorily. “Fuck you!”

The thing had the absolute gall to snort at you before turning to return to its ceaseless patrol.

By the time you hauled yourself back to your family home, you must have looked an absolute mess. No one bothered to stop you when you practically clawed your way up the stairs and into your small bedroom. Though to be fair, no one really bothered to stop you for anything anymore. Not since an old women with too much spare time and not nearly enough light in her eyes had decided that you were a child to be treasured.

You grabbed your bow off the wall and slung it over your back. The sleek, silvery, wood hummed beneath your fingers. It had been a gift, one whose very existence you stalwartly refused to question. The weapon was finer than anything that could have come from your village’s blacksmith, or honestly probably any human craftsman. It was weightless. It was too heavy. It sang in your hands. It was not a token to be bestowed lightly. But… Well. Whoever it had belonged to before, it was yours now.

And you were going to shoot that goddamn Wolf right in the ass.

On the fourth day of your apparent banishment from the Shaftland Forest, you stormed those woods like a would-be conqueror. The silver bow keened beneath your palms, and you held a thin, spiked, arrow knocked and at the ready. Your nemesis found you in no time at all, and you bared your teeth at the stupid, fucking, mutt before it had the chance.

“One last time,” you said, drawing your bow as tight as you could. “Let me pass, beast. Or I will go through you.”

The wolf’s hackles were raised, but the snarl had slipped off its face. It dug its claws into the dirt, and you watched something like surprise work its way across the thing’s regal features. Its golden glare flickered from you, to the bow, and back again, like it couldn’t quite believe what it was seeing.

“I have business in these woods,” you demanded. And then, petulantly—because you just wanted to know that your stupid, devil worshipping, turnip of a grandmother was okay, and you were so fucking fed up with this garbage—you stomped at the ground and shouted, “And I was here first! So scram, you overgrown Pomeranian!”

The Wolf’s ears drooped, and something like a tremor worked its way down its spine. But then the thing was shaking its giant head like it was surfacing from beneath a pool of water, and it straightened its posture with a rumbling growl.

“Fine,” you snapped, and unleased the first arrow. It whizzed past your fingertips with a thready, shrill, fwoom faster than you could track. The booming force of it shocked you enough to have you shooting wide, and you watched that pin-thin arrow hit a tree trunk and sink all the way through to the other side.

The Wolf rushed forward when you went to reload, fur standing on end like you’d run it through with a bolt of lightning. It tackled you bodily to the ground with a yelp, and you wheezed as the air was knocked out of your lungs in one, fell, swoop. The bow tumbled out of your hands and you scrabbled for it wildly. And then the beast lunged for the bright red of your hood, as it seemed so keen to do in each of your past scuffles. But maybe it was done playing with you. Or maybe it just wasn’t expecting you to flail around so terribly. Because its garish fangs bore down past the soft, billowy, fabric of your cloak and tore straight into the meat of your arm instead.

You gasped and weren’t entirely able to swallow down the sharp shriek of pain that bubbled up and out of your throat. The wolf reared back in shock, its mouth stained red. It immediately ducked back in close, and then away, and then in again. Like it wasn’t sure what to do. The stalwart resolve from earlier was gone—replaced entirely by a bumbling sort of panic that had your head swimming more than the blood loss.

You tucked your arm in close, feeling the tattered remains of shredded fabric curling beneath new, warm, wetness. The Wolf cautiously nosed forward, but when you flinched it reared back like you’d struck it. The beast stepped pointedly away, and then began to pace frantically back and forth. Occasionally it would stop, like it was going to move in close again. But then its pointy ears would press stiff and flat atop its head and it would skulk away all over again.

Whatever, you seethed silently, jerkily ruffling through your bag for some of the Healing talismans you knew were tucked away at the bottom. If the monster felt some kind of weird guilt for taking a chomp out of you when it’d already been doings its damndest to maul you for the past four days straight, that was its problem.

It was taking you longer to unearth the talismans than you would have liked, and your hand was really starting to shake in earnest. The Wolf whined high and miserable in its throat, and you rationally decided that it would be a terrible, petty, idea to waste what little composure you had left just to tell it to fuck right off.

The horrid mess of crimson had begun to seep its way along your skin—dripping down your wrist to plop against the damp, mossy, earth with an echoing plip plip plip that was not unlike the fall of slow, fat, spring rain. The air around you seemed to grow heavier with it—the trees swaying at their roots and the dark, shriveled, flowers straining against their stems to get a taste. The Wolf’s golden gaze flicked around the grove cautiously, and you watched its black nose twitch in obvious discomfort. You swore you could see hands—dozens, hundreds of inky appendages reaching out from the shadows. Fingers twisting up into claws like they meant to grab onto you and dig in, never letting go. The Wolf settled itself at your back like a brick wall, snarling doggedly at the wispy talons. The beast was so large it practically enveloped the entirety of you, and you had to fight the delirious, dizzy, urge to lean back into its impractically soft fur.

“Hey! Are you alright over there?”

Both you and the Wolf jolted in surprise as a group of adventurers plowed their way through the trees. The Wolf’s already distressed expression twisted into something nearly manic and it roared—putting all those ferocious teeth on display.

“Woah!” one of them yelped, crashing to a halt and dragging their friends to a stop beside them. “What the fuck?!”

The others all looked equally startled, hands settling heavily on their weapons. And while right now Mister Wolfy wasn’t outright nomming on you or your limbs, there was a still a steady stream of blood trailing from the wound near your shoulder—a set of very obvious teeth marks sitting stark and red against the rest of you.

“We heard a scream,” another spoke up. Then, pointedly raising the sharp edge of his sword, asked, “Is this your companion, Ranger?”

