#and i still have them! and i am binding my soul to them so they can never leave me

[arahir]

Real talk..do you have any real advice on how to make friends as an almost 30 year old woman…

three easy (coughcough) steps: 1) pick an activity 2) commit to the horror of being known 3) know when you're vibing and know when to pack it up.

pick an activity. mine are gardening, hiking, reading, writing, geology, and chickens, and i've made and kept friends through each of those. make your own list of things you want to do, and want to meet other people who do. you can do it in a structured setting, which i recommend. most cities have clubs, activities, and people who are trying to organize. my city has... regular volunteer clean ups along the river, organized hikes, a few very nice community colleges where you can take random classes, gardening events, silent book clubs, a discord for lonely 30 year olds, etc. likewise, you can meet people online through these activities. writing has got me a lot of great friends! having these activities is also important because it will let you keep the friends you start to make by giving you built in places to show up together.

commit to the horror of being known. i don't know how else to put this. it will be embarrassing. you will say stuff and you will go "why the fuck did i say that?" and they will say stuff and you'll think the same thing. this is, unfortunately, how it works. you have to be a fucking idiot at times, and it's fine, because no one wants to be friends with someone who takes themself too seriously. be embarrassingly into whatever you're into. and then when you meet someone you think could eventually be a friend, you have to put a feeler out there. my favorites are "hey have you been to X on Y? i really want to check it out." "have you seen X and do you want to see it?" "we should grab coffee!" it works a surprising amount of the time. all you really need to make a friend is one good conversation and one person throwing a line to another.

know when to pack it up. okay unfortunately, if you're doing this regularly, you're going to meet people who you do not actually want to be friends with. also unfortunate: it isn't dating, and you can't break up the same way. i met a girl who thought i was her reincarnated lover from the 1300s. i met a girl who tried to recruit me into a sex cult. i met a woman who tried to get me to join a lesbian farming commune. i met a guy who seemed cool and then tried to cheat on his girlfriend with me. we roll. and sometimes, we roll away from people, at extreme speed. guard your time and do not waste it on people you don't want to be friends with.

other points i'll add are: consistently follow up with people (even if that means adding them to a calendar), understand when you are the one not being vibed with and don't take it personally, don't lie to try and be what you think someone wants you to be, and practice. all of this takes practice. i was largely friendless for a lot of years because i didn't like talking to people, couldn't not try to be cool around them, and was a shitty person. you're already ahead on all three counts. and another word of encouragement: making one friend usually means making a half a dozen, because people will bring their own friends with them. i've certainly made a lot that way. it's really only a process you have to go through a few times before it starts coming faster and easier. good luck anon! <333

[blackjackkent]

Astarion doesn't hesitate once the fight is complete. Still covered in the blood of the werewolf he just finished killing, bare-chested and battered, he hurls himself at the stone coffin into which Cazador retreated.

"No, no!" he roars. "No healing sleep for you! WAKE UP!"

Grabbing Cazador by the collar, he hurls him out onto the stone floor.

Cazador scrabbles backwards across the bloodstained platform, struggling to retain his disdainful expression around the fear suddenly in his eyes. "Get your hands off me, worm!" he spits.

Astarion towers over him, the master he has hated for so long finally brought low. "I'm not the one in the dirt," he snarls, like a kicked dog finally showing its teeth.

He reaches down, picks up a dagger that has fallen to the floor as Cazador was thrown across it. It's a strange blade, not like one Rakha has ever seen.

At its center, held within curving strips of polished metal, is a stake of wood. Wyll has told her of how vampires die; she can see the purpose of such a blade. That is not a weapon made for mortal men.

Astarion looks at it, then lifts it to point the tip at Cazador. It trembles almost imperceptibly in his grip. "One last thrust," he hisses - and his voice is trembling too. "And I'll be free of you. I'll never have to fear you again."

He swallows, then flicks his eyes to the staff on the ground at Cazador's side. "But if I finish the ritual you started... I'll never have to fear anyone. Ever." His eyes glow with manic, desperate hunger - and fear.

Cazador laughs hollowly. "You think me a fool?" he cries. "That I would allow anyone to usurp me, speak the words, and ascend in my place?!" He leans forward a little, headless of the sharp tip of the dagger pointing at him. "The runes I carved into your flesh bind you and all seven thousand souls to the ritual! Complete it, and those bearing the scars will be sacrificed - you included."

He pushes himself up on his knees, even now striking out against Astarion with word after word. "You are simply a means to an end! I made you to be consumed!"

Astarion's fingers tighten on the dagger's hilt. A muscle works violently in his jaw as he stares down at his unrepentant tormentor.

"I am so much more," he whispers, "than what you made me."

There's a long, strained pause. Then he looks up abruptly, fixing his eyes on Rakha. "Get over here," he snaps brusquely. "We can do this."

Rakha doesn't move, doesn't say anything for a long time.

She knows what Astarion wants her to do. She even, on some level, knows why he wants it. This ritual, whatever it fully entails, is the ultimate throwing off of the shackles that have held him for centuries. He wants to be free. He wants not to be afraid anymore.

He wants peace, just as Rakha wants it. But he wants to obtain it by accepting the darkest version of the monster that he has become.

The idea makes her skin crawl. She has stood on the same precipice as him, offered a gift that came with the selling of her soul. She wants to grab him by the shoulders, pull him away, out of reach, before it can swallow him.

"Didn't you hear him?" she asks hoarsely. "If you complete the ritual, you'll be consumed..."

Astarion barks a sharp laugh. "Trust me. I know what I'm doing."

Perhaps he does. So many times before, her friends have faced choices of this magnitude, and she has trusted to their judgment rather than her own. Shadowheart with her spear, and Lae'zel's stand against Vlaakith, and Wyll's choice of his future, and Gale with the Crown of Karsus. She has never believed that she might know better than them, and this hardly seems the time to start.

This is Astarion's choice, not hers.

Isn't it?

"All right," she mutters haltingly, one hand rapidly flexing into a fist at her side. "What... do you need?"

"I need your eyes," he says. His voice sounds hollow and exhausted - but brittle with determination. "In a manner of speaking."

"What do you think you are doing?" Cazador hisses.

"Unmaking what you made me," Astarion growls, his eyes not leaving Rakha. "Use the parasite," he tells her. "Link your mind to mine. Through your eyes, I can see the scars on my back and copy them onto his."

Cazador's eyes widen, showing the whites at their edges. "You... would not dare."

"I would," Astarion murmurs. "And I will. You will be consumed. And all the power you've lusted after will be mine!"

"And what then, Astarion?" Jaheira asks flatly at Rakha's side. "You would use this power born of so much death for *good*, I suppose?"

Astarion ignores her. His eyes have not left Rakha's, not even to blink. "Help me do this. Please."

Rakha hesitates. She can feel Jaheira's sardonic disapproval, and Wyll's gaze digging into the back of her neck. She senses Minsc vibrating with barely-restrained anger. Even Lae'zel seems somewhat disquieted, her fingers tapping restlessly against the hilt of her sword.

But it is... Astarion's choice. Not hers. Not anyone's....

Mechanically she takes a step forward, and then another.

Enter Astarion's mind so he can proceed with the ritual.

Narrator: Your minds join and your two selves become one. You can feel the knife in your hand, see the scars on his back, and taste his hunger for power.

The bitter, brutal emotion pours through her like a waterfall, like a burning flame. Rakha grunts with sudden pain, clutching at her temple, but Astarion's eyes go wide with exhilaration.

"Yes. Yes - I see it!" he hisses.

In a quick, smooth, harsh set of motions, he steps behind Cazador and rips the robe off of him, baring his back and shoving him to the floor.

