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sourholland · 10 days

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Guilty as Sin

CHAPTER ONE ; azriel x fem!reader

summary: the lost princess of the dawn court finds herself brazenly escaping her own personal living hell. seeking refuge, as well as peace to plot in the city of velaris—she meets azriel shadowsinger and through the throws of disdain and discomfort they are forced to work side by side, intertwined through their shared scars.

a/n: ok so this first chapter is literally all exposition and world building within this world, i’m so sorry :( i promise that it will very much so pick up. this series is mainly about me exploring different aspects of my writing, i’ve never written a long series before. my longest is 50k and each chapter was about 2k words so this is something i feel really proud to put out, even if it is just the first chapter. if you’d like to be tagged please let me know!! this fic isn’t necessarily inspired by, but is a lot like taylor swift’s new song “guilty as sin?”. feedback always appreciated:)

warnings: strong language, mentions of trauma regarding men, heavy themes of ptsd and suicidal thoughts

spotify playlist (unfinished)

wc: 5.4k

Run.

The word cut through your mind, slicing through each and every thought you possessed as you gazed downwards at your bloodied hands. There was so much blood. Hot, thick blood ran down your forearms, coating your face and the inside of your mouth. Your stomach lurched, however by the grace of the Gods, you fled.

In over fifty years, you had not left this camp. Since you were just a girl, at twelve years old, you had resided within the hidden stone of the warrior camp. Now you had no choice but to utter a quick prayer to the Mother and run fast and furiously forward without looking back. Only the knife you had just used remained sheathed at your hip as you felt the ground beneath your boot-clad feet. There was a cloak pulled around you, it covered your face well and kept you concealed.

What was that saying, you thought silently to yourself in between painful dry heaves. ‘Feet don’t fail me now.’

It was nightfall and you ran tirelessly through the forest you had been warned to never brave on your own. As a child, your mother had warned that you must not meet what lurks after dark. She told you that not even those beasts would mind slaying the Princess of the Dawn Court. To them, the title was useless and your blood was just the same. Blood. You reeked of those warriors' blood and sweat and desperation. It was clad to your skin like a layer of oil or grime, the taste of iron making you spit.

A part of you wondered if you would die out in this forest, no idea where you were or what place Cousin Thesan had brought you so many decades ago. Stopping to lean against a tree, you panted and let the silent tears flow at once. Where were you? For all you knew, he had dropped you within the Continents and only used very good wards to keep the camp hidden. Why had you let them take you? What hadn’t you fought harder against Thesan’s word as Amarantha began exercising power among Prythian.

You had no answer, but only began to run once again. There was no choice, unless you planned to slit your own throat and simply give up. No. You are a warrior, you are a fighter and nothing would keep you from finding your cousin and demanding answers for his crimes. That’s what his actions were to you, criminal and inhumane and you would not be surprised if in the end–you adorned his blood on your hands as well.

“Who dares enter this part of my forest?” A voice drawled from nowhere in particular, causing you to flinch and raise the dagger shakily in defense. “What is your name, girl?”

The voice came from the trees, you swore to yourself. It came in whisps and wind, the blackness of the forest making it impossible for you to determine where exactly the source was. If there was a source. It omitted what you swore was a chuckle, an unfamiliar sound to you for so long. Sweat collected at the nape of your neck and temples, hair stuck down to your forehead and your skin blazed as you continued to rotate in full circles with your dagger pointed at nothing.

“Y/N, Princess of Dawn and Bringer of Light. What is your business in dwelling here? This is no place for a young Fae girl. Especially one so sweet as yourself, and you wear the blood of ten men. It is as if you hope to die tonight,” the voice whispered, a hot, invisible breath on your neck. “Do you hope to die tonight?”

“No,” you finally spoke into the abyss. “I hope to locate my homelands, I am in search of the High Lord of the Dawn Court. Show yourself.”

The voice ignored your demand, “leave this forest, Princess. For the ones hunting you are far worse than those warriors you slaughtered miles back.”

The stiff cloth of your dress began to itch beneath your robes and you stood taller than before as the voice surrounded you. Perhaps you would die tonight, at least you would have gone out thrashing and fighting until your final breath. There was a mild ache behind your brow and the night sky showed no signs of daybreak.

“And why have you refrained from killing me?” You finally asked, shifting back and forth and contemplating whether or not to begin running again.

“I possess no body. I am nothing but the wind and the trees and the breeze against your skin,” it hummed, cynically. “Cross the river up ahead and veer left, the path will lead you out of the forest and into the countryside where at least you will not be hunted for sport and strewn up and cut open for the creatures that dwell here to eat you alive.”

A cold chill ran up your spine and left your fingers to form fists.The spirit-like being was gone as fast as it had stumbled upon you. How did you know, you wondered idly for a moment. Its presence was absent, the air feeling more desolate and empty than it had moments before. It could very well be a trick, a way to lure you into its very trap and do exactly as it said.

You continued on to the river and went left, just as the being had told you to, as it had cooed into the shell of your ear. It was only about a mile later and you were coming into a dark clearing where animals lay sleeping along large acres of land. There were cows and sheeps first, then you saw pens of pigs and chicken coops further. Looking back, you saw how truly terrifying the forest was in comparison to the moonlit field.There were a set of yellow eyes staring out at you, but as soon as you blinked they were gone as if they were never there to begin with. While you knew you would never know, you threw a prayer up to the Mother regardless and hoped that the breeze-like thing that had most likely saved your life was at peace.

There was very little you could do besides walk along the outskirts of the land and hope to find some inclination of where to locate your court. Your court. The Dawn Court was filled with your people, people who had not seen you in five decades. The memories of your childhood were like knives in your gut, twisting and turning until finally you expelled them from your mind and breathed in deeply. The trek was long and you walked all through the night with no direction of where to go or what to do with yourself. There were not exactly any signs pointing you towards your home, or once home. Now you had no home, the camp was much more like a prison than a home to you.

“Are you lost?” A little Fae girl spoke, taking in your appearance as she found you still walking along the countryside that next morning. She did not appear to be scared, however she was very young and held a basket of wildflowers in her hand.

“Yes,” you almost cried at the sight of her, another human and a female at that. It had been fifty three years since you had encountered someone of the same sex. “Where am I?”

“I live just beyond that hill. You are in the Dawn Court,” she said wearily, pointing over and beyond the hill that sat a few hundred yards away. “Should I fetch my father to help you?”

“No,” you said, knowing well what you had done the night prior and how you appeared. “I am looking to get to the Dawn Court Palace, do you know where I might be able to find it?”

The girl, no more than nine, looked over you once again and it was as if she was assessing your soul. She drew her lips into a fine line and set the basket down to begin spouting off some directions. You nodded, taking in all of them with careful consideration and noting that the spirit had led you onto the right track for some odd reason. Once the girl had finished, she merely bowed her head and turned back towards her house.

.·:*¨☆◦✦◦☆¨*:·.

The Palace was nothing like you had remembered it. It was so much brighter and broader than you recalled within the narrow escape of your child-mind. The Dawn Court Palace gleamed under the beaming sun that had been burning your skin for hours as you followed the little girl’s instructions.

It was so vast and yet it seemed to call out to you, there was a long way to get to even one of the many stairs leading up to the Palace and so many guards standing tall at every entrance you could see. There was no way in, you thought. Not when you look as you do. Would any of these men even know who you are, you wondered.

“Who goes there?” A loud voice bellowed, bringing you away from your thoughts.

Who says who goes there, you thought. Prick.

Well it looks like Cousin Thesan spared no expense in making sure no one went in unnoticed, you rolled your eyes internally and spun on your heels to meet the look of the brooding male who wielded his weapon against you. He did not recognize you, as you had expected. His eyebrow had a long scar going through it and he held a blade in his hand, waiting for an explanation.

“Stand down!” You matched his tone, standing tall while the male practically laughed in your face.

“You are lucky that I have not already gutted you for crossing into our territory–”

The sound of you swallowing hard could be heard from even where he stood. You planted your feet and let all of those lessons on looking the part of royalty run over you. The guard was cut off by your sharp and fierce voice, “I am Y/N, Princess of Dawn! Stand down or don’t. I can’t say that I really care either way, but you very well might when I cut out your tongue and feed it back down your throat.”

The man went rigid for a moment and he took in a sharp breath. He seemed to be assessing you, his eyes scanned your frame while his weapon remained as it was. A part of you wondered if he thought you were bluffing, however the dried blood seemed to tell him everything he needed to know. He maintained his authoritative stance, only drawing back to call over some of his men. He whispered something into one male’s ear and his face went blanche. He looked over you with such careful consideration and shock, his eyes wide open and doe-like from where you stood.

“You claim to be the Lost Princess?” He finally spoke, tilting his head to the side to expose a long, fleshy scar across his neck.

“Well the last that I checked–I am the only Princess of the Dawn Court, however I am most certainly not lost, sir. I do wish to speak to my cousin, though,” you requested, earnestly. “As soon as possible.”

The Lost Fucking Princess. Who even comes up with this bullshit?

One of the males who adorned guard-like clothing brought you into the Palace wearily. He did not lay a hand on you, but motioned you to walk in front of him as if you posed some sort of threat. Perhaps you did, killing Thesan had crossed your mind once or twice. The idea of watching him writhe excited you quite a bit. The thought nearly brought a smile to your lips, only managing to suppress it when you began climbing the steps.

.·:*¨☆◦✦◦☆¨*:·.

The male brought you to a throne room, sunlight dancing along the walls and spilling onto the floors. Everything was so magnificent, the aura of the room was nothing short of golden. Blood boiled within you as you recalled all of the years you had wasted away to nothing, hidden in that rotting, despicable camp where all you ate was leftover meat scraps and watered-down soup for over fifty years.

Thesan sat at the forefront of the room, he wore a crown and spoke to the male at his right in a hushed whisper. It was almost as if he did not know you were here, like he was uninformed of your arrival in his court. When the male who brought you in nearly tripped over his feet to murmur into Thesan’s ear, you had your answer. Your cousin’s eyes snapped towards you in an instant, he rose to his feet immediately and you swore you could feel the blood pumping in your ears. With a hot face and white knuckles, you barreled towards him with the intent to kill.

“You promised me! You promised me!” Your magic rippled across the room as you shouted, pure rage causing the ground to shake. “You left me there to rot like vermin! How could you?”

With tunnel vision, the two men who had been holding you back were nearly invisible as the ground continued to shake violently. Thesan was silent, his eyes were wide with genuine revelation and disbelief. Thrashing and clawing and screaming was all you could do. He had taken years from you, good years that had been ripped away and stolen from you as a child.

“You’re nothing but a fucking liar, Thesan. We share blood! I am your family and you threw me out to the wolves. I was twelve years old and you abandoned me. I trusted you with my life. My life!” you cried and flinched at the guards’ hands. “Get your fucking hands off of me!”

The two men who held you were sent flying backwards by an invisible force, your magic had been provoked and was now rippling off of you in waves. Thesan approached with his hands out, he still had not spoken a word. With a wave, he cleared the room and it was only the two of you left standing.