‘Ranger?’ you blinked, confused, before remembering the bow still sitting in the dirt by your feet. Before you could respond, the Wolf lurched forward over your shoulder. It didn’t leave you—didn’t stray from its steadfast position at your hind—but it pushed its gaping, angry, maw as close to the group as it could. The trio reeled back as the monster snapped, and snarled, and nearly vibrated out of its skin with rage. But… no. Something wasn’t quite right. As viciously angry as all that harsh barking sounded, there was something very, very disquieting about it. Something strained, something afraid.

The one with his sword raised stepped forward, the others moved to follow. And then they were gone.

You blinked, shocked silly. There had been people there—not a second before. You were sure of it. What the fuck was happening?—

And then there was a discordant scream from somewhere deeper in the woods. Distant, but close. Like there were arcane tricks distorting the way of the world. Keeping you separate from the horrible, grinding, shrieking noises while… whatever was happening carried on—not a dozen yards away. Cloaked in shadows and rotten, violet, petals like how a parent might gently close a curtain around a child’s bed at night. You watched in half-awe, half-horror as seeping, purple, miasma leached from the trees and into the air. It chased the intruders with vicious intent. You could feel the sharp, dark, heat of it prickling along your skin, but when that swirl of near-black enchantments made its way to you, it slipped past you like smoke—leaving only a faint trace of awful, coppery, perfume against your clothes.

“Why couldn’t you just stay away?” a deep, miserable, voice echoed in your head, and you jerked around in shock to see the Wolf staring at you with heavy, gold eyes.

“Did… Are you…” you trailed off, swallowing. Not sure how to even begin asking what you wanted to ask.

The Wolf sighed, bone deep and weary.

“I tried so hard to keep everyone away,” its voice rumbled in the back of your mind. “Why did you have to be so stubborn?”

“This is my forest, too,” you said after a long moment, fingers digging into the dusty material of your pants. “What’s wrong with it? What happened?”

The Wolf stared at you, quiet and considering. And then it lumbered to its feet with a defeated sort of slouch.

“Come, then, Little Red One,” it huffed, and swished its tail against your back. “I’ll show you.”

TAG LIST [CLOSED]

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#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Monster Mayhem #My Writing #Twst Fantasy AU #Jack Howl x Reader #Jack Howl x Yuu #Hellhound!Jack Howl #Familiar!Jack Howl #Patron!Vil Schoenheit #vil schoenheit #Jack Howl #Monster Mayhem Jack Part 1

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sincerelystesichorus · 2 months

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me becoming a gortash apologist apparently

i never thought i'd say this. i am thinking about Enver Gortash. i'm usually not one of his apologists but... i've had brain rot for my Durge lately, and i think a big moment of developing your Durge is how you react to meeting Gortash again, yeah? you may or may not be close with Karlach but the party and Durge especially have all faced similar trauma of betrayal and exploitation nonetheless (and so has Gortash), he's already been introduced vaguely at the end of Act 2 as a threat/main villain, he worships Bane, he has general edge lord vibes (remember that bit where I'm usually not a Gortash apologist djdjdjd); what i'm trying to spit out, is there's a lot to sway you against Gortash in that first meeting. and I'd argue even a little further, as someone that followed Orin's plans of betrayal against him in my first Tav run, (just because her audacity is so damn funny.)

But anyway. Meeting Gortash. Finding out you used to be close. Perhaps homoerotically, perhaps in a strange platonic manner, or some other third thing, but nonetheless, Durge is assumably the only person Gortash has ever truly liked. He just really goes out of his way with praise at meeting again, the use of the word favorite is notable, and if Gortash had anyone worth elevating, he would, right? That was how Ketheric got here, Orin wants more credibility for herself and the Bhaalists, and Gortash... just enslaves his parents in their old home/business. But he liked you. He's really so similar to Astarion (it's nothing, you're just the only person I've ever truly cared for); he's just already a touch too far gone in his power hungry search for security. He's already repeated the cycle, years and years ago with Karlach as the main example and just the inevitability of being Bane's Chosen. And yet - Durge comes marching through the door again with this band of misfits and his old lackey he wronged, and he's willing to make a true bargain.

And I know it's just in Gortash's character to scheme, but l think playing as reformed Durge makes Gortash's potential deal all the more devastating, since he will truly follow through on his word (or, at least he would.)

It's so funny to show up dating Astarion or Shadowheart, and imagine them teasing you later that night, saying they thought you'd have better taste. Or the bitterness of being with Karlach, knowing that you seemed to be in such deep kahoots. And so on. The point is not valuing that past relationship with Gortash. Focusing on the shiny and new.

And like whatever. Gortash isn't ever going to publicly present that his feelings are hurt but like... wouldn't they? Your past lover or at the very least, only close friend struts in, now thinking they're some big shot, so beyond everything you two had ever done... when you always lived in their shadow beforehand, frankly. Gortash adores how this flawless plan was majorly Durge's, critiques Orin's sloppy manner of filling your place, how Ketheric was just a means to an end. But he liked you. The person who helped him raid Mephistopheles' vault, in turn helping him spit not only in the arch devil's face, but his past captor, Raphael's too (since Raph lives chronically in the shadow of his father, imo.) The person who thought they could formulate and enact this whole plot, and the only one he was willing to follow, to be an equal with, now coming to tell him what everyone always does, inevitably.

A final fuck you, or some form of betrayal, the same thing that caused his mess all those years ago when sold off to that warlock.

It would have to hurt, and while it's funny to imagine my little gnome Durge dying inside and cackling to the party about sleeping with an enemy and technically being the enemy... a little obssessed at the angst you could perceive of Gortash somehow falling for any crazy Bhaalspawn, nonetheless Durge, who was never one for morals, coming back renewed and not to come get him or work things out... but to slay him or turn against him. I'd send the Steelwatchers after our asses too.

In conclusion, Gortash, probably:

sigh. my bias against greasy little guys could never truly make me hate you, enver gortash. look at you, the man that you are.

