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satinroses · 2 months ago

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Oh, I wouldn't say freed... More like, under new management!

Spoilers for 5.3 Natlan Archon Quest!

Yan!Pantalone x GN! Reader (x Yan!Capitano)

Summary: Having clawed his ways from the slums of Liyue Harbour to being seated at the table of a God, seizing opportunities has become Pantalone's second nature and now that the first harbinger is... indefinitely indisposed, what kind of banker would he be if he didn't capitalise on such a unique situation by finally stealing away Capitano's precious consort, the same one that has plaguing his every waking moment since the very moment he first laid eyes upon them?

Warnings: Sensitive themes, Yandere Behaviours, do you have stockholm syndrome or are you going mad from social isolation? your choice!, manipulation, social isolation, anxiety, you're all around not having a good time, mild nsfw implications, fearing for your life (not from Pantalone), losing the will to go on, you literally can't catch a break

3.5K Words

A/N: did i intend for the title to be a Megamind reference...? perchance... also please forgive any inconsistencies or grammatical errors. I have not yet finished the Natlan archon quest but I've seen the spoilers and i hope that fine ass man rests in peace. I'm still high on copium and am praying that because his body is still alive then Dottore can work his magic and fix him somehow someway (if that happens i may even write a part 2 in celebration! Or even if it doesn't!)

Anyone who knew anything about the first harbinger would be well aware of the reverence and tenderness he lavished onto you. Your safety and protection would forever be at the forefront of the harbingers mind, before retrieving the gnosis, or bringing glory to the Tsaritsa or even striking down the heavenly principles. As such it’s not unusual for the harbinger to keep you sequestered away in the dark, lonesome manor you have learnt to call home ever since your marriage. After several years it was now commonplace for Capitano to be gone for days and weeks at a time, hardly breathing a goodbye, just pressing one adoring and gentle kiss to the back of your hand and a second hot, gruff kiss to your lips before storming out of the door, blade sheathed on his belt.

This time he had strayed from the established routine, Capitano had warned you that he might be gone for a bit longer than usual but he would return to your arms within a month. You remembered the silent voice in your head bitterly wishing that he would never return, how the heavenly principles love to play their cosmic jokes.

After a month had passed and the letters from your husband (since you were wed he had made a point of writing you a detailed letter every single day, describing his journey and detailing how dearly he missed you and how everyday away from your side was utter agony) had stopped arriving. You had spent hours pouring over every letter he had sent since his departure but not once did he mention anything that could explain his sudden silence. That was the second thing that unnerved you, if there was one thing you had learnt through your several years of marriage to the first harbinger, it was that his loyalty and devotion was second to none. The idea that your ever loyal hound would stray from his routine was peculiar enough. Once another week had passed without any word from or about Capitano you began to pester the servants and guards for any information from the outside world but they refused to breathe a word to you.

Although you publicly admitted you held much contempt for Capitano for prying you from your home, you couldn’t help the unease that seeped into your bones. You had spent countless mornings watching him train, the brute force and unrestrained power he used to slam his blade down into the frozen ground, the innumerable agents he dispatched with one measured swing of his sword and on rare occasion when you were close enough to danger to personally witness (a scarce occurrence as even leaving the estate was uncommon) how his onyx blade was stained with a viscous crimson inch or that seemed to seep everywhere, even sticking to the fur of his cloak. When he pulled you into his chest after the fighting was done you’ll never forget how sickening the coppery scent was, clinging to the inside of your nose until you felt like you were suffocating on it. That combined with the utter love-sick devotion he had proven himself a slave to, you found the idea that anything could prevent Capitano from writing other than death to be utterly humorous. Somehow despite the hatred you harboured in your heart for the man, the idea of a man of Capitano’s impossibly imposing stature somehow being struck down felt impossible, even if it was the pyro archon herself to do so. You simply refused to entertain such an idea. That night you had come to a conclusion: There has been a mix up! or the messenger was attacked on the road! or maybe Capitano's letters slipped right out of the messengers pack and he simply hasn't realised. You repeated these mantras to yourself compulsively.

But as the weeks continued to amble on by with no word from your husband you couldn’t help but find that a more extreme reason to be the only excuse for his sudden silence.

As you spent days pondering on the possibility of your captor’s passing, the idea that any day now a Fatui official would wander in and give you an official declaration of Capitano’s passing and would send you on your way with perhaps a pouch of Mora for your troubles. The more you fantasised about your freedom being returned to you, the more you realised how unlikely such an occurrence was. That morning you had been nothing short if giddy, any day now you would be free to return to your family and you could pretend these past years were nothing short of a bad dream - by evening your joy had turned to ash in your throat. If your husband (even after several years of calling him that, it still caused your throat to constrict painfully as though the very word was poison) had truly been defeated then you had become nothing to the Fatui but another loose end to tie up. There was no way they could know for sure just how much information regarding the sensitive inner workings of the Fatui that Capitano had shared with you. There was no way they would let you wander free when you were a living, breathing compromise to all their plans. Even in the event of his death, you shall be returned to his arms soon enough. You couldn’t stop an overwhelming feeling of defeat swallow you like a wave as the realisation hit you that nothing would bring Capitano greater joy.

After several weeks of agonising suspense you had debased yourself to pleading with the servants and guards for even just a rumour of what was to become of you. Again, they showed you nothing but cold indifference as they continued their tasks, completely unaffected by your desperate pleas.

Your feet bled from the constant pacing as your mind was utterly consumed with anxiety. The unknown and the terror of what was to come had driven you half mad with unease. All day you wept for how unfairly your life would end, never truly getting to live before your life was stripped from you. All night you didn’t dare get even a wink of sleep for fear one of the guards would slip into your chambers and finally put an end to you. Your mind had endlessly ran through every possibility of escape but it seemed just as impossible as it had before, if not more so. You weren’t sure if the isolation and fear was finally taking complete control but you were almost certain there were more guards surrounding the estate now then there had been prior to Capitano’s departure.

That night you sat on the floor of your chambers, hunched over your bed as you wept into the thick duvet for even a brief illusion of comfort. Your hands were clasped tightly together in prayer, crimson crescents marring your hands with the frantic devotion you called out to your Goddess. Sobbing into the bedsheets you called aloud for the Tsaritsa, beseeching her to take some mercy on her devoted follower and either return Capitano to you safely or offer you a quick and clean death and put an end to this torment for you couldn't bare another day of it.

For the first time in days and after hours of desperate cries for your goddess to extend you some of her benevolence, you slipped into an uneasy slumber, half expecting to wake up to a blade to your throat yet you had lost the will to endure. As the sun rose you were awoken by the distinct noise of the main doors slamming shut as heavy footsteps strode into the Grand Foyer. Breathlessly you rose to your feet, certain that the Tsaritsa had heard your prayed and returned your husband to you. You scrambled as fast as you could down the winding corridors, paying no mind to how your limbs were trembling with adrenaline or the rumpled nightclothes you were still dressed in. As you burst through the door you skidded to a halt on the polished marble floors. Instead of being greeted by Capitano’s open embrace, ready to sweep you into his arms now that you were finally reunited, your eyes instead landed upon the ninth harbinger who now stood just a few feet in front of you, his gloved hands clasped tightly behind his back as he gave you what appeared to be an attempt at a genuine smile.

You froze. In your relief at the possibility of Capitano’s return you hadn’t even registered this as an outcome. You had only met Pantalone perhaps once before, at your wedding a few years prior. That had been the only day Capitano had permitted you to be around any of colleagues. What was already no doubt an uncomfortable event for all involved but the groom had only been exacerbated by the eccentric personalities seated in the audience. You had sobbed the entire way through the ceremony with two Fatui soldiers having to grip onto your arms and practically force you down the aisle. At the very least the 11th harbinger had the decency to look genuinely concerned as you were dragged down the aisle. You had half thought the man might attempt to put a stop to it but when the time came to ask for objections not one person came forward. After the ceremony you could also recall an interaction with the knave. Although the whole day had been a blur, you remembered that she briefly took you aside and sternly forced her handkerchief into your hand, refusing to take no for an answer. You wouldn’t exactly call the woman doting but whatever small sympathy the woman was capable of, it’s clear she had attempted to extend them to you. You had spent many nights after the ceremony thinking back on your interactions with all the harbingers, Pierro and Pulcinella’s cold indifference at the ceremony, Sandrone and Dottore’s impatience to leave as quickly as socially acceptable to return to whatever invention or experiment had currently caught their attention, the varying looks of pity you received from Tartaglia, Arlecchino and La Signora, the quiet smile on Columbina’s face and… the one harbinger you just couldn’t get a read on. Pantalone had turned to watch as you were forced down the aisle and his eyes had not left you once since. Even as the festivities had begun and Capitano had whirled your reluctant form across the crystalline ballroom of Zapolyarny Palace, his eyes didn’t once move from you. Now you were feet away from him and his eyes enclosed around you once more, fixated so wholly on you as though nothing else in the world could or would ever matter even remotely as much as you did in this moment.

Your breath hitched as he sauntered closer, removing his finely crafted leather gloves from his hands. You shut your eyes at once, although you could no longer see him, you could hear the clicks of his shoes echoing through the foyer and getting closer. Once he was but a few inches away from you, you tensed your shoulders to brace for impact but it never came. You couldn’t help but flinch as you felt both his hands clasp firmly down on your shoulders, holding you in place. After several seconds you finally allowed your eyes to flutter open. Pantalone’s eyes bored into yours as he tutted with what was likely an attempt to display sympathy but instead came off as patronising.

”Now now” he breathed out, his hands now began to rub up and down your shoulders in soothing motions “There’s no need to look so frightened” he exhaled, almost sounding amused.

”Where is Capitano?” you asked. You hardly recognised your own voice with how hoarse it had become from the past weeks of weeping.

”Shh shh shh” he muttered, his hands moving from your shoulders, up to your cheeks. He cupped your face affectionately as he spoke in a gentle tone as though afraid the slightest upset might frighten you off. With a deep sigh he began “I’m afraid Capitano is occupied… indefinitely. No matter how dearly I’m sure he would wish to see you, I’m afraid you won’t be reunited for a long time yet.” He paused for a moment, his gaze darting across your face for any idea of your internal workings. His stare was bright and brilliant, even when hidden behind the glasses that sat firmly on the bridge of his nose. He made you feel exposed, as though every second under his stare he stripped away a little more of your walls. He left you feeling bare and cold, you wanted to shrink away from the ninth harbinger. He had told you what you needed to hear and now you wanted to sink back into the depths of the manor and await whatever fate had in store for you, as long as it was far away from him. After another moment of his assessment he seemed satisfied and continued

”It’s with a heavy heart that I bring the news that the mission to acquire the Pyro Archon’s gnosis was not successful” his tone was one of deep sorrow however you could see the tiniest ghost of a smirk dancing across his face as his attempted to maintain composure. “Of course I am delegating as much funding as financially possible to restore your husband however I’m afraid the damage was quite extensive, It’s unlikely that even with the unparalleled scientific minds in the Fatui that we will ever be able to return him to you.”

Once again your heart began to patter against your ribcage. If what Pantalone said was true then you truly were a liability. You cleared your throat and took a deep breath before you spoke, desperate to at least maintain a façade of dignity in the face of such dire circumstances

”Have you come here to kill me then?” You asked him. In response the harbingers eyebrows shot up almost comically, for the first time this morning he looked completely astounded.

”Kill you? Now why ever would I do that?” His hands were still planted firmly on your cheeks, his cool skin soothing on the heat on your cheeks as his thumb tenderly traced the tear tracks that were still emblazoned on your cheeks from your night of sorrowful prayer. He hummed contentedly before continuing, “admittedly there were a few of my colleagues that had suggested to wash our hands of you entirely and slip some arsenic in your food or simply have one of the soldiers stick a blade through your heart” He paused again, assessing you. He could almost feel your breath hitch as he inched slightly closer, his thumb now tracing idle patterns on your cheeks “don’t worry my dear, I shut down such discussions swiftly. I would never wish to have the blood of someone so lovely on my hands. No, that wouldn’t do at all” Now he let a full grin fall across his face. You believe he was attempting to make it comforting but instead it felt predatory, like a lion grinning down at a lamb. “My colleagues and I have thankfully come to a compromise. Although I’m certain you would never run and spill any secrets you may have learnt from your time in such close proximity to Capitano… unfortunately several of my fellow harbingers didn’t feel quite so confident in your loyalty.” One of his hands now reached to brush through your hair gently, his grin grew until he was baring all his teeth at you. Now he didn’t just feel like a lion, he looked like one too “For the foreseeable future you will be taking up residence at my estate. Please don’t fret my lady, I’ll ensure you are well looked after.” His watched you expectantly, as though he believed this to be wonderful news for you. You stared at him blankly. Last night you had prayed to the Tsaritsa for your husband returned home or death but it would appear she had managed to present you with a 3rd, much more terrifying option. Although he may not be quite as physically imposing as Capitano, he somehow made you feel much smaller. Every shared touch and exchanged glance with Pantalone felt intimate and expectant, every brief glance at your lips was a promise of something more to come, every tender caress a precursor for a carnal embrace. Even now he seemed half shocked you hadn’t jumped into his arms in glee at the news you would now be staying with him. Of course you were thankful that he had intervened on your behalf and given you another chance at life but a more animalistic and instinctual part of you as you stood here alone with Pantalone you almost would have preferred being left in this dark, reclusive manor to rot. Capitano took so much from you but he left you your dignity, your sense of personhood, despite his desire to take and take until there was nothing left, he had always strove to be selfless for your sake. With a man like Pantalone, even now with his grip on your face, deceptively light but the muscles in his fingers were tense, ready to clamp down the moment he deemed in necessary. From what little you knew of Pantalone from Capitano’s descriptions, he was the head of the Northland bank and had built himself an immeasurable amount of wealth. Did Pantalone know when you've taken too much from someone? Did he care?

Part of you wished to pry his hands off your cheeks and flat out refuse him, scream out that you want nothing to do with him and flee back to you bed chambers like a child but unfortunately the rational part of you took over, the part of you that was screaming at you to seize this last chance at life he was offering you and so when he extended his hand to you and whispered into your ear in a saccharine tone “Shall we?” You couldn’t help but accept.

Pantalone's POV:

The carriage ride back to his estate wasn't long but he had given his driver instructions to extend it for as long as possible. You seemed bewildered when he sat right by your side, thigh to thigh, instead of sitting across from you. His arms wrapped tightly around your shoulder, constricting you to his side like a serpent. You were sat close enough to his side that he could smell the saccharine smell that emanated from you.

Since the moment he first saw you he had known that there was no one else in the world for him but you. Every single night since he saw you, he couldn't sleep with the extremity of his yearning. It was indescribable agony to know that you were laying in the bed of the First harbinger. Innumerable priceless artefacts and artworks had been destroyed in his rage at the thought of you being by that undeserving wretches' side. Now having you so close after yearning and longing for countless years, it was a high unlike anything else. Feeling your skin against his, you were so close that he could almost feel your warm breath on his skin, it took every scrap of restraint in his body to not begin to ravage you the moment the carriage door shut.

He knew he could never challenge his fellow harbinger publicly, especially not one so revered as Capitano and he knew where his strengths lied. If it came down to a duel then there was a slim chance he would succeed.

However as he matured from a street urchin to the wealthiest man in Snezhnaya, he had learnt that if you cannot beat them at their own game then simply don't play it. It had taken several years of calling in favours, pulling countless strings and funding dozens of failed experiments and dead-end expeditions in order to convince his fellow harbingers that it would be best if Capitano faced the pyro archon alone.

Of course he didn't receive the news of Capitano's supposed immortality well but it doesn't matter that he is still breathing. He may as well be a corpse at this point. He's sure that by passing the funding for a few more of Dottore's experiments then he can convince him to put the matter of restoring Capitano's soul on the back burner.