And Cazador screams as Astarion, over and over and over, sinks the knife into his flesh and begins to carve.

(A/N: This is a truly unpleasant little sequence and goes on for quite some time before eventually fading to black to indicate that it goes on even longer.)

All sense of time fades out. For a while Rakha is conscious only of the screaming, and the blood, and the overwhelming sense of delighted rage flowing into her from Astarion's mind. She doesn't know how long she's been standing there when the connection finally breaks.

She comes back to herself standing at Astarion's side. He and Cazador are both soaked in blood. The others look on with expressions ranging from appalled to enraged.

"There," Astarion hisses. "Perfect."

"Ungrateful child," Cazador chokes out. Tears are streaming down his face, cutting lines through the red painting his cheeks. "Wretched child!"

Astarion just smiles. "Time to take your place!"

He lifts the staff from the ground, and it glows with blood-red power in his hands. With a jerk, he lifts Cazador from the ground and hurls him into the socket where Astarion himself was held only minutes earlier.

Everything begins to happen at once. Astarion slams the staff into the sigil at the center of the platform, and around Rakha the Weave seems to explode with that same red, writhing light. All around them, the suspended spawn begin to scream, their voices echoing and rebounding on each other and mixing with other screams from below and behind, from the seven thousand other souls prepared to burn for this ascension.

Rakha staggers with the intensity of it, the overwhelming wall of sound and light and pain.

Behind her, barely audible through the chaos, she can hear her companions begin to shout, unable any longer to hold themselves back.

"No!" Wyll cries. "What are you doing?"

"Enough!" shouts Minsc. "We can still stop the nonsense words in his mouth!"

"This isn't the way!" shouts Lae'zel. The three of them break into a run towards Astarion - but the wall of power around him rises to meet them, slaps them back like a physical blow.(*)

At Rakha's side, Jaheira reaches out and seizes her forearm with a sudden fierce grip. "Are we truly to be party to this?" she asks, her voice low enough to cut underneath the screaming around them.

Rakha has gone completely still. The magic is pounding at her like a creature with fists and claws, and the screams echo in her mind, resonating with the memories of a thousand other deaths at her hands in a life she does not remember.

It is Astarion's choice. She is a broken thing, with no right to believe she knows better on this or anything else.

And yet...

I am so much more than what you made me, Astarion said.

An image flashes through her mind, painful as the edge of a knife, of the last moments before her death in the Temple of Bhaal, another moment soaked in red light and blood. Her father's rage as she rejected his 'gift'.

You refuse me? You are my spawn! Your veins course with my unholy blood. Your life is mine!

You were made to conquer! To devour! You reject my blood, and so I will reclaim it!

I will make another who is worthy...

She opens her eyes and stares at Astarion's body, writhing in the grip of the gift he has stolen from his own monstrous 'father,' on the precipice of the oblivion she rejected. And she knows, suddenly, that wrong or right, she cannot let this go on.

This ends here, I said. It ends... here...

We are more than what they made us.

Stop Astarion.

With more instinct than thought, she hurls herself across the platform, lifting the knife with the stake at its core from the place where Astarion discarded it.

Astarion's head swivels to face her, and for a single instant his eyes widen as he recognizes what she is trying to do.

"What are you doing?" he cries over the screams around them. "No - stop!"

She does not stop.

She hurls the knife like a javelin into Cazador's chest.

Silence, abrupt and complete. The swirling power fades. The screaming stops. Cazador, pouring blood from the wound in his heart, slithers to the floor and lays still.

Astarion staggers, then collapses to his knees, letting the staff clatter onto the stone beside him. "It's... it's gone... All that power..." he whispers.

Rakha releases a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She is trembling all over, her eyes fixed not on Astarion but on Cazador's bloodsoaked body. In the moment of her attack, she was striking not just at him but at Bhaal as well - but Bhaal is not here, just the vampire who dies along with Astarion's hope for ascension.

"You don't need it," she mutters. "You're more than strong enough as you are."

We... are so much more than what they made us. Come with me. We will live, and be damned to them all.

But Astarion's head lifts and he stands and rounds on her, and there is no gratitude in his eyes, no hope. They are like burning coals set in the paleness of his face.

"Don't you tell me what I needed!" he snarls. He looks hollowed out, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. "I was so close - I could have had it all," he says with desperate, furious grief, stepping closer to her. "But you took everything from me!"

His voice lifts to a sudden scream of violent despair, and he grabs her by the collar of her robes, jerking her forward.(*)

The rage in his eyes shows no understanding of why she did what she did, or the similarity she sees between them, or the terrible things that have been done to them both. He needs an enemy, and he no longer has Cazador, and she is the only target that remains.

"Cazador won after all," he says - and his voice is suddenly soft again, hollow and mournful. "I'll never escape the hell he built."

And then his face goes hard for the last time, until it is nothing but steel and rage. "And if I can't escape... then no one can. Not them--"

He drops suddenly, lifts the staff, and without hesitation snaps it across his knee. The power still within it - the power that would have released the seven thousand trapped spawn - bursts in a sudden supernova around his hands... and then fades to nothing.

Through the fading, dying ripples of the Weave, he stares into Rakha's eyes, and if there was ever friendship between them, it's gone now, gone forever to the same place as all that power.

"And certainly not you," he growls. The pieces of the broken staff clatter to the ground, and his fingers close around Rakha's throat.

-----

(*) Artistic license in this whole bit. Only one companion actually speaks up here (in-game it was Minsc), and none of them actually do anything but watch. But I wanted to give everyone a little more activity, so I dug all four characters' lines out of the dialogue files.

(*) Also artistic license obviously.

[starsofang]

CALL OF THE SEA / PART SEVENTEEN

pirate poly!141 x f!reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, violence, degrading, mentions of death/blood, dove is called some nasty words, please heed warnings for this chapter masterlist a/n: girlbossed a little too hard and finished the chapter a day early. posting this after my 14 hour shift with nothing but hope and dreams. this chapter is a long one, i think the longest one so far, so have fun :p

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

Up close, Graves was even more sinister than imagined. It was as if you were living in your own nightmare come to life, with beady eyes crinkling back at you as a curled smile stretched over his face. Adorned in all black from head to toe, with the only spouts of color being the mess of dark blonde atop his head, nearly covered by the old, leather pirate hat.

His skin was deathly pale, a feat you knew to be from his reaping sins. To take a life in return for a piece of his—a soul bind.

If he weren’t such a sick man, you’d dare say he’d been handsome, if it weren’t for the look of rotting to the core. His personality did no justice, something cocky and mighty. He knew exactly how to play his game, and he played it well.

In your turmoil, you dared to wonder if all of this was indeed another nightmare. Perhaps you were still asleep, stuck in an endless loop until Soap or Gaz awoke you as they always did; but with a sharp pinch on your thigh beneath the thin covers of Price’s bedspread, the world remained at ease.

This one wouldn’t be easy to get out of.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Graves mused, smile so wide you worried the corners would crack and bleed. You wished you could see him writhe like a helpless roach beneath your shoe. “Why the long face?”

“How—” You swallowed, fisting the sheets. “How are you here?”

Graves stood straight, glancing around the room. He pretended to ponder, holding his arms up to shrug. “I let myself in.”

Your eyes followed his every move as he slowly stepped throughout Price’s quarters, taking it in. You sat as still as a statue, completely frozen in place. The sound of his heavy boots along the wood floors rang alarm bells.

The air in the room fell icy cold, rising goosebumps on your skin. There was that frigid chill that felt as if you’d just stepped into a slaughterhouse, a hint of decay tickling your nostrils.

This was the feel of death you’d always felt, lingering behind you, watching. He’d always been there, even if only in your mind.