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meanbossart · 2 months

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How does du drow feel about humans? druids? is there any race or class he abhors or legitimately opposes?

I will say that he is... A little bit racist in all directions lmao.

He can get along with anyone who doesn't mind his eccentricity (and hey, once you get past the looks he can be quite charming) while simultaneously holding onto a most of the preconceived notions behind other races. He thinks half-orcs are all a little dimwitted and crude, tieflings are inherently bloodlust-y, dwarfs are all greedy and brash, etc etc. He will hang with anyone who can hold an entertaining conversation, though.

These are things he keeps to himself unless you get on his nerves OR he feels like you can take a joke well (Astarion gets the well-humored high-elf jab here and there - but he does call DU drow a murker to his face so you could say they have an understanding).

He would probably steer clear of any githyanki he came across, but that sounds like a rarity in itself.

Yet, there isn't really a race that he actively thinks should be eradicated lol not even drow. If they could keep their nonsense to the Underdark he wouldn't give less of a damn. As long as whatever you're doing doesn't get in his way, he usually doesn't care.

He pays much less attention to people's classes/schools of combat, but finds most wizards to be pretty annoying and doesn't think too highly of warlocks because of the whole transactional nature of their powers.

He's mostly shocked that humans still, like, exist.

#ask #du drow lore

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sparrowrye · 2 months

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Demi Demon || Alastor x Reader, A2 part 24

Synopsis: It’s been over a year since we were brought under Alastor’s watchful eye. We’ve unlocked our Demonic powers, discovered our own talents, and began building the Safe Haven with Charlie and co. Alastor seems increasingly interested in the power we hold as one and intends to use it properly.

Previous part

Part 24: a relationship?

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"I'm sorry, sir. We can't pinpoint him. My guess is he's mobile." Caloh Warlock stood with his hands respectfully behind his back in front of Alastor, who remained seated in one of the chairs by the fireplace. His legs were crossed, a thoughtful hand on his cheek, and his cane upright beside his leg. He tapped the metal cover, agitated.

"One can't be mobile if he requires a factory." His eyes narrowed on the owned soul. He knew it wasn't Caloh's fault that Blackwater was hard to find, but that didn't stop the growing anger and anxiety boiling in his chest.

Caloh was the type of Demon that had a strange inhuman appearance. His entire head was a motorcycle helmet with a single eye blinking through the visor. He met the Demon back in 2016 when he nearly died on the side of the road. Alastor had taken the opportunity to secure another soul deal. He offered to save the dying man's life in exchange for his soul for the rest of eternity. Once the Great Collapse happened, he left the man alone to do what he wanted, only calling upon his services after the incident with Blackwater.

Caloh had spent weeks trying to track down Blackwater. The man was too evasive, never staying in the spot people claimed he was in. His inventions were still being mass produced, somehow, as if one of his major factories hadn't been swallowed into the earth. He didn't necessarily mind being brought under Alastor after so long, but he did mind the anger and condescending nature his master casted in his direction during every interaction.

He was abruptly pulled down to his knees, hands slamming into the wood floor as Alastor stood from the chair. Caloh leaned back on his heels as Alastor approached, refusing to stop until the tip of his boot hit the soul's knees. He slowly bent at the waist so his red eyes could bore into Caloh's single one.

"I don't want you to ask or find him," Alastor's teeth snapped dangerously close to his face, "I want you to hunt him down. I want to look through your eyes and see a man screaming and begging for his life until he gives you Blackwater's exact location." He paused, eyes searching Caloh's worried one through the helmet. "Prove your usefulness to me." He let Caloh hear the cries and screams of souls who no longer had their body, of souls who were damned for eternity until Alastor, himself, passed onto whatever was next for him.

"Of course...sir."

Alastor snapped back up with a wide grin. "Excellent! I expect to hear from you soon, then." He stepped back without looking and settled down in the chair again, antlers shrinking to their normal size.

Caloh swallowed despite his dry throat and slowly got to his feet. He gave a bow of his covered head before leaving the dark, ancient house. Alastor turned the radio back on to a quiet, somewhat lively tune and lost himself in his thoughts. His contacts were frequently updating him on Blackwater's movements or anything related to the man.

Blackwater seemed like a ghost, never fully there but never fully gone. His factories were being destroyed by other Overlords and yet his inventions were still streaming out to the public. He was becoming a big name and, according to Charlie, Lucifer was still dealing with more and more Demons coming into Hell. He tried to send them over to the haven but those who didn't live in the unclaimed territory were happy in their secured portion of Hell.

His darling was also being plagued by the man. Every time their minds melted together, he would get a brief memory of the man and the fear that was associated with it. It didn't help that you were always asking him, at least once every day, if he had found him yet. You always looked so deflated and worried when he said he hadn't.

"I need to rid this man," he growled aloud, abruptly standing up and moving into the library. He begun pacing around the cold room. He wanted more than anything to wrench the man's soul out of his body and stretch it across his radio frequencies. The pain and fear would taste wonderfully and maybe even his love would enjoy it. He wished dearly to see you come into your full Demon nature. You had so much potential, so much power, but your caring nature and traumatic past were preventing you. He remembered the struggle of unwrapping your curse when you first met four years ago.

His ear twitched when the front door open. He instantly recognized Reagan's voice as she called his darling's name. He took a few steps forward to look into the living room where Reagan stood. Her eyes locked on him and her body frozen.

"I'm afraid she's out at the moment," he told her, his smile feeling strained and fake in front of the teenager.

"Doing what?" She sounded skeptical. She always did around him. She had become an annoying thorn in his side, much like how her adoptive mother had been with him years ago.

"She is having tea with a friend of ours in Hell," he replied.

"I'll come back later, then." She went to the door but he spoke before she turned the handle.

"Perhaps you'd like to wait here. I suspect she'll return soon."

"And stay with you?"