He had come to terms with how risky this plan was the moment he first set it into place several years ago but he has formed his entire career on a succession of flawlessly executed gambles. His entire life he has been beating the odds and he's not going to stop now that the recently widowed object of his adoration and obsession sits a mere inch away, still draped in nothing but their thin night clothes.

He will admit that perhaps it was cruel to keep you waiting all those weeks, he should have come to collect you the moment the news reached him of Capitano's failure but when he saw the frantic, desperate look in your eyes as you burst into the room, he knew that he had made the right call. You weren't in the position to deny him anything now. He could finally rest easy knowing you were seated right in the palm of his hand, exactly where you belonged.

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rekino2114 · 7 months ago

Note

How did the " I am a devil/ one of the four horsemen of the Apocalypse" for Makima and Fami and how long did it take

I was curious about how this situation played out ever since the Asa/Yoru relationship headcanon, given it was a requirement for the relationship to continue/start and anyone who has a speck of emotional intelligence involving romance would tell you honesty is key to a long lasting healthy relationship not to mention dating one of the most powerful devils in the world is something you should be given a heads up about going forward.

Makima revealing her identity to you

A/n:sooooo I might have gotten a bit too much into writing this for makima and wrote more than usual i feel like what I had in mind for fami was kinda shorter than this and that it wouldn't have been fair in my head (also I didn't have that much time to finish it anyway) I'll do the fami part of this tomorrow in another post. Sorry for the inconvenience and if that's not what you wanted.

As much as she hated to admit it, makima was scared.

Fear was a rare but not new emotion to her, the only times she felt it was when you were fighting a strong devil like a primal one or when you were close to death in general. But all of those instances of her fear had something in common: she was scared that you would die that you would be ripped away from her in an unfair way, she never consider the fact that you would leave her of your own volition.

Makima took for granted the fact that you would love each other and be together forever, after all she loved you more than anything she could ever do could describe and you loved her too, she would literally give you the world if you just asked for it, as long as you would be with her you would get anything you could have possibly ever wanted in exchange of just continuing to love her. She had never thought you would have a reason to leave her...until now.

She had tried to delay this conversation as long as possible, only deciding to tell you after months of you dating (close to a year),the reason why she decided to reveal her identity to you was simple: it was better to tell you than you finding out some other way, you would have felt betrayed by her if you had found out without her telling you beforehand, the last thing she wanted to do was make you feel like she didn't love you.

The reason she waited so much before telling you was because she had no idea what would happen to her if you left her. Maybe she would have gone back to her old self, but she doubted it, the her from before was someone who had never loved and never been loved, and the hypothetical her was someone's who had that loved torn away from her because of nothing but herself. She would either become an even worse version of the emotionless control devil or she would have just asked denji to eat her to end her pitiful existence.

"Hey makima you called me right?"

You entering her office snapped her out of her thoughts, she put on a fake smile and started talking to you

"Yes darling,please sit down"

You did as she said and looked at her, the way she was smiling felt forced and you could see that.

"Is everything alright? You look worried"

".....you really understand me... I have to tell you something it's....really important"

"Sure what is it?"

Seeing you smile so innocently and warmly at her made her heart skip a beat. She could never hurt you, and that included lying to you.

"I want to tell you something that will definitely change your view of me in many ways but before I do that please know that I love you I always have and I always will, none of the loving words I told you were lies and none of the actions I have done have been made to manipulate you in any way, what I feel for you Is love at the purest state"

Makima stopped and you nodded at her as a sign to continue

"I.........am the control devil"

She gave you time to process what she said before starting to speak again with her head lowered as to not see your reaction.

"I am one of the four horseman of the apocalypse, some of the strongest devils that exist, I have the ability to control anyone who I feel is beneath me, please know that I have never used it on you as I both can't and despise the thought of"

Makima could feel her heart sink deeper and her face sweating more with every word she uttered she was so afraid of your reaction she still could bring herself to confront you face to face.

"I-i have just one request for you, I understand if you hate me for lying to you but let me explain myself, I have never been truly loved in my life until I met you you have made me feel emotions for the first time in my life and.....I can't lose you it would mean losing the part of me that i value most...s-so-"

Makima finally raised her head to look at you, tears that she never even realized were there ran through her cheeks.

"Please don't leave me"

Makima had never cried tears that were of true sadness all of the times that tears were present in her eyes they were ones of happiness caused by you, she had never felt sad enough to cry.....until now, she also felt very embarrassed that you saw this vulnerable side of her so she quickly lowered her head again expecting you to insult her or run away. What greeted her were not harsh words but your warm hands wrapping themselves around her body.

"It's fine I forgive you, what you did just now proved to me not only that you love me but that you are as much of a human as everyone else"

Makima was so shocked at your answer: You not only forgave her but considered her a human? She opened her mouth to speak, but as if you could read her mind, you answered her question even before she could ask it.

"You were worried I was gonna leave you, so much that you cried, you were worried that the person who showed you what love and emotions truly are was going to reject you just because of something you were born as and that doesn't define who you are now. That's an incredibly human thing to feel. Your tears were real, I'm sure of that, I've known you for enough time to know when you're faking emotions and that....was probably the most real display of feelings I have ever seen, you are a person makima, a person that I love and will continue to love forever"

Makima fell silent for a moment she needed a moment to fully realize what was happening but as soon as she did she hugged you just as you were doing to her, she raised her face to look at yours and even if the tears were still in her beautiful ringed eyes, a wide smile was now present on her face.she was crying tears of joy

"Thank you, just thank you so much, i promise i will treasure you forever I can't tell you how incredibly happy I feel right now"

"It's nothing, you treated me with nothing but love ever since I met you, I would never leave you"

You kissed her lips to once again affirm your love to her, she did the same and what resulted was a kiss filled with nothing but pure unfiltered love between the two of you.

"I love you"

"I love you too, more than words can describe, just....thank you for loving me"

#chainsaw man x reader #chainsaw man #x reader #makima x reader #makima x gn reader #makima x you #soft makima #gn reader

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themindofachronicdaydreamer · 7 months ago

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Edible Arrangements

fluff nation plot: your husband brings home some special brownies to share with you. content: use of marijuana, together since Jujutsu High, married (reader referred to as wife), little makeout but sfw, we are pretending geto never left gojo and is still in the picture as a sorcerer and gojo's best friend for my own mental state thank uuu word count: 4.1k satoru gojo x reader note: ahhhhhhhhh not everyone's cup of tea ik! but i thought this idea was fun since Gojo is practically on crack 99% of the time to begin with. warning i didnt proofread too thoroughly so be wary of that!

Gojo can be a lot to handle sometimes.

And by sometimes, that means most of the time.

Generally speaking, Jujutsu sorcerer Saturo Gojo is an acquired taste; his personality is one that could easily drain the average person's social battery. He is known for his unpredictable nature and impulsive ideas which are simultaneously (and somehow impressively) thought through. Knowing the sorcerer meant accepting the fact that you may never know what will happen next with him. He habitually leaves everyone around him on the edge of their toes, wondering what his next antic will be. One second he may be in an intense fight with a curse, overtaking them without a drop of sweat; the next, he might as well be spending hundreds on sweet treats he insists he needs in order to survive a second longer. While he is widely well respected for his powerful abilities and techniques, he is also commonly viewed as childish and immature. Upon first impression, one may incorrectly interpret his behavior into thinking he is on drugs - how else can he be so... out there? Yuuji once described his teacher as 'unseriously unserious' - a truly apt description.

So when Gojo struts into the door of your shared bedroom, an excited smile on his face with his hands hiding whatever he's holding behind him, you know something is up.

"Honey, I'm home!" Gojo cheesily announces his presence, entering your apartment in search of you.

""m in here," you lazily call out to him from the bedroom. You had been relaxing in your shared room after a long week, waiting for your husband to come home and alleviate all of your worries as only he can do.

You hear footsteps growing closer to the door, each step more excited than the last. The door swings open and reveals the white-haired man with an almost animatedly wide smile. His hands are behind his back, holding something, you presume. He looks more excited than he normally does coming home to you - and that is saying a lot for your Satoru. It is always his favorite thing to come home to your presence. You are sure of this, so why is he extra giddy today?

"Hi, pretty girl," he greets sheepishly. "Long day?"

"Toru," you remark, excitedly dragging the end of the name only you are allowed to call him. "Yeah, I'm exhausted. Feels like this is the first time I've had time to relax in forever. How was work for you?" You move to sit up from your position in bed as you spoke, resting your head on the palm of your hand, your elbow leaning on the pillow next to you to give you a better look at the handsome man in front of you.

The evening sun tickles you through the bright window next to you, granting you an angelic golden glow. Gojo feels every beat of his heart to the point he contemplates the likelihood of it to explode out of his chest - and, if anything, at least his cause of death would be from your beauty, because he doesn't think anything else could ever even kill him. The sight of you laying down in your bed, in the home you share, in the life you have built together, with the love you share so deeply, makes Gojo so excited. He just wants to dote on you all night, an eternity of worshipping you being all he dreams off. Satoru savors the moment he takes to admire you. How is it even possible that not even his six eyes can comprehend how beautiful you are?

Nonetheless, Gojo is on a mission and could not get too distracted this early on, or he would never get around to convincing you of participating in his plan for the two of you tonight. Even if you look so cuddly and cute wrapped in your blanket and all cozy in bed, or even if he wants to jump right in with you and snuggle the night away. He has plans he must stick to - urgent plans.

"It was like usual. Y'know, trained a little, threw the kids around some, yada yada. The boring stuff," he begins, walking toward you as he speaks. He sits on the edge of the bed with his hands lingering behind him in an attempt to keep them hidden from you. "But, now that I am home to my beautiful wife I love with my entire heart, soul, and all six of my eyes, I have something to share with you!"

You smile as you sense your cheeks warm, shaking your head and responding, "What are you scheming this time?" You were much used to his tendencies to act in the spur of the moment, like the one time he convinced you to teleport halfway across the world with him to be tourists in New York City on a random Tuesday work night. You reach your arm toward one of Satoru's to attempt to bring whatever he's hiding to light, or even, really, just feel his touch, but his infinity doesn't permit you to get as close as you wish. You frown and look up at him in curiosity; he usually never has his infinity on with you.

"Patience is a cashew, darling. Wait, and you shall receive, or whatever those sayings are," Gojo confidently speaks as you hold back giggles at his misspoken proverbs. His eyes anxiously scan your figure before he continues, "It doesn't matter what they actually say anyway because of what I have brought home to share with you!"

You try to cut in to ask what he means, but he continues speaking over you in a rush. to get his next words out. His hands quickly leave his back, coming back together and presenting a little white box to you, all while he is blurting, "Shokogavemesomeediblestotrywithyou!" Gojo tilts his head, a cute, toothy smile beaming in your direction and opens the box containing delicious brownies to display them for you.

You are taken aback - not because you were against the of edibles with Gojo, nor because of Shoko's part in this. This isn't the first time the topic of edibles or anything regarding that has arisen. Satoru and you had done your fair share of partaking in that realm, like your monthly "baked baking" nights with Shoko or Suguru's failed attempts at growing hemp in his dorm at Jujutsu High. This is a normal concept for the two of you; your confusion is caused by what the special occasion seems to be causing him to propose the brownies in such a way. It's not your anniversary, nor is it a holiday. Why does he look like he has something else up his sleeve?

"She did now?" you responded with a teasing smile. "What, did she get tired of waiting for me to be able to schedule a baking day?"

"Oh, no, don't worry, baby. She just knew you were exhausted and wanted to cheer you up if she could," your husband smiles at you. You smile back, but feel there is something else Satoru wants to say. He continues, "I mean, she only knew because I was worried about you and gave her the idea to make them for us as a way of telling you how proud I am of you."

Ah, there it is. You were waiting for him to take all of the credit for his act of kindness. You note to thank Shoko later and try to come up with a day that works for the two of you ASAP. You have missed her in your recent busy weeks.

"Tonight, we are going to eat these brownies, watch movies, and relax. And then, we are going to sleep in in the morning and get our beauty sleep. No ifs, ands, or buts. Is that alright with you, baby?" Gojo queries.

"Of course, Toru," you hum. Ever since he opened the box to show you what it held, it had been a yes, but he had been so excited that you wanted his adorableness in the moment to last a little longer. "How could I ever say no to you?"

"Easy question: you can't," he quips.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm aware. Now hand one over."

"Sweets, do you know how much I fucking love you?"

-----

A bit over an hour later, the two of you sit across from each other on the floor of your kitchen, music faintly playing in the background. While you may claim otherwise, the effects of the brownie from earlier were definitely making their appearance. Everything was now extremely funny and embarrassing memories from high school were being shared between the two of you.

You cross your legs over the tiles beneath you and the cold of the floor lightly tickles your thighs. "Do you remember," you begin, struggling to hold back your laughter, "the first time we met?"

"Of course I do. It was love at first sight," Satoru muses. He sighs dramatically, placing his arms behind him for support to lean back on. He crosses one of his insanely long legs over the other one, stretching them to be beside your figure. Gojo closes his eyes with a ruminative smile overtaking his features before "The second I saw you from across the courtyard, I fell deep. No going back."

"Not me," you confess, although he already knows your love story by heart. "You were so annoying! I remember at one point, I was so overwhelmed, I told Suguru to get you a leash to keep you away for at least an hour or two."

"You are hurting my heart," Gojo feigns sadness. He brings his hand to his chest as if to make sure his heart was still there. "I knew we had something real special from the moment I met you. Just couldn't get away from you"

You think back to Gojo sauntering over to you as you were listening to music, sitting peacefully alone against a tree. He oh-so arrogantly walked across the entire field, abandoning his friends mid-conversation in preference of getting to know you. He introduced himself and sent you with a flirty wink you could only awkwardly smile back at. He already was a lot, but bearable; that was true, at least, until he decided to invade your personal space you cherished so much and sat next to you against the tree.

"Yeah, is that why you ripped my earbud out of my ear and shamed my music taste?" you jest.

"Your fault for listening to Hollaback Girl so casually," Gojo quips in return.

"How else was I supposed to hype myself up for the first day at a new school?" you giggle as you speak. "Although, looking back, it was an interesting choice."

"So interesting, it made me go bananas for you," he teases. He taps your knee with his own as a laugh escapes you. His hand grabs yours, toying with the gemstone mounted on your finger; a proud symbol of your eternal promise of unity. "And now, you're my wife, so clearly, it was a foolproof way to make you fall in love with me!"

"And your humility really helped your case," you lightheartedly jab at him while typing on your phone to add a new song to the queue.

"Oh, yeah, that too. Y'know, I've always thought I have a good sense of humor," Gojo brags until he hears the background shift from a low-key vibe to the upbeat anthem that was currently bringing the two you so much nostalgia - Hollaback Girl.

"Dance with me!" you jump to your feet, grabbing your husband's hand and tugging him to follow you. You move to a more open space out of the kitchen and in the living room, pretending to do cheerleading moves to match the music. The two of you work together to queue more songs, being your own DJs for your two person dance party. You get lost in the music together, the other's presence being all you need.

Eventually, you both decide to grab some water.

"Missed you. Missed your cute lil' laugh," Gojo confesses as you grab a bottle of water from the fridge.

"Toru, you've seen me every day this week," you respond, tossing the water to him, grabbing another for yourself, and closing the fridge. Satoru swiftly catches the water and nears to you. A sigh escapes him as he wraps his arms around your waist.

"And? We don't get us time as often as we used to," he whines into the embrace. Letting go so he can look at your face, he brushes hair out of your eyes. His rests his palm on your cheek, speaking, "You gotta take more time to yourself. I was getting worried."

"You're saying that as if you're not the Strongest,' you respond with a lighthearted giggle. You love how he worries about you - it is just another way he shows you how much he loves you. He is the Strongest, that much is true. It is not a light weight for him to have on his shoulders, yet, he still worries about how you - a Grade One sorcerer, less powerful than him by a landslide, nothing really "special" about you like how Gojo is - are doing. He bears the weight of the world, so much expected from him solely due to some unique traits he was born with. Still, somehow, he makes you feel like the only thing that matters in the history of the universe itself. How can one person live with a pressure such as the one he holds, yet still be so loving toward you?