“Y/N,” he said in a soft hush. “Please just allow me to explain–”

“Explain? Explain how you brought me to your sick fucking camp when I was a girl and lied to everyone under the guise of my protection? Explain how after three months, your letters and visits stopped? Oh, perhaps you plan to explain how you left me to live with ten cursed warriors for over five decades and I have to find out six days ago that Amarantha was defeated by a human girl years ago as I still sat by idly waiting for my dear Cousin Thesan to retrieve me from my own personal living hell?” The words were like knives, piercing Thesan one after another as you resisted the urge to rip out his throat. “Explain, go ahead.”

Thesan could not believe his eyes, nor the venom spewing from your lips. He surveyed your too-thin figure and cold eyes, how they had changed so much since he had last seen you as a small girl. Everything you said was true, to some degree. He could not deny any of it, however he had not realized how the camp had treated you. He had not banished you, but relocated you for reasons of his own before Amarantha could rise to full power. When Thesan caught word of what had begun under the mountain, he made rash decisions and sacrifices that he was not proud of and would have to live with for the rest of his immortal life.

“Y/N, I did send you away for your protection. Do you believe that my brother would have let me live if I sent his only child away to live in squalor while we all reside in a palace? I sent you away because my people were being ripped from their homes and your mere existence puts a target on your back,” he said, steadily. “A Princess, the sole heir to the Dawn Court. It is unheard of. When my brother’s mate–your mother–birthed a girl, our people were ecstatic. As years passed and Amarantha began her show of power, everyone grew antsy for my heir. I tried, I remain trying to produce an heir to this court.”

You shook your head, hot tears running down your dirt-crusted cheeks. “Not good enough,” your voice cracked.

“Please, just hear my words,” he begged you. “When you were twelve years old, I assumed tensions were at their height and our people grew restless. Amarantha had begun slaughtering innocent Fae across Prythian and with no heir, whispers surfaced of the Princess of the Dawn Court. A female heir, one who reeked of power at that. Males who would never kneel before a female began to place bounties on your head, terrified that I would be slayed and there would be no one but you to resume my place.”

Thesan breathed deep, but continued. “I told my brother that the safest option would be to make you disappear. We would claim that you were hunted by Amarantha’s loyal subjects, nowhere to be found. I gathered some of my strongest men who had committed wrongdoings within my court and banished them to the camp where they would be tied until I liberated you.”

“You locked me away with criminals!” You seethed, already knowing but surprised at his willingness to utter the words freely. “How do you think your filthy, touch-starved, vile men acted once I had first bled?”

“This is where I have committed wrong,” he whispered. “It was only supposed to be a year, maybe two while I gained footing and figured out a way to take back what Amarantha had stolen from me. Three months after I sent you away, she captured the entirety of this court. Every court, save for Spring, went Under the Mountain. You were concealed, hidden so well by my wards, that she never even bothered to go looking for you. She believed that her own subjects had killed and discarded you. That was the extent at which things had gotten, she merely trusted the death of the Princess of the Dawn Court was another insignificant casualty to her reign. Everyone believed you to be dead. My letters stopped because I was trapped, my power basically nothing compared to what it once was.”

The truth washed over you slowly, blinking away tears but staying put and shaking your head at him. It was still not good enough, it would never be good enough. For fifty-three years you had known nothing but scraps and gangly men and the dirt underneath your bleeding fingernails.

“It has been years since Amarantha was defeated,” you gritted out. “Defeated by a human girl–”

“Feyre Cursebreaker, High Lady of the Night Court and human no longer. Myself and the other High Lords used our power to bring her back from death as High Fae,” he told you. “I know you will never forgive me for not retrieving you immediately, however we entered a gruesome war against Hybern and have only just begun to recover and rehabilitate. It is no excuse, I know this. I hoped by now that I would have an heir, nothing has changed in regards to how your existence might be received by this court.”

He had left you there while everyone rejoiced in their freedoms, fought on the frontlines of battle, and then even still once we had won. Nothing but pure, unadulterated rage consumed you and yet all you could muster up was a pathetic noise straight from your throat. He had done all of this because he simply was not capable of bearing a child and assumed that you’re suffering was all the more worth it if he could fuck his way to the ideal future High Lord of Dawn. All men are the same, you thought with a sickness churning within you.

“You are a sick excuse for a man,” was all you spat. “Where are my parents?”

“Dead,” he lowered his head. “They died swiftly, soon after we arrived Under the Mountain.”

The gift that just keeps on giving, you thought whilst holding back a near sob. He gazed upon you with pity, finally taking you in wholly. The blood. There was so much blood and he could tell from the scent that it did not belong solely to you.

“What of the men at the camp?”

“Dead,” you replied, just as he had. “I cannot say they went swiftly, as I slaughtered them all.”

The images of blood spewing and spilled flashed across the forefront of your mind, the way that some of them went quick and others went begging for a semblance of mercy. You looked down at your palms, flexing your fingers and feeling the energy throughout your entire body. It pulsed at the tips of your fingers, throbbed in the heels of your feet, and thrummed at the backs of your eyes. Over the years, there had been no one to teach you to manage it so more often than not it consumed you whole.

You could kill him, you let the idea wash over you. Or at least you could try. In his home with all of his warriors, it would prove difficult. He was the High Lord, your High Lord–no, death was too swift and simple. You would need time to plan out your next steps, you pondered whilst maintaining a stone cold facade. You would have to play your cards right, he would deal with you based on how you acted as you stood before him. Truthfully, the idea of living with him puts you on the brink of physical sickness. You would rather die than be forced to stay under the same roof, lips curling slightly with disgust as he gave you another look filled with shame and guilt.

“I will not stay here,” was all you spat at him. “Not here, not in this court with you, I wish to be sent elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere? Do you understand what will come of your sudden return to our lands?” Thesan’s eyes were fixed on you, his voice near hoarse. “Y/N, I know that–”

“I will not stay here. I ask this one thing of you. I will not spread word of your pathetic sterileness, nor my title to the Dawn Court if you will simply offer me this one thing. Do you not owe it to me?”

While the immense grief and pain in your voice was authentic, you made sure to create the illusion of your complete and utter wreckage. Mustering up tears, you had to get out of this place. There was no possibility of your survival if not, not even at the hands of these so-called people out for your blood–but at the hands of yourself. Every bit of you was exhausted, conveying complete and utter devastation into your eyes as he debated your request.

Do you not owe it to me?

Thesan rubbed violently at the bridge of his nose and nodded to himself, he squeezed his eyes shut and for a moment you remembered the admiration you once felt for him. Admiration turned into blazing resentment and rage that had nearly created an earthquake. He wouldn’t force you to reside here under him, would he?

“I will do my best at making other… arrangements,” said Thesan after a few moments of tense silence. “I make no promises, as we may very well be approaching the brink of another war, however in the meantime you should wash up.”

A breath of relief escaped you, “what of the guards who know who I am? I told them.”

“I should like to call in a favor from Rhysand,” he murmured, almost as if he was speaking to himself.

.·:*¨☆◦✦◦☆¨*:·.

“Leave me, please” you said to the servants gently, thanking them for the filled tub and fresh gown that was laid out for you within the spare bedroom and adjacent bathing room.

Everything was so prim and proper and doused in sunlight, it made you nostalgic for a life that once was. The water was steaming, layers of blood and grime covering you as you sunk down into the tub. The magic of the tub was forced to refresh itself almost as soon as you sat, growing murky immediately as you began to scrub your skin raw.

Would it be easier to drown yourself, you breathed a shallow breath. No, someone was posted outside of the bedroom door listening in. A guard, most likely. He would hear, putting an end to your pathetic excuse of a suicide attempt and then Thesan would never let you leave. Or maybe he would, perhaps your untimely death was just what he hoped for in order to rid himself of the problems you presented him with.

Getting clean felt impossible, even with the tub enchanted to replace its filthy water. Your hair was oily and your skin remained covered in a film of grease. It took over an hour just for you to feel somewhat clean. At the camp, there had thankfully been a tub with running water and an enchantment of certain supplies so you never went without. Food, however, was hunted for you and everyone else. As the only female, every night you received what was left on the bone of whatever animal they had slaughtered in the nearby woods, eating last time and time again.

One of the servants came in to help you dress in the gown custom to the Dawn Court, it fell to your ankles and glistened with what you could have sworn was pure sunlight. The tall woman braided your hair back and applied rogue to your cheeks and an oil to your lips. As you gazed into the mirror before you, you could hardly recognize yourself for the first time in five decades. There was something so regal about you, a light cascading off of you like an aura of gold. Thesan possessed the same coloring, the light pouring out from him in bouts of power.

The woman knew who you were, you could tell that much from the way her eyes danced across your reflection. She said nothing, though. You thanked her, smiling softly as if she had not just seen you covered in days old blood and filth. The Lost Princess, you recalled what the male had referred to you as outside. She has no idea what to think of you, it seems. Maybe that was for the best, perhaps you were better as the shadow of a girl who once was but no longer existed. Instead, some sort of killer prowled beneath your now eternally crimson stained skin.

“The High Lord has called for you,” the woman said softly, pulling you from your thoughts and causing your eyes to drift to meet her gaze in the reflection of the mirror.

Once you had begun your trek back to the same room as earlier, the sun had begun to fall and the sky was painted endless shades of pink and orange. There was so much open space, all of the windows gaping to allow for as much sunlight as possible during the daytime. You had never felt so exhausted, eyes burning from the lack of sleep you had acquired on your journey and the use of power earlier on in the day.

When you entered the room, Thesan was in conversation with a man that you could only assume was Rhysand. He was attractive in an almost inconceivable way, like one of the Gods. None of the males at the camp had resembled anything like him, no one in the Dawn Court resembled anything like him. Lucky High Lady, you thought mindlessly. Rhysand seemed to chuckle at nothing, turning to meet your gaze.

“Princess,” he greeted you with the friendly upturning of his lips. “Welcome back from the dead is in order, I suppose. I’m Rhys.”

“Funny,” you huffed a stiff laugh at him and extended a hand for him to grasp. Power ricocheted off of Rhysand in a way that caused your stomach to flip. “Y/N.”

His eyes simmered with something like pity mixed with amusement, he was not blind to the fact that you still had not looked Thesan in his eyes. Rhysand had been steadfast in arriving at the Dawn Court, his solemn look told you that he had been briefed on some of what was going on. How much, though? What had Thesan deemed important enough to share and what was determined as insignificant. Clearly as you had been cast away as insignificant, he could not be trusted to relay information.

“Rhysand has consulted with his High Lady and they have agreed to offer you a place to stay in the Night Court for as long as you should require it,” Thesan informed you.

“At what cost?”

“No cost,” Rhysand assured you at once. “Thesan has… told me of your circumstances–”

“What circumstances?” You demanded, cutting him off. “What did he tell you?”

There was a tense silence as you grew flustered and aggravated by your cousin. Thesan knew nothing of your circumstances, he knew absolutely nothing of what you had endured. Rhysand had strangely given you a look of understanding, it was as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. Like he had been inside of your mind, reliving the experiences with you.