His smile turned into a slight snarl. He couldn't understand how his darling and this teenager became so close. He couldn't understand why you even wanted to spend any time with such young folk. They were infuriating. It wasn't just his own preference, as he noticed. Many other adults in the haven didn't particularly like teenagers.

"She doesn't mind my company much." He pinched his claws together and examined them, sending a sideways glance in her direction.

"She should."

The nerve of this child.

"Why do you say that?" He moved swiftly into the living room and sat himself back in the seat by the fireplace. "You shouldn't judge someone by the rumors and tales spun by others."

Oh the irony of his very own words. It was thanks to the rumors and tales of others that his name became so feared so quickly in both realms.

"I'm not. I'm judging you from what she's told me." She let go of the handle and crossed her arms, facing him completely. While the two women weren't biologically related, he could see such resemblance. It was almost painful.

"And what has she told you?" His smile was a sneer in an effort to unset the young woman. He rested his cane on the arm rest and leaned his cheek into his clawed hand. He wanted to look relaxed and unbothered despite the burning questions in the back of his mind. How much and what exactly had the two of you been talking about in relation to him?

"Wouldn't you like to know," she growled.

"That is why I'm asking."

She rolled her eyes and finally opened the front door. "Ask her yourself."

"She cares for you," he said louder, catching her attention before she left. "You do not like me, that much is obvious, but I wish to...make amends? With you. I know it would bring her great joy to see us in each other's company."

Reagan thought for a long moment, eyes darting around and hand still on the door handle. After another moment of silence, she let out a strained sigh and closed the front door. Step one complete. Now, step two.

"Perhaps you can tell me why I bother you so?" He motioned to the chair across from him that you usually sat in. Reagan's eyes were like a snake's eyes, never leaving him as she sat down in the seat as rigid as ever.

"Well, you're the Radio Demon. What's there to even like?"

He chuckled at that. "It is a persona. One that keeps others from coming too close." He meant that physically and personally. "You are seeing the individual, now."

"I don't like the individual either. You terrorized my mo--you hurt her too."

He caught that phrase. My mother. Your relationship was significantly closer than he realized.

"According to dear Charlie, redemption is possible for everyone. I have been making steps to do just that."

"Like what? You're always touching her and I know you get more power when you do that."

Just how much had you revealed to this child? Why would you tell Reagan about the powers of the bond yet fail to tell her the actions he's taken to grow close with you? Were you embarrassed about the romantics? You were embarrassed for not knowing how to dance so surely that made sense, too. It made him feel better knowing that not everything was being shared with the teenager.

"A relationship is a complicated, thing," he started.

"Is that what it is?"

His one ear irked sideways. "Sounds as though you may need to ask her again how she feels about me. We have grown close despite the difficulties we both present."

"Sounds like stockholm syndrome."

A breath of silence. "How do you know what that means?"

"I'm eighteen."

"That explains nothing."

"I overheard someone say it and looked it up."

"You don't have a device to do such a thing."

"I asked Charlie for her phone."

Of course. He needed to talk to dear Charlie about that.

"Since the construction of the haven began, she has had an immense amount of freedom and has chosen to stay with me." He folded his claws in his lap and held them painfully tight. "She could have stayed with anyone in the haven, still can," he insisted, "but she chooses to remain up here with me."

He felt you touch his mind through the bond. He reached out and teleported you back to the cliffside.

"You're the Radio Demon. You can manipulate anyone."

He stood up and fixed his bow tie, grabbing his cane as he did so. "Perhaps you will come to see that I don't wish to manipulate everyone I come across. For now, you ought to speak with her more often about our relationship." He looked to the kitchen door before you walked in.

You greeted him with a smile, turning his own more genuine. He extended his hand and felt the warmth of your palm when you took it. He had planned to give you a kiss as a greeting but you noticed Reagan before he could. Instead, he resorted to a kiss on the top of your head by your lovely horns. He forced himself not to look at Reagan so as not to give in to her suspects.

The two of you talked briefly, agreeing to eat dinner together tomorrow evening. Reagan casted an unamused look in his direction before leaving the house. He let out a heavy sigh as soon as the door shut.

"What on earth happened?" you asked, "You two never talk."

"I had attempted common ground. She wasn't...overly receptive," he told you.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

He bent down and finally stole a soft kiss. You laughed as you pulled away, letting him wrap an arm around your back. You were always so warm and folded perfectly into his side. He half listened as you talked about your conversation with Rosie, allowing him to lead you up the stairs to the shared room.

Since the two of you had grown close, you had a habit of pacing when you were in deep thought, your tail whisking behind you gracefully and your claws tapping on the wood and rug. You were the only one who he could listen to for hours.

He watched you go on about more ideas for the haven that Rosie had sparked in that mind of yours as he undid his bow tie and shed his red coat. He smiled over his shoulder when your words slowed. That particular movement of his never failed to make you falter, especially now that you had discovered his wretched tail.

He sat on the window seat with one leg up and his arm draping across it. You were quick to finish your train of thought, hands clasped firmly together in nervousness, and went silent in an effort to make him speak. For a few moments he watched you struggle, toe claws tapping the floor and tail swishing across the rug.

Finally, he relented and held out his hand for you to take. You walked over and let him pull you down with your back against his chest. He loved feeling your warmth and magic seep into his lungs. It felt like you were giving him more life. He wrapped his arms around your torso and smiled at the feeling of your hands gently hanging onto him. You shrank your horns so as not to hurt him and he planted a kiss on the top of your head as a thank you. He then rubbed his cheek against your smooth, soft hair.

"What's wrong?" you asked.

So perceptive. When had you gotten so good at reading him?

"I have been quite...forceful, haven't I?" he asked slowly, afraid to hear the answer.

"What do you mean?"

"I have...I want to allow you the ability to choose. I do not wish to take control of our...relationship." He worried you might react the same way to that word as Reagan had.