“Where is the Captain?” you asked, attempting to make your voice firm. Show no weakness—it was the very thing you’d been taught since your first day on the ship. You hoped Price would be proud that you remembered.

Graves’ eyebrows raised and while his smile remained, it only seemed to glimmer with excitement when the question was asked, as if you asked a dog if he wanted a bone.

“He truly has you on a leash,” he snickered, finding something amusing in all of it. “You’re like their little bitch, aren’t you?”

Your blood ran hot at the demeaning nature his words brought, but you knew better. They were for show, something to make him appear taller. If you fell for it, you’d only be digging a deeper grave for yourself.

“No,” you muttered, eyes narrowing. “I am a pirate, just as them.”

Graves barked out a laugh, one that made your ears bleed. It was meant to deplete your confidence, poisoned with arrogance.

“Is that right?” he asked with a shit-eating grin. “A pirate, are you?”

Graves stalked towards you, agonizingly slow, stopping when his knees bumped the side of the cot. He leaned down so his face was level with yours, empty eyes peering deep within your soul. His breath reeked of death and despair, nearly knocking you unconscious.

“I’d like to test that.”

His icy hand wrapped around your bicep, hauling you out of the bed. With a yelp, you stumbled to your feet, bare of their shoes. The world beneath your soles felt foreign now, ever since Soap had given you your gift and you’d never take them off unless you were falling asleep.

The grip was tight, causing your heartbeat to thump through your muscles angrily. Your skin under his hand paled from the sheer force.

Graves tugged you along as you fought to resist him, squirming and attempting to plant your feet to the floor. Without the help of your shoes compared to his unruly strength, your fight was deemed useless. He continued dragging you, so much so you could feel little splinters begin to dig into your soles and invoke dull pangs of pain.

Fear filled your body from head to toe, your heart pounding against your rib cage. A lump filled your throat, coated with anxiety. Your mind filled with millions of thoughts, smothering any confidence you previously had and replacing it with the idea of death.

Was this where all would end? Your crew was one of the most feared among the seas, a healthy bounty placed over their heads. But there would always be one person above, and that person was Graves.

Every kick, bump, resist was fruitless as Graves hauled you to the door. What lay beyond it terrified you, images of your men dead flashing before your eyes.

Coated in their own bloodbaths, bodies laid limp amongst the floors of their own homes, sprawled out as if they meant nothing. Oh, you couldn’t bear it. You’d have to go, too—you’d have nothing left.

When Graves opened the door, you weren’t sure if the sight was any better.

It was dark, the moon only a sliver in the sky, granting no room for light. A single lantern was all that was left to cast orange shadows, its fire flickering in a dance for a way out.

Your crew was lined shoulder to shoulder, on their knees in a submissive front, hands bound with thick rope behind their backs. Graves’ men, his Shadows, held the barrel of their guns to each of their heads.

Though the sight was an improvement from what you initially prepared yourself for, it was far from good. It was bordering those images, a glimpse into what could be a massacre.

The moment you were out of Price’s quarters, Graves let go of you, shoving you. You lost your balance, tumbling to your side, your head slamming into the deck. Pain blossomed under your skull and you hissed in pain.

“Dove?” you heard one of them call out. Your head spun, making it hard to figure out who it was.

A heavy blow landed on your side where you lay, and you wheezed, Graves’ boot unexpected. It kept you in place, applying pressure to guarantee you wouldn’t try to flee and fight back.

“Get the fuck off of her,” Price growled. You could recognize it, filled with a burning venom that dared to kill anyone that was in its crossfire. “This has nothin’ to do with her.”

“It’s all to do with her,” Graves spat, digging the toe of his boot into your rib cage. His previous cockiness had melted away, revealing his boiling rage. “Isn’t that right, dove?”

Graves lifted his boot, granting you a brief moment of relief before it slammed back down. It knocked the air right out of your lungs, leaving you croaking out a plea to stop.

You coiled in on yourself, curling into a ball in attempts to lessen the damage. It did nothing to stop his boot from weighing on your side. The pain felt like nothing you’d experienced before, and you were sure you felt a bone crunch.

“Dove,” Gaz called out, frantic. He tried leaning forward to get a glimpse of your face, to search for your eyes, but the barrel of the gun only pressed deeper into the back of his skull in warning. “Dove, it’s okay. Just listen to my voice, alright? I’m right here.”

Your eyes were widened with fear, chest heaving to catch the breaths that were stolen from you. You couldn’t move, frozen in place, even as Gaz called out for you with the threat of a bullet through his head.

“I don’t know what you’re plannin’, Graves,” Price snarled, “but this is between us.”

Graves laughed diabolically, throwing his head back. It only made everything much more tense.

“Isn’t she apart of you now?” Graves humored, cocking his head. His fingers drummed along the gun in its holster on his hip. “If I’m not mistaken, she’s a pirate. I believe those were your words, Price.”

The realization that Graves knew had you going cold. The closer he got, the stronger the connection became.

“What the hell is it ye want?” Soap asked through gritted teeth. His eyes were darting back and forth between your crumpled form and Graves. “S’always somethin’ with ye, aye?”

Graves eyed Soap, a glint in his gaze. There was something unfamiliar in it, as if he held a personal grudge towards the man in question.

“There is something I want,” Graves agreed, letting out a dramatic sigh. He tapped at the gun once again, staring up at the sky in thought. “I think dove here knows exactly what that is.”

Graves dug his boot once again, peering down at you as if you were scum. You couldn’t stop the small whimper from the agony drumming in your side.

“Go on, dove,” Graves taunted, grinning. “Tell them.”

“I don’t know,” you panted. You were unfocused, eyes staring at the old floor from where your head rested.

You tried recalling what it is he could want, anything at all, but nothing was becoming clear. You scavenged through the deepest parts of your brain for even a simple clue, but the blows had made you dazed.

“I swear, I’ll fuckin’ kill you—”

“You do know,” Graves repeated, cutting off the Captain. His tone grew annoyed. “Think real hard, dove.”

“I don’t know,” you cried, shoulders beginning to shake. All the built up confidence to fight back had vanished into thin air. Now, you felt like a scared little girl, begging for mercy.

Graves’ boot lifted, then returned back down. A string of curses were thrown his way from your crew, who were thrashing in the binds, unable to aid you under the lineup of guns to their heads.

You felt wetness cascade down your cheeks, dampening your skin and falling down to the side of your head from the angle you laid. It was then you realized you were crying, embarrassingly so.

Only mere hours ago you were deemed a pirate, and yet at the start of war, you fell apart like a damsel.

“The telescope,” Ghost said, voice low. It was the first he’d spoken, only sitting there silently as you were beaten down. His head hung low, as if ashamed, though the darkness in his eyes was enough to cast doom across entire continents. “He’s talkin’ about the telescope.”

You blinked away the tears, eyes burning. Realization dawned on you the moment Ghost spoke. Through your huddled position, you tried to tilt your chin down to meet his eye. As if thinking the same thing, he lifted his head, connecting your gazes. You could see that familiar apology pooling out of him, expressing everything he needed to say.

Washed away to land and shore,

shall be the looking glass for ocean eyes.

The telescope you found for Gaz was an innocent gesture. The sight of it called out to you, as if meant to be owned by you. If you would’ve known it was Graves it was calling, you would’ve thrown it into the deep sea so it could never be found again.

“So he speaks,” Graves mused sarcastically.

Ghost broke contact first, eyes boring into Graves. He looked murderous, plotting his own bloodbath with just a simple look. The dim light of the single lantern did nothing to lessen the ominous glow, only highlighting it.

“Don’t fuckin’ talk to him,” Soap hissed, scowling. The look of pure disgust was such a contrast to his normal, boyish grins.