"'m serious, baby. You've been doing so much. A break every now and then doesn't hurt," he smiles at you. Leaning in closer to you, he whispers, "Got it?"

"Got it," you whisper back. Gojo takes the opportunity to connect his lips to yours for a quick kiss. After several over-exaggerated kisses to your lips, he moves to kiss every inch of your phase. Not a spot goes untouched, as if this were the last time he would ever be this close to you. Every square inch of you, because there are not enough ways in the world to show just how much he loves you.

Laughing at his antics and him continuing , you giggle before you say, "Love you, Toru."

He kisses one of your cheeks, saying "And I," another kiss to your forehead, "totally," another one to the opposite cheek, "love," another to the tip of your nose, "you," one to your chin, "more." He gently places one last kiss to your lips, your face flushed from his smother of affection.

He pulls back, a small whimper leaving your mouth from the lack of his warmth. His lovesick smile is all you can see, and you wish nothing more than to stay in this moment forever.

But Satoru, once again, has other plans for the two of you.

"Raid the kitchen for some snacks with me?" he says as he poses slightly, a goofy look to his face as he waits for you to grab his now outstretched hand.

"I'd love to, kind sir," you say in a fake posh accent. After giving him a quick curtsy, Satoru uses raises both of your arms to spin you. He smoothly pulls you into his arms so that he is hugging you from behind.

"M'lady," he begins into your ear, "you must know that I have been struck by the most dangerous disease known to mankind."

"Oh dear! What has ailed you?" You gasp, turning to face Gojo. His arms embrace your waist lightly as he sways you back and forth to the music.

He leans down so his lips are right at your ear, his voice low as he answers, "I got a bad case of..." he takes a deep breath, "the munchies!" Gojo begins to tickle your sides and you squirm in his grasp.

"To-Toru! Stop!" you say between laughs. "It tickles!"

"That's the point, sweets!" he says, but stops anyway and moves to his main objective. Gojo is already halfway across the kitchen before he finishes saying, "C'mon, babe! I'm getting hungrier by the second and I got extra sweets at the market earlier when training Megumi that I am dying to eat right this second."

Not even ten minutes pass and the fridge is wide open, yelling at you and Satoru to shut it. The pantry is open and the freezer is starting to sweat from how long you have been searching through it already. You are starting to think that maybe, you have been infected with the munchies as well. Everything was looking delicious.

Satoru is eating from a bag of jumbo marshmallows he had in the pantry for s'mores with Shoko and Suguru next weekend, but he figures that he can just run to the store tomorrow, because these were so sweet it was addicting. You finally close the freezer, having found your favorite ice cream Gojo had picked up for you beneath all of the other pints. You shut the fridge as well, but only after grabbing the bowl of fruit you had cut for yourself for a snack earlier.

"Thank God. That thing was so annoying," Gojo says regarding the incessant beeping of the refrigerator, his words all muffled from the marshmallows in his mouth.

"Sorry, baby. Couldn't find where I put my fruit earlier. Can you pass me a spoon?" You request.

"Course," Satoru nods and uses his free hand to open the drawer beside him and slides the spoon across the counter. You move to grab it before it slides off of the counter, but you miss. The spoon plummets to the ground with a little ding when it connects to the tiles you were sitting on not too long ago.

That's when the laughter started.

You kneel over, hand covering your mouth as you begin to laugh. Gojo is doing the same from his side of the counter, about to fall to the ground. A little snort escapes you, causing Gojo to laugh even harder. You look like little kids with how much you are laughing over the tiniest thing.

"Whoops!," your husband eventually manages to wheeze out.

If you didn't know any better, you might think you have been laughing for hours before you can finally catch your breath again. Gojo keeps clumsily knocking things over, and every time you think you are about to calm down to a rational level, he does another thing that was just so funny. It's a neverending cycle.

You feel like you are having an out of body experience, with your skin tingling and your mind afloat. You have forgotten at this point what you are laughing at in preference of eating your ice cream. It tastes amazing and you do not think there is anything in the world you have had that compares to the pint you are digging from.

Your ice cream is so delicious that you have zoned out for who-know's-how-long. Between scooping ice cream from the container and staring brainlessly at the counter in front of you, you figure the brownie has made it's way through your system by now.

Gojo is quiet beside you, which is rather abnormal form him. When you finally find the strength to pull yourself out of your daze, you look over to see him floating around, practically bouncing off of the walls. His eyes are closed and he looks at peace, but he is bouncing like a TV logo after a movie has been paused for too long.

You place the lid back on your ice cream and put everything back where you got it before questioning, "Toru, baby? You good?" He smiles at your voice, pulling down his blindfold that has become such a part of his identity. His eyes glow, which almost distracts you from the way he looks so... thoughtless.

"Mhm, all good, lovie," he says happily.

"What you doin' over there?"

"Just hanging around," he says, flipping upside down midair, a cheesy smile on his face. You can tell he has recollected himself from whatever meditative trance he was only moments before now.

You start walking toward your bedroom, saying "Well, I'm gonna lay down if you wanna join!"

Immediately, you hear a thump indicating his feet hit the ground and the sound of steps rushing after you.

-----

"Mmmmmmmm," Gojo moans out. "They are so soft and squishy." He lays in bed with you, one arm resting behind his neck, and the other around you laying against his side. He uses the free hand not behind his neck in order to reache back into the bag of marshmallows and stuff more into his mouth. "Like fluffy clouds I can chew."

You lift your head from it's spot on his shirtless chest and smile up at him. A bowl of freshly popped popcorn sits on the bedside table (your husband cooked it up for you when you said you never watch a movie without some popcorn), easy access to quench your seemingly never-ending hunger. A rom-com plays, neither of you really paying attention to it, preferring each other's presence instead.

"You talk about all your sweets like that?" you tease.

"No..." Gojo says suspisciously. "Never. Mostly. Only sometimes."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm sure," you roll your eyes in an exaggerated manner.

"Don't worry, you're my favorite sweet," he reassures and leans in closer to you. "Always."

Satoru's lips are so close to your own. The ones that told you "I do", the ones that whisper sweet nothings after a long week like this past one, the ones that tease you relentlessly.

"Mhm, always," you repeat, but all you can think is how you want him.

His lips are the softest thing you have ever felt touch yours. You think about the first time you kissed back in high school; it truly is crazy how velvety his still feel against your own. His lips gently press onto yours, speaking a language only the two of you can comprehend. A sense of urgency increases the tempo of the song you create together. He nips at the bottom of your lip, and you let our a small whimper while his tongue takes the opportunity to enter your mouth.

He tastes like sugar.

He leaves one last lingering kiss on your lips, then separates to tell you, "You seem happy."

"A little," you agree, flustered and missing his lips on yours. "Thanks for helping me relax. Means a lot to me."

"Anytime, princess. Say the word, I will drop everything to help you out. Even if you don't say anything, I'll still try and help. I just love you too much," he responds.

"I love you, too."

"Aw, you're so cute, babe. So obsessed with me. I need to take a picture and show everyone how bad you're down for me," he coos, causing you to shy away.

"Toru, stop! You did you even hear yourself? If anyone is down bad, it's you!" you defend.

"I mean, you did marry me, so I'd say it's you," he teases back.

"You married me, too!"

"Awwwwe! So cute all angry! Pose for the camera!"

Bonus

With a box of Shoko's favorite mochi in one hand, you use the other to open the door into her office.

"Shoko!" You exclaim as she says your name, running to hug you. She smells faintly of cigarette smoke, causing you to feel guilty for not checking in with her as much as you usually do. Her smoking tends to get more frequently depending on her stress level.

You hand her the box of mochi, saying, "Here, take these."

"Ugh, my favorite. Thank you," she says. "Did Gojo's special plan go well?"

"I'm assuming that was all your idea?" you laugh.

"Kinda. It was honestly more of a selfish thing on my end. Satoru had been visiting me every hour while you were on missions and I figured he could use them to chill out," Shoko groans. You smile at the though of your husband being so worried about you while you were gone, even though you were texting him updates the entire time. "You gotta stop leaving me to deal with him alone."

"He's such a big baby sometimes," you chuckle. "He did say something kinda smart the other night, though."

"Oh, no," Shoko says as she prepares herself for whatever is about to come out of your mouth.

"We should make a 'bakery' business and name it 'Edible Arrangements'!" you announce. You fan your hands out as if emphasizing the proposal - one that you definitely were not serious about, just trying to humor your husband.

"You two are helpless."

-----

i always struggle with how to wrap things up so im sorry it was kind of abrupt but i hope you like it !!!! thank u for readingggg. again im still learning and didnt really proofread so my apologies for mistakes or anything but yeah love uuu

#gojo x reader #jujutsu gojo #jjk #gojo #fanfic #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x you #satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #satoru gojo x you #edibles

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caramellcandy · 6 months ago

Note

phew that's a lot longer than I thought also here is the picture that I used to describe Polites dragon form

One of Polites earliest memories is of his parents telling him what he was, a dragon. He was so excited at the time and why wouldn't he be? Dragons are awesome and cool! But right after came the rules. The one rule that has always been drilled into him.

Don't reveal your true form to a human ever

He learns that being a dragon is not as amazing as he first thought. Most people would see a monster, a beast, something to be feared and hunted down. He learns of the time where dragons were constantly sought out and killed in cold blood for nothing but the fact they were born a dragon.

Dragons did not always have the ability to become human so back then they were easily found out. The Gods fought over the slaughter of the dragons. Eventually the Gods on the side of the dragons came together to bless them with the ability to become human as a way to hide safely.

While Polites was nervous about what could happen if others were to find out he didn't let it stop him from playing with the other kids and making friends. He was always kind like his mother. He thrived with other people. The memory of meeting his closest friend stands out most.

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

Polites had agreed to a race between all the boys in the village. While most of the boys were hoping to show off to the girls Polites is just happy to spend time with the others. He laughs as the wind blows through his hair and the breathless feeling of racing down the path.

He wonders if this is anything like it will feel when he eventually gets his wings. Will he feel this free in the sky or will it be even more freeing than running? He is brought out of his yearning as he trips over a rock hidden in the dirt causing him to fall to the ground hard.

The other boys race past past him barely giving him a glance as they continue the race. His knees and arms ache a bit but being a dragon makes himself sturdier than most. He is about to push himself up when an outstretched hand is offered to him.

He looks up to see a grinning boy with blond curly hair and tan skin. The boy is obviously out of breath from running. Polites grins back and grabs onto the hand letting himself be pulled up as he brushes the dirt from his clothes.

"Hello my name is Pentheus! What's your name?"

"My name is Polites! Thank you for helping me."

That is how their friendship started one that lasted for years of Polites life. He remembers believing it would last forever the carefree laughter with his closest friend, the heartfelt talks and unconditional love, the teasing. He believed with all his heart that nothing would change. Unfortunately the fates had other plans as he would soon find out.

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

Polites was 14 the day everything went wrong, the day that left scars that would never heal.

The forest was beautiful with the soft sunlight filtering through the trees. A soft breeze gently rustling the leaves as sounds of birds chirping fill the cool crisp air.

Polites was too busy to enjoy the peace like he usually would though. He is instead arguing with himself over something he has been struggling with for weeks as he skips stones on the lake. He wants to tell Pentheus about what he is but fear and his parents words keep stopping him. It hurts keeping such a big part of himself a secret from his closest friend but the rules are made to protect all dragons not just him.

He sighs once again unable to decide and instead wants to try and practice with his dragon side. While dragons don't usually get their full dragon forms until they are 16 Polites is hoping to get it earlier. Unfortunately so far he has only managed partial transformations.

He takes a deep breath and concentrates on the dragon he can feel tucked away inside him. He envisions what he imagines his dragon form will look like, big and majestic. He feels the power spreading through him the familiar feeling of shifting and he is sure this will be the moment all his hard work would pay off.

He looks into his reflection in lake and is disappointed to find he wasn't fully shifted. Instead random patches of scales cover his skin with two horns curving on his head. His hands are also more like the claws of a dragon. He tries his best to push aside his disappointment instead admires the pale gold and white of his dragon side. He has always loved how the colors looked, it made him feel beautiful.

"…Polites?"

Polites tenses as he hears his friend call his name hesitantly. He turns around ready to explain but he doesn't know how to start. How can he explain how he has been lying to him this entire time? He tries to reach out to his friend.

"I'm sorry please I can explain!"

Polites pulls back as his friend flinches away from the dragon claws on his hand and turns around and runs. Polites stand there frozen and hurt. The fear in his friends eyes feels like a punch to the gut. Does his friend really think he would ever hurt him?

Dragons are seen as dangerous beasts, monsters, to be hunted down and killed

That's when the fear hits fear for both himself and his parents. His friend will tell everyone what he has seen and then who knows what will happen! Polites quickly shoves his dragon back inside him and runs as fast as his legs can carry him. He has to warn mom and dad!

Polites rushes through the forest uncaring of the branches scratching him. His legs begin to ache and his breathing is quick as he finally pushes his way out of the forest and he ignores the aching instead putting on more speed without the obstacles in his way.

When he finally reaches the small hut he calls home he slams open the door causing his parents to jump. He is out of breath with wide scared eyes and covered in dirt and twigs. He takes a few seconds to catch his breath some before delivering the bad news.

"Mom, dad, I'm so sorry but Pentheus saw me practicing in the forest he knows!"

He sees the moment his parents register what he just said as fear fills their eyes. Dad runs around frantically packing their belongings while Mom pulls him into a quick hug.

"Don't worry sweetheart we will be fine. I'm sorry but we have to leave now we can't stay."

Mom let's him go as he feels tears begin to form. He heads to his room and starts to pack his few things. He has to leave behind a few stuff like his lumpy pottery he had tried to make once and his collection of seashells from the nearby beach. He finishes and with one last look back at the room that had been his since birth before running out of the house.

As he is about to follow his parents he is dragged into a tight hold with a yelp. Polites starts to struggle his panic causing his hands to become more like claws as he fights the arm but despite the curses he is not released.His parents turn around at the sounds and stare terrified as a sharp blade is pressed against his throat. Polites freezes as he tries to calm his breathing.

"Would you look at that the brat was right he really is a monster! Now don't bother fighting or your freak son will end up dead."

Polites flinches at the word monster and whimpers as the blade is pressed harder against his neck. He watches as his parents slowly drop their belongings and don't fight the guards dragging them closer. They roughly tie their arms behind their back and shove them to the ground.

Polites cries and he wants so much to be back in his mom's arms, warm and safe. He is terrified at what could happen now. His tears fall on the blade as he tries to tell his parents how sorry he is without speaking. His parents have struggled to sit upright with their arms tied.Mom looks at him sadly with a warmth of a mother.

"Don't blame yourself for this sweetheart. It's not your fault."

He wants to argue with her that it is his fault, that he should have been more careful but the cold edge of the blade against his neck is a reminder to stay silent. The man holding him back speaks up.

"Well what are you guys waiting for? Who knows how long keeping the brat hostage will stop them. They are the parents which means they are monsters as well! Don't give them the chance to fight back."

Polite's eyes widen as he spots two men with swords heading towards his parents. He starts to struggle even as the blade digs into his neck. All he cares about is saving his parents. His mom is crying as he speaks up.

"It's okay Poli please don't ever stop being kind and don't blame humans for this not all humans are the same."

Polites struggles more only for him to be hit in the head. He stops struggling as his head throbs from the hit. He feels the dragon inside waking up, responding to his fear. He focuses back on his parents watching the men raising their swords his father starts talking too.

"We are so proud of you my son. You can escape I know you can do it so run away and dont look back okay?"

His dragon bursts out all at once as he screams for them. He feels the change happening and lashes out at the man holding him. His scream turns into a roar as his body grows and shifts into his full dragon form. Even then he isn't quick enough only able to watch the blades run them through.

The grief and anger filled roar echoes across the entire area as he reaches his parents and knocks the men aside with his tail. He shields his parents the best he can as they lay there dying. Mom is already dead and Dads voice is weak as he speaks.