There was a spike of mixed nervousness and excitement from you. He let you touch his mind but he didn't want you to see his memory of the conversation with the teenager. You pressed further against him and tilted your head back so your closed eyes could lean against his neck. He noted a rabbit trail thought of yours. You liked when he was sitting because it lessened the height gap between you two. After all, he was mostly just legs.

"We might've had a rough start but...I do want to be close with you." You moved a hand to gently rest on top of one of his black claws.

"You are allowed to feel otherwise," he insisted.

"Thank you," you mimicked him, rubbing your face into his neck and sending more warmth through his body, "but I'd like to."

His eyes looked over your figure. Just over a year ago he would've hissed at your touch. A year ago he would've laughed at Rosie's statement of love. Only two years ago you had been at each other's throat and causing all kinds of headaches for him.

After centuries of being alone, of meeting shallow women, you had snaked your way under his skin and into his heart. How had he even let this happen? How had he even gotten to this point? He was the Radio Demon. Yet here he was trying to convince you, and himself, that you had a choice to be close with him.

How have I fallen so hard for you?

Your ear perked up and pulled your face away. "What did you just say?"

"I didn't."

You tilted your head back so your eyes could meet, both pairs jumping between each other, each trying to decipher what had just happened.

Surely you cannot hear me.

"That!" You made a slight jump in his arms. His one ear fell to the side.

This isn't real. He heard your voice without your mouth moving.

It appears it may very well be real, he answered through his own thoughts.

"Whoah..." you said aloud.

"Our bond has grown stronger." He felt the doubts in the back of his head disappear at the realization, but there seemed to be some bubbling in your own.

"I didn't think...can soulmates do that?"

"Some," he nodded his head. He searched your face and mind for fear, for resentment, for disappointment. Over a year ago you had been determined to keep him from sharing such a connection with you. Did you still feel that way? Doubts were one thing but what would happen if they solidified?

He felt your nervousness, though he didn't ever not feel that from you, but he wondered if it was because you worried what he would hear. What was there to be afraid of? He had already seen all your memories since the start of everything. Were you worried he was manipulating you? That had been a point you had stressed so many times when everything started.

Then he felt it. You wrapped your mind around his. He felt you search through some of his wide array of memories and through his feelings. He tried to push you out, surprised and angry at such an act, but for the first time ever he couldn't. He felt your presence pushing against him and drawing deep feelings from his chest.

He sucked in cool air when you finally pulled out of his mind. His ears pinned back against his head as he opened his mouth to scold you. Instead, you twisted your body and came up on your knees to connect your lips with his, a single clawed hand pressed just beneath his neck on his collarbone. You were pushing him hard into the wall.

He reached up and pulled on one of your horns to break the kiss, smile strained. "Darling why did you search--"

"I like you," you interrupted. He fell silent. His ears went back up. "I haven't ever been...close or in a relationship with anyone before you, but...we're soulmates for a reason, right?"

You pulled him into your mind and let him look through your memories, watching the conversation with Rosie only an hour before. They had talked about him. In depth. His anger melted away as quickly as it had arrived.

You're not manipulating me right? Your thought echoed in his head.

No, my darling.

Based on your reaction, he guessed you hadn't meant for that train of thought to reach him. He wondered about the limitations this new power and skill held, but that would come later.

He brushed the back of his fingers across your cheek like he always did. Now he understood why you had so blatantly went through his mind. You were searching for his true thoughts and feelings. You were trying to make sure he was being honest. Quite frankly, nowadays, he wasn't sure how to be dishonest with you.

I am infatuated with you. Enamored. Smitten. Dare I say recklessly in love with you.

In love? You sat back on your ankles, tail wrapping around your waist, so you could face him completely. He still had one leg up on the seat and the other over the edge.

"Yes my dear," he said aloud, "in love. I don't do shallow things. Much too trifling." He waved the word off with his hand, earning a small quirk of a smile on your lips. He wanted to kiss you again. "Would you consider yourself in love?"

"I uh...I suppose?"

"Why is it a question?" He rested his arm on his bent knee and noticed your pupils widen.

Ah. So that's what was happening.

He tried blending with your mind again but you were keeping him in the midst between shallow and deep waters. You were trying to hide it. Your mind was in two vastly different places at once. He wanted to exploit that further.

"I just...I've read the novels about love but I hear the teenagers and friends talk about liking someone first. I'm not sure what the difference is."

His smile turned into a grin. He reached out with his other hand to gently rest your chin on his red claw. "One is fleeting, one is deep. The latter is a commitment." He paused, eyes scanning your body for more hints. You were good at hiding it in that way but your eyes and guarded mind were telling more. "One elicits small gestures. The other...well..." His own heart was punching the inside of his chest. "Well, the other is a bit different."

His hand moved from your chin to the back of your neck, pulling you in for a kiss. He wrapped his arm around your back to pull you flush against him, hands on his chest and grabbing at the red button up. He loved the feeling of your hands on his chest and he wished right there that you had the confidence to undo one of those black buttons.

Though he settled for the glorious way you shifted your body so you could lean into his arm and tilt your head to deepen the kiss. Finally you opened your mind to him and he searched. You had the same burning sensation in your chest as he did and your hands were sweaty from nervousness. He could practically hear the things you wanted to do.

He had never felt the urges others had to be sweaty and physically intimate with each other. He very well understood the reasoning but never felt the desire himself. Now, his mind was beginning to wander, exploring the new topic.

His hands began to explore, too, moving down your back to settle on your hips then up your sides. Surely your skin there was just as soft and smooth as the skin on your cheeks. What would happen if you two went all the way? Could he even lead properly? He didn't believe he was experienced or at least knowledgable enough about it to do anything like it.

But he was just oh so curious. His thumbs found the edge of your shirt and slipped underneath to feel that soft skin.