Graves paid no mind to him, stuck in a contest with Ghost. The two of them had a dark force swirling between them, one that even outside made the air heavy and suffocating.

“A point for your bravery, Ghost,” Graves sighed dramatically, breaking his stare. He looked between each and every man, sparing you no glance while his boot remained in place. “My telescope. Give it to me, and I’ll let her go.”

You instantly shifted your eyes to look at Gaz, who seemed to be struggling with a decision. You knew why he was having a hard time—you gifted the telescope to him, unknowing of who it truly belonged to. It was something he treasured, something he didn’t want to let go of.

“I have it,” Gaz said lowly, head bowing. “It’s in my quarters. I’ll take you to it.”

Graves sucked his teeth, feigning pity. He shook his head, hand fully resting on the gun at his hip. “Not going to work on me, Gaz. I’m quite capable of getting it myself. You sit tight, aye?”

Gaz stiffened, expression growing grim. Nevertheless, he said nothing, deciding silence was the best contender for a fight bound to end in loss.

Graves gestured for the man behind Price to fetch the telescope from Gaz and Soap’s shared quarters. Price didn’t tear his eyes away from Graves once, even as the Devil of the Seas took out his own gun and pointed it right at Price’s forehead.

He pressed the barrel of the gun into Price’s forehead, indenting the skin. It was a snug fit, a perfect shot for Graves if he wished to end things the easy way.

Graves didn’t like it easy. He liked it fun.

“Scared we’ve caught on to your trail, aye?” Price bluffed, voice gravelly and malicious. “That’s why you came out here like a fuckin’ mutt, hidin’ in the storm until you found the right time to ambush us?”

“You have your dove to blame,” Graves replied nonchalantly, rubbing his boot back and forth along your side. The pressure had you sucking air through your teeth, eyes clenching shut. “She might be your new toy, but she’s just as much a mutt as I am.”

“You shut your fuckin’ mouth,” Price snarled, body shaking with feverish rage. If he could pounce on Graves, you knew he would.

“Looks like you finally grew some balls, Captain,” Graves snickered, pulling back the hammer of the gun. It resounded a loud click, which translated to a warning bell in Price’s favor. “Such anger. That anger has never worked for you, Price. It didn’t work for Ghost—it won’t work for her.”

Price let out an animalistic growl, his lips pulling back in a sneer. You’d seen the Captain angry, and you’d seen him under the guise of a scary, ominous pirate who would kill any innocent bystander that stood in his way.

This was entirely different. This was personal. A build up. This was a storm that had been coming for ages, and you were only toeing the edges.

The Shadow returned, holding the telescope you’d gifted Gaz. It shimmered in the lantern’s glow, glinting its gold details and showing it off. It felt like a goodbye.

“I’d be real careful from now on, Graves,” Price warned. It was the first you ever heard him speak so menacingly, like the demon inside of him was erupting with a stream of hot lava filled with nothing but spewing hatred. “When I find you, I’ll fuckin’ kill you myself. String you up on my sails until you’re dry, toss you into the ocean to the sharks. I’ll take pleasure in watchin’ you burn until there’s nothin’ left but ash and dust.”

Graves took the telescope from his Shadow’s hand, inspecting it. The words Price spoke clearly struck a nerve, for the arrogant grin had vanished, replaced with a gloomy, threatened expression.

“Hm,” Graves huffed, letting his gun fall and placing it back in its holster. He signaled for his men to follow suit, and you watched as all weapons dropped. “I await the day that happens, Captain. Until then, keep your mutt on a leash, aye?”

Graves made no effort to untie the crew, leaving them bound as he gathered his men to walk the plank connecting the two ship. A long, woden plank that creaked under the weight, one od wish you could kick from its balance and send them flying into the dark sea.

The moment was brutally silent as they left. Nobody moved a muscle until Graves was on his ship, the plank pulled from its placement, and the skull flag waved goodbye as they set sail into the pit of the night.

Time stood still, but the second Graves and his crew were hidden in the waves, all hell broke loose. Price and Gaz worked together to unbind each other with their backs to one another, frantic to be released. Ghost sat silently, eyes staring into the floorboards as if they’d speak to him.

“Say somethin’, dove,” Soap begged, scooting on his knees to be by your side.

As if the dam broke, you began to cry once more, heartbreaking sobs coming right from your core. You curled up tighter into your ball, your hand resting on your side as if it would magically ease the pain.

“It hurts,” you replied, voice cracking.

You’d stayed strong up until that point. Now, you couldn’t hold up your front.

You were scared. You felt more helpless than ever. You couldn’t remain strong for the sake of pretend anymore. Everything hurt, and Graves’ presence shook you to your very core.

“I know,” he cooed. He made a frustrated noise when he struggled against the binds. “I know, dove. We’re right here, alright?”

It felt strange, being on the other side of the spectrum. You were used to being the one to aid people in their injuries, but now, it was you being comforted. You couldn’t grasp what your life had become.

Price was released from his binds, quickly helping Gaz slip out of his. While Gaz made quick work to move to work on Ghost, Price was by your side in an instant.

One hand rested on your hip, turning your body towards him while the other found your face, resting his palm on it. His eyes were filled with worry when you faced him and he urgently wiped at your tears with his thumb.

“Dove,” he breathed in relief, his heart aching at the sight of you so broken. This was his fault. “You’re okay, I have you.”

You whimpered when he shifted so he could slide his arms beneath you, one under your shoulders and the other in the bend of your knees. The movement flared pain all over again, and Price murmured apologies, unsure of what to do.

He hurried to his quarters, his men following closely behind like scared dogs with their tails between their legs. Gaz held open the door, and you only caught a glimpse of his guilt-stricken expression before you were ushered in.

Price carefully slid you on to his cot, wincing every time you whimpered or cried. The pain felt excruciating, your breathing quick and labored.

“She needs a medic,” Soap stressed.

“She is a medic,” Gaz reminded, resting his hands on the edge of the cot so he could lean over and inspect your face. “We have no help besides her.”

“Well, she can’t treat herself, ye fuckin’ oaf,” Soap snipped, shooing him away from your space. “Cap, she needs to get checked. She can’t even breathe properly!”

Your head began to pound from the sheer loudness that filled the room. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to will away the ache while simultaneously trying to correct your breathing.

You knew well enough that there was something shattered or broken. A rib, though small in theory, but dreadfully painful without the correct medicines. Not to mention the amount of force Graves had used—it was pure hell.

Price was silent, as was Ghost, the two of them sharing a conversation with just a look. There was an understanding shared, and Price gently shoved Gaz and Soap aside, replacing them.

He mimicked Gaz’s previous stance, leaning on the bed. His hand came to brush a stray tear away, frowning embedded in his mouth.

“Tell me what to do, dove,” he said softly. “I’ll do whatever it is.”

You sniffled, hand shaking where they rested on your side. You shook your head, nearly deranged from the shock and horror of it all, unable to snap out of it.

“I—I can’t fix it on my own, Captain,” you quivered, lips trembling. “It hurts.”

Price nearly broke, filled with guilt. He glanced behind him at Ghost, who quickly looked away, hands balling into fists.

“I know,” he assured calmly, brushing his finger along your cheek where he wiped the tear away. “We’ll fix it, aye? You just have to sit tight until we can. Can you do that for us, dove?”

Though you knew the wait would be cruel—a slow healing process until you could receive proper care—you found yourself nodding shamelessly, instantly trusting Price and his promises.

Price nodded along with you, giving your cheek a comforting pinch. “Attagirl,” he praised, calming your nerves.

“I’ll fuckin’ gut him,” Soap muttered, jaw pulled tight. “He’s fuckin’ dead.”