“He told me of your power, he told me you have yet to learn how to wield it as well. He says that he senses you may have inherited more than just his healing gifts, but that the nature of your identity is sensitive. I admit that I do have to agree with him in concealing your return, Princess–for now, at least,” Rhyand only looked to you, his words carefully chosen so as not to upset you. “I have a house in Velaris, the city where I live, it houses three people as of late. My two brothers, Azriel and Cassian, and my mate’s sister Nesta. You would stay there, it is secluded enough that you will have as much privacy as you desire. I spoke with my healer Madja, she has agreed to allow you to work under her in an apprenticeship of sorts. She’s one of the best, not just in Velaris but anywhere in Prythian. I feel you both may be able to benefit from each other, her experience and your magic. My cousin Mor has offered to train with you once she arrives home from Vallahan on business, until then one of my brothers–”

You cut him off again, “Training? I do not wish to offend you, but why should I need your family to train me?”

“Y/N,” he began, assessing how honest he should be. “You have no muscle built up whatsoever and considering the fact that you have no hold on your own power–I suspect that your ‘training’ consists of the intent to kill and luck. In Velaris you would learn to fight and hopefully hone some of that power.”

It was this or nothing, you knew that. Either you would remain in the Dawn Court, or you would go with Rhysand and figure it out from there. Thesan’s face was now unreadable as you looked between both of the High Lords.

“All the while I hide away so that no one knows my true identity?”

“No,” Rhysand responded. “You have matured, when you left this court you were only a girl. No one in Velaris will question you once I dim some of that power coming off of you. My inner circle knows your true identity, however to everyone else you will be ordinary High Fae. This is partially why you’ll work under Madja.”

Nodding slowly, you consider your options or lack thereof. Rhysand seemed genuine enough, you thought to yourself and could have swore he smiled slightly. Giving Thesan a once over, you met those violet eyes and nodded slowly.

“Alright, I’ll go to Velaris.”

#azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger x reader #azriel #acotar #acotar x reader

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simpcityy · 2 months

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My Little Spawn Pt.2 (Dadstarion X Child!Reader)

Summary: Astarion was finally free from Cazador after being kidnapped by a mindflayer but he was stuck with one annoying task, you.

Disclaimer: I do not own Baldur's Gate 3 or any of its characters.

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: Use of (Y/N), Cazador, language, violence, spoilers for those who haven't gone far in the game....Uhhh...I think that is all.

You sat by the river bank, looking at the fishes as everyone was once again getting ready to go back on the road. Hearing footsteps you look seeing Astarion crotch near you. “Here, drink up before anyone sees us.” He hands you a small goblet with blood. You grab onto the silver cup and drink it all in one gulp. Astarion looks around making sure no one was watching as he wipes your mouth with his sleeve “There now we are both less cranky.” He smirks, washing the cup right away. “I feel much better now” You look at him savoring the taste of the bitter blood. “Now I promise I won’t run off!” You grin showing your sharp fangs. “Easy on the smile now, I can see your little pathetic fangs.” He boops your nose before walking back to his tent. Walking around the camp you collected some flowers near the riverbank before looking around seeing everyone has left besides Karlach. “Hey! Where did everyone else go?” You pouted walking to her. The tall woman smiles looking down at you, “It’s just the both of us, little soldier. We think it’s best if one of us stays at the camp with you. It’s dangerous out there.” She chuckles seeing you cross your arms. “But we can take this opportunity to get to know each other.” She sits down on the ground. “Hmmm…”You look at her, was she part of the game as well? You did promise Astarion you would win this game for them. “Okay!” Sitting down next to her, you look up at her “Tell me about you! I wanna know why you have a broken horn” You pointed. “That will be a tough one…let me see if I can give you the kid friendly version.”

“Why in the hell did you accept this charity work when our goal is to get this thing out of our heads?!” Astarion frowns after Tav was done talking to Zevlor. “Hey, Halsin can be our ticket to healing us after seeing what Nettie was going to make us do. We need to rescue him.” Tav looks at Astarion, “You are welcome to switch places with Karlach and look after (Y/N)” They crossed their arms. Astarion stops whining, “ On second thought I rather do this than babysit a child.” He mutters. “You know, you two seem to know each other.” Gale began to poke. Astarion rolls his eyes “Stay out of my business will you wizard? The child must have seen me somewhere in Baldur’s Gate and felt much safer with a familiar face. “ The elf shrugs and walks around the grove seeing what he can take. Shadowheart walks around as well. “It’s going to be harder to travel with a child, the dangers we will face.” She comments “We can’t leave them either since they also have the tadpole. Poor child” She hissed something glows on her hand hurting her. Astarion ignores her, thinking back how your life is. It’s already over since Cazador made you a spawn. “Yeah…poor kid” He mutters and walks further into the Grove.

You lay on the ground in Astarions tent, after hearing Karlachs story, you look at the sky admiring it. You wonder why didn’t papa let you step outside the big palace. He would always warn you to stay away from the windows and never step foot out of the palace. The sky was beautiful, you want to keep admiring it after you go back home. Maybe if you convince him, he’ll let you at least see it outside of the window. “Papa…Mama…” You whisper thinking back to them. Rubbing your eyes, you were met with Astarion looking down at you. “Aww did you miss me little creature?” He smirks laying down next to you. “I miss papa” Sitting up you play with his hair. “Of course papa…hmm (Y/N) what did you mean about mad like papa?” He leans on his side looking at you. You look down “I remember papa getting mad at mama…” You whisper the memory fresh in your mind. “Mama…and do you know what Cazador was mad at?” He once again began to play with your hair, a habit he’s been getting. “I couldn’t hear…they were talking very lowly but I saw papa grab mama’s neck and then he took a bite on it. I wanted to check on mama but papa said she was going to sleep and took me home with him in the big castle.” You retold the story. Astarion only watches you retold it, he hums thinking. Must have killed her in front of her and took in the child before turning them into a spawn. “ I see, I bet you miss your mother.” He looked at the sky as it was setting down. “I do but papa says she was a terrible mother…I don’t know why but I don’t want papa to get mad at me?” You play with the dirt only for Astarion to stop you. “Careful you’ll get dirty.” He sighs before looking at you. “How are you? Blood wise little spawn.” He dugs into his bag to pull out another small vial of blood. “Gimmie!” You try to reach for it only for him to pull back. “Drink a little, this should last you till the morning.” He gently tips the vial on your mouth giving half.

The next day, Astarion sighs sitting on the ground watching you chase a butterfly as he was replaced, Karlach taking his spot. You giggle chasing the small insect. “Astarion! When will I be able to see papa?” You walk over to the pale elf. “I don’t know.” He groans “This the 5th time you’ve asked me, don’t ask me again, got it?” He fixes your shirt before seeing a hole. “Where did you get this from?” He tuts. You look down shrugging. “Children I swear.” He mutters “ I’ll patch it up tonight.” He looks at his small kit. You grinned, “Thank you!” You wrapped your little arms around his neck. He tense up, before slowly rubbing your back, “Yeah yeah, now go back to chasing this pointless butterfly.” He gently shoves you away as you run off to chase the poor butterfly. How can a little spawn like yourself make him feel different?

Night came rolling, You were asleep on your side of the tent. Astarion looks around and sees everyone asleep. He slowly got up and walked over to the Tav leaning in before seeing them awake. “Shit…” He mutters and backs up. (The rest is history for us Astarion Fans)

You woke up to the sound of chatter. Sitting up, you noticed everyone around Astarion. Getting up, your little legs walk over clinging on to his pant leg. “ And is (Y/N) a vampire Spawn as well?” Tav looks down at you. Astarion sighs “Yes, Cazador, my old master also made them into a spawn.” He looks down at you. Hearing the name Cazador, you grin “He’s my papa!” You bounce happily. “But she’s so young” Gale looks down at you, “Will she be needing blood as well? Right away, We don’t bite out of nowhere okay?”

Astarion frowns seeing Gale already showing you manners on being a spawn. “Yeah yeah, we bite before asking, don’t we (Y/N)?” He pulls you closer to him and away from Gale. You only nodded still clinging on to his pants. “ Has she taken blood yet?” Karlach looks over to you smiling “For a little spawn they are rather adorable.” She chuckles as you get distracted chasing once again a butterfly. “Why don’t they have red eyes? Where did Cazador bite them?” Astarion goes to speak but stops as they were right. “I…I don’t know…” He looks at you before walking over “ Come here.” He gently stops you and looks at your (E/C) eyes before looking down at your neck seeing nothing. “(Y/N) I need you to tell me the truth, where did he bite?” He looks at you sternly. You only tilt your head “Bite…he only bit mama…” Upon hearing you, his eyes widened and stood up, backing a bit. “What is it?” Tav walks over. “They are a Daywalker. Dhampire’s….You…they…Cazador…” He whispers trying to make this all sense. “When has Cazador been…involved with a human…” He whispers looking at you. “Especially to have you…” He looks down at you as you stare back at him, only one thing crossing across his mind.