"Run…you have to run…"

Polites sobs as he nudges the still forms of his parents.

"Please no don't leave me, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry…"

He knows he has to leave now but everything hurts and he just wants his parents to hold him again and tell him they are safe. Instead he shoves the grief and pain down focusing on doing what Dad asked

To run and never look back

He starts running and leaps off the ground as he flaps his wings. A blade slices into his side barely missing his wing causing him to growl at the pain. He knocks the man off as Polites flies upward with the sword still stuck in his side.

His flight is awkward and strained, his instincts the only thing keeping him in the air as he flies away from land and over the sea. He had always looked forward to his first time flying but he can't bring himself to care as leaves behind everything he has ever known and loved.

By the time he spots land again he is feeling lightheaded with ever part of him aching. He falters as the relief of reaching land cause his wings to buckle and he starts to fall. He skids across the beach the rough sand and rocks digging into him as he lays there whimpering.

He barely manages to shift back into a human as he sobs. Everywhere hurts and he feels the wounds bleeding. The blood loss leaves him weak and exhausted as he falls unconscious.

He is not awake to hear a dog barking as a young boy comes across him. He doesn't feel himself being carried away nor does he hear the boys words.

"Don't worry you will be fine I promise I will help you"

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

Polites once again finds himself fighting except this time instead of a human enemy it's a Cyclops. It frustrates him that their peaceful approach didn't work and he can feel the dragon instinct inside wanting to shift, to show the Cyclops it should have accepted their offer of peace instead of trying to kill them.

He pushes the instinct down with practiced ease although it's harder than usual because its been so long since he last shifted. He must not reveal his true nature to other humans it's an rule that has been drilled into him since he was young. He knows what happens when the rules are not followed.

Humans often see dragons as beasts and monsters to be slayed and keeping his identity secret is vital to his and other dragons safety so even as he longs to tell Odysseus and Eurylochus he stopped himself. Dragons are rare to find having faded into legends and it needs to stay that way.

Polites notices Odysseus climb a rocky cliff in the cave before looking down and leaping with his sword aimed, as he slices the back of the cyclops. Polites rushes over to where he lands and is relieved to see he is okay before helping him up. They dive back into the battle where everyone is moving together as one. The barely even have to speak to know what to do after 10 years of fighting together.

Polites notices the Cyclops reaching for something and another deep rooting dragon instinct flares to life danger . He sees the cyclops lock his eye onto Odysseus and he is already running towards him the phantom feeling of scales shifting over his skin as every part of him screams at him to protect his friend, his Zaymah(brother). He refuses to let more of his family die!

He manages to push Odysseus out of the way just as the club slams into him. He lets his scales out under his armor to steel himself so even as he is sent flying he is mostly safe with only a few bruises and some non life threatening wounds. The worst part is hearing Odysseus desperate scream of his name as he lays in the shadows of the cave catching his breath.

The pain is making it hard to focus and his dragon is fighting to get out, to keep himself safe, but he continues to fight the urge to shift. Its made harder when he hears screams echo along with roars and earthshaking thuds. His Fahdons(friends) are being slaughtered and his dragon is raging over their deaths. It doesn't take long to lose the fight as he starts to shift.

Teeth and nails grow into claws and fangs while his body grows larger with scales spreading across his body. Tail and wings form while fur grows down his neck. Its freeing to finally be in his true form after so long and he makes sure to spread his wings wide before turning his attention to the Cyclops with a snarl.

"We tried to offer you a peaceful solution and what do you do? You murdered my Fahdons and almost killed my zaymah!"

Polites dragon form was the color of pale gold and pure white almost angelic looking with big wings unfurled and a fur tipped tail swaying behind it. Strong scales cover the chest like armor and sharp fangs and claws as deadly weapons. The fur frames the head flowing elegantly down the neck. He is imposing and majestic and powerful with intelligent brown eyes. Eyes that are filled with rage.

Polites moves gracefully despite being big enough to rival the Cyclops as he stands in front of the group cowering in the corner. He knows this form can be scary but right now is no time to explain and he refuses to let anyone else die. The Cyclops gets over his shock and a dark grin crosses its face.

"A dragon huh? Father would love it if I offer him a dragon."

Polites launches himself at the Cyclops digging fangs and claws deep into flesh causing it to roar in pain. The club swings into his side causing him to be knocked away with a grunt. He stares the cyclops down looking for a weakness.

He wishes he could just fry the cyclops to a crisp but since his parents never had the chance to teach him how to control his fire he doesn't want to use it. He won't take the chance of hurting the crew in the enclosed space of the cave

He leaps again wrapping his tail around the cyclops wrist and tightens causing the club to fall to the ground with a pain filled roar. Polites digs teeth into the neck and clamps down killing it at last. He lets go and climbs off breathing hard.

He pulls his dragon back and lets himself shrink as he turns back into a human and he looks back at the remaining crew. Odysseus is the first to speak.

"..Polites?"

His name echos through the cave as Polites flinches. It sounds too similar to Pentheus and he doesn't want to lose anyone else. Why couldn't he have just kept his dragon in check?! But no if he had done that more would have died… Then is he just not allowed to keep the people he loves? He curls in on himself preparing for the hate and fear.

"Polites are you okay?"

It takes a bit to process the words and when he does he looks at Odysseus in shock. That's the last thing he expected.

"w-what?"

Odysseus is a bit weary but with eyes full of concern, concern for him.

"Polites please answer me."

"You dont…hate me?"

Odysseus looks like he had been punched in the gut as hurt flashes across his face before concern takes over again.

"Polites what are you saying? Of course I don't hate you! You saved all our lives!"

Polites tries to speak but a sob is all that comes out as he collapses from the shock and relief. Odysseus lurches forward and catches him before can hit the ground as Polites starts sobbing with fingers digging into cloth.

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

Odysseus waits until Polites is asleep watching as his chest rises and falls with each gentle breath. He looks so peaceful like this. Odysseus brushes the unruly curls of hair from Polites face with a gentle smile before standing up trying his best to not wake Polites.

It seems his efforts are in vain as Polites tail wraps around his waist and tugs him back. He sighs and lets himself be pulled back into the bed with a half asleep Polites. Wings form from his back and wrap around Odysseus like a cocoon as Polites snuggles closer to him.

"Stay…"

Odysseus smiles at the obvious sleepiness in Polites voice.

"Okay Polites I'll stay."

The promise is soft and genuine. Polites relaxes and pulls Odysseus closer and..was he purring? Odysseus can't help but chuckle a bit at that. Who knew dragons were just big cats. It makes him proud and happy that Polites is finally letting his dragon show around him.

Odysseus feels Polites heat up in a soothing warmth that has him relax fully luring him closer to sleep. He lets himself fall asleep with a smile feeling safe and content curled up next to Polites with wings and tail wrapped comfortingly around him.

All the work can wait until later he's sure.

this au is so cool! I love dragons

#epic the musical #epic: the musical #polites #epic au #epic the musical au #epic polites #epic the musical polites #polites epic the musical #poli #dragon polites #heart of gold and scales

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rottedberries · 1 year ago

Text

One of One: Part 1

Summary - It's been two months since Astarion has left your camp since that night in Cazador's palace where everything went wrong. In the events of severely misguided judgement you find yourself bleeding out in a dark alley, in his arms one last time, spending your last fleeting moments with him.

Tags - Hurt / comfort, angst, depictions of death and dying, happy ending, vampire tav, nb tav

Notes - I accidentally picked the wrong option when trying to talk Astarion out of the ascension, and got told to die before he left my party forever. Me and my sister couldn't stop thinking about him regretting his actions once he came back to his senses and soon after this piece was born. I wanted it to be a short 3k piece, but as always I went overboard. There will be a part 2, but hopefully for now this will suffice.

Word Count - 5,832

AO3 Link

“I would say good luck out there, but honestly? I hope you die screaming.”

He left, and he was gone. You tried to not act like a dog, a lovesick puppy waiting for its owner to return home, but you couldn’t help yourself. Ever since that night in Cazador’s palace, your dreams had been filled with nightmares, and wishes that had yet to come true. Waking up to find the red tent adorned with gaudy pillows and spilled goblets of blood that you loved oh so much, back in the place that it belonged in your camp. But instead, all that laid was an empty spot where the drops of rain soaked the ground underneath leaving a stench of mud and rocks. Completely washing away whatever of Astarion’s scent used to linger.

It was because of that empty spot, the more you looked at it, the more your head span. You could only focus on your mistakes of that night, and everything that went wrong. If only you had tried harder . There could have been better words to say, now that everything was over and done with. Hindsight was 20/20, but in the moment it seemed like every thought, every word died out on the tip of your tongue as fast as you tried to will them out of your mouth.

In front of you, was someone you loved, overcome with want and power. So toxic that it clung to the air in thick waves in a way that made the blood spilled from the enemies just defeated more potent than before. When you found yourself staring into Astarion’s eyes, you couldn’t see the man that you were talking to outside the palace a few hours prior. His eyes now bright with bloodlust, yet empty…with something else, lying there underneath the surface. Something you couldn’t quite pick out as much as you tried. And as you stared at him, trying to decipher it, Astarion just stared back…begging, in a voice so demanding, yet childlike…so desperate.

The emotions flooding the room, the thoughts clouding your head, it was too much for you to wrap your head around. Fear clogged up your throat, and airways, making the simplest breaths the hardest to gasp for. You couldn’t find rhyme or reason to deny him. There was no logic in your brain that could describe why this was wrong , you just knew it was.

Instead of trying to reason, to beg, to reach out to that scared boy trapped in a body adorned with 200 years worth of scars, you stood still, and denied. Giving no reason, just your feet planted firmly on the ground, not even finding it in yourself to move or reach out.

And he begged . He begged even harder than he had before…the softest ‘ please ’ falling from his lips.

Yet you still found yourself saying no.

Then it was all over. You watched as Astarion dug his fangs into Cazador’s neck, drinking up his blood before driving a knife into his heart over and over and over again, screaming with every pierce and new puncture wound. All that was left was a room stained in blood, and anguished cries that pierced your heart so deep you found pressure building behind your eyes, threatening to let loose as well. And what came after were words filled with hatred, an expression forever burned into your memory that you still see it every time you close your eyes.

‘ I’m done with you. I would say good luck out there, but honestly? I hope you die screaming.’

You tried, you really did try to get Astarion back after that. Your feet were finally able to move, and you pushed them as hard as you could, as fast as you could go. Your hands outstretched, trying to grab onto his shoulder, arm- the waistline of his pants. But he didn’t care, he didn’t even spare you a look; just carelessly shoved you off of him and left.

That was the last time you had seen him.

You don’t have the exact date of the last time you saw him, but it had to have been at least a month by now…maybe two. With Astarion’s bright and sardonic personality missing from the camp, it seemed like the days had started to blend together. While you still had the rest of your party, and you were thankful they were alive and well, you couldn’t bring yourself to care when you had driven out the one person you cared for most.

Since then, you had become brash, reckless, and careless. A part of you couldn’t tell if it's because you wanted to punish yourself for being a horrible leader, or if you’d simply lost the ability to care about the world saving adventure you had found yourself on.

Lae’Zel had already had more than a few choice words for you, and recently it seems they were getting stronger and more rude as time went on and the more you kept messing up. Everyone else barely bit their tongues either. Even someone like Shadowheart who had been with you when it happened, getting a first hand show at the fight that took place, was starting to get fed up with you. Her temper becoming shorter, until she had finally found you and cornered you against a wall in camp last night.

“We’re all going through our own problems while also having to deal with the Absolute, and you have been nothing but supportive and helping with everyone here- I’d probably be dead without your guidance.”

She started off, it was something small and sweet, which only made you dread her words when she continued the rest of her sentence.

“And I want to be there for you too while you deal with your own pain- but quite frankly, you’re going to get us killed at this point. I didn’t make it this far to have someone make some brain dead decisions right at the end.

I am more willing to lend an ear, to help in whatever way I can, but if you don’t reach out and proceed on this suicide mission then I’m out…and I’m sure a lot of the others are going to be too.”

There was a pause of silence, you could barely meet her eyes, let alone reply. Whatever choice she gave you to reply and defend yourself, you didn’t take. You just let her keep going.

“I don’t know what you and Astarion had going on, but it was obviously something very special. It sucks that he’s not around anymore, but if you let this cost your life- cost everything we have worked for up to this point - then I have severely misjudged your intelligence and your priorities. Get it together.”

With her lecture out of the way, she was gone, stalking off back towards her tent.

You couldn’t even find it in yourself to be angry at her words and accusations. Because she wasn’t wrong. And you had been anything but a leader for the past few months, yet somehow your team stayed. Though all those thoughts met little nothing to now and you wished it did.

It was another day, or night technically, and it had been one of the best ones in awhile. Taking Shadowheart’s words into consideration, you tried your best to be better. It was obvious your mind still wasn’t in it all the way, but at least the day had passed without any misjudged bow shots into your teammates backs instead of the enemies; or conversations that turned into fights when they could’ve easily been schmoozed out of.

Dinner had recently ended, and everyone had retreated to their tents or their cots for the night. You found yourself on your back, staring absently at the night sky, heavy with dark rain clouds, threatening to spill torrential rain at any second. The cold chill of an upcoming storm was already blowing itself through camps, lifting up tarps and trying its best to put out the campfire. You were already restless tonight, but the howling of the wind only made it worse. Every sharp sting of air flying past you and biting at your face only made it harder, every time you tried to slip your head under the blanket you just ended up feeling claustrophobic and suffocated. There was no winning.

So you were left with your head outside, facing the cold night. Every few minutes you would toss back and forth on your sides, and on your back. You’d sit up, fluff your pillow, and lay back down somehow more uncomfortable than before. You did everything from trying to count sheep, to singing your favorite songs in your head to get yourself to relax. After a couple hours though, it was no use. The rain started not long ago, but the soft pitter of the drops on the ground was a hindrance to your focus on sleeping instead of a welcomed white noise. When it was obvious that you weren’t sleeping for a while, you saw no point in keeping on trying. The fire has burnt down to its bare embers, it was cold and dark and suddenly you were craving the warmth of the indoors and maybe an alcoholic drink to really warm the cold emptiness that lingers inside your chest.

It's with that thought that creeps up and lingers in your brain for the majority of the hour that finally gets you up, urging you to slip on your shoes and grab your backpack, slipping in some gold and your journal. Your camp clothes will have to do for now, as you don’t see much of a point to get properly dressed in your gear to go sit down and drink somewhere. It’s after you have everything packed up when you grab a hooded cloak from your chest and leave the camp quietly, adventuring back to the lower city.

You arrive at the pub just in time for the rain to change from a steady downpour of small drops to a cacophony of large wet globs pelting against the windows and roof top, making itself heard even over the cheering and loud laughter of everyone's drunken banter. You slip inside easily enough, removing your hood once you’re fully inside. It only takes a moment to take in the sight in front of the you- red faced patrons clinking their mugs and letting sour liquid spill onto their hands. The strong scent of alcohol seeping from everyone's breaths mixed with the fresh cooked food swimming through the air. There’s a mixture of singing and dancing as everyone is in high spirits, but also hushed, serious conversations taking place in the corner of the room. Passed out strangers, sleeping away the night with their head in their arms at the tables tucked away.

This was perfect.

Busy enough that the background of people will keep your mind from wandering to unwanted thoughts. It also meant no one would pay attention to you.

“What will it be?” The bartender asks as you make your way up to the counter. Her lips are pursed, she looks tired, and a bit on edge. It was obvious her shift had been going on for too long, but she was trying her best to keep a friendly facade up.

“Rum.” You speak back plainly, as you drop a bag of gold on the counter. “The entire bottle preferably.”

She nods, not even giving any cheeky commentary akin to ‘rough day?’ like you would expect someone to comment when buying a whole bottle of alcohol for yourself. Instead she grabs the bottle from under the counter and slams it down with a silver cup before pocketing the gold pieces handed to her.