Gaz reached up to grip Soap’s nape, tugging at his hair. Soap threw him a glare, one Gaz promptly ignored, turning his attention to you.

“Listen to Cap, birdie,” Gaz encouraged warmly. “We’ll get you all fixed up. You won’t even know you’re hurtin’.”

Price had a look of hesitation when you caught his eye. You furrowed your eyebrows, frowning in confusion before he spoke again, causing you to grow uncomfortable.

“We need to check it first, dove,” he said apologetically. “If you don’t feel well with all of us bein’ here, you can pick who you prefer. No hard feelin’s, hm?”

The idea that one, if not all, had to see you undressed in order to inspect the damage was one that made you a bit dazed. You’d never been seen beneath your raggedy clothes in the village, and the same applied for your time on the ship. It felt sacred, like your vulnerability was on the line, but you had to remind yourself that it was purely medical—you’d done it plenty of times when in practice at your old home.

“It—it is fine, just… just turn away, yes?” you pleaded, unable to meet any of them in the eye.

You heard a round of shuffling, only seeing Gaz elbow Soap in the corner of your vision. Once you were sure they feasted their eyes upon the old wall, you began to carefully lift your hips, biting your lip to muffle the pained noise that threatened to leave.

The hem of your dress was swiftly pulled up past your thighs, all the way until your torso was exposed. You stopped it beneath your breasts, quick to tug the blanket over your nakedness that remained uninjured and in no need to be checked.

The anxiety that pooled in your stomach left you queasy, but you toughed through it, knowing how important it was. If you had more than a mere fracture, it could become worse over time.

“Okay,” you said quietly, cringing when they turned to take you in. The men did their best to make you feel as at ease as possible, gearing their focus towards the nasty swelling on your side.

You dared to take a peek yourself, fearing for why they were so quiet. What you saw was ugly—swollen and puffy, beaten to the point it was already turning purple and blue. It was tender to the touch, even more so without clothing as a barrier.

The worst was the gnarly, black veins that spouted out like roots, dipping deep into the new bruising. It was inhuman, something completely out of the ordinary. You knew it was Graves’ dirty work, and it reminded you of when Ghost had cut his finger in the kitchen and his blood turned black, vanishing into thin air.

When you shifted your eyes from your injury, you searched for Ghost’s, who was hard-stuck on the veins. His body was tense, a darkness swirling in his irises.

“Ghost?” Soap tried, nudging the brute lightly. “Any idea what that is?”

Ghost glanced over to Soap before returning to your side, taking in the sight. “Could be anythin’,” he muttered, unsure. “I don’t know what all he’s capable of. For all we know, it could already be infected.”

“Infected?” you asked, a worried chill racking through you.

Price reached out a careful hand to spread his fingertips along the veins. You choked on a gasp at the immediate discomfort, face scrunching up into a wince.

“We’re goin’ to a doctor,” Price nearly growled, taking his hand away. “I don’t care where. The moment we spot land, we’re goin’.”

“We still have bounties on our head, Cap,” Gaz reminded with a frown. “We can’t just go anywhere. It’s not the same as shoppin’. If we end up in the wrong place, we might get ourselves in deeper shit.”

“That is a risk I’m willin’ to take,” Price argued, firm in his stance. “If we start nitpickin’ where to go, it might be too late. You’re either in or out.”

The room fell silent as the men stared at their Captain. The answer to them was obvious, though you knew why they hesitated; if they were imprisoned, it would do you no good.

Emotions were high and the clock was ticking. It placed everyone on edge.

“I agree with Price.”

All heads turned to Ghost, who stood with his arms crossed, eyes boring into yours.

“It’s my fault she’s marked. So long as she gets fixed up, I could care less about bein’ thrown into a cell. I’m with Price,” he finished.

“Ghost—” you tried.

“I am quite firm in what I’ve decided,” he interrupted harshly before realizing his mistake, calming himself down. He looked away from you, crossing his arms a bit tighter. “I’m in no mood for arguments.”

You went quiet, watching Ghost turn towards the door and plot his escape. You knew out of everyone, he was affected the most, tormented with sickening guilt for all that’s transpired. You could only imagine how he felt, now that times had grown darker.

“Let him go,” Soap murmured softly, gaining your attention. “He’ll be alright. Let’s just worry ‘bout ye, aye?”

You were torn, but you nodded nonetheless, silently agreeing.

“You’ll stay with me for now,” Price explained. “No use in movin’ you anymore than I have. I’ll get you situated for now, and then you can rest.”

Gaz, Soap, and Price muttered amongst themselves, discussing a brief plan of what to do. The two set off to find more pillows to extend your comfort while Price remained by your side, plopping himself in his chair with a heavy sigh. His elbows rested on its arms, his fingers coming up to rub at his temple.

He looked exhausted, the bags under his eyes becoming more prominent the longer you looked.

“I am sorry, Captain,” you said quietly, eyes glueing to the ceiling.

“What have you got to be sorry for?” he asked, frowning. “Got nothin’ to apologize for, dove. Our worry stems from care.”

“Yes, but,” you paused, gathering the words, “I have caused much trouble since my arrival. Things only seem to be harder for you.”

“Life was hard before you, dove,” he assured, letting his hand fall from his face. “That’s the way it goes. It is to no fault but the world.”

You took in his words, letting them sink in. You hadn’t known a true life of trouble before, the only hardships being your utter loneliness and daily taunts from the local villagers. This was something beyond your knowledge, and you were beginning to understand that there was more to life than simply displeasuring people. There was more than what meets the eye, but there was also light at the end of every tunnel.

“You do not see me as a mere burden?” you asked, and he huffed.

“What have I told you before?” Price pressed in return, tilting his head. “You are one of us. A true pirate, if that is what you’d like.”

“I am far from a pirate,” you scoffed to yourself, ashamed. “I could not even defend myself or any of you.”

“Dove,” Price called out softly. He scooted his chair closer to your bedside, forcing you to turn your head and look at him. “A loss is not always a failure. Some wars are too big to handle on your own. There’s nothin’ wrong with that. Why must you speak so lowly of yourself?”

You stared at him unblinking, studying the furrow of his eyebrows and the curl of his lips, hidden beneath his beard. The worry lines on his forehead showed years of hardship, and you wondered how he managed to live through it if you could barely survive your own smaller ones.

“I have known nothing else,” you confessed bitterly, though not towards him. You were angry, not only with yourself, but at life for dealing its deck of cards in such an unfair way.

“I see,” he hummed, leaning back in his chair. He tapped his fingers along the armrests, getting lost in thought. “It was the same for me as well.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Really?”

“Mhm,” he sighed, picking at the splintering wood of the armrests. “My father was a captain before me. Had the tongue of a devil. Always angry, always cold—treated me like scum, even as a child.”

“I am sorry,” you murmured quietly. Price bristled, frowning.

“That is not the point, dove,” he replied. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on the side of the bed, mere inches away from where you laid. You waited patiently for him to continue, keeping your gazes connected to show you were listening. “Some may treat you like a mutt on the street and deem your worth how they please. The only thing that matters is how you take it and how you come out of it.”

It dawned on you what he was implying. It was his way of comforting you, shielding you from your own burdening insecurities that never seemed to escape your mind.

“I could’ve remained angry and bitter, but now I captain my own ship and crew. The same applies for you—you may have experienced cruelty all your life, but you must take the reins on your own worth and decide what it is, dove.”

A blinding warmth shrouded you, like a blanket after being trapped in the icy cold, and you welcomed it with a smile. You’d never known Price to be so well with words, not int he way he was expressing now.