What did he get himself into

~~~~~~~~~~

Important Author's Note: Thank you so much, it seems all of you are loving this, please do be patient. This story will start off slow but all the action and more secrets will be out in the upcoming chapters. I also have another idea, what about a fic where Astarion was married to the reader before he was killed and now that 200 years have passed he sees her again. Would you guys like that? I have another Astarion Fic as well in my blog called Hunted Past so please do check that out. Thank you everyone! Stay safe and stay hydrated!

-Axie

#baldurs gate fic #baldurs gate 3 #dad astarion #dadstarion #dadstarion x child reader #karlach #shadowheart #gale dekarios #astarion x child reader #father figure astarion #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 astarion

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ghouljams · 10 months

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Alright more Demon!Darlings Au because I was thinking about it at the airport and typed this out while I was at the bar. Waiting. For 5 hours... Ghost’s demon’s name, a little bit of their magic, and a lot of me just vibing.

"Die, you there?" Ghost asks aloud, pressing his finger to his mic out of habit.

"Always," your voice hums by his ear, as clear as if you were next to him, you might be, he hasn't really figured out how this works, "what do you need?"

"Need a count on hostiles in the area."

"Parameters?"

"Hundred meter radius," he presses his back to the wall and waits, he's getting used to this. The loss of pressure on his chest when you leave, the warmth of your return.

"Four count 25 meters ahead, another six 50 meters to your right and zero behind," you pause, "nice work on that by the way."

"Thanks," Ghost checks his mag, crouches to grab the spare you offer from his shadow.

"Want me to drop 'em?"

"Negative."

"You never let me have any fun," he can hear you pouting, "what's the point of having a demon if you never let them do anything demonic?"

"Didn't ask you to tag along, you can shove off back to hell any time." Ghost nods, satisfied with his weapons check and lifts his gun to the ready, pushing off the wall to continue his sweep. You're more than happy to keep your thoughts on that little remark to yourself. Plenty of soldiers would love to have a demon, just because he's perpetually woken up on the wrong side of the bed…

"On your left," you whisper, watching Ghost turn and execute the target with brutal efficiency. Aw, you can't stay mad at him. "Stellar work LT, must have a guardian angel."

"Pushing it," he grumps, unloading the life from another two combatants as he moves closer to target.

You get the memo, less talky, more helping him keep his head. You wonder if any other demons have to deal with this or if you just got assigned to a particularly difficult human. Well, you eye his soul, human might be pushing it.

You whisp ahead, stretching out through the shadows to feel out positions and not to kill anyone, a real misuse of your power honestly, before reporting back to Ghost. He touches his mic whenever he talks to you, it's funny. Like you're going to talk over comms and not directly to him. You keep eyes on him, collecting unused ammunition from corpses and handing it up to him from the shadows whenever he reaches for it. It’s easy work if a waste of your talents.

But if this is how he wants to do things, you’re not going to disagree. You can give him shit for it all you want but at the end of the day he’s technically in command. You wonder if other demons have this much trouble with their summoners. You barely managed to tell him your name before he seemed completely uninterested in you. Now you felt like you were just a glorified UAV in his eyes. Hardly a decent prize for a man of his caliber. You’re sure he feels the same way.

Maybe he’s disappointed in you? Maybe he was expecting a different sort of demon, something less specialized? Maybe he wanted a hell hound or one of those idiots from the all brawn no brain division. He’s practically starving you of your purpose.

Your distraction has consequences. A lone man jumping from a shadowing hiding spot to attach Ghost from behind. You feel him as soon as his feet hit the floor, already vibrating on the edge of violent impact. This is what you’re made for.

Ghost is just a moment too slow, the enemy combatant already halfway towards bashing his skull with the butt of their rifle. Thankfully you have no problem with reaction times. Flicking your wrist to direct you magic, and Ghost’s shadow to do the one thing you’re best at. A long needle of inky shadow pierces through their neck straight through the back of their skull. The man chokes and gurgles blood, dropping his gun to claw and grasp at your construct. Ghost has his knife drawn, you imagine it was with the intent to enact a similar violence. He glances down at the blade, your eyes blinking back at him curiously through the reflection on metal.

“What else can you do?” He asks, professional curiosity coloring his tone more than he’d care to admit. You feel your lips curl into a grin. You’d been hoping he’d ask.

#demon!Darling au #oc: Die #in my head she sounds like Maria from bullet train #just a calming voice in Ghost's ear/head giving him directions #Ghost feed your damn demon can't you see she's starving with bloodlust?#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #cod ghost #ghost x reader #x reader #although not much romance here #they're just getting used to each other #Ghost thinks Die is a shitty consulation prize for killing so many people but it's only because he didn't read the instruction manual #Soap also doesn't read the manual but at least he listens when his demon yells at him #Konig surprisingly did read the manual and is very efficient with his demon

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idolysa · 1 month

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†⃨⃰‧̍̊ ◟ ͜ ͜ ͜ ◞　Prophet ／ Priest Inspired SNPTs｡

⛪️ 、System Names ； Words/(Wo)Men of God, Divine belief Collective, Godly sun rays, God’s (true) Will, (The) Devoted followers, Chanted Prayers, (A/The) Church’s Prayer.

📿 、Names ； Saint, Ezekiel, Isaiah, Abraham, Sarah, Malachi, Basil, Mila/Meela, Joshua, Ben, Praysia, Michael.

Please research the Origins of these names before using them.

🔔 、Pronouns ； Pra/Pray, Voi/Voice, Whisp/Whisper, God/Godly, Emb/Embrace, Chur/Church, Cho/Choir, Devo/Devoted or Devotee, Prea/Preach, Bib/Biblical, Mor/Mortal, illu/illusion, Belief/Believe.

🕊️ 、Titles ； The voice of God, Prn’s divine chanting (of Prayers), The Man-made God, God’s Hearsay, Prn with Belief in the Divine, The godly Rumor, God’s mortal Messenger.

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teejaystumbles · 2 months

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Against all odds (part 2)

Part 1

Dream unmakes the latest nightmare he's been working on for the umpteenth time and heaves a humiliatingly human sigh of relief when the glass dissolves back into sand again. This is not working. Perhaps confronting his fear head on is not a good idea. Instead of continuing his work he casts out his awareness, looking for a certain someone.

Hob Gadling is not currently asleep, but he seems to be daydreaming quite a lot. As much as Dream tries not to pry he can’t help but curiously skim over his friend’s imaginings. Has Hob read Dream’s journal entry yet? How has he reacted to it? Dream is prepared for resentment, disgust even, for Dream’s failure to meet with Hob, and his flimsy excuses. What he perceives instead are snatches of misty, rainy skies that blanket a multitude of wistful and fragile thoughts Dream does not dare look closer at. Hob seems to be lost in nostalgic memories, both sad and fond. The lack of rage or hurt makes Dream relax a fraction. Later, when Hob sleeps, he will visit his friend’s lodging again to try and see if he has written an answer to Dream’s entry.

Dream steps out of the shadows of Hob’s curtains and gazes at the sleeping man. This time Hob has put on appropriate sleepwear and has pulled the blankets over himself. His sleep is restless, his dreams having a certain sense of urgency Dream can feel, but he does not intend to be here long.

He steps up to the desk and looks at the notebook. It lies open again, pen by its side, as if in invitation. Pulse thrumming with excitement, Dream eagerly bends over the pages to read the newly added words.

June 8th, 1989

Dearest stranger, my friend!

I can't believe I am allowed to call you that! Let me tell you that I nearly fainted when I found your message in my notebook this morning. I've read the words you've written a hundred times by now and still I almost can't believe them to be real. I can’t believe I’m touching the pen you must have held, that I missed your presence in my room

As devastated as I was after you didn't come yesterday, as happy am I that you chose to contact me after at all.

I'm quite embarrassed about my drunken ramblings that you must have read. There's no lie in them, but I would try and put the truth into less desperate words if I could. I must seem like a fool, fixating on you like this, after all we've only met six times so far. Still, what I wrote, that you are my one constant in life, is nothing but the truth. Our meetings are fixed points in time that I measure this immortal life of mine by now. I try not to, but meeting with you has often felt like the start and finish of an era of Hob Gadling, despite it being probably more in the middle of several. Every centennial meeting with you was the most important appointment that I would plan and prepare for (as best as I could) for months, sometimes years. So if writing to you like this is the only way I get to speak to you then I will gladly take it, and thank you for it.

But make no mistake, dear stranger - I would love to see you again and I hope you will be ready and willing to meet me in person again someday. Because

Dream stops reading to collect himself for a moment. Hob is not angry at him. He still wants to meet Dream, in fact eagerly awaits him. Dream feels himself flush with strange longing and can’t help a rush of power escaping him, the equivalent of a shudder, of goosebumps. A mistake, he realises, as he hears a sudden gasp come from behind him.

He freezes.

“My friend? Is that you?”

The urge to not acknowledge Hob and simply disappear is so strong that Dream feels his form already dispersing. Hob’s desperate tone of voice, cracking at the end, stops him.

“Please wait! Please…”

Dream waits, frozen, unable to turn around and face his friend. His form is trembling, rattling, whisping around him like smoke and Hob makes a keening noise.

“You don’t have to- I won’t-”

A sigh, a calming intake of breath.

“Look. I don’t want to pressure you, and if you want to leave I obviously cannot stop you. But…maybe. We can talk? A bit?”

He sounds so hopeful, so sincere, it tugs at something inside Dream and makes him shut his eyes. Hob has not moved from where he sat up in bed but Dream can feel his restlessness, his daydreams of reaching out, of hugging Dream-

“There’s- there’s phones now, you know? You don’t have to look at me at all, we could talk no matter where you are, it’s amazing really-”

“Hob.”

The man immediately stops talking and Dream draws in a deliberate breath before turning around to face him. Strange, how such human mannerisms help him calm down now. After his imprisonment, the act of breathing feels like a luxury to him, a comfort all in its own.

Hob gasps again when he looks at him and Dream wonders what he sees. The man swallows heavily and his fingers nervously grip his bedding. His eyes are red-rimmed and Dream can see tears gathering at the edges, in the tiny wrinkles created by a life full of laughter. The wrinkles deepen as Hob breaks into a grin.

“Hello, old stranger. You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

Dream very much doubts that. He knows he still looks emaciated, despite all the power returned to him. His form echoes the unease he still feels a lot of the time. He is closer to a nightmare than a dream. Yet Hob seems to genuinely delight in seeing him and Dream feels himself flush with warmth, and embarrassment.

“I- it is good to see you, Hob. Apologies, for not-”

“Accepted. Forgiven. Forgotten,” Hob interrupts him eagerly, “You’re here now.”

“I am...”

He is, and he feels at a complete loss for words. Hob cocks his head slightly, his expression sobering.

“But you were rather…not…?” he asks with a small frown. Dream twitches, caught out. Why it is that this human can see through him so easily he will never understand. It is slightly…terrifying.

Hob looks at his hands gripping his blanket and says quietly, “Look, if talking isn’t- if you’d rather continue the writing, that’s fine. I will accept that. I-”

He stops and Dream can see him grind his teeth. He still feels unable to respond, caught in watching Hob Gadling go through several inexplicable emotions. Then he breathes harshly through his nose and looks back at Dream with a tense but genuine smile.

“I don’t know what happened to you, but I know something did. You wrote as much, and I can see it in your face. The last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable. So if it’s me-”

He swallows again and blinks rapidly, like he’s trying to hold back tears and Dream takes an involuntary step forward.

“It is not. You. Hob. It’s…”

Dream subsides, again unsure how to voice his insecurities, unbecoming as they are of one such as him.

But Hob does not know what you are, a small voice whispers inside his head and Dream shivers.