“Holler if you need anything, dear,” She draws out in a slow and monotone voice.

You don’t bother saying anything else to her as you grab the neck of the bottle and the handle of the cup before making your way to a dark quiet corner of the tavern and sitting yourself on one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs. You make sure to get your space set up before you crack open the lid on the bottle. Pulling out your journal and the small portable jar of ink and quill you brought before finally pouring your first drink.

You take a deep breath, steady yourself as the deep liquid looks back at you. For a second you swear you can see your reflection in the liquid, empty eyes, dark bags, a hideous frown. It just gives you more of an incentive to drink, to forget for just a little bit.

Down the hatch.

With a deep breath, you gulp down the first shot of rum and suppress a shudder at the pungent taste, how it burns your throat and thickly coats your mouth in consistency of syrup, yet tastes like stale sugar. You take pleasure in the warmth that soon comes after though, spreading from your core to your hands and feet. You can already feel the pleasant tingle of your nerves finally relaxing, of your body accepting the alcohol as a substitute for a human’s touch, like the big hug you’ve been yearning for.

You can’t help but take another shot right away.

If you’re being honest, you can’t tell how much time has passed. It’s had to at least have been an hour or two, maybe more. The tavern had cleared out a little bit, but it was still quite busy. Even with a few less faces, the chatting and laughter seemed to be louder than when you first entered. It doesn’t bother you, you had quickly let it become background noise as you buried yourself in your journal and shots of Rum.

Already the bottle was a 4th gone, and while you felt pretty coherent at the moment you could tell that the effects would be hitting you sooner than later. It was only at this point in your tipsy state that you realized maybe you should’ve left a note at camp or something, in case you couldn’t find your way back there tonight.

It was fine.

Your body had a good auto pilot, it was good at getting where it needed to be even when you didn’t know what was going on.

The thought quickly fades as you pour yourself another drink and gulp it down, before going back to cataloging your thoughts on paper.

You’re wet.

Wet with rain.

But not just rain.

There’s something else there.

Thick, reeking of copper, and metal.

You cough and more of it spits up, overwhelming your senses as you empty the contents onto the ground in front of you.

Red, so much red. More red than you have ever remembered coughing up before in battle.

That’s when the dread finally washes over you like a harsh slap to the face. It is more sobering than any other remedy you have ever tried in your life. It’s then you go from barely existing in reality, seeing everything through a blurred lens to being too aware of everything around you, snapping back into yourself like you never have done before.

You’re outside, far away from the tavern, but still in the Lower City. You barely recognize where you are, but if you had to guess you were trying to make it back to camp, but not doing a good job at it. With every step your whole body shakes. Putting weight on your ankle makes you want to topple over. It has to be at least sprained, if not broken. You pull out your hands to examine them and instantly notice they’re swollen. Red, puffy, knuckles, sporting drops of blood from the small cracks in the skin. Your head pounds not unlike when getting your head smashed into a wall, and lifting your hand up to your head you can feel a bump before you hiss at the pain of touching the blossoming bruises starting to take place.

This wasn’t good.

From the small amount of damage you could assess on your body you could already tell this was bad.

You feel like you’re on death's doorstep, moments away from collapsing and perishing in the streets. Every small shuffle with your feet feels like you were pushing your body to its extreme limits and pretty soon it was about to give up.

There’s no way to heal yourself, you didn’t pack any potions and all the shops are closed for the night.

The panic is dulled because of the alcohol, but is still present, you feel yourself freaking out in your core. Camp isn’t far, but there’s a part of you that’s certain you won’t be able to make it. You could try crawling, dragging yourself with your arms, but that seems more unlikely than trying to just walk the rest of the way there.

Maybe you could make it. Not all hope is lost yet, you’ve been in worse situations.

It’s right after the small sliver of hope you try to will and grab onto, that the world seems determined to prove you wrong. Another set of coughs destroy your body, sending you off balance as you bend in half to grip your aching ribs. More blood spills from your mouth and joins the rain on the concrete below you. You cough, and cough, and more comes out, it's seemingly endless, and when you’re done, you’re left feeling lightheaded and like you need a long nap. Just simple sleep.

Your body is at its limits. You’re not even halfway to camp. There’s no way out of this one this time.

You really fucked yourself.

You must really be on a suicide mission if you’re dumb enough to get black out and start a fight at the bar. At least you went out fighting, you hoped you at least took one or two of them down with you. You could feel it in your body how you were outnumbered though, bruises and cuts sprouting from all over your body.

There was no way you were ever going to win.

Maybe you just wanted someone to put you out of your misery so you didn’t have to do it yourself.

You’re barely able to make it to the alley on your left as you stumble your way between two buildings. Your body trips on nothing and slams into the stone wall, making you fall to the ground ungracefully as ever. With the last strength in your body, you pull yourself into a sitting position, slouching against the wall, but quickly slump back over.

The wall is spinning, the sky is spinning, you feel like you’re going in circles. The rain is more cold than ever, and you pull your cloak tighter around your body, but it seems to just trap in the chill. You cough, and more blood spills out. Your head pounds, your chest aches, and your ankle moans in pain.

Maybe if you’re lucky some poor fucker will see you and take pity on your sad self. Maybe if you just close your eyes, you’ll be able to gain enough strength to make the way back to camp and you can have Shadowheart patch you up.

Just a few minutes.

That’s all…

It can’t end here…

But you can’t push yourself any further for now…

You just need to rest real fast…

That’s all….

….

You feel yourself on the very edge, your final breath lingering on the tips of your lips as you try to give way to sleep, but something is calling out your name.

You really must be dying.

The voice sounds faintly like Astarion.

It’s pathetic how even on your deathbed you can only think about him. Your dying vision is him calling out for you one last time.

The voice continues to get louder, and you feel like every shout is leading you closer to death, your hallucination slowly becoming more reality than dream. There comes a point where it becomes too real though, and your brain fights itself between accepting this dream and realizing this was real. A thick shadow looms over you, blocking out the lights from outside the alley. The voice is loud in your ear, panicked and calling out louder than before.

He couldn’t really be here, right?

Astarion wanted nothing to do with you before, there’s no way he’s calling out now.

He said he hoped you died screaming.

If we really were here, he should be laughing, delighted that he got the chance to see your body withering away on the streets by random chance.

“...As-tarion….?” You croak out, your voice so hoarse from coughing that it's barely there anymore. It’s stupid to hope, you’re probably just talking to air, but you try anyways. If this is real, then this is your last chance.

The figure is kneeling now, right by your body. A gentle hand scoops under your head, and another hooks under knees before your body is being shifted. You wince but let yourself be manhandled, it’s not like you have much of a choice or can put up a fight. You’re pulled into a lap, you can feel crossed legs underneath you, against your back. One arm continues to cradle your neck and keep your head up, while the other frees the wet hair sticking to your face.

This has to be real right? Your body wouldn’t move like this on its own.

“As-” You open your mouth to try and call out to him again, but you’re quickly stopped with a finger being pushed to your lips and a quiet ‘shh’ noise.

“Yes, it's me.” He speaks.

“What are you- Why are you-” You have so many questions, that your mind can’t choose which one to ask first. You’re still trying to comprehend if this is true.

Because he’s here, he’s actually here. You can feel his hands all over you, his body pressed up against yours. You see him, feel him, hear him. In some twist of cruel fate, he came back. All it took was you ending your life for him to show up again. You can’t decide if it’s worth it. Because you get one last chance to see his smile, how his laugh lines move as his lips quirk upward. You get one last chance to see his expressive eyes that seem to give him away when he’s not quite 100% in the act he’s putting on. You get one more chance to finally apologize, to say all the things you’ve been thinking about for weeks.

“ I’m so sorry-” You find yourself saying. If you’re going to die, at least maybe you can get the apology you’ve been practicing in your head before it's all over.

“I never meant…God, I’m so sorry.” Your voice cracks, and you can feel yourself getting choked up. Your already sore throat hurts even more, but you keep pushing. You need to get this out.

“You were hurting, and I turned you down- wouldn’t even say anything- just denied you.” Your mouth is moving faster than your brain, the rehearsed apology being quickly thrown out the window. You’re going to die soon, you need to get this out now before you’re gone forever. “I was just…scared- and I didn’t know what to do- I-I fucked up though and made you think I wasn’t on your side..I’m-God- I’m sorry-”

You feel tears slide down your face and they burn the tender bruises forming on your cheeks, but you can’t stop. You keep blabbering, saying the same three sentences over and over again, not being able to comprehend anything, just trying to talk, to get him to forgive you. And eventually, there’s another set of fingers being placed on your lips, shushing you again. And you quiet right away, you feel like you can barely breathe.

“It’s- Okay.” He seems choked up, lost in his own thoughts. He takes a second to work out his words, but you can tell he is thinking hard about them. His voice isn’t filled with malice like it was last time. It’s soft, and gentle this time. It’s serious.

“I see that now.” He finally decides on his words, and loosely shifts in his arms to stare up at his face.

It really is him .

“I was so focused on something that I had been denied for so long…I let it control all my thoughts and actions. I didn’t realize how far gone I was. I just wanted…revenge…to get my life back. To feel in control for once. I couldn’t take being denied that again, and I didn’t want anyone who wouldn’t support me. I just wanted…closure.”

As he talks, you stare at him and take everything about him in. The rain has let up, the clouds finally parting just enough for the moonlight to peek through. It shines brightly on Astarion’s hair, casting a halo highlight. His eyes are soft, but the deep red that you love. His expression changes with every single word he speaks, a frown tugging at his lips as he talks to you. He’s beautiful. He’s more beautiful than you remember.

“But I left, and it didn’t take me long to calm down and realize my mistake. You were right . And I didn’t notice at the time..but you were scared. I keep playing that night over in my head and - Gods - I can only see how terrified you were. I did that… ” his voice fades out, and you feel more tears slip down your face.

This can’t be real. This is a dream. Because Astarion is pouring his heart out to you, holding you in his arms, apologizing while you’re on your deathbed.

It’s like a cliche dream come true, the best case scenario you could have pictured when you think about your death.

It feels so real though. It has to be.

“I made you scared. I never want to do that again. But I couldn’t bring myself to come back…not yet at least. I would never forgive anyone if acted the way to me that I acted towards you-”

“I’ve prayed every night that you would come back- you’ve been in my dreams- you’ve-” You cut him off, needing him to know how much you want him back. How much you forgive him, but you can’t talk long before you heave a heavy cough and can feel even more blood sliding down the corner of your lips.

“ Gods.. ”He breathes out a heavy, heartbroken sigh as he thumbs away the blood soiling your face.

His touch is the lightest thing you’ve ever felt, especially after the beating you suffered earlier in the night. Your whole body screams in pain, but every place that he touches is a personal cure all, you don’t feel any pain at all in his arms. His hands aren’t warm, yet somehow they are warming your body, filling you up like the alcohol did, but ten times stronger. You can feel your stomach flipping over itself, fluttering at every touch. You missed him so much.

“What happened to you?” He asks in shock, holding your face, sliding his thumb along your cheek to catch whatever stray tears linger as he stares into your eyes.

“I…don’t…know…” You admit, pitifully, darting your eyes away from his as you answer the question.

He raises an eyebrow at you, wordlessly encouraging you to keep talking. So you do, as best as you can. You speak in short, simple sentences, your apology from before taking the most of your brain power and energy. You explain drinking to clear your thoughts, and coming back to on the street. You talk about the pain in your ankle, in your chest and hands. He looks at you the entire time, his face morphing into different expressions as you retell certain parts of your night and you can feel the judgment from him seeping into your bones…though the care he has for you over powers it. The gentle feeling of fingers carding through your hair, detangling the strands, the gentle rubbing motion of his fingers on your arm. It’s like he’s single handedly feeding warmth back into your body, even if it isn’t enough to keep you alive, it's enough to prolong your death.

“What are you doing out here?” You ask at the end of your explanation, not giving him a chance to comment on your decision making skills of the night. Maybe he’ll stay with you until you fade away. That would be nice, dying in his arms. You couldn’t imagine a more perfect way to go.

“Making my way to the woods…” He starts, and quickly fades off leaving you to fill the blank.

Oh right, he must be starving. Back to animals, you were guessing. You almost feel guilty for doing that to him, even though he was the one that left in the first place. Your eyebrows just shoot up and your eyes widen at his response as you nod ever so slightly, telling him you understand.

“Were you ever going to come back?” You ask after another beat of silence.

You really shouldn’t be talking, but you can’t help but keep asking questions. You need answers, and you need your own closure. You need to lay here, life slowly draining your body and listen to his voice as it carries you into the afterlife. You can already feel your eyes get heavier with every word you breathe out. You can feel air being harder to take in, just becoming shallow and soft.

“I- '' It seems like he is going to respond seriously, but can sense the change in your condition and suddenly his calm demeanor completely switches as he cries out, not being able to keep his act going anymore.

“You’re fucking dying!”

He screams into the night, at your face and you frown. You are dying, it's not by your choice and you’d change if you could.

“- fuck-! ” He cries out, and you feel the gentle presence of a healing spell being washed over you. But, it doesn’t do much, just takes you back from the edge of blacking out. Your vision clears for a moment, yet your body still aches, and you can barely breathe. Blood still leaks from your mouth. The only difference is your eyes don’t feel so heavy anymore.

“We need to get you back, hold on-” His grip tightens on you, and you use all the strength you have in your body to reach out and wrap your hand around his arm to get his attention and shake your head.

“Don’t move…I’m not going to make it…” Your voice gets quieter with every word, it seems your vocal chords are finally giving out on you.

“I came here to die like a pathetic stray animal once I realized I had no chance.”

He washes another light spell over you, but just like before it only helps for a few seconds before you go back to feeling worse than ever.

“There’s no way you’re giving up now. ” He speaks through gritted teeth, annoyance and disbelief fills him. “After everything? A stupid bar fight is what puts an end to you?”

You want to laugh because it's true. What a pathetic way to go out.

“Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.”

His eyes narrow at your choice of words and you swear if a light breeze of wind wouldn’t currently knock you on your ass, he would reach out and swat at your arm.

“No. No, this isn’t the end.”

Astarion attempts to stand again, but just like before you shoot your hand out to stop him, pleading with his name on your lips. He stops once more and looks down at you, wide eyes of terror meeting your own.

“I mean it…it’s over for me, I wouldn’t even make it- and the others don’t need to see me like this. Just let them think I ran off on my own in the middle of the night or something-”

Astarion opens his mouth to interject, but you stop him and keep talking with the last strength you have in your body.

“Please…just stay here…” You take a break to wheeze in a pathetic breath of air, and continue. “I don’t ask for much…just, this is perfect. You are all I need. Just one last kiss, and send me off on my way.”

He wants to fight, you see it in every bone in his body. But he’s at a loss, he can either leave you and let you die alone, or follow your wishes. It’s obvious if he tries to take you to camp you’ll fight the whole way there. This alley is your deathbed, that’s all there is too it.

“...Fine…” He relents, with another heartbroken sigh. His eyes are on your face, soaking up your features because it's the last time he’s ever going to get to see them.

His fingers trace the curve of your cheeks, the bridge of your nose and rough skin of your lips. They run across your eyelashes, and smooth over your eyebrows. They dance along your neck, and make their way to your collar bones before moving up to your ear, playing with the cartilage of it. Every move he makes is practiced, purposeful, calculated. He has intent with every touch, his face twisting into something so serious and focused as he stares down at you. As his fingers move and continue to spread warmth and love into your body, he starts to lean down and you try your best to meet him halfway. He stops you though, and tells you to let him do all the work. Eventually you feel his lips against yours.

Something so soft, a feather like kiss that almost feels like it wasn’t even there in the first place. You let his breath take your last as you breathe into his mouth. You move ever so slightly, leaning into his touch, to grab more of him, take whatever you can before it's too late. You strain yourself, pushing yourself over the edge as you lift your arm and wrap it around his neck, letting yourself play with the soaked white curls at the nape of his neck. He sighs in content and kisses you deeper, taking every bit of strength that you have left.