Your eyes snapped open and you shoved away, knocking his head painfully hard against the wood. He let out a hiss as you scrambled back, wings sprouting from your back to wrap around your body. His smile faltered in the only way it could, the corners flatlining and his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. His hand remained frozen in an outreach, unsure of what had just happened.

He gently brushed against your mind but you had blocked him out completely. It left him feeling aggressively cold and he had to increase his body temperature to keep himself from shivering. His chest pinched tightly as you refused to open your mind to him again.

"I overstepped." It was both a question and a statement.

"I don't...know." You were still wrapped in your wings and...were you shaking? Yes, you were definitely shaking. Your face was a tell tale sign enough. He could taste the edges of fear that still lingered from your previous contact.

"I didn't mean to scare you." He put both legs over the edge of the seat, eyes never leaving you. He noticed that you were refusing to look him in the eyes. You were watching him carefully, fearfully, like you had four years ago when he first brought you to the house.

"It wasn't...on purpose. I'm sorry."

"What are you apologizing for?" He tilted his head to the side, finally getting eye contact for a quick glance.

"For...reacting like that." You stared at the closed curtains, eyes picking something and sticking to it. He wasn't sure how to fix what had just happened. He didn't even know why it had happened. Everything seemed fine up until that last second.

"It is getting late, my darling." He tried changing the subject, trying to move on. "Perhaps it is time for our routine?" He snapped his fingers to make the usual items reveal themselves on the bed, your novel and his abstracts. You dared a glance at what he had done with his magic and he felt your guard thinning. "Why don't you get dressed? You may be feeling restless from overworking yourself."

You nodded, slowly unraveling yourself and leaving the room to change into your nightly outfit. He feared you would not return, stretching his mind out and wrapping around yours at a wide distance. He was trying to be welcoming, inviting, and just hoping that you would return to his room to spend the night with him again.

To his great relief, you did.

There was a heavy silence between you two for a long time. He tried to focus on writing his abstracts but failed miserably. He just wanted to know why you had reacted the way you did. Was it something he had done? He could taste a memory on the tip of his tongue but you had pulled away too soon for him to get the full extent of it. Had he triggered a bad memory?

Then it clicked.

When you first unraveled your curse, you had gone through a wretched memory. You had been attacked in one of your cages when you were a teenager. He remembered trying to convince you to kill the man who had ruined you but you had still been so skeptical of him at the time. Had ending the man's life not been enough to overcome such a memory? Obviously not.

His ears fell and his smile pinched into his check. He hadn't meant to trigger that memory or overstep a boundary. He hadn't meant to elicit such a fear from his own actions on you. You were a puzzle piece, for sure, with lots more work to be done. Guilt gnawed at his throat and he wished for a way to make you feel better, to apologize. He wasn't very good at those.

You noticed his ears and the stillness of his pen. "I'm sorry."

"What for, my dear?" He waited a moment before slowly turning his head to look. He didn't want to make any sudden movements.

"For reacting like that."

"You have already apologized for that, darling."

"Right." You went back to your novel.

He inwardly groaned. He was very bad at this.

"I suppose an apology from me is in order," he tried, removing his glasses, "I hadn't meant to scare you in such a way."

Finally, finally, he felt your guard fall completely. He slowly pressed his mind closer to yours until you metaphorically hooked a single claw on his mind. Apologies worked. Of course they did. The one thing he hated doing.

"Thank you." You moved over to rest your head on his shoulder. He shifted lower on the bed so it was more comfortable for you and placed a gentle kiss on your hair. You let out a wide yawn and he chuckled, drawing the book from your tired hands and dimming the lights and fireplace.

"I believe it is time for you to sleep," he mused kindly.

"What gave it away?" you teased with yet another yawn.

He laid down first and was surprised when you attached yourself to his side. Your tail wrapped around his leg and draped your arm over his chest. He planted another kiss on your forehead this time before you managed to snuggle your face into the crook of his neck. His own anxieties went out the window as your minds melted together perfectly.

His claws moved methodically along your back until he couldn't fight off the sleep either.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note:

Alastor perspective! New OC - Caloh Warlock!

Happy Easter <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist:

@wendigonamecaller @saccharine-nectarine @thesimpybitch @papas-ghoulette

#demi demon #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #soulmate au #soulmates #reqs open

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zeephyre · 4 months

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CRITICAL ROLE CAMPAIGN 3 EPISODE 85 SPOILERS

IM LITERALLY ABOUT TO LOSE MY MIND YALL

Where do I even ??? start ???

I haven't been posting c3 as the episodes dropped in...a while actually, like right before they went to the feywild. i have many thoughts and many feelings about so many things that have happened since then and I'll summarise them so I can get to THIS episode.

fearne and ashton - love their shard powers, they're literally royalty and terrifying, and i want them to make-out. i can't wait to see them go full primordial again in a real combat situation.

imogen - save her. literally save her. free her, even. i love everything about the call of ruidus when it comes to imogen on a narrative standpoint, but...God I get so worried that we're gonna lose her. I don't mean she's gonna betray the hells, but...ruidus could take her and then i would simply perish.

laudna - before i really get into wtf went down this episode with her and she who must not be named, i gotta say... im worried. very very worried. however, that fireball was objectively the best shit ever.

fcg - i can't even really remember anything stand out abt fcg except what Sam pulled last night so.

chetney - still the heart of the team, still my baby girl, still my favourite. love him to bits.

orym - i think laudna is going to beat his ass one of these days and im... even more concerned about that after this episode. his nana morri powers are cool as fuck tho... does that make him a warlock now? i know he isn't multi-classing but wouldn't that be cool

ANYWAY WE'RE ON THE FUCKING MOON AND WE GOT MOON LORE AND EVERYTHING WAS SHITTY THEN FUN THEN SHITTY THEN FUN AGAIN THEN REALLY FUCKING SAD THEN IT ALL WENT TO SHIT AGAIN.