He knew what you needed to hear after being trapped in your own world of darkness, and he provided the light you needed to find your way out—all of them did. A glimmer of hope in a world full of loss.

“I am very thankful you kidnapped me,” you blurted, unable to contain your inner thoughts.

Price laughed, boisterous and loud, a smile washing over his face. It was a lovely sight, one that made your heart pound. Even through your pain, you found solitude in the aftermath, reaching a level of comfort you’d always wished to feel.

“I am happy to have you here despite it,” Price teased warmly. “I can say the same for the rest.”

You laughed, almost immediately regretting it at the shooting pain coursing in your side. He shot you a sympathetic smile, slowly standing from his chair.

“I will let you rest,” he said, giving you a gentle pat to your thigh over the blanket. Your heart jumped at the action, and you repressed it.

“You are not staying?” you asked, deflating.

“Soap and Gaz will be here with some more pillows soon. I must gather a plan so we can get you to a medic as soon as possible.”

It made sense, and you knew it was important. There was no telling what was flowing through the black veins, but your heart longed for more of his presence.

“Just for a moment longer?” you dared to request, voice small.

Price peered down at you from where he stood over you, a hint of surprise flashing on his expression before it softened. He nodded, reaching over to give your hand a gentle squeeze. You held on as long as you could.

“Just a moment then,” he repeated. “I will do it for you.”

You squeezed his hand in return, feeling as if you were on cloud nine. Your feelings were uncertain, but the more you spent with them, the clearer your vision became. It was an inner battle, forcing yourself to push them back in order to protect yourself. Now, though, you decided to allow yourself the comfort, just for a little while.

“Thank you,” you told him, unaware your voice had become a mere whisper. The air between you felt heavy, as if something unspoken was there.

Price glanced down at your hands that remained interlinked before shifting his gaze back at you. The gears in his mind were turning, and just as you were about to ask if it was alright, he beat you.

“I am not an emotional man,” he murmured quietly, seeming just as unsure as you were. “I make very stupid decisions and take paths I shouldn’t take. One of them is tellin’ me to kiss you, and I’m not sure if that’s alright.”

You froze in place, eyes growing wide. You were unable to look away, lost in your own little moment. Everything in you was yelling yes, yes, yes! and it was hard to ignore. You had always been weak in your feelings.

“Gaz tried to when I gifted him the telescope,” you said, unsure of why you did. “I hope that is okay.”

Price broke out into a smile, huffing out a breathy laugh. “So long as he did not beat me to it.”

You released a relieved breath, a shaky smile spreading on your lips. Price did not seem angry, and for that, you grew more enticed for a kiss. While your feelings for the others were all different in their special ways, having Price be the first was not something you could deny. It excited you more than it should.

Before you knew it, Price leaned down, capturing your lips in his own. There was no spark like you’d read in books you’d read at merchant stands when you couldn’t afford them, nor were there fireworks.

Instead, it was a calm sea that smothered you in peace, easing every worry that crowded your mind. They washed away, replaced with a warm buzz.

He was gentle, hand still grasping yours, the other coming to rest beneath your jaw. His skin was hot to the touch, rough from the callouses on his palm.

The moment wasn’t long, and when he pulled away, you wished you could reel him in for more.

“Rest,” he encouraged, his smile brighter than a thousand suns. “We’ll get you fixed up and better before you know it, alright?”

You nodded dumbly, your head empty. You were practically vibrating with excitement, the feel of his lips still tingling on yours.

He stroked his thumb over your cheekbone before pulling back, stepping away from the bed. He gave you a soft farewell, reminding you that the boys will be back soon and to try and sleep until then.

Once he was out of the room, the quiet didn’t bother you. It wasn’t maddening, driving you up a wall, suffocating you with loneliness—it was peaceful and kind, welcoming you with open arms as you slipped into unconsciousness, the images flashing behind your eyelids of the four of them in your life only bringing you true comfort after the storm.

[senseandaccountability]

"I'm me again"

Yes well this is me getting a little sappy - again - about the spirits/demon thing as a metaphor for the human experience, must be Friday. 

(Yes, this is about Solas.)

Last night my Ingellvar was tending to the graves with Emmrich and she said “demons” and immediately corrected herself, because of course she meant spirits but people outside Nevarra so easily call them demons and Emmrich, one of the kindest and most insightful people in the entire DA verse, would of course never do that. Because he sees them all as spirits. Some of them may be twisted, embittered, furious and cruel but to him they are still, at heart, the same being as their more positive virtues. You are always you, as Solas tells Cole. 

Which is also what Solas argues for all of DAI.

Which is also what Solas personal quest actively shows us in DAI.

His friend, broken and twisted by the mages' bindings, dies a spirit of Wisdom, thanking him and telling him not to be sad. “I’m me again.”

Which is also a very strong theme in Solas entire arc. 

But it’s really not just Solas, or the elves. The eternal struggle of spirits is a reflection of the human soul and what it means to be human. What parts of you does the world let you cultivate, what parts are hidden and twisted in the dark, what virtues would you be remembered for if you died tomorrow? What sort of person have you become? What person could you be? DA is crammed with these themes.

Since the spirit reveal/confirmation, I’ve seen a lot of very detailed and very cool discussions about the specifics of spirit virtues and demon characteristics and that’s some good shit right there, but you can also be lazy like me and very much just read it as various aspects of human nature interacting with each other. We’re all so many things over our lifetime, to different people, in different contexts. We all carry such endless capacity for goodness and gentleness and we’re all so very capable of hurting each other.

In the codex entries we see Solas try over and over and over again to appeal to the better nature of the Evanuris. He is described as brilliant and wise, he is pulled out of the Fade specifically for his wisdom and he tries to get them to reflect that, to listen to his concerns, to use their powers differently. Why don’t you make creatures that can protect the People, he asks Ghilan’nain. Why do you need to push your power further, he asks Elgar’nan, the people are already submitting to your rule, why must you shackle them? War may have twisted him up already but there’s nothing he says that isn’t extremely valid and wise about the Evanuris’ approach to ruling.

But as we learn from the Spirit of Command in Crestwood in DAI, wisdom is considered a soft virtue in a world of war and hierarchy and his reasoning falls flat or gets interpreted as fear or insubordination. Unheard and undervalued, his wisdom grows sour and prideful. He isn’t wrong, he knows he isn't, and he will show them. You are not gods, I will make you see that you are not gods. I will humble you until you understand that I am right. 

This is a profoundly human experience.

The ancient elven empire ultimately falls to its own greed and hierarchies and lack of boundaries - all of which Solas pointed out, all of which he and his rebels opposed. But the Evanuris didn’t listen, they were caught in a power scheme where only individual power matters and everyone else becomes pawns. How ironic then that their empire falls to its own foolish pride and boundless cruelty against the Titans, the first children of the earth. They hurt themselves by hurting them. They wound the fabric that binds them all together. 

Solas as a character is an open, ongoing conflict between "spirit" and "demon" aspects, between light and dark, between identifying as a solitary creature or part of the whole. It’s never more visible than during the final act of DAV where he is at once Solas, standing with the Shadow Dragons against the blight. And also Fen’Harel, scheming to get there in the first place, treating people in his way like dehumanized pawns to reach his final destination, a goal that can be argued to be entirely tainted with pride at this point, a way to soothe his conscience and need to be right more than it’s a way to save the world. And he’s the Dread Wolf, physically embodying the struggle against the corrupt powers since he, unlike the Evanuris, doesn’t believe in binding creatures to fight his battles. It’s significant that while he fights alone, he cannot do it without help from Rook. Elgar’nan directs all of the blight at the Dread Wolf and it takes a sacrifice from the team to free him from its grasp. It’s a battle orchestrated by a god. 