Hob does not know who he is. Has Dream not confessed that that is exactly why he enjoys the man’s company so much? Without knowledge of Dream’s power and function, Hob will not judge him for being…frightened. Of tight spaces. Of glass. Of people. He will only see his friend, in need of comfort.

Dream suddenly wants nothing more than to let Hob comfort him, knowing that the man before him, with his eyes full of hope and tenderness, would not send him away. He can finally speak.

“My friend. I have tried to work through some issues I have…accumulated over the last century, due to very. Unfortunate events. Yet exposing myself to these uncomfortable sensations again…has not had the therapeutic effect I wished for. I am at a loss how to overcome my reluctance to…mingle. Once again.”

Hob looks wide-eyed at him, frowning again. “Wait. Are you saying. You tried to treat yourself with exposure therapy? To what, exactly? If I may ask,” he adds hastily.

Dream shifts nervously.

“...Claustrophobia. Among other things.”

“Jesus,” Hob gasps and wipes a hand over his face, “yeah, I don’t know if, I don’t know, shutting yourself in is really helpful with that. How fast have you been taking things? Have you tried being in larger rooms first, or…” he trails off and looks around his bedroom.

“Are you fine in here? Do you need me to open a door or window?”

Dream is perplexed. Instead of asking what happened Hob’s immediate concern is for his comfort in the current situation. He relaxes a fraction at the realisation that he made the right choice. His friend will not judge him for his weakness.

With a small smile he says, “No. I am alright. Your rooms are. Not uncomfortable to me.”

Hob almost glows at his words and also relaxes a bit. Dream has basically admitted to feeling safe in Hob’s presence and clearly the man has understood that immediately. He is a lot smarter than Dream ever gave him credit for. Hob Gadling has learned a lot about people in his life, it seems. Even if Dream is not exactly people, his current troubles are very human, he supposes.

He sees the moment it hits Hob, when he puts two and two together and realises what Dream has been telling him.

“You said, issues you’ve accumulated…over the last century. Which means, you weren’t claustrophobic before- my friend,” he exclaims and scoots closer to the edge of the bed as if barely holding himself back from approaching Dream.

“What happened? Can you- would you-” Hob asks, his voice trembling a bit, his eyes wide. “Tell me? Please? I want to help,” he says in a very small voice that makes Dream again feel sorry for how he treated his friend in the past. He looks at the notebook, contemplating.

“It is. Hard for me, to speak about these things. Maybe…I can borrow this book? To-”

“Yes! Absolutely! Take it! Sorry, I mean, please, feel free to write to me, I would be delighted. If it makes it easier for you to talk about things…I understand,” Hob says, nodding vigorously. Then he hesitates.

“Does this mean…we won’t see each other again? Until 2089?”

He looks so openly horrified and sad at the idea that Dream immediately dismisses any thoughts he had of saying goodbye for a hundred years once more. In truth, he does not think he would have managed it himself. Writing to Hob is preferable when it comes to confessing what happened to him, but Dream has to admit to himself that he has missed seeing his friend, and he has not looked his fill.

“No. I would like to meet you again. Earlier. I am not sure when, but…I wish to. Introduce myself. After I have given you a more detailed account of my century. I would also like to listen to your own tales. In person.”

Hob beams at him and nods.

“Yeah, I’d love that. My friend,” he says, taking a steadying breath, “I am so very happy to see you. I hope you know that you coming back to talk to me, or write to me, means everything to me. Because I do not take our friendship for granted. Far from it. It is…very precious to me.” He swallows heavily and his smile wobbles a bit. Dream nods awkwardly, feeling embarrassed by the way Hob’s words make shadowy, star-speckled butterflies escape from the back of his coat. He hopes Hob doesn’t see them.

“I…yes. Thank you, Hob,” Dream says awkwardly and then takes the book from the desk. He carefully tucks it into his coat and turns to leave. He looks one last time at his friend, taking in his sleep-mussed dark hair and his gentle smile and feels again a strange pang of longing in his chest.

“Take all the time you need,” Hob says softly, and Dream knows he means it; means that he will be waiting for Dream, no matter how long it takes. Dream can only nod silently again and then, with more reluctance than he would like, leaves Hob Gadling’s bedroom behind.

Part 3

#dreamling #the sandman fanfiction #teejay writes #1989 au

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topperscumslut · 11 months

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Flip the Script (NSFW)

Summary: Bill punishes you after you make him break character during a sketch

Time: roughly sometime from 2008-2010

Content/warning: smut, porn with a plot, unedited stoned writing, fingering, oral (fem receiving), spanking, vaginal sex, protected sex, choking, breast worshipping, brat kink, praise kink, begging kink, male moaning, public sex

Word Count: 1.8k

It was your favorite night of the week - Saturday night. It wasn’t that you had a crazy party to go to, well, not until after work at least. It was that you had the best job in the world, working for Saturday Night Live with your steady boyfriend Bill and your castmates who were like family to you. Tonight, you and John had something special planned.

Mulaney was always making Hader laugh by switching his lines in Weekend Update with Stefon, but this time John had let you take the reigns. You were newer to writing but he coached you through it, and with a little help from Andy Samberg, you had a sketch that was sure to send your boyfriend into hysterics.

You felt a little bad at first, you didn’t want to upset or embarrass Bill, but John reassured you he did it all the time and he wasn’t upset. He was right, you thought, and what should I be scared about? Even if Bill was mad, he would never hurt me… unless I wanted him to.

Now, it was finally the night of the show and you, John, and Andy, couldn’t contain your giggles about the switched lines you were unexpectedly springing onto Bill later tonight. You made your way over to your boyfriend’s makeup chair where he was getting ready for the show, already in his game show host character suit, and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek.

“Hey, love bug!” he wrapped you up in his arm, “I’m so excited to be performing the first sketch you’ve ever written tonight! That’s huge!”

You giggled at how enthusiastic Bill got over you, you really were extremely lucky. “I gotta admit, I do have a few little surprises planned…”

Bill’s eyes widen.

“You better not make me break up there!”

“Aww, whatcha gonna do about it Hader, punish me?”

This makes his eyes widen even more, before he collects himself and pulls you in closer, whispering in your ear.

“That’s exactly what I’ll do.”

You attempt to control the arousal now pooling between your legs from the rasp in his voice, and see how much you can get away with teasing him.

“Oh noooo, I’m so scared!” you chuckled, giving your lover a snarky wink.

“You’re scared? I have no idea what I’m gonna have to say out there!”

You roll your eyes with affection and place your hand on his neck, “babe, it’s not that bad, I swear. I love you, and I know you’re going to crush it.”

Bill plants a kiss on your cheek. “I love you too.”

The two of you pull yourselves together from the dishevel of the sexual tension, and continue getting ready for the night before exchanging a quick peck right before the start of the show.

After opening with one of your skits with Amy, Bill is up. John flashes you a mischievous grin and you feel your stomach churn from adrenaline.

Only a few seconds in, you’re getting the tiniest smile out of Bill, him shooting you a look as he sees his opening line is changed. By two minutes in, he can hardly keep it together as his lips grow into a goofy smile and he’s nearly doubling over with laughter.

You lock eyes with him as he starts to calm down from his laughing fit, mouthing “good boy,” which causes him to squirm in an attempt to fight back both the laughter and the sudden tent growing in his pants.

By the end of the sketch, you and John are laughing your asses off and Bill is red as a tomato, playfully flipping the two of you off as he walks backstage.

He takes you into his arms and places a chaste kiss on your lips, pinning your hands behind your back when you try to hold his face. “I don't know whether to be more proud of you for your writing or annoyed at you for embarrassing me.”

You kiss him back with a small laugh. “I’d stick with proud.”

He leans down and whispers in your ear, “let’s just hope you decide it’s worth it after tonight.”

Chills run down your spine in lust and anticipation as Bill kisses your cheek and walks away. The rest of the night goes by smoothly, act after act, just as planned. At the end of the show, you and the rest of the crew all join the stage to say your goodbyes, before gathering together to clock out and head to the cast after party.

Bill’s already teasing you in the back of the taxi, kissing your neck with his fingers in your hair, and rubbing his hands up and down your thighs.Your purple cocktail dress barely covers you, and your beloved boyfriend can’t keep his eyes off of your body.

When you make it to the nice Mexican restaurant the party is at, you greet the cast, hugging an already tipsy Kristen and fist bumping Andy. You and Bill go sit down with Seth and Jason and make small talk while waiting for your food after ordering. In the middle of the conversation, you feel Bill feel his way up your leg, making his way from your knee nearly to where your legs meet. He pretends to nod along to something Jason said, but then turns and nods to you to ask for consent, to which you nod back.

Before you know, Bill has his right hand in your panties, massaging your clit while you fight to hold back your moans.

“You doing ok, (Y/N)?” Seth asks.

“Y-yeah, just, a little, um buzzed.”

Bill laughs, shaking his head with affection, “my little lightweight.” He shoots you a devilish glance, knowing damn well the real reason isn’t the alcohol in your system.

Right as you start to speak up again, Bill gently sticks one finger inside of you, causing you to gasp. You collect yourself as quickly as possible, trying not to let on to what was happening under the table.

Bill suddenly stops, abruptly stepping up from the table, announcing he’s going to use the restroom, leaving you with the guys to pretend like nothing had happened. Within five minutes, the three of you had diverged, still waiting for your food, splitting apart and joking with your coworkers when you get a text from Bill.

Meet me in the closet by the kitchen.

You bite your cheek, exhilaration flooding your body. No one will notice if both of you are gone for a couple minutes, right? You excuse yourself, walking to the hallway and right past the bathrooms, over to a large closet across from the kitchen.

You open the door and Bill beckons you in, shirt already unbuttoned, before pulling you in for a passionate kiss.

“Did you think it was funny making me break out there, doll?” he asks, fingers brushing your chin. He kisses you again before you can answer.

Between heavy breaths, you try to talk some reason into things. “Bill, we can’t do this here, someone could catch us. What if our friends-“

“What? What if our friends what? You can make me break character on live television, but are scared of all our friends knowing what a good little slut you are for me?”

Your breath catches in your throat, unable to speak. Bill starts to kiss up and down your body and you surrender to the sensation as he engulfs his face in your breasts, slipping off your dress to expose you to his touch and sucking and licking them while praising you. Telling you what a good girl you are, what beautiful tits you have for him. He leaves dozens of hickeys on your chest before making his way down to your bikini line.

Bill starts to kiss around the bottom of your pelvis, making you whine and beg for him. He finally gives in, holding you up against the wall before removing your lacy panties and sticking his face between your legs. Your knees start to give out as you moan and gasp his name, Bill licking up and down your folds and sucking teasingly on your clit. He inserts two fingers into you, curling them around your g spot, before pulling out as he feels you start to clench.

“Damnit Bill!”

He chuckles a little and looks you up and down, “told you there’d be consequences.”

Bill starts to undress, throwing his clothes recklessly onto the floor. He pulls out and slides on a condom, before lifting you up onto the wall again and making you beg before sliding into you. He steadies himself by placing his hands above your head before starting to pump into you as a familiar Arctic Monkeys tune plays through the restaurant stereo.

“Holy fuck, Bill! Harder!”

At this point, you don’t really care who hears. All you care about is your desperate need to cum. Most of the cast is probably enjoying their dinner anyway, none the wiser to you and Bill being gone.

You gasp in pleasure and pain as Bill raises his hand and spanks you while thrusting in you. “Such a good little fucking brat. Taking it so well.”

You start to feel him throb inside of you and his dominant demeanor falls from his face as his head tilts back and his eyes roll back in pleasure, lip quivering. You can tell he’s getting close and clench your walls on him, eliciting a deep groan.