the moment imogen reached out to ruidus and matt mentioned that she could sense where other ruidusborn were i fucking knew that otohan was high tailing it in their direction, and i thought they instinctively knew that too but they probably got so distracted.

we were travelling for hours and had a huge fight that almost got them captured (not to be confused with the OTHER two fights that almost got them captured) and I was begging and screaming and crying for them to get a long rest safely hidden away AND THEN THEY SPLIT THE PARTY WITH BARELY ANY SPELL SLOTS OR HIT POINTS AFTER BEING DRAINED FROM ANOTHER BATTLE WHAT IS WRONG WITH THEM

(Sidenote, the willmaster really opened up the door to the further increase in moral pondering in a certain number of hellians. i do think using the harness is disgusting and hypocritical, but i don't condemn them for it, it just...makes me wanna vomit thinking abt what ludinus did with it. not to mention the HUNGER parallels between laudna and ludinus...its just not good yall. also??? objectively funny that fcg seemed weirded out by the idea of killing the willmaster, not just with the harness but in general, considering how many people they've killed up to this point)

idk if its just the inherent terror that an evil old hot lady can inspire that makes otohan so much more terrifying to me than ludinus. like, objectively, ludinus is a worse threat and could wipe them out EASILY but jesus otohan is like the damn reaper to me. it's the trauma from the laudna, fearne, orym massacre mixed with the underlying little drop from their uthodurn romp that let us know that resurrection spells are NOT working and idk if that got fixed bc of time passing or distance from the leylines but i really did not want to test that shit out in real time

thank...god that sam riegel is a damn genius player, that banishment of fcg and fearne was the ONLY reason fcg survived. and thank GOD FOR KEYLETH BECAUSE WITHOUT THAT CLOUD SPELL BELLS HELLS WOULD BE VERY VERY VERY VERY VERY DEAD RN.

God, "otohan has us. run." is going to haunt me just as much, if not more than the almost tpk. it just...shot me straight back to bassuras and the plan to run that just...immediately fell apart.

god fcg truly could have died there. and fearne would be captured. i know the hells would be too stupid and too brave and too loyal to leave fearne with otohan in their cloud form but can you imagine a world where fcg was gone, fearne was captured and the hells had to switch from recon to rescue... itd be stressful but pretty fun.

thankfully it didn't come to that and some good came from the shit.

ruidus is so beautiful. i was worried they'd end being trapped under ruidus while they explored (not that I wasn't on board with the detours, I wish this wasn't a time sensitive mission), but matt's imagery of the fossilized elven structure and garden made me sad but also happy that we got to see it.

i cannot believe that the stupid plan to shove fearne up a water hole happened AGAIN and it ended up with us FINDING A BACK HOLE TO RUIDUS GOD I LOVE THESE CHUCKLEFUCKS WHEN IS THE NEXT EPISODE MATT YOU CANNOT DO THIS TO ME. WHERE EVEN ARE THEY??? IS IT EVEN EXANDRIA???? WHAT DO WE DO IF IT IS EXANDRIA??? WHERE DID THIS HOLE EVEN COME FROM???? DOES IT CLOSE AND REOPEN??? IS IT STAGNANT?????? IS IT FUCKING STABLE?!?!?!?!?!

God...we could go back to keyleth and the others and actually invade ruidus without encountering the ruby vanguard. (that's if they're alright because otohan did go out onto the battlefield and we don't know what fhe fuck she did when the illusion fell through)

GOD. IS IT THURSDAY YET??? WE HAVENT EVEN FOUND THE RESISTANCE????

#critical role #cr3 #bells hells #critical role campaign 3 #c3 #critical role c3 #critical role spoilers #imogen temult #ashton greymoore #cr laudna #laudna #orym of the air ashari #chetney pock o'pea #fcg critical role #cr spoilers #fearne calloway #c3 e85 #cr3 ep85

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flutteringphalanges · 1 year

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Reaching for the Stars

Adam Warlock x Star Lord!Sister Reader

Prompt: When your infant daughter starts to exhibit signs of inheriting her father’s powers, you and Adam find yourselves in quite a predicament. Not to mention when your brother, Peter, finds himself caught up in it.

Word Count: 1,509

A/N: So I decided to write another one shot involving the reader and Adam Warlock having a child together. It is the same baby mentioned in my first one shot Aydith. The baby’s name is a combination of Meredith Quill and Ayesha (Adam’s mother). Also I couldn’t decide if the reader is married to Adam or dating, so I just said “partner”. You can decide! I might do another part to this one but I am not sure. I am open to requests! I hope you enjoy!

Reaching for the Stars

“Look, I’m no baby expert, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t exactly normal.”

Your heart was pounding too hard to even glare at your brother for his comment as the two of you stared up at the ceiling. You had only turned your head for a minute. A minute! And now your baby had decided that she no longer liked the ground and instead preferred floating several feet in the air where you couldn’t reach her. Thank god you were at least inside!

“Peter, do something!” You cried out, finally looking over at your brother in desperation. Oh, you felt sick. And faint. Christ, where the hell was Adam?! “Help me get her down!”

“What am I supposed to do?!” He gestured, obviously beginning to panic as well. “I’m not Groot! I can’t just extend my arms and grab her!” Peter exhaled and began to look around. “Maybe there is something we can use in here, like a broom?”

Your jaw dropped. “You want to hit my baby with a broom?!”

Peter threw his arms up in the air in frustration. “How the HELL did you come to that conclusion?! Why in all the universes would you assume I’d want to smack my niece out of the air?!”

“I don’t know?!” And your panicking was slowly growing into hysteria. You were just getting accustomed to parenting and now your perfect baby had decided to show off her celestial talents. Dammit, where was Adam?! “Aydith, it’s okay! Mommy is right here! Don’t move!”