And Solas, powerful as he may be, is not a god. 

That is why it’s so lovely to me that the ending isn’t just a matter between Solas and his conscience or between Solas and Rook or Solas and Lavellan. Because we are not single entities. We are not islands. That’s why we need each other, because we respond to each other, we affect each other, we abuse and love each other and we cannot really understand in which ways until we connect. We use each other to remind us of who we are, or who we could be. Every Benevolence needs a Wisdom, every Command needs a Compassion, every one of us needs someone else in some way, shape or form. We are not meant to be solitary. We all share Solas' deepest fear of dying alone. We all share Solas’ ongoing conflict with the better and worse parts of our nature. We all reflect each other. The ending brings in the past, the present and the person that knows Solas not as a god but as a person.

We are shattered fragments of a greater whole and it was, as Morrigan points out, Solas’s love for and loyalty to his people that set him on this course long ago. And he broke the world. He broke his people. He couldn’t save them, all the horrible things that he has done and he still couldn’t save them. Ultimately and emotionally to him, this isn’t about wisdom or pride or good or evil or any such dichotomy, this is about grief and regret and broken humanity.

That is why it’s so powerful to me that a romanced or friendly Lavellan is so kind to him in DAV. They approach him carefully, they kneel down beside him to make a connection, they are understanding and compassionate and it may not be what he deserves on some grand justice scale of things, but it is without question what he needs. Pride and regret and grief need compassion, hope and benevolence much more than it needs to be proven wrong or challenged, kindness breaks the cycle.

They reach out to him not the way one would reach out to a god, but to a person. Because that’s what Solas needs to be reminded of - his humanity. That’s what their love and friendship has always reminded him of, that's what the Inquisition taught him - that the world is worth caring about because broken as it may be, it is also full of people. 

And people matter. They might not matter to the Dread Wolf, but they have always mattered to Solas.

That's what the good ending represents.

"I'm me again." 

[kiame-sama]