Bill’s speed increases as he muffles his moans into your neck, so close to release. You feel your orgasm approaching as well and dig your nails into his back as he pumps into you. You throw your head back, nearly hitting the wall before Bill’s hand secures you, as he fills you completely and the tingling pleasure overtakes your whole body. You swear you see stars as Bill pushes you over the edge, hand wrapped gently but firmly around your throat.

Bill reaches his high at the same time, pulling you into him for an intimate kiss, hands fondling your body. He pulls out of you before planting a kiss on the top of your head and helping you get dressed, adjusting the collar of his shirt as the two of you make your way back to the party.

“You did such a good job, babygirl,” he whispers to you with a kiss as you join the rest of the guests.

“(Y/N)!” Kristen calls to you. “Where the hell have you been? Your quesadilla is getting cold!” She gasps in surprise and amusement as her eyes draw to your neck and chest, noticing your hickeys.

“Damn, why do I never get that treatment when I make you break?” John chuckles.

Bill turns beet red again, laughing awkwardly with the group while helping you to your chair. After a long night of laughs, food, and drinks, you and Bill finally make it home, changing into your pajamas and holding each other until morning, excited to spend your day off together repeating the night before.

#bill hader #bill hader x reader #bill hader smut #bill hader fanfic #snl #saturday night live #smut #saturday night live after party #andy samberg #john mulaney

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the-possum-writes · 4 months

Note

Hiiii!! I just finished watching AT again, and i been loking for some FinnxReaderxFern fics, and i read ur at content and i just love it.So i was hopping if i could request a fic where Finn and Fern has this, confrontation? Jelousy talk? about each other's feelings about reader!!

You can Say no if you don't wanna do it, but i would really apreciated<3.

[Confronting their feelings about you]

❥Character(s): Finn, Fern

❥Tags: SFW, canon typical violence, expressing emotions, gender neutral pronouns for the reader

❥Synopsis: What started as a simple afternoon dedicated to cleaning turned into a short lived but intense knife fight when you came up as a conversation topic.

❥Wordcount: 1000

❥A/N: I want this gress boy to heal so i'll take whatever chance i get to write him learning to overcome his Finn jelousy.

❥Taglist: @foxpearlwilder

Today is a typical day for the guys; a knife storm has just passed, so they are calmly brushing away the residual weaponry from clogging the top of the treefort, like they do when there is hail or dry tree leaves. "There's less daggers compared to last time, makes ya wonder why huh Fern?" During the cleanup, Finn speaks aloud, the idea circling through his mind a few times

"Hmm, probably because of climate change." Fern disputes bluntly.

Finn pauses in his sweeping to glance up at the sky, contemplating to himself before offering his own two cents. "Or is it because the knife god is dissatisfied with the number of swords and knives forged this year? That the sword-smiths probably have a secret society where they sacrifice things in exchange for good materials." The longer the human boy rambles, the more Fern is interested by the explanation and begins unironically contributing his own perspective.

"What if the knife god sends us knives to test if they're nice and sharp?" The offer compels Fern to stop sweeping as well, although his reason for doing so is more of a curiosity to see if his human brother can figure out what he is thinking about. With them still being the same guy, Finn shares that challenging expression in his eye.

Fern swoops down and throws a knife at Finn, but the boy rolls to the side and retrieves a knife from the ground just in time to deflect the second knife thrown at him. Fern attempts to continue throwing blades at his playmate, but he only draws closer in range, forcing Fern to sidestep the pointy jabs directed at him as he grabs his own knife, and they begin sparring right there with the brooms long forgotten. They go at it for a while till Finn notices the sun leaning over the horizon and remembers something.

"Okay okay that's enough, let's wrap this up before the sun goes down."

"Got somewhere to go?" Fern asks as he hops from side to side, still energized from the spar.

"Yeup, a friend wants to collect kelp samples for a college project and I promised I'd help."

"Kelp samples?" Hah! That's boring..." His smile faded. "Wait.. you talking about the biology student that's always cooped up at Turtle P's library?"

Finn confirms, "That's the one." While the human boy skipped happily at the thought of you, Fern's jaw tightened as he felt an unpleasant stir in his chest. Finn had his back to Fern and was in the process of picking up his fallen broom when a knife imbedded itself just next him, missing his palm by only an inch.

"Who knowsss what kind of trouble you'll sstumble into when you're out there collecting kelp sssamples, you could get ambushed by kelpies or banditsss," the grass boy explains with a low tone and a snake whisp in his tongue before his voice shifted back to normal. "They are my friend too! and the last thing I want is to find out they got hurt because you weren't able to help. Now, pick up that knife and show me you can protect them from anyone and anything."

Finn considers the challenge, normally he'd never say no to one but he's grown familiar enough with Fern's mood swings to know it's that darn octopus messing up his head again, but if there's any best way to get it out of his system it's by sparring. With that goal in mind, Finn acepts the challenge even though it means fighting Fern when he's at his "most intense". The duel starts just like the previous one but the longer it went on the more Finn came to realize it no longer had the same playful approach as before, it became all the more apparent whenever Fern purposely scratches at him every time he left opening rather than playfully bump him with the butt of the dagger.

"They're my friend I'd never let anything happen to them!" Finn grinds his teeth as their blades collide.

"I knew them way before you did, i was gonna ask them out... before..." Fern stutters for a second, giving Finn the opportunity to kick him in the back of the knee and knock him down.

"Before you turned into a sword right?" Despite the takedown, Finn's tone softens as he assists his brother in standing up. "So that's what has you all jumbled up. Fern, remember what I said about bottling up your feelings?"

"That I should use my words." He nods like a scolded child.

"How about you share'em with me?" Finn held Fern in hug before giving him a much needed squooze.

Fern sighs. "You know more than anyone why I like them. And when I heard you were going out with them I guess I got a little jealous."

'Right just a bit,' Finn thought, but didn't dare to speak it out and upset his grass bro. "Have you considered asking them out yet?" The human youngster suggests, "You know, like on an actual date and not just collect samples." It sounds simple enough to him, but Fern's inner struggle makes it not so simple.

"I did. But after the whole "I turned into a sword and then the grass disaster," I had a feeling that they wouldn't even want to look at me." Fern deflates and drops down Finn's grip while he explains, but Finn holds him up again.

"Well, you'll never know unless you try it out!"

Fern turned his head in the direction of his human counterpart. "What? But what about YOU? I am sure you have a crush on them."

Finn scratched the back of his neck. "I mean, I do. They're really amazing with the knowledge they have about a bunch of stuff, however... I've already dunked on my other relationships, if anything I'll probably ruin this one too."

For once, Fern sees a part of himself in Finn that isn't just superficial similarities; the hesitance and self-doubt are all too familiar, and despite the little devil inside him telling him to exploit Finn's weakness, he instead tries to encourage him. "Finn, you're a great shot ."

A knock on the door and a doorbell ring from below the tree fort, followed by your familiar voice asking for someone to open it. The two brothers exchange glances before Fern breaks the silence. "How about we each take our shot and let them decide?" he asks, offering a peace deal with a handshake.

"Sounds good."

#finn the human x reader #adventure time x reader #fern mertens x reader #fern mertens #finn mertens #reader insert

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whispereons · 8 months

Note

it's me. again. could i get your favourite genshin fics recommendations? I trust your taste based on reblogs. Either ao3 or tumblr is fine <3 - hanabi anon

Hanabi anon! I'm afraid I don't have much specific genshin fics as I tend to binge read certain authors instead. If I do like a fanfic, I usually just reblog.

Plus most of the fics that I do remember are for general yanderes or oc's for specific prompts. And I don't read much genshin on ao3 so nothing there either.

I can give you a list of my fav genshin authors. Most of their work is yandere genshin fics. Some have sagau and some are just yandere. And they do have full length fics and head canons in it.

Quite a lot of them have a tagging system in place so you can just use that to be shown their writing specifically. Oh and warning a lot of them have nsfw.

---

@yandere-daydreams - has a lot of full length yandere genshin fics. They got all kinds of au's that are amazing.

@ddarker-dreams - has quite a lot go genshin (Scara is the most) but also characters like Chrollo

@yandere-romanticaa - lots of full length fics/requests. Plus her if you like that.

@sagau-my-beloved- Venti centric with sagau and lots of fics! They got their own world building in certain posts too.

@yestrday - you need to use the tag system since they go into a lot of fandoms but the genshin ones are really good. Not full length fics but it's more than head canons. Like imagine sized.

@ventisslut - Another Venti centric. It's a mix of yandere and normal Venti. They don't write that much but they do reblog many wonderful fics.

@writing-genshin-obsession - the yandere genshin of yandere genshin. Yandere, sagau are both in their blog. But not many full length, more like brain rot.

Now @flokali - does not have many yandere genshin so you'll need to use the tags to find it. If you don't wanna then I'll rec a certain fic of theirs. Called Worship - Zhongli. If you just google their username and Worship, you'll find it.

@throwaway-yandere - warning they are retiring! But they have so many good fics to read too. The danganrompa themed was their going away (it's really freaking good). But I remember following them for their full length fics that almost always has a art cover. They write amazing yandere Alhaitham.

@chococolte - is sagau centric. Huge Zhongli fan and if you want to feed a god complex. Her fics are where to go. Just amazing choice of words in her fics.

#if any of the authors I tagged see this #I love your work!#fic rec #author rec #genshin impact #genshin sagau #yandere genshin impact #just so I can find it again #hanabi anon #whisp's collection

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inuhalfdemon · 25 days

Text

Dirty Dealings (15/21)

Word Count = 2,666 Words

Rating = Mature (SMUT + Violence)

Chapter 15: The Shadow

When it happened; Alastor howled in such agony and anguish – he thought he might actually and truly lose all sense of sanity.

They didn’t leave right away, spending some time exploring the collection and to comment on the portraits that they liked. Others around them still looked and stared at Adeline every now and then; but no one approached either of them for the rest of the evening.

It was everything Alastor could do to not: throw a portal up, pick Adeline up into his arms and leave with her; right there in the middle of the studio in front of everyone. He was fuming. He hated the idea of her besting him here at his own game. The heat of his anger was only fueling another; he was incredibly aroused. This only added fuel to his fire; knowing that he had meant to take efforts this morning specifically to preventing this exact problem…another battle lost.

Meanwhile; Adeline was completely ignorant to his dark mood. She was enjoying the art gallery thoroughly, herself. None of the fears she had had; none of the looming possibilities of how Alastor might respond to her discovery ended up playing out how she had dreaded imagined. In fact; things had gone…very well. Feeling like she could now fully enjoy having found her new…potential; she finally relaxed and allowed herself to feel nothing but positive and happy for herself and in all her fulfillments.

Alastor felt this from her and things for him were only growing worse.

When they had seen the last of the artwork on display; Alastor took her hand. Looking at her; she saw his dark and hungry expression. It sent a hot coil into her belly; tightening and sending heat through her; and her need for him quickly simmered across each-and-every part of her.

He was pulling her with him; through a door that exited from the building and out into a dark and empty alley. Once the door had closed behind them; and finding themselves alone – Alastor pulled her into him and rather roughly, began kissing her.

His fervor surprised her; but she responded in kind. Her hands found and wrapped into his hair; clenching into fists; her body pressing against him and arching so that every piece of her was pressed against him. She gasped for air; his tongue slipping from her lips. She brought her face back to his and bit down on his lower lip; sharply – painfully – deliciously.