You feel the world fading around you, slowly but sure coming to a halt. Everything is starting to feel dull, his touch, his heat, the cold air outside…it's all starting to feel so far away. And you’re realizing you’re ready. All you wanted was one last kiss and you’d be set.

Astarion pulls away as your eyes blink, and slip closed for one last time.

The last sensation you feel before you’re pulled under is a deep, sharp shooting pain in your neck.

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion #reader x astarion #igs writing #true vampire astarion #bg3 spoilers #bag3 act 3 spoilers

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kaleb-is-definitely-sane · 5 months ago

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Hello, hello lovely Kaleb! One of my upcoming writing projects is about a queer Christian who grew up in a very strict Christian family. She is told that God doesn't love her and that she is going to Hell, but this girl has a passionate and loving faith.

If you are comfortable, could you please describe how faith feels to you. I imagine the whole concept must be very powerful and overwhelming at times, but it isn't something I've experienced, so I don't want to inaccurately represent the experience of being Christian. I'd be grateful for any small contribution, but again, if this isn't a question you want to answer don't worry about it at all :)

Thank you so much,

Sage

Okay. So. For reference. Sage sent me this ask on May 19, 120 days ago. And I thought, "Oh, this'll be easy to answer." But then in June I was proven just how wrong that thought was. It was my best friend's birthday, and I broke down. Crying. Screaming. Shaking. Mad at God (told him to get over it) and asking him to kill me.

He didn't.

He sent me a frog. (This was actually very sweet and personal to me; it makes more sense in context lol).

And then I yelled at him for being kind to me lol. "Stop being kind to me, I am trying to be mad at you!"

What I'm trying to say is it's not easy and I am so, so sorry I ever thought it was.

The thing is tho, many people (queer non christians; straight christians) think it is. "Oh why don't you just stop being Christian?" "Oh why don't you just stop being gay?" As if it's that easy.

To quote G.K. Chesterton, "A religion is not the church a man goes to but the cosmos he lives in". My religion is not my aesthetic or whatever; it's my cosmology. It is the way I understand all of reality and is not separate from any aspect of my life. I cannot stop being Christian or stop believing in Yahweh, the God of the Bible, any sooner than I can change my skin color. Or my sexuality.

That said I should say there are 4 main theological views on this:

Side A: Affirming. Side A is the position that homosexuality is not in conflict with Christianity and that homosexual relationships can be pleasing to God. Sex between homosexual partners is no more sinful than sex between heterosexual partners and gay people should be welcome in the church. Gay marriage is supported.

Side B: Chaste. The idea that being queer is not a sin, but that the bible clearly says that gay sex is iniquity. That said, there is nothing wrong with calling yourself gay; you just couldn't actually be in a relationship with someone ss.

Side X: Orientation Change. This is the "pray the gay away" crowd. Conversion therapy advocates. You need Jesus to fundamentally change you.

Side Y: New Identity. These people also believe that that it's not just homosexual sex that's sinful but any homosexual thoughts or feelings whatsoever, however involuntary. You must live in complete celibacy forever and cannot even call yourself gay.

I'm Side B. I think. I'm side b the way I'm bi which is to say most of the time lol. I have many Side A mutuals and I love and adore all of them. People who are Side B and Side A (in my experience) tend to be some of the best bible readers and the ones most interested in theology. Part of that lies in the fact that we have to constantly justify our faith and identity to practically everyone. Seriously. It is why i avoid talking about my sexuality to Christians, and my faith to nonbelievers.

Side X is literal heresy. Anyone who says that God hates someone is a heretic because God is Love. 1 John 4:8. To say that God hates someone is to say God isn't love which is to change God's identity which is heresy. (You will not find my theology slacking)

I find Side Y ridiculous at least to me personally. I'm gay; you're a Republican. One of those is definitely worse and it's not the former.

As such I also have a firm conviction that no one is going to hell for being gay. First: I don't believe in hell as the word is not even in the mother freaking Bible!!! The word is Gehenna which is an actual physical place south of Jerusalem and that fact has serious theological implications that people need to freaking consider and I could go on an entire rant about this, but I will not for the sake of my mental health. *takes some deep breaths* Where was I? Right. No one is going to hell for being gay; and no one is going to the New Jerusalem for being straight. That is no where in the scriptures. And when someone says I am a sinner who is going to hell for being gay I'm like 1) You obviously don't know me as nothing is more important to me then my faith and 2) I don't trust your exegesis of scripture and am not really interested in your take.

So... I tried and I don't even know if I answered your question well T-T. Summary I guess is:

It's freaking hard but what else am I going to do? My God emptied himself, became a human, and died the torturous death of a slave so *shrugs*

Hamartiology sucks. Not as a concept but as an obsession that some people have. Do Justice. Love Mercy. Walk Humbly. This should be someone's obsession, not whether some stranger is going to hell or not. No one goes to hell when they die. Please find me a bible verse that says that *rolls eyes*

God is love and to say otherwise is heresy.

Surround yourself with loving and passionate believers from many different backgrounds and learn their thoughts. Nothing has made me a better Christian than that.

So... yeah.

I am going to regret posting this; aren't I?

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unanswered-stars · 7 months ago

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Based off of this post by @fourteentrout

While I am staunchly an Azris girly forever and I love Balthquin just think about Azriel x Balthazar.

His shadows report of the changes a young fae is making in his newly appointed garrison after being awarded the title of Oristian and how he welcomes females making the ranks of his warriors. They report how the young boys under his training are treated with kindness rather than cruelty.

He watches from the shadows as Balthazar celebrates starfall in Illyria and for the first time Azriel is able to see how deeply connected his people are to the land. He watches as Balthazar practically vibrates with joy as he flits from vendor to vendor sampling every cultural dish. The music of war drums fill the air as Illyrian’s begin shooting for the sky weaving an intricate dance among the falling stars. Any clipped females are held aloft by their sons and brothers as they toss and swirl them through the air before gently catching them again.

He watches in awe as Balthazar adorns himself with a ceremonial robe and joins a line of males and females alike as they chant their prayers to the passing stars.

His breath catches as the mischievous males eyes wander to his patch of shadows and stare a little to intensely as the songs builds and Azriel’s shadows join the many voices.

His wings have never felt so free as when he is tumbling through the sky later that night. A head of wild dark hair chasing close behind.

The world had never aligned more perfectly then when bronzed fingers grazed his own before gentle tangling against scared skin.

His listens closely as Balthazar pours his heart out about reforms in Illyria and how those placed in positions of power often hold to traditionalists beliefs and are able to smoother and strangle any voices of defiance with ease due to their position.

His heart breaks as he listens to Balthazar talk about his older brother who dreamed of being an artist but was tormented relentlessly for how useless he was and what a waste of a male for having such feminine inclinations. He watched as his brother was forced into training for the High Lord’s army and how unrecognizable his brother became. Azriel could feel the feel his guilt as he talked about how his brother came home to visit one month before the blood rite barely saying a word and when Balthazar asked if he had painted anything recently and how that haunted look in his brothers eyes nearly broke an 8 year old Balthazar. That was the last time he ever saw his brother.

He squeezes his hand in reassurance as Balthazar talked of his best friend from childhood who had taken control of her own life by ending it rather than allowing her wings to be clipped.

He simmered with rage and heartbreak as the male spoke with tears in his eyes about witnessing the execution of two males from his war band, for the sole crime of loving each other.

He spoke of a village tucked deep in the woods that is governed by women as is the only safe space for unclipped females and others like him who have been deemed as unworthy for their unnatural proclivities.

Azriel glows with pride as his male passionately describes the world he dreams for his people. The world that he has trained and fought so hard for. The world that he makes more of a reality with the dawn of each new day.

He is able to reconnect with his Illyrian heritage and finds that it was never being Illyrian that was the issue, it was being unable to move past the fact that his abusers were Illyrian. It was the fact that he hates himself so deeply that he cannot help but hate the very culture that created him.

With the passing of time Azriel found he was unable to love this male without loving the culture from which they both came and which so deeply entwined them.

Please tag me in your crackship headcanons!

#the power of the few controls the lives of the many #catchphrase for hewn city and illyria #Balthazar hates Az at first and doesn’t understand how someone can despise and abandon their own people #they get a small cabin in the illyrian mountains and run an orphanage for abandoned children #also both of their names have hebrew origins so that’s a weird connection sjm…#azris supremacy still reigns but this too complex not to explore #azriel x balthazar #azriel acotar #balthazar #acotar #azris

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marshmallowprotection · 6 months ago

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Would Ray let mc give him a hug after the encounter with v? When he cries and wonders if he can ever make mc happy, it gets me every time. I wish I could comfort Ray more

Ray felt like a failure at that moment. There is no other word to truly describe what he felt. The person he was most terrified of appeared in front of him and he couldn't do anything to protect you.

He promised himself that he would be brave now, that he would do everything in his power to protect you, and he collapsed in front of you instead of being the noble hero he wanted to be. He wasn't like the prince he always imagined he would be. He felt pathetic, and spineless at best. He never wanted you to see that side of him. He never wanted you to see him in pain or terrified of the person he's been made to believe is a real monster.

If he can't stand his ground in front of V, what if he does the same in front of his twin brother? What if he ultimately fails to protect you when it matters most again? What if he's not good enough? What if he'll never be good enough? What if he'll never be strong enough? That's just the thing. Rika told him Ray won't be enough, he'll NEVER be enough, and that he should be gone soon so the "strong" Saeran can exist.

He believes in his heart he's not supposed to exist forever, he's only supposed to exist until he doesn't matter anymore to the Savior. The very moment he met you, he started to believe otherwise, started to believe that maybe he could exist in this world as long as he believed in what you told him, but that moment shattered that illusion and he realized he could never exist in the world outside of paradise.

The reason why he denies your affection in that moment is because he knows he's not worthy. You do get to reason with him for a brief moment but it's like he can't hear you. He's just not worthy. That's the only thing he can think about. How can he accept your love when he can't even protect you from a monster who haunts his nightmares at all hours of the day? If he's not worthy, how can he allow himself the chance to know your touch? Your praise? He isn't worthy of praise by any means, he thinks.

You deserve better than someone who can't protect you.

Is there a way to hold him when he hits rock bottom? For you to cradle his head against your chest so he can hear the gentle lull of your beating heart? Yes, of course, there is. It comes days later... in the same garden, when you stroke his cheek and kiss him so deeply he'll understand how you feel about him. It may not be the same as being able to comfort him when he's sobbing about Jihyun on that fourth night, but... that's how long it takes to break through to him and help him see that he doesn't have to prove himself to be worthy of love.

He's been worthy the entire time.

That's important to understand for what happens after you embrace him. At that moment, he decides that he might be worthy of the outside world, and of your love, and that goes against everything Rika stands for. Why do you think he's pulled into the basement after that night? It’s the kiss… it’s your whispers of love and praise. Rika’s seen what you’ve done for Ray, and she wants to use you to her benefit to get what she wants. You can't show him he's worthy and get him out of Mint Eye, but, in her eyes? You can show him he's worthy so she's able to break him for good.

I wish there was a way to hold him tight on the fourth night, but he's simply not in the headspace to accept your embrace. I would definitely write about it if somebody sent it in as a request specifically, because we can imagine whatever we want in the realm of fanfiction, but as far as it goes for the actual situation? I understand why we're not able to do it in the moment.

#mod kait #ask #mystic messenger #anon #mysme #saeran choi #mysticmessenger #mm #choi saeran #ray choi #choi ray #character analysis

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vxmpswxn · 2 months ago

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ㅤ

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ┈┈ ៸៸ ﹙ 🎂 ﹚

To my eternal flame, my fallen angel—another year of your life is a gift to this world, but to me, it’s a glimpse of eternity. You are the shadow in my light, the blood in my veins, the forever I never dared to dream of. Happy birthday, my love, my darkness, my everything—until the last star dies, yours ( @american-satan ).

As I sit down to write this, the world seems to fade, and it is only you that lingers in my thoughts, like the soft hum of a requiem. How do I even begin to capture the immensity of what I feel for you? How do I describe the depths of my love, when words themselves feel so fragile, so inadequate? You are not just my husband, Cailan. You are my everything—my dark prince, my salvation, my partner in this beautifully haunting dance we call life.

This is your day, my love, the day the world was graced with your presence. And yet, it feels as though it is I who has been gifted beyond measure, because I have you. From the moment we first crossed paths, there was a spark—a knowing, as though our souls had always been destined to intertwine. Back then, we were merely friends, walking a path of connection neither of us fully understood. How naive we were to think this connection could remain platonic, that a bond so electric, so magnetic, could ever be contained within the confines of friendship.

But now, look at us. Two souls bound not just by fate but by choice, by love, by fire. We have built a world together—a beautiful, chaotic, perfect world. Nova, our little dark princess, fills our days with laughter and mischief. Arrax, our loyal wolf, guards our nights with unyielding devotion. And, of course, Conde, who has been with us from the start, a silent witness to the unfolding of our extraordinary story.

And then, there’s our little wonder, the secret miracle growing in the shadows of our love. Even in its silence, it is a testament to the depth of what we have created together. You have given me more than I ever thought possible, more than I ever dared to dream.

You are my dark sun, the light in my shadow, the fire that ignites my soul. With you, every moment is poetry, every breath a hymn. I am alive because of you, my Cailan. You give my life meaning, and every beat of my heart is a tribute to the love I hold for you. You are my fallen angel, my guardian, my reason.

On this day, I want you to know just how deeply I love you. I love you bloody deeply much, with a passion that consumes me, with a devotion that knows no end. You are mine, and I am yours, forever and always. There is no force, no power, no darkness that could ever tear us apart.

So, here’s to you, my beloved. To your strength, your kindness, your fire. To the way you love me unconditionally, the way you make me feel like the only woman in the world. To the way you hold me, kiss me, and remind me every day that I am cherished. You are my home, my sanctuary, my eternal flame.

Happy birthday, my love—may this day be as extraordinary as the love we share. You are my forever, and I am endlessly grateful to walk this path of life with you.

Yours, now and forever,

Lena, your little kitten.

💍🖤🥀

#ᅠ﹙ 𝓸𝒉 𝒎𝒚 𝓵𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓 ﹚ ┈┈┈ 𖹭

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air--so--sweet · 1 year ago

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Okay I already made one post about Klaus's rehab 'accessories' sold as part of a TUA prop auction and there's a lot of cool stuff but I can't post about everything, as much as I would like to, but there's one more thing I thought was worth singling out, Reginald Hargreeve's journal from season 2.

Transcription:

I have finally arrived at my destination. The journey was lengthy and arduous, far more taxing than any of my expeditions back home. Few of my fellows were prepared for the physical and emotional demands of the trip. The close quarters, the strict rations, the seemingly nonexistent passage of time. One could easily succumb to insanity or death in such a fate. I carry Abigail in my heart, her tenacious spirit and altruistic nature. She would not allow me to stay behind and perish with her, and in turn I will not allow her to die with me.

It took a ludicrously short span of time to determine my new home is a filthy, foolish and depraved place. I find it hardly worthy of saving, despite my commitment to doing so. Why should I have abandoned my Abigail for the sake of countless souls, not one of which could even hope to match her selfless grace? But I know she would admonish me for these thoughts, and tell me to recognise the value in all who reside in this despondent place.

It will take decades to see my plan to fruition. I enacted the very first step prior to embarking on my journey and now I can do little more than await the date of its engenderment. In the meantime I will commence building an identity, empire and legacy in my own right. My singular priority in the years to come is to ensure access to the resources (both material and intangible) to successfully implement the final phase. I am resolved to make Abigail proud.

There's so much interesting stuff in here. Firstly the implication that Reginald Hargreeves is not the only one from his planet on Earth. I don't think we'll learn anything about or see the other aliens, but I do wonder what they were getting up to while Reggie was doing his thing. Honestly I think it wpuld be funny for a throwaway allusion to some of them being certain public figures.