Unlike you and her uncle, the infant seemed as if she hadn’t a care in the world. She floated in one place, occasional flipping and offering you a two tooth smile. Her (your eye color) sparkled and she giggled down at the two of you, completely unaware of the terror she was causing you both.

“Y/N?”

Both you and Peter turned to see Adam standing in the doorway. If it hadn’t been for the severity of the situation, the way his expression of confusion switched to one of bewilderment upon seeing his child in the air would’ve been comical. You didn’t have time to enjoy the feeling of relief as you hurried over to his side.

“Our baby is flying!” You pointed as if he couldn’t clearly see the situation before him.

“I didn’t know she could do that.” He replied so innocently. Damn, you loved him so much but sometimes…

“Nor did I!” You sighed deeply, trying to regain some form of composure after losing it with Peter. “But apparently she can and now she is up there and I cannot get her down!”

“Y/N wasn’t open to any of my ideas--” Peter began to argue before you cut him off.

“Because you wanted to knock Aydith out of the air with a broom!” You hissed.

“I was going to try to hook the handle on her overalls and pull her down!” He shot back. “But you didn’t even let me finish my plan!”

You really wanted to point out Peter’s interesting history when it came to planning, but decided against it. Instead, you watched as your daughter peered down at Adam, her chubby, little arms reached out towards him. Effortlessly, your partner rose into the air and gingerly took a hold of her. The moment his feet touched the ground, the wave of relief that hit you almost brought you to your knees.

“Oh, Aydith!” At once, you scooped her from Adam’s embrace and hugged her close. “Don’t you ever do that to me again, okay?!” It was a battle to hold back tears as you held her close.

“So the kid can fly now.” Peter said as he looked at Adam. “And she isn’t even one yet. I’m gonna go out on a limb here and assume you are just as clueless as the rest of us of what else Aydith might be capable of?”

You felt Adam’s hand rest on the small of your back. Even though his eyes weren’t fixed on you, you knew he was trying to offer some comfort. You moved closer, resting your head against him as Aydith fiddled with the collar of your shirt.

“No, I’m sorry.” His eyes met yours, the look on his face hard to read. “Until I learned Y/N was pregnant, I didn’t even think it was possible for us to reproduce.”

Your daughter let out a whine, one that you had come to recognize as her needing a nap. Peter made a goofy face, trying to make her smile. He’d always been so good with her--not that you had ever doubted he wouldn’t be. Aydith looked back at him, one cheek pressed against your chest. She was tired--and if you were quite frank, so were you.

“We need to talk with the others.” Peter stated, looking from you to Adam. “Maybe come up with some sort of game plan to keep Aydith grounded until we fully understand what she is able to do.”

Your eyes flickered down to your daughter who appeared to have finally drifted off. She was so small. So little. How could someone like that do something so extraordinary, yet so terrifying at such a young age? You didn’t fear the possibilities of what she would be like if she had inherited some of her father’s powers. No. No, you worried what would happen if she did. What dangers she would face. That’s what scared you.

“Okay.” You nodded, shifting her in your arms. You knew the other Guardians would literally drop anything any of them were doing and come to your aid if you asked. That’s what families did after all. There was an old saying you remembered that said it took a village to raise a child--in this case, that village was turning out to be Knowhere. “Let’s do it.”

XXX

Silence followed you as you and Adam walked to Aydith’s room. Peter was gone and a part of you felt guilty of not apologizing after he left. You made a mental note to do so the next time you saw him. When you reached her crib, you cautiously set her down, doing your best not to wake her. Thankfully you were successful.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” The sound of Adam’s voice pulled you back to reality. “I never even fathomed the idea of Aydith having my abilities. If I had known, or even considered it for that matter…” He shook his head, guilt heavy in his tone as if he blamed himself. “If there hadn’t been a roof…”

The last thing you wanted was for him to feel bad. Adam’s powers, his gifts, they were beautiful. You didn’t dare want him to think otherwise. And certainly you didn’t want him to think that he’d cursed your daughter. Reaching out, you take a hold of his hand, interlocking your fingers. Aydith was safe. That was what was important. She was in her crib before the both of you passed out. Completely and utterly lost to the world.

“You have absolutely nothing to apologize for.” You assured him, reaching up with your other hand to turn his face towards your. “Aydith is a part of you, just as she is me. And I suppose one of those parts of you involves her having some sort of special abilities.” You offered him a small smile. “Even if witnessing my child levitate in the air wasn’t what I had initially ever anticipated her doing.”

Adam squeezed your hand. “No, I cannot say I pictured her doing so either.”

You both watched her quietly, his thumb gently stroking your hand. You were still on edge, though your anxiety had lessened quite a bit since Aydith had been deemed safe. Exhaling, you catch Adam’s gaze in your own.

“We’ve got this.” And you were a little surprised how sure you sounded. “At least, we can’t afford not to be, right? After everything we’ve been through as Guardians, I think we can manage this new milestone…Or whatever you want to call this new development.”

The corners of Adam’s mouth twitch slightly upwards at your words. “Yes, I agree with you. We haven’t let anything stop us yet.”

He dropped your hand and wound his arm around you to pull you into a kiss. You let your eyes close for a moment, melting in his embrace. It was moments like this that you cherished between the two of you. Especially after Aydith had been born and your intimate times had shifted some depending on her needs. Parenthood had surely become a whirlwind--one that you had welcomed with wide, open arms.

“I love you.” You murmured softly, pulling back just enough so that your eyes met. “Both of you.”

“And I you.” Adam replied, resting his forehead against yours. “In every universe and every dimension.” He turned away for just a second to peer over at your daughter before looking back. “We’ve got this, don’t we?”

This time, the nod you gave him felt much more confident. “Yeah,” you agreed. “We do.”

#Adam Warlock #Adam Warlock x Reader #Reader x Adam Warlock #gotg vol 3 #Peter Quill #Star Lord #Aydith Warlock #Adam Warlock Imagine

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