Alastor groaned. He was on fire. He remembered this feeling…his control sliding, slipping away. This felt just like their first night…together…one year ago.

He held her tightly in his arms; in the middle of the alley, well away from the wall. He had his own experiences with post-traumatic distress disorder and was careful not to trigger any awful memories for Adeline here.

Pressing her tightly into him with one arm; still kissing her, he reached behind her and with a twist of his wrist, he had a glowing-green portal form against the alley’s wall just behind her. Pulling her with him; he spun so that it was his back to the alley wall; his tongue entangled with hers, he leant back, holding her to him - and they fell together through the portal.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Adeline barely could process that he had landed them skillfully in bed; they were in the dark of the cabin and he had somehow shifted smoothly into his radio demon form while they were falling. The portal above them closed in a whisp of green smoke and she realized that not only had he changed form; but that he was completely naked.

He held her to him; still kissing her with a desperate abandon that she felt slowly and surely consuming her. Moving, he lifted himself on his knees and pulled her to him. He slid her dress so that he was shifting her legs; encouraging her to wrap them around his waist. He meant for her to sit straddled there, in his lap but they were finding resistance in her attire.

Exasperated, he growled. Sliding his hands behind her back, he gripped at the fabric and tore the seams; giving them more to work with.

She gasped with surprising delight; heat flooding her face.

Then, using the sharpened edge of one claw; he slid it down – from the nape just at the back of her neck down clear to her tail bone, cutting a ragged slit into the garment. In a rush, he pushed the fabric aside from her shoulders, pulling down. He was debating on whether he should tear her bra into pieces as well when he realized…she hadn’t been wearing one. The dress had formed so well to her body; that Adeline had felt comfortable going without one. Heat rushed across Alastor’s skin at the thought; his erection giving more than enough indication that the idea of it had pleased him.

Still working to get her fully undressed; Alastor slashed and cut at the remainder of the hanging tatters. Adeline had herself pressed tightly against him now; kissing him feverishly all across his face, jaw, neck and shoulders; blissfully hindering his efforts. When his job was done; he found yet a new sensuous discovery. She had gone the entirety of their evening in the dress…and nothing but.

Groaning; he hiked her hips so that she was finally wrapped around him – his standing member pressed between them. He shifted and angled their positions so that his tight shaft could rub against her seeping sex as he moved himself to grind against her. Gasping again; Adeline wrapped her arms around him and bowed herself against him; their bodies pressing into each other like the perfect pieces to a puzzle.

Alastor’s head bent; his antlers had become heavy, the bases widening, the points lengthening at a rapid pace. Adeline shuddered against him and he grunted, groaning into her mouth now. She was so wet for him that she was dripping; strings of it touching his legs and coating his penis.

They both were panting now, Adeline had began moaning; her body growing limp in his arms as she succumbed to her overwhelming feeling of pleasure. Alastor’s eyes were glowing vibrantly green in the dark of the cabin; casting eerie glows and shadows across Adeline’s sweating, heated skin and all throughout the room. His fire was only consuming him more.

He moved them so that she was pressed beneath him into the bed. He briefly had a feeling of déjà vu…a memory…remembering then of his earliest fantasy; wanting nothing more than to shift into something terrible; something long and creeping…not just to have Adeline but to take her… He fought to dismiss the thought. He knew he didn’t actually want that…but then again, he did. He did very, very much.

His mouth began watering…drool seeping from the corner of his mouth. Adeline twisted and moaned beneath him. She opened her legs; and he slid himself inside – not fully processing that he even had. He was lost in a haze; his hips moving, thrusting into her. She bent beneath him, crying out in her immense pleasure. He growled; his ears flattening against his head as he fought to regain himself…feeling himself slipping away.

A familiar coldness touched him; freezing droplets of sweat to his skin. Shadows creeping, crawling toward them.

No.

Alastor’s hips jerked, penetrating Adeline even deeper. Crying out beneath him again; it was almost a scream and he very nearly lost himself completely.

The shadows pressed in closer, reaching….seeking…

A menacing growl was building in Alastor’s chest, he was baring his teeth. He mistakenly bit his lip; blood seeping from the cut but the sharp point of brief pain brought him a pinpoint of clarity.

The approaching shadows paused; hovering threateningly.

Don’t you fucking dare.

Slowly, they slithered closer.

Something in him was building…consuming. Something that was starving and meant to feed.

Adeline was writhing beneath Alastor now; her screams filling the cabin as he thrust himself into her again and again…he was so precariously wavering on the edge of something; about to tip over that he had no way of telling if her shrieks were still of pleasure or of pain and fear…and it frightened him.

He could feel her climaxing; feeling her falling – breaking apart beneath him. The tentacles of darkness reaching to her; seeking just for her. Alastor fought to push them away; to send them anywhere else like he had before but they resisted him.

Don’t do this… He was pleading. Please.

The shadows were at the bed now; crawling across the covers.

Just…wait. Not now. Not yet.

The shadows kept coming. They had reached Adeline now. A small tendril twisted for her; about to t-

Alastor’s teeth clenched; realizing he could not stop this. He was falling apart at the seams himself now; and once that last shred of control slipped – it would be done. His lip split sharply as he strained; blood dripping from his lip. He was mentally present there still just enough to see the tendril flinch back, slightly.

Snarling, Alastor didn’t hesitate. Yanking an arm from around Adeline; he pulled it to his face and sunk his teeth into his own flesh. The incredible pain of it cleared his haze and the tendrils of shadow swiftly pulled themselves away, retreating to the edge of the bed and pausing just there. Gasping and screaming into his arm; his teeth still firmly planted; he dragged a clawed hand across his chest; cutting himself deeply and splashing blood across the bed.

The tendrils of shadow retreated swiftly and completely into the dark.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Alastor wasted no time. He didn’t even take the chance of checking in on Adeline before making sure Niffty could send word to Rosie that he was coming and that he desperately needed her help. Now.

When he arrived to her Emporium, Rosie knew something had gone terribly wrong for Alastor.

She immediately helped him into the studio; and took him directly into the pentagram she had ready and set for him. He was covered in a great deal of blood and she solemnly mourned the tragedy that was his situation when she noted Niffty’s obvious and sudden distress…Alastor was covered in his own blood. Not someone else’s…

“Alastor, what the Hell has happened-?” Rosie started to ask.

“I need an exorcism, Rosie and I need it now.” He snarled; blood seeping from underneath his suit jacket and leaving a trail of droplets across the floor. “I recall that you have some experience in that sort of thing…”

“Of, course I do.” Rosie told him. One of her past husbands had a thing for creating shadow demons. Rosie had perfected a skillset in shadow work with her aiding him in his…hobbies. “But, Alastor isn’t that…drastic?”

“Heh,” He laughed, shakily. “Drastic times…”

“You know what will happen…when it’s done?” She asked him. “You’ll be left incredibly vulnerable…your power – it will be greatly limited. Is this something that is absolutely necessary?”

“Yes, Rosie. It is.” Alastor groaned, he was becoming physically ill now. Something within him resisted this plan; was fighting against it – trying to force Alastor into submission.

That’s why we’re here you fucker… You did this.

“And, you know that once it’s done…there’s no going back.” Rosie needed to convey to Alastor. “Your shadow…he will no longer be fully apart of you. He will be his own complete and separate entity. He will be much harder to manage and there’s no guarantee that he will accept you again after this is all finished.”

“I know.” Alastor told her softly. “And, I know that he will need to be contained. You’re the only one I can trust to do this for me, Rosie. You have the power and I know that you’ll…you’ll keep him safe.”

“Alastor…” Rosie was moved; her heart went out to him knowing that he would only ever ask her of this; only ever really tell her this if he felt like he was left with no other choice.

Niffty was clamped to Alastor’s leg; her one eye-wide and starring at him; completely focused on him in her intense concern for him.

“It has to be now, though.” Alastor growled; shuddering against the internal war raging inside him. “I don’t have much time. I have to get back…”

As a participant in the reaping, Alastor had been granted free passage back and forth to earth. Part of this included some leniency in the time shifts between departures but these were still limited. If he missed the next time shift; it could be hours, days…months even before his return to Adeline. He couldn’t take that risk. He still didn’t know if she was even alive… He couldn’t feel her through their connection. This could mean that she was asleep, dead, or…

“Let’s do it then.” Rosie said, resigning herself to Alastor’s choice.

Alastor doubled-over. It felt like his shadow was throwing itself against him; fighting and tearing itself apart inside to prevent what was coming. The pentagram Alastor stood within prevented it from escaping or being able to take over completely, but it could give Alastor as bad of a time as it could to try.

“Come along, Niffty.” Rosie pulled her away from Alastor; the little thing clutching to him, refusing to let go. “It’s best you’re not here when this happens. It-it won’t be pleasant.” She looked at Alastor as they stepped out from the pentagram; confirming with him one last time that he accepted what may come. Gripping his chest now and sliding to his knees; Alastor met her gaze; and he nodded.

He didn’t feel Rosie dragging him; feel her pull him out from the confines of the pentagram when it was done. Rosie sat with him just outside it’s barrier; holding him while Niffty carefully worked to clean whatever hellish excrement she could from him.

When it happened; Alastor howled in such agony and anguish – he thought he might actually and truly lose all sense of sanity. He felt just like one of the wretched souls he had torn apart; felt like his terrible screams were so loud that he could actually be broadcasting them himself for all of Hell to hear. Rosie spoke truly; this was not pleasant. Alastor felt himself being torn; absolutely ripped apart. His body contorting and twisting in an awful fashion; vomit and spittle spewing from him throughout the process. His radio voice keened and it shrieked until his filter cut out completely; and he was left lying against the cold, wood floor broken and bleeding.

When Alastor finally came to – it was to the horrific screeching and keening of his shadow. Effectively contained within the pentagram; it threw itself again and again against the unholy barrier. Frenzied; it clawed, bit and spit; trying everything within its power to get back to Alastor.

Alastor starred up at the great and terrible thing; swallowing.

“Sorry, old friend…” He told it. “But, it had to be done…”

The shadow stopped its crazed struggling. Lowering, itself so that it was eye level to Alastor; the shadow focused on him – it hissed, low and trembling. Then, surprising Rosie; it gave a soft and pitiful whine, shrinking and slinking back slowly away into the confines of its new cell.

Gasping, Alastor moved so that his hand was pressed against the barrier; watching the shadow retreat and curl tightly within itself, remaining resignedly still now.

“Take care of it, Rosie.” Alastor breathed. “It will require…feeding, I’m afraid.”

“I am well aware.” Rosie told him; her and Niffty still sitting behind him. “And, I have the means – of course.”

“I have to go.” Alastor groaned, struggling to get up.

“Alastor, you should rest, you-“

“I can’t.” He hissed at his pain; at the dizzying loss of strength. “I have to get back, I have to know if she’s…if I …“

He turned; standing shakily in front of them. His face – the expression on it – being of one of someone who was in complete and utter distress.

Niffty cried out – Rosie gasping - as both saw and realized that…Alastor was no longer smiling.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 16

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radioactiveparker · 1 year

Text

Full Moon High - Eddie Munson X Reader

Summary - Falling asleep with Eddie Munson

Warnings - None

Word Count - 0.8k

-----

The sky remained unclouded on this particular night, allowing the stars to shimmer freely and its shining Opal to glow in all its glory. Its light cascaded through the window - a silvery flow that would rouse the nocturnal and embrace the diurnal into its nightly hug. Its crisp rays splayed over the couple who lay in perfect serenity under the bed covers.