He knew before he came to Earth it needed saving. It's unclear from phrasing if he chose to do this or was tasked with it. And why him and seemingly only him if he was not the only one to travel to Earth? Or was the plan always save the world and then use hotel oblivion and the 7 bells to remake it with Abigail by his side? In season 1, having failed, did he choose to kill himself to reunite the academy to at least complete one part of his plan, having failed at the rest? A last ditch attempt to honour Abigail's memory? Hotel Oblivion was more or less off the table as soon as Ben died (which in a way makes ut funnier Klaus frequented Hotel Obsidian when he was on the streets, it literally just became a hotel and nothing more 😂).

That brings me onto the next thing - his love for Abigail. This is the most affection we've ever seen from Hargreeves I think (and the least creepy since the closest example I can think of was him creating a robot mother in his ex-girlfriend's likeness). Though saying he doesn't see why he should abandon her to save all life on earth is a tiny bit concerning. His description of Abigail as altruistic and saying that she would admonish him for not seeing the value in the lives of humans is definitely interesting (also I cant help but feel the choice of saying 'selfless grace' over 'selfness nature' or similar was intentional, not that it means anything, just a fun play on words). I saw a theory forever ago (I believe on reddit but I'm not sure, if I find it I'll edit and add credit) that in season 4 Abigail will leave Reginald when she learns what he did to bring her back and the way he describes her here it doesn't sound like she would be okay with the cruel and abusive treatment of his children followed by him sucking them of their powers and seemingly life force to revive her (though the fact Luther is alive it's possible he planned to reincarnate all of them in the new universe but y'know, maybe make Allison aware so she doesn't chop your head in half before you fully finish building your new universe). The Reginald who wrote this journal entry bears hallmarks of the one we knew, but he seems to have been somewhat tempered by Abigail. Did the decades without her cause a hardening that led to the cold, cruel and abusive man he became? A man Abigail will no longer recognise as the man she fell in love with? Based on this it doesn't seem unlikely but, as far as I recall, these entries are never seen on screen so I don't think we can really count them as canon, especially not knowing who wrote them (I suspect it was someone on the writing staff but we don't know that for certain). However, I vaguely remember seeing a few claims of a new big bad several places, I think people may have sourced this from an interview with Steve Blackman (I intentionally avoid interviews with him because he gives far too much away) which, if the main villain of the piece is not in fact Hargreeves, Abigail, the love of his life and his whole reason for his lifes work leaving him, feels like a pretty good catalyst for him to give up, and possibly even yield to anything the Umbrellas ask of him or maybe even help them?

And lastly, when writing this I couldn't help but think how Reginald's loss of Abigail mirrors several of the Umbrella's own losses. His deal with Allison involved getting Ray and her daughter back and there's been a lot of people wondering if Dave, Sissy, Harlan or even Patch could be alive in this new universe. Allison's words to Viktor before pressing the button, 'Trust me,' and the fact we didn't see her make the deal with Reginald (beyond the handshake Five saw through the doorway) has made me wonder if it didn't just involve her getting to be reunited with her lost loved ones but her siblings too (though my housemate suggested the alternative idea that she made a deal for herself and Viktor only, as he is the only other Umbrella to lose a romantic partner and child, a loss Allison is partially responsible for, having killed adult Harlan, and he's also the sibling Allison was cruelest to in season 3). Would Hargreeves have agreed to the terms of any deal if it meant getting his way? Yeah probably, but I also feel like he might have been more willing to agree to Allison's terms if they involved reuniting her and her siblings with the people they loved who they had to leave for reasons outside of their control (Ray, Sissy and Harlan) or they lost to death (Dave, Harlan (again) and Patch, and in a sense Claire). I feel like I'm giving Hargreeves too much credit but at the same time there's moments in the show that could be interpreted as him caring for the Umbrellas and I do believe he cared for human Grace and Pogo too so it's not impossible that he's capable of empathy, at least at times where it wouldn't negatively impact him or stop him from doing what he believes is right (though just to be clear - any care or love he felt does not in any way absolve him of the cruelty and abuse he subjected his children to or the fact he subjected Pogo to a life of servitude either).

It's just occurred to me that there's the whole additional layer in regards the apocalypse that Reginald was aware of it and wanted to avert it yet he was the cause of it as without his interference the Umbrellas (and other super powered children) would never have been born, never mind his treatment of them, especially Viktor, leading to them growing into the adults they were that led to their actions causing the apocalypse. I've already spent several hours and a tonne of hyperfocus writing this though when I have other real world stuff to do so I'm going to leave it here.

#the umbrella academy #tua #reginald hargreeves #props #prop auction #reginald hargreeves journal

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satansapostle6 · 10 months ago

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love and blood | killian jones

The course of history is changed forever when a ruggedly charming pirate’s fate is intertwined with that of a dark sorceress more powerful than any he had ever encountered.

Warnings: Violence. Mature themes/language. Sexual content.

I. The Encounter

II. The Witch

“Who am I?!” Killian Jones demanded angrily. “Who the fuck are you?!”

He heard a low, amused chuckle before seeing the figure before him vanish in a cloud of enchanted smoke, just as a tall, slender figure in a long black dress appeared before him, all of the candles in the room spontaneously lighting.

“I’m the witch,” the same serene voice he’d been hearing said simply.

Hook stopped for a moment as he finally looked at her in the light.

“Are you the ruler of this place?” he asked cautiously.

“One might say so, yes,” she answered.

The woman standing before him, he couldn’t help but notice, was beautiful. It was the very first thing he saw, whether he could help it or not. There were no other words that could describe it; she was just beautiful.

It couldn’t be explained the way Hook felt himself gravitating towards her, even in spite of the danger he was most certainly in. He was as close to hell as possible, but somehow, all he saw when he looked at her was an angel.

“What have you done with my men?” Killian rasped.

He was both confrontational and fearful.

“Relax; they’re safe. Back home, actually,” the witch assured him.

Everything about this woman confused him; her calmness, her lack of violence. She’d had the opportunity to kill all of them, and yet she hadn’t. To Killian, it seemed she’d almost gone out of her way to keep him placated. It was extremely suspicious. Despite this heated situation, she just stood there, hands together as if waiting on him.

He stared at her in awe, eyes wide as a giant raven came swooping down, parking itself onto her shoulder like a perch, cawing loudly. The black bird just sat there, as if it were also watching him. He found the bird to be very unsettling; it moved and behaved like a human, somehow.

“Who are you?” Hook demanded again. “What do you want with me?”

She studied him for a moment before answering his question.

“My name is Carmilla. You’ve been sent to me by an enemy, and I wish to know why.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hook stated, attempting to get away with as much as he could.

Why he was sent to this castle, he still had no idea. He was still trying to figure out whether Col was anywhere to be found.

“I wouldn’t advise you lie to me,” Carmilla said softly, “It isn’t a good idea.”

Hook nodded, realizing that attempting to convince this sorceress of his innocence could only result in his own death.

“I don’t know anything, alright?” he admitted. “The man who sent me to you… He was strange. I never even saw a face… I’m not even sure it was a man.”

“Strange, you say?” Carmilla thought. “Describe this person to me. Where did you meet them?”

“In the Enchanted Forest,” Hook told her. “My men and I… we were stumbling about, drunk. This cloaked figure came to us… The man. He asked if we liked diamonds. We said yes… He said he’d pay us, if we took some of his magic, and came here to carry out a task.”

“And what is that task?” the sorceress wondered.

“He said we needed to find someone named Col,” Killian Jones explained. “He said to find someone named Col, and obtain something called the ‘Blue Scroll’ from him, my any means necessary. Those were his exact words,” he supplied, laying all of his cards out on the table.

“The Blue Scroll?” Carmilla’s voice grew thin like a whisper.

Hook nodded in response.

“You’re certain?”

“Yes,” he promised. “That’s what he said.”

“This man, or whatever it was…” she thought for a moment. “Can you describe him?”

“Not much,” the pirate offered. “He was, er… A bit shorter than I am. Dressed in all black every time I saw him. Lived in a hovel. Deep in the woods.”

“A hovel?” the woman echoed.

Hook nodded, watching her reactions carefully.

“Can you describe his voice?” she asked hopefully.

“Like I said. Hard to tell if it was a man or a woman,” Hook told her. “It was rather soft for a man, but a bit too deep to be a woman.”

“Oh, I know exactly who sought for you and your band of mercenaries,” Carmilla grinned, a glimmer of unmistakable bloodlust in her eyes.

Hook smiled charmingly, slowly beginning to feel better about his chances of survival. Although this strange sorceress was completely unpredictable and foreign to him, he felt that if he could figure out a way to align himself with her, he’d be able to leave her palace alive. As he wracked his brain for an angle to use with this woman, he suddenly realized; she was a woman, and he was a man.

“So, Carmilla,” he said finally. “Now that I’ve told you everything you need… How else can I be of service to you?” he asked softly, his voice thick with seduction.

But he was met with a derisive laugh.

“You think you could be of service to me?” she questioned.

Hook shrugged humbly, still laying on the rugged charm. “I’m sure given enough time I could think of a few ways I could be of service… your majesty,” he cooed, kneeling before her.

Hook knelt down before the woman, boldly taking her hand as he slowly pressed a soft, gentle kiss to it, not breaking eye contact. Carmilla looked down at him in every sense, picking him apart as her raven would a dead body.

“Perhaps ‘mercenary’ was not the proper epithet,” Carmilla remarked lightly, mussing up his hair and pulling it as he looked up at her with wide eyes. “Perhaps I should have said ‘whore’.”

“I could be anything you like, love,” he promised her, still on his knees.

Hook’s motivation was no longer survival. Now that it was apparent that if she had actually wanted to kill him she would have done it already, his motivation had shifted over to something different, but equally primitive.

“As much as I’d like to explore that proposition… There is something I suppose I could ask of you,” she concluded, seeing his eyes light up, “That requires you vertical,” she added quickly.

“I assure you, your majesty,” he remarked with the utmost flattery as he stood, “I can work vertically.”

“Would you like to offer your services in exchange for a reward, or do you insist upon being nothing but distracting?” Carmilla asked coldly.

“Apologies, love,” Hook replied, “Let’s talk business… What is this reward you speak of?” he inquired, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“Gold, jewels, treasure, I have it all,” she stated. “I could pay you by the boatload if you wish. None of it is of any use to me.”

“Mmm… Perhaps I’m no longer interested in material possessions,” the pirate suggested, pushing his luck.

“Then what, might I ask, are you interested in?”

“You,” he announced, looking her up and down. “I think you’d have your way with me if you could—”

“Do you?” she raised an eyebrow.

Hook continued brazenly.

“—and I must say, I’m very interested in seeing that happen.”

“What exactly are you proposing?” Carmilla asked. “Are you seriously proposing I reward you with sex?”

“I’m not not proposing it,” Hook offered humorously.

“Well, the reward definitely wouldn’t be mine,” she thought aloud.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” he teased. “But, no. You’re right. Sex, while accepted, is not the form of payment I had in mind.”

“Then what do you want, pirate?” she glowered at him. “I don’t like having my time wasted.”

“I want a way to travel between the realms,” Hook asserted. “I know you’re powerful enough…”

Suddenly, the energy in the room shifted with a single movement. Carmilla did not appreciate the challenge. She only waved her hand, as Killian Jones seemed to be sucked into the palace walls, shackles of iron appearing on his hands and feet, as he found himself unable to move. He struggled against them at first, but then chuckled darkly once he saw the look on her face.

This was less of a genuine threat, and more of a demonstration of power.

“Hate to break it to you, your majesty,” he sighed coyly, “But I’m not exactly opposed to this…”

“Don’t forget, pirate, that I could kill you any time I like, and you’d still be none the wiser. Not killing you is my true gift to you,” she promised him with a smile. “I don’t even have to pay you… I own you.”

“Again. Not against this, love,” Hook quipped.

The iron shackles tightened even more, and he gasped aloud.

“Alright, I’m sorry!” he apologized quickly. “I’m sorry! I didn’t intend to disrespect you, Carmilla… I-I will be perfectly obedient from now on! You have my word!”

He winced as the heavy shackles disappeared, and he dropped to the ground like an apple from a tree, looking his serpent in the eye as he rose.

“Hmm,” the sorceress remarked with satisfaction. “And all I had to do was threaten your life… Do yourself a favor. Learn magic. Don’t be such a liability.”

Killian looked up at her with resentment. Never had he felt such hatred in his life for something so admittedly magnificent. This woman, this sorceress, standing before him was potentially the most foul thing he had ever encountered in his travels, apart from perhaps the Crocodile to which he’d lost his hand.

Taking one look at Carmilla, he would have bedded her in an instant, there was no doubt about that, but from the looks of her, he wouldn’t have trusted her if his life depended on it. Looking into her eyes, Hook already felt hypnotized. Mesmerized. The darkness of her eyes was one that called to him, like a black hole looking to devour.

Hook knew that he couldn’t resist her if it came to it; he knew better. He knew better than to put himself in a situation where he’d have to pit his inhibitions against her long, dark locks, and get back stare. Getting into bed, literally or not, with the likes of Carmilla was dangerous, but Hook had no choice but to brave it on his own. She was the only one with the ability to give him what he wanted. His revenge.

He knew that if, someday, he wanted to skin his Crocodile, he would have to befriend someone at least half as powerful. And so far, it seemed the witch of the Land of Blood was his best bet.

“This sorcerer. The one who sent us here,” he said, looking at her with urgency, “Who was he?”

“No one of any importance,” the enchanting witch said with a suspicious smile. “But, we do need to return to your land.”

“My land?” Killian questioned. “For what?”

“He has something we need,” she explained. “Something we both need.”

“And what might that be?” he wondered. “All the man had to offer me was diamonds, and gold.”

“That’s because he took advantage of you, my dear,” she reminded him, tapping at her temple with a finger. “You don’t know magic? You don’t ask the right questions.”

“And what questions might those be?”

“I have one for you, pirate,” the woman ignored him, stepping closer as her fingertips lightly brushed his face.

She examined him the way she would a statue, lifeless and solely meant to be admired.

“Is there someone you hate?” she thought. “Someone whose mere existence makes your blood boil?”

Hook seemed to find humor in the question. “Is it that obvious?”

“Tell me, Hook,” Carmella said, whispering into his ear, “What would you say if I told you there was a way we could travel between realms?”

Hook considered the idea for a moment, fully aware that the longer he remained aligned with this witch, the more he came to realize that he could benefit from it.

“What do we need?” he asked her with a newfound resolve.

Carmilla allowed herself a tiny grin beneath her cruel exterior, recognizing the commitment in his eyes.

III. Bloodlines

#killian jones #once upon a time #captain hook #hook x reader #ouat #ouat hook #captain hook ouat #captain hook x reader #colin o'donoghue #killian jones x reader

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atlantis-just-drowned · 7 months ago

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He couldn’t hold his tears back. His hand laid on their cheek – they looked at him almost the same way they always looked, their expression cold, neutral, if it wasn’t for the discrete, practically unnoticeable tension of their features. Sorriness. They were sorry. He could feel it as if it was his own heart tightening in his chest.

Oh, how bad he wished to tell them they didn’t have to be sorry. That it wasn’t their fault. But he couldn’t let his mind linger on the feeling without addressing every other hurt. There was so much to say. And no words to describe the loneliness and despair stabbing at every part of his body and mind. It was cryogenic liquid burning his insides. Pressing against his lungs until he would choke. And it was imprisoned in his core, chained to his soul and wrapped in satin-like silence.

What was there to do, except to shed every tear he possessed? He couldn’t imagine any single way to describe it. He could only cry and scream for all of eternity in a desperate attempt to relieve the monster clawing at his heart. But even then, his eyes would dry up and his breath would go missing before the ache would subside. And it would never be enough.

He wondered when did they stop crying. He wished he has known. He wished he has been here for them sooner; before they grew used to it. But he knew even then, he couldn’t have fixed it. Just like he couldn’t now. There was no escaping it.