Your eyelids hung heavy with fatigue and the secondhand smoke of Eddie's weed, which he had smoked before bed. You could still see the haze of it whisping in and out of the moons' beams. The two of you lay on your sides, barely awake and facing the other with only inches between you, taking each other in as if the other would simply disappear the moment you fell asleep. Although, you wondered for a moment whether you were already asleep. Perhaps this devine moment between the two of you was simply a desirable dream, in which case, you never wanted to wake up.

You lost yourself in his eyes, as deep brown as the outside hearth which the light of the moon fell upon. They were round and sweet and pure and kept perfectly polished with every slow blink. His eyelashes were long and soft, fluttering as he fought sleep. You brushed a soft curl of his fringe from his face, revealing the smooth curve of his eyebrow, and you stroked it lightly, hoping your touch would keep him from falling asleep. You carried your touch along his temple, collecting unruly locks as you went, before tucking it behind the curve of his ear. Your heart melted at the full exposure of his face. Constellations of freckles scattered all over his skin, and you did your best to remember every single one of them, as well as every dimple, crease and fold along his creamy skin, having the privilege to be the only one he'd allow close enough to see them all. The silvery glow of the moonlight dripped down the slope of his nose, casting a shadow on the expanse of his cheek. You traced it tenderly with the tip of your index finger, watching how it rolled over the gentle bump on the bridge of his nose. You followed it down his septum and to his cupids bow, where you swapped your finger out for your thumb. You cupped the side of his face, your fingers folding at the edge of his jaw. Despite being freshly shaven, there was still a certain roughness to his skin when your hand accidentally moved against the grain, although you couldn't argue when his smell enveloped you. He was freshly showered - his woody smell married with the musk of his shaving cream left all of your senses cocooned. You placed the pad of your thumb over his lips and swipped it lightly. The top one was smoother than the bottom, you noticed, remembering that he had the tendency to bite his bottom lip. You wanted so desperately to kiss them, to let him drain the breath from your lungs if it meant you never had to let go, but your fatigue begged you to remain inert. You watched as his eyes fell to your lips, clearly wanting the same thing but being too lazy to do anything about it. He fought against the idea of pretending to bite your thumb and instead puckered his lips ever so slightly to kiss it gently. He watched your eyes soften at the gesture, the direct light of the moon creating a halo in the whites of your eyes, and his heart swelled.

Using a strong arm, he pulled you closer by your waist, slotting your bodies together perfectly. The tender softness of your warm, naked skin magnetically bound together. Your heads now shared a pillow, foreheads resting together, and tips of noses brushing. He trailed his fingers up the exposed length of your arm until his palm encased your hand, which was still resting on his cheek. He squeezed it softly, noticing goosebumps raise on your skin at the trace of his thumb. He twisted his neck to place another kiss, this time to your palm, and he smiled when your eyes fluttered shut at the feeling.

But you almost wished they hadn't, because they were now not to open until the morning. It was a pitiful display of your self-control, really, but sleep had won this battle tonight. It wasn't long before Eddie joined you in his own deep slumber. And that was where the two of you spent the rest of the night and the early hours of the morning - tangled together under the warm bed sheets, lost entirely in dreams of each other in places the two of you could call your own.

#eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things #eddie stranger things #joseph quinn

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fiercynn · 6 months

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palestinian poets: tariq luthun

tariq luthun is a detroit-born, dearborn-raised community organizer, data consultant, and emmy award-winning poet. the son of palestinian muslim immigrants from gaza, he is a kresge arts in detroit fellow that earned his MFA from the program for writers at warren wilson college. he has been recognized as a best of the net poet and has earned fellowships from kundiman, the watering hole, and the kresge foundation. his work has appeared in vinyl poetry, lit hub, mizna, winter tangerine, and button poetry, among others. luthun currently serves as a board member of the offing literary magazine. his first collection of poetry, How the Water Holds Me, was published by bull city press in 2020. the press named the book an editors' selection.

luthun spends most of his time hosting events, working with youth, and facilitating marginalized communities for growth through expression and action. he is a deep dish pizza evangelist, and can best be described as the end-result of a less problematic drake falsetto-rapping edward said's orientalism.

luthun was also recently interviewed by national public radio about the current escalation in genocidal violence by israel against palestine. as of ten days ago, his family in gaza was all okay.

IF YOU READ JUST ONE POEM BY TARIQ LUTHUN, MAKE IT THIS ONE

OTHER POEMS ONLINE THAT I LOVE BY TARIQ LUTHUN

We Already Know This at literary hub

Al-Bahr at tariq's website

Portrait of My Father Drowning, originally published at crab orchard review

Fruit at up the staircase

Dance at winter tangerine

The Summer My Cousin Went Missing (read aloud) at tariq's website

Whisp at the offing

Mismarked (live performance) recorded by button poetry

Museums at voicemail poems

New Rule at the offing

#tariq luthun #poetry #free palestine #palestinian poets series

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midnightsapphire · 1 year

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ignore me for spacing out and stalling on modern!aemond

Cont.

POSSIBLE SPOILERS, CONTINUE WITH CAUTION

but also take ghost!aemond after the war and the dance of the dragons. his soul finding solace in the place he felt the most serene when he was living

it took many years after the war between the blacks and the greens, being a direct decendent of prince daeron, great-grandchild of rhaenyra targaryen

in your youth, you swore you saw whisps of long blonde hair breezing past you in the corridors, catching you when you tripped but disappeared before you could finish blinking

you constantly told your father, god forbid even your mother brushed it aside as some form of your overactive imagination but you knew in your tiny bones that there was someone else aside from your siblings residing in the castle

it wasn't until you were old enough to lurk the castle on your own did you see him. a tall, slender man standing by the fireplace in the library that was meant to be offlimits per your fathers request.

"who are you?" you would ask him while his back was turned to you, only glancing at the slender curve of his jaw, the natural upward curl of his lips, the ever so faint peek of his dimples as a single violet eye glanced at you

he said no words as he silently glanced at the many spines that lined the shelves, his hands tightly woven behind his back, almost itching to touch one of the many literatures that even he had collected in his time of living

you constantly watched the types of literature he seemed to linger around, the philosophical texts catching your eyes, along with the history books that seemed untouched with the dust collecting around them.

"shall i read to you?" you asked, not waiting for an answer as you pulled a book from it's place, blowing off the dust as Aemond watched you curiously, eyes flickering between you and the fireplace as he remained planted in his spot.

The Tales of Old Valyria, his favorite.

it had then become a routine, you visiting the library when duties had been attended to, your eyes lighting up when you saw his slender back from your spot at the doorway. you had learned he was a man of very few words, only responding in gutteral hums and grunts in between words, but often tore his eyes away from the fire to glance at you when you stopped reading aloud

"you can sit, you know. you must be exhausted standing around for hours." you offered one time as aemond's bittersweet smirk grew on his face.

"not one for small conversations.. noted." you would whisper as you reached for another book, a newer one the maesters had brought in to graciously add to the collection you had now deemed as yours

"the song of fire and blood, they call it. about the legacy of the Targaryens... well not only us but others in the seven kingdoms. it is.. my current favorite. my father says it was about our ancestors, rhaenyra and her family." the very name causing aemond's body to tense as he looked at her from the corner of his eye

"my favorite is aemond targaryen, however. he's not entirely mentioned but-"

"he's considered a monster. maimed by his own kin. kinslayer. what much is there to warrent being a favorite?"

the first words he ever muttered to you. self-deprecating, loathing, bitter.

"you would be too if you were regarded only as the second son."

it was then aemond warmed up to you more, standing closer when you would read of their family's history, his history, interjecting every once in a while to put in his own comments, never having the heart to confess that it was truly him that had lived, breathed, killed in those moments.

not with the way you glanced at him like he held your entire world in his hands. not when he saw the sparkle in your eye when you greeted each other with fond smiles, the disappointment when you were called away, when you told him about your day as you twisted flower crowns for him with flowers you had stolen from the gardens stating 'if you detest the sun and the bushes then i shall bring it to you!' followed by his ghostly hand brushing through the small gift. reminding him once again that he was no longer with the living.

and suddenly the fire that roared in the fireplace felt colder than it already was

"it was said that aemond flew on the back of vhagar and brutally avenged his lost eye by slaying his nephew Lucerys Velaryon-"

"it was accidental."

"that he brutally stabbed both of lucerys' eyes out as they washed out on the shore."

"that never happened-"

"you speak as if you were there."

"and if i was? would you turn and flee? call me a monster like the maesters had?!"

"i- i don't understand.."

"no. you wouldn't. i wouldn't expect anything less from the third born child of a pathetic king."

he didn't know why- if it was the resentment in the bloody maesters that had painted him as a kinslaying craven, that he fathered bastards with a bastard witch of the strongs, that he.. he couldn't be there to grab your arm and prevent you from leaving the very room he was trapped in.

he cursed every single day you hadn't visted the library, watching each log slowly burn as he tried his best to release his anger, punching at the shelves, kicking the chairs, but nothing. not a single clatter besides the wind that whipped with every one of his swings.

only then did his head turn when he heard your quiet footsteps after weeks. not bothering to turn to face you as you both stood in silence.

"lucerys velaryon had stolen the eye of aemond targeryen on the night of laena valeryon's funeral. he had stolen the dragon, vhagar in the dead of night when everyone had been asleep and their kin followed and.. incidents followed."

"what are you talking about?"

"he had grown resentful of the bastard children of his half-sister, knowing fully well their father had bent and broken every rule imaginable and got away with nothing but a slap in the wrist. he grew resentful that he was maimed, considered a cripple, a spare to their eldest when he continued his duties for his family and for the realm while his brother fathered bastards, slept with any woman that could breathe with no reprocussions and was still crowned king."

"the slaying of lucerys velaryon was an accident that enthrailed consequences he could not bear.. he died as he lived. cold, angry.. alone." he whispered as he finally turned to you, finally stepping closer as he slowly took off the eyepatch adorned on his face, the bright sapphire still shining as the day he was blessed with it.

"but nothing felt as.. cold and alone as it had when you were absent. i would sacrifice lifetimes, live through those excruciating events again if i knew they all led me back to you.."

"what are you saying?"

"the aemond targeryen lived in blinded spite to all those who wrong him, but the aemond targaryen now.. wishes he lived to be closer to you." he whispered, a hand reaching out to caress the back of his fingers along your cheek, flinching when it did nothing but leave a cold touch past your skin.

it only came crashing down then that you realized, through all the corrected sentiments, the backhanded comments he had made whenever you read to him, he was there, and now that he had found a purpose worth living for, it was not his purpose to bear.

"time and the gods had been cruel to us. you.. you will soon marry, grow old and mother beautiful.. beautiful children. but as you read from them the history books like you had for me.. it matters not the legacy i had left behind, i could be a figment of myth, of imagination, i could not care less what others have thought of me. but what matters to me is that you never forget me, my sweet sapphire."

it sucks im so sorry

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