“You’re…” He started before choking up a sob. Looking up at them and to the ground again as he felt himself tremble and struggled to articulate the words. “You’re in… so… much… pain…!”

Two hands came up to cup his face and tilt it up as he kept crying and crying. He couldn’t stand so much sorrow. How could they? How had they been able to keep going when their chest weighted heavier than a cold star?

When he looked at them again, a smile lit up weakly on their face, and inside of him, he felt the tiniest warmth spark – so small compared to the cold and the darkness that tried to engulf it, but so, so powerful. His gaze was frantic, desperately searching for a way to keep this relief – or was it love? – alive. For a way to make it grow big enough to eclipse the hurt forever. But there wasn’t such thing. There would never be.

His face twisted into a pained frown as he felt both of their thumbs wipe away his tears – trying to reassure him, trying to keep the misery at bay, to hide it away from him – and their eyes bore into his.

“Hush.” They smiled gently. “No reasons to cry. There will be brightness forward.”

They said it with this distant, hesitating hope that they were right. Like they refused to believe it too much. In case they would be wrong.

With all the grief and ache of their pierced heart, they looked at him like they were going to make things better, and they whispered.

“The past is behind us. We need to keep moving. Otherwise we won’t see the beauty ahead.”

And oh. He loved them. More than ever, he loved them.

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doomandgloomfromthetomb · 1 year ago

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Patti Smith Group / John Cale / Television - The Palladium, New York City, December 31, 1976

I finally got around to Sonic Life, Thurston Moore's recent memoir, this month! You can read a few of my quick thoughts about it (along with some other nice recommendations) in the latest edition of the Aquarium Drunkard Book Club. As I mention, I was a little surprised at how much I enjoyed Thurston's memories of his teenage years, way before Sonic Youth was even a twinkle in his eye — A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Fan? From the suburbs of Connecticut, Moore made countless trips into NYC to soak in the punk/CBGB/Max's worlds, catching shows by The Ramones, Suicide, the Dead Boys, Sid Vicious ... and Patti Smith, of course.

Thurston paints an evocative portrait of this New Year's Eve blowout, which doubled as Patti's raucous 30th birthday party. He was dangerously high on mescaline.

"We zombied our way down the street to the Palladium and found our seats, and I sat in a state of tenuous control as Television arrived onstage. I figured if I just maintained my cool, the mescaline's threat of wiping out my sanity would begin to subside and all would be okay. 'A song by Dylan' — were the only words I remember Tom Verlaine saying to the audience as the band began to play a plaintive cover of 'Knockin' on Heaven's Door.' By the time John Cale and his group came onstage, I felt as though I were sliding slowly down the side of a porcelain sink, managing only the barest of friction, my reality threatening to fall into a drain hole never to return. I was gripped by the fear of losing myself completely, another entry on the list of acid casualties. I concentrated on specific thoughts, pinpricks of salvation that I'd cling to, slip from, then hold on to again. I feared that if I closed my eyes, I would be forever vanquished."

Happy new year?! All these decades later we can enjoy the Palladium gig via dusty audience tapes — your call if you want to drop a tab of mescaline while you listen. Interesting to hear Television at this point, with Marquee Moon more or less in the can, playing a much larger venue than ever before. They'd just finished several nights in a row at CB's — which is maybe that's why they sound a littttttle bit tired. But there's plenty of sweet stuff, of course, including a truly go-for-broke "Kingdom Come." Billy Ficca, baby! Cale, meanwhile, happily provides a bad trip soundtrack for Thurston's bad trip — a short but powerful set highlighted by a maniacal "Guts" and an even more maniacal "Fear Is A Man's Best Friend." That guy sure could scream.

And what about the belle of the ball — Patti herself? Let's hand it back to Thurston, who had recovered a bit by the start of her set. Here, he describes the all-star finale with Fred "Sonic" Smith joining the melee.

"Fred and Patti had become an item. Now here was Fred onstage, unassuming and spectral, as Patti howled and whirled. With 'My Generation' culminating in obligatory destruction, all players would eventually leave the stage except for the two Smiths. Like Fred, Patti had a Fender Duo-Sonic strapped on, and she leaned her head on her sweetheart's shoulder as both their guitars emitted a whistling-bird noise of feedback through the amps. How this translated to everyone around me, I couldn't say. For me, it was an emblematic vision of all I would ever desire from rock 'n' roll — transcendence, devotion, sonic love."

#patti smith #television #john cale #thurston moore

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the-rocket-scientist · 1 year ago

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Yandere! Alt. Gabriel X Reader (ROMANTIC) PART 3

Requested by Nadmur on AO3 yet again They were curious of the overall outcome of this story so therefore I bring you the third part >:) Hope you enjoy the True Ending. (The Good Ending as an alternate timeline is coming soon)

. . . . .

Lucifer.

Lucifer, your Savior. Your guardian angel. Your love.

You used to hate him so much when you entered Hell at first. The very man who stole your loved one's life, and technically yours in the end. By force. He wasn't too happy about your escape, and Lucifer had set his mind in punishing you to make you stay here forever.

"Welcome to Hell, the eternal abyss, my dear.

"Now you shall reside here with me forever!

"Come and stand by my right hand, without fear.

"You shall be my partner, and my timeless lover."

When you heard those words and opened your eyes you were in a strange, desolate place. Some parts were a barren wasteland, with a terrible smell you could not describe in human words. Some other parts looked like huge bodies of water: some of an island as molten lava, with fire. Overall, the place did not look suitable to be in. Worst of all, there were people, of priests and humans, walking hopelessly in the lands of the desolate: this was the final clue to where you were.

Hell.

(Oh great.)

You turned to Lucifer, who was still ever more beautiful, not daring to show his true form to you again, unless necessary. And right now was his face of terror not needed, yet.

You asked him why you were here, but then stopped mid sentence. Obviously you were in Hell because you had taken your own life, and when one forcibly cuts their life sentence, they were to end up in this eternal abyss of despair.

You had failed your Father.

In grief and in pain, you started to weep and cry for your sins. You begged for forgiveness for your stupidity and rashness, but nobody came. No one. Not a single soul except of the false angel.

He was embracing you again with his arms and wings, your head resting against his stomach. He contained no body warmth, only the freezing cold of a soulless being. You looked up, and seeing his face was monotone and did not change at all, a mask of disappointment. You realized something terrible was planned for you.

"Fear not and cry not, my child," he spoke in the same, memorable whisper, "You will stay with me forever. None can escape death, not even the Son of God. Why are you not happy? Why do you despair and cry out for your pain? Answer me, and I shall aid you however I can."

You tried pulling away, but he only held you tighter.

"Ah, why do you wish to leave? I never gave permission for you to leave, and I won't let you waltz out my realm like last time."

He released you, but then Lucifer grabbed your right wrist with his left with an iron grip.

"I shall teach you what happens to those who dare disobey my words."

He folded his wings in around you and himself and warped into a different place in Hell. You stumbled as you did not expect the force and momentum behind the teleportation. But you managed to not fell over in shock when you saw a certain someone.

Oh, how long have you not seen him. This wonderful alternate whom you used to befriend in the timeless void. Who kept you good company. In jealousy Lucifer had dispatched him. And now here N was, his limbs bloodily ripped out of their sockets, bleeding a black substance, and almost on the verge of death.

But death does not exist for this alternate as a creature of Hell and terror.

You cried out his name, and he opened his two large eyes slightly in pain. They widened more when they spotted you, and when Lucifer stood next to you.

"[Name]..." he muttered in his glitchy staticky voice. "I am not... not allowed..." he groaned in pain and faltered.

"You do not want to get close to him unless you want more harm done than good," Lucifer warned, as he summoned a cold silver trident and pointed towards N. The trident held power, and illuminated a slight tint of red. You desperately wanted to go and help N and put him out of misery if it weren't for Lucifer stopping you. His threat hung low in the air.

You asked him, begged him for answers, why he was doing this to N. His own creations, tortured like this because of you.

"You disobeyed me, and so have N," Lucifer replied with a stern voice. "You get what you deserve, and so does N."

You started crying again, and Lucifer, bathing in your pain and anguish, chuckled sadistically. He loved to see you weak and powerless against him: it made the adrenaline and serotonin in his body rush in with a buzz of exciting warmth.

N visibly panicked and became more upset when you started to sob. "Don't... worry about me... young one," he spoke gently, his voice strained, "I will be fine... Just take care of yourself..."

He coughed black blood through his invisible mouth.

"Let me show you who is next in my punishment," Lucifer said rather too gleefully, excited to show you more of the horrors and put you in place.

You tried to pull away, but his left hand, still on your right, gripped even harder to the point of almost breaking them. You cried in pain as he teleported again through the wrinkle of space and of the eternal abyss.

You were dizzy from the warping, but when you opened your eyes you wished to close them again. You recognized the alternate and the creature hanging by the neck with barbed wires from the ceiling.

Six and Preacher.

They had been hung for a long time by now, for the flesh in their hands were ripped off their bones and bleeding. They either have been trying to get the barbed wire off their neck to stay circulated or have been gripping them to hang on with their bare hands.

Preacher was unconscious but Six was awake and saw you with Lucifer by your side. You cried out their names and only one responded with a breathless "[Name]?"

"Do not interact with them, my child," Lucifer said rather coldly, "for they have not been forgiven yet, and never will."

You started to protest but he put his large, slender hand over your mouth after dissipating his trident he was holding. With his other hand he had not let go of your wrist.

"Do utter words no further, my child," Lucifer shushed. "Would you like to meet your dear friend one last time?"

No, he can't be talking about...

"You must be punished after all, especially after your escape attempt."

No. Please.

He teleported again.

You threw up in the end, as Lucifer let go of your wrist and watched you suffer in glee. How he loved you so dearly. How you looked so lovely when you were in such pain and anguish. Your fearful expressions on your cute face. He loved your reactions rather from terror and despair than happiness and hope. Unless he was to crush the hope in your and watch your face crumble into devoid sorrow. Then that was even more better for his pleasure.

Your guts burned from the pain, as you looked around and hugging your stomach. Nothing. Just pure darkness. No sounds. The place felt extremely deafening.

Lucifer was looking at stacks of parchment paper. He glowed in the dark, the only source of light in this deafening empty world. He flipped through some pages and came upon a name:

"Ruth Weaver. For she have sinned and fallen short of the Glory of God, and have not accepted the Father's words and ways."

His voice rang out in the darkness in all directions. An invisible, powerful shockwave could be felt, stretching for miles. Until one figure appeared that you could recognize even in this dim light.

"[N]-[Name]?" Ruth said, in a shaky voice, her eyes widened in disbelief.

"You have 5 minutes, my child," Lucifer interrupted, a far-too stretched grin on his face, "Before you never see her again."

You asked where the shepherd's daughter, your old friend, Ruth was.

"Why do you ask when she is right in front of you?"

This statement hit you as if you got in a severe car accident. Of course Ruth would still be Ruth: just slightly modified, due to the nature of reincarnations. Ruth had been Ruth for many generations, you just didn't know and was unaware. No wonder this Ruth felt so close to your friend.

You teared up and quickly embraced Ruth, who was startled but fiercely hugged back. "I'm so happy to see you again," she softly said, tears starting to run down her cheeks, "I promised I would come back... I'm so sorry..."

You reassured her that it was alright.

"It's so quiet and dark here..." Ruth continued, "I feel so lonely... especially with an alternate or two trying to torment me. But!!" Here she managed a bold yet shaky grin, shining her old personality again even in just a glimmer. "I'll stay strong. I think of you when times are hard. Even if it's forever, even if I'm in Hell, I'm glad I got to know you. I'm glad I can remember you as a person. Don't forget that, [Name]. Keep being you in this hellish world, alright?"

"Time is up for you, my child," Lucifer interrupted, one of his hands interlocking fingers with yours. He still had that smug grin, because he knew it wasn't five minutes, and he knew you were aware of that. But you couldn't argue: your friends might get into worse situations than they were currently in, and you didn't want that.

As Lucifer made you face the opposite way, away from Ruth, you looked back at her one last time. You swore to remember her words no matter what.

How the times have changed.

As time passed in this dark realm, you saw no one except for Lucifer, and only him. You were not allowed to see anyone, and he isolated you in his home. You couldn't even get out: the halls were too long and twisted and you couldn't possibly found your way out even if you were allowed to. Even then, Lucifer always accompanied you. 24/7. He even undressed you himself and stood at the front of the bathroom door, waiting for you to finish whatever you needed to do.

At first you were uncomfortable, and tried to rebel against him again. But he only made his punishments worse, from just forcing you to watch your friends all scream in pain, to you being the victim of the torture yourself. And so one day, you have given up. Life (or the afterlife) seemed much better after that, for Lucifer made no attempt to hurt you when you behaved. He was kind as the morning rays of sunshine and sweet as the lush green meadows to you. He bathed you in all the glory that existed and treated you like an equal royal as of him.

Millennials passed, and you started to forget your past memories.

You vaguely remember yourself trying to desperately cling into the golden memories that kept you independant. Memories of you as a child of a shepherd and your friend Ruth, waiting for the Son of God to descend and save them all. You teaching Ruth how to weave, and Ruth to you to speak Latin. You remembered praying together under the moonlit sky, with stars that speckled with joy and serenity. You remembered the police officer Ruth, whom you befriended with once you escaped to the surface. You remembered N, Six, and the Preacher, who helped you escape in the first place and made your thoughts clear.

But Lucifer was always there to gently hug you, to make you forget. To make you forget of Ruth's words.

"You do not need those imbeciles, my child," he always spoke to you in that gentle, yet stern way. "You do not need to remember anyone but me. Your True Savior. Your guardian angel. Now you look quite tired, why don't you go to sleep?"

Your eyes, no matter how much you tried to fight against his spell, drooped heavily and closed. And your memories would be even more blurred and more difficult to remember than last time you woke up. You weeped in pain because of this, and every time, Lucifer was there for you. His voice was of mockery of comfort, but he was always there for you.

Always.

And now you have forgotten.

You remembered the pale faces of the alternates, the strange man, and a brown-haired woman turn to horror as Lucifer asked if you remembered who they were. You did not, and you said so in a rather confused and honest tone than the voice of emptiness. One of them even started to shed tears, but for what? Were you supposed to remember them?

But no matter. Lucifer was there for you. And after that encounter, you met them never again, and you didn't remember the brief meeting in the first place. His hand proudly in your shoulder as you and him spend quality time together. You and him.

You and Lucifer.

Your guardian angel.

Time became meaningless to you. Nothing meant anything but Lucifer. Your True Savior.

One day, he brought in great news to your ears.

"My child," he had said. "I bring good news of great joy. I have finally overthrown the enemy of mine!"

You happily celebrated with him afterwards, cuddling together, and all the while getting ready to ascend to the heavens. What was a heaven in the first place? You didn't know, and you were afraid. But Lucifer was there for you when you first entered the great skies. So blue was the sky, and so white were the clouds. There was only one golden throne, but Lucifer had placed a second golden one, smaller than his, yet one that still held majestic power. Next to each other, like you were with Lucifer.

And so you sat side by side with him, and he one day, prepared a magnificent wedding for you. You never had children, both of you never wanted one in the first place. Lucifer and you just needed each other. And that was all both of you needed. Your love for him and his love for you was inseparable: and for all eternity the guardian angel, now a god, and a mere... what were you even? You did not remember. You didn't care.

All that mattered was that you were happy and in love with Lucifer. And he with you.

Your guardian angel.

Your True Savior.

Your true love.

Lucifer.

. . . . .

You have reached the True Ending. But there is an alternate timeline and an alternate happy ending, which goes much better for most people... but it turns into a 6 X Reader (and it's out)

I'm sorry if this looks terribly rushed :( (also this was written so long ago and i forgot to post the third part here)

#mandela catalogue #the mandela catalogue #tmc #mandela catalog #alternate gabriel #tmc alternate #alt!gabriel #alternate gabriel x reader #alt!gabriel x reader #yandere alternate gabriel

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