Drag Me to Hell- (Yandere!Alastor x Chubby!Reader) pt. 3

Warnings; spoilers for episode 5 of Hazbin Hotel, yandere relationship, yandere temper, yandere behavior, toxic relationship, Alastor is not fond of disobedience, don't make deals with demons,

~~~~~~~~

"Good talk, chum!"

Alastor hummed as he moved towards the shadows, leaving behind a shaking and terrified Husker. There were many words that could be used to describe Alastor and none were more fitting than terrifying.

None knew this better than you.

"Husker," you started, emerging from where you had been waiting down the hall, "are you okay?"

The hellcat tried to pull himself together quickly and brush you off, but his shaking betrayed how truly afraid he was. When Alastor wanted to put terror into others, he didn't need to work very hard to accomplish his goal.

"Why the Hell d'you care? You're his fuckin' favorite, the fuck you know about it?"

You knew he was lashing out to protect himself, but the words almost managed to make you flinch. Luckily for the both of you, you didn't and you kept a level head. If he had seen... Still, you wanted to try and comfort the fellow lost soul ensnared by your eternal captor.

"Husker, listen to me."

Something about your firm tone made the demon pause, an almost confused and unsettled expression on his face. It was rare that you became so serious and pleading with anyone, let alone tried to actually talk to anyone for extended periods of time. Something about your tone made him want to take whatever you were going to say seriously.

"You may think you know the limits of his patience but you don't. I know them. I have seen more than you know and have been by his side for longer than you may expect. I can never share these things. I can never tell anyone what I have heard and seen. Those memories are not my secrets to share. But I can tell you some of the terms of my contact, and I hope you understand and take heed."

You were choosing your words carefully, knowing that you could only say so much before the fine-print of your contract with Alastor silenced you. Parroting one of the key lines of your contract even as you navigated your way through the red-tape and fine print. Alastor made sure to create a rather finely crafted contract to outline your deal with him and you had plenty of time to read over it again and again.

"Expected and Required are the same thing. I am expected to remain by Alastor's side until he doesn't want me to be. I am expected to do what is asked of me by Alastor and no one else. I am expected to keep what I see and hear a secret unless Alastor wishes for me to speak on the matter. I am expected to remember the primary terms of every contract I have seen. And I have to say, Husker, I know better than anyone what chains can bind some overlords."

Husker seemed confused for a moment before his eyes flashed with recognition before shifting to curiosity. You could only hope that he gathered the information you wanted to give him without having directly said it.

"You were there for my deal, weren't you?"

"I cannot say. Those are not my secrets to share."

"But where were you? I thought it was just me an' him. Unless... Hells, you're his microphone, aren't you?"

"I am expected to be by his side until he doesn't want me to be."

"You've been around long enough to see my deal, you must have seen so many other deals too. Why do you stay with him? Ain't there any kind of freedom to your deal?"

"My deal was made to keep me safe from other demons. It... Evolved into what it is now. I stay safe and in return I do as my deal says, no questions. That is what I agreed to. Look, Husker, all I am saying is your leash could be tighter, your chains could be heavier, and you could have far less freedoms than you have now. Don't squander it over someone like Mimzy."

"I just know she is bad news! But he won't listen."

"I know she is bad news too and I admit, I hate her. Every time she shows up she uses him and thinks she has some kind of control over him because he lets her get away with this nonsense."

You sighed and tried to smile at Husker, feeling the wry and strained grin become more of a grimace. It was true that you strongly disliked the woman that only appeared when she needed help and you knew she didn't like you either. Mimzy had obvious feelings for Alastor and she hated the fact that you were close to him when she so desperately wanted to be in your place.

"Husker, I can't say I like you- he doesn't like competition of any kind- but I don't want you killed or hurt. You are a better person than you claim to be and we both know it. Just know that though he doesn't like your tone, he does hear you and your concerns."

"Listen, (y/n), maybe if we talk to Charlie about your deal, she can-"

You sharply stood from where you had been kneeling by his side, already knowing where the conversation was going and not wanting either of you to get hurt by the blowback. If Husker finished his sentence, odds are Alastor would not hesitate to rip his soul to shreds for daring to try and break the deal you had. There was no way you were going to let such a thing happen and that meant you had to make it clear to Husker as well.

"No. I am happy with my deal. I would never say anything to the contrary or try to get out of my deal with Alastor. Besides, I have seen too much and know too much for him to ever let me go peacefully. That level of blood and retribution is far too high a price. Don't suggest it again, Husker, or we will both be in trouble for it. Please, just trust me to-"

The way your voice died in your throat with a slight choke let the demon know you said as much as you could. Though there was more you wished to say, you could feel your own leash tighten in a clear warning and you knew then he had been listening. Odds are, Alastor had been listening to the whole thing and he was not pleased with your attempts to get around his gag order. It was also clear to you that Alastor was likely testing you by letting Husker get as far as he did in his questioning.

A chill ran down your back and you saw your fellow demon's eyes widen as he stared behind you. The clawed hand of the Radio Demon rest on your shoulder, his head leaning over so you could barely see his threatening grin in your peripheral view. You could feel his shadows crawling over your skin and around you as he casually asserted control over both you and Husker.

"Now, now. Whatever could you two possibly be discussing? It wouldn't happen to be about the rules you know you can't discuss, right?"

"Of course not, Alastor. We both know that they aren't my secrets to share even if I wanted to, which I don't. I am simply informing him from one damned soul to another that trying to rile you is a bad idea."

A soft growl could be heard from Alastor and you could feel the slight brush of his antlers against your head as his annoyance grew. As far as you knew, you hadn't said anything to upset him and you had not breached the terms of your contract. But the way his hand tightened on your shoulder told you Alastor was unhappy about something and you were terrified what that would mean for Husker.

"I have told you what to call me many times now, (y/n). I do not appreciate your continued failure to heed my instruction."

It then dawned on you why Alastor was irritated and in some ways it was ridiculous to you. He was upset because you called him Alastor and not a pet name as he had requested. Honestly, you had forgotten entirely about something so trivial, but you also knew Alastor was a stickler for details.

"Dear, I feel there is a time and place for terms of endearment and they have no place in serious discussion."

"That is for me to decide and you to obey. Do not presume such things again, Sugar. Now, what is this about you hating Mimzy?"

"She is only here to try and use you, we all know that. I don't like her casual attempts at controlling you and I know she dislikes me as well."

"I don't care what she thinks of you, it is not her decision if I keep you with me or not. Now, I would hope you know better than to question me, because I doubt you want to spend another half a decade locked away again. Do I make myself clear, Honey?"

"... Yes, Darling."

Alastor was quick to disappear once more into shadow, leaving both you and Husker to stare at one another in silence. You both knew he likely didn't go far and that he was always watching whatever it was you chose to do. With this constant observation in mind, you did your best to keep your actions to a minimum and to keep any backlash from hurting Husker.

"We both know what our place is. It would be best that we don't question it. I'm truly sorry for the pain you feel, Husker, but we made our choices. Be happy your choice gives you some kind of freedom."

[vir-bellanaris]

"Thank you."

Lavellan quirked her brow at him, roused from her contemplation of the whirling, flitting forms. "For what?"

With light tread, Solas approached her side, their shoulders barely brushing. He didn't want to push too much after their recent argument. He appraised her lovely face, noting the tension still held in her mouth and forehead. "Thank you." He said again, the words not flowing with their usual ease. "For not giving up. Even when it would have been wiser for you to turn away, you did not."

Solas swallowed down the regret and pain twisting in his throat. "I am sorry. For all that you have suffered because of me."

"Solas..." Lavellan sighed, and took his hand. Her affection for him overwhelming her anger. "I know you are. That is why we are here."

He shook his head. "I do not deserve-"

"No, you don't." Lavellan interrupted, giving him a wry smile. "But I'm here anyway. Being separated from you was probably the worst pain I've felt. Even through the intervening years the ache never really went away. I just got better at ignoring it."

Solas shifted, his features twisting.

She stopped him from speaking with a gentle touch. "I know you are sorry. Make atonement to me by allowing me to spend whatever remaining life I have by your side."

He drew in a shuddering breath, touching his fingertips to his bowed head. "Vhenan." While he gathered himself, a thought occurred to him, and he fixed her again with his lilac gaze. "I refuse to allow the remnants of my anchor or mortality to claim you. If you are willing to listen, I do have a proposal."

"A proposal?" Caught off guard, Lavellan almost laughed. "Are you hiding a ring somewhere too?"

"This is far more...in depth than the binding of matrimony. As I have done with the Veil, so would your own life force be bound to mine." Solas hesitated, conflicting emotions flitting across his features. "However, it is not something I would do lightly. Yet I have resolved myself to be honest and forthright with you regarding what awaits us."

Us.

Lavellan nodded, pensive. "Tell me more."

-

A rough draft excerpt from my fic found here

Also because I can't get that fanart of them making out against the fish tank out of my mind. The altercation in large part is going to be about Varric.

[flamingpudding]

The Ghost King is my Uncle Drabbles

A/N: The original this sorta ties too: Original One Shot

>>Masterpost

Shovel Talks

Constantine swore up a storm of course only mentally. It wasn't like he was going to voice any of his thoughts right now. Not when he was faced with the good damn Ghost King. All he wanted was to summon one of his contracted demons to gather some information and what did he get the fucking Ghost King.

"Trench coat! We meet again. You worked on your manners, I hope?"

"Of course your majesty." Well he didn't but he avoided the freaking bats like crazy.

"Well I gotta thank you. Well you and my In-Law that's busy and asked me to substitute for your call since we meet and before and so on." The Ghost King casually waved his hand in a dismissive manner before looking around with his eyes sparkling in recognition and it sent a shudder down Constantine's back. "You are giving me the perfect opportunity."

Did… did the Ghost King just pull out a green glowing sword from a fucking portal and why did he have that glint in his eyes? Constantine paled. Why did this have to happen to him?

"If you will excuse me for a moment. I need to look for a Kryptonian real quick. I will deal with your problem right after. Promise."

With that the Ghost King phased through the floor apparently in search of Superman who just happened to be in the watchtower today. Fuck. Constantine run out of the room in mild panic and pushed whoever was on communication aside as he dialed for the bats. The moment someone on their end pick up he didn't bother to explain anything and just shouted for one of them to get their fucking ass here as fast as possible or superman was going to be history!

Okay that might also have sent the people witnessing his panic into chaos but this was a fucking emergency.

It was only minutes later that Batman did indeed arrived together with Nightwing and Red Robin with the Zeta-Tube at the watchtower to bear witness to Superman getting cornered by the Ghost King with Constantine bound by echo-bindings for apparently having annoyed the Ghost King with his pleading to spare the Kryptonian.

"Now I am sure I don't have to repeat myself but, IF you ever hurt Baby Bat a fate way worse than the Soul Shredder and the Nightmare Realm will be the least of your problems. The last guy that hurt my family is still in there and I will gladly make you permanently join him."

A cough resounded and Danny turned his head, a bright smile on his face as he spotted his little nephew and two of the little babies.

"Baby Bat, Baby Menace and Baby Stalker! I will be done in a little bit!"

"Ghost Ki-"

"Uncle Danny."

Batman let out a suffering sigh as Nightwing and Red Robin snickered.

"Uncle Danny. Why are you threatening Superman?"

"Because Jazz forbade me to use the Soul Shredder on humans but Superman is not human so I am allowed to use it on him."

"Uncle Danny, why do you want to use the 'Soul Shredder'" -as a joke Nightwing used air quotes- "on the him in the first place?"

"Shovel talk."

Batman chocked and Red Robin spluttered as Nightwing had a hard time suppressing a laugh. Constantine and Superman gapped at the Ghost King.

"You… are threading him for shovel talk purposes? What even is the nightmare realm?"

"A place you don't want to be in. Very traumatic and perfect to externally punish anyone that hurts my family in any regard as long as I am allowed to dump them there."

There was an added barely hearable grumble of "I would have sent the Joker and Ra's in there long ago if Clockwork weren't such a stick in the mud about keeping the timeline straight and their roles and bla bla bla."

Red Robin did a double take. Did the Ghost King just admit that he would have liked to sent their rogues into a place that was most likely hell? Wait didn't he mention sending someone in there permanently earlier.

No one noticed Superman slowly inching away from the blade still pointed at him while the Ghost King's attention wasn't on him. Well the bats noticed but didn't react to it, deeming it safer for the Super.

"Uh you said you dumped someone permanently in there?" Red Robin tried to keep the attention on them.

"Well yea." The Ghost King casually shrugged, adjusting the blade so Superman could no longer inch away from him. "I looked away from the Ice Mirrors for a week and someone dared to hurt Moma Bat. Of course I was enraged and snatched that guy off the street to permanently drop him in there."

There was a beat of heavy silence. Batman under his cowl bluescreened especially with how casually Danny just admitted at having snatched up his parents murderer to punish the man. Well that explained why he never found the culprit.

"Now If you excuse me little Babies I am gonna finish this talk with the Kryptonian and make sure he knows what will happen if he hurts Baby Bat."

With this the Ghost King turned back to the rapidly paling Superman with a feral grin. The Birds sweat dropped as Batman was still not mentally present, his mind still working through the information.

"Think I would be able to borrow that sword?" Red Robin suddenly asked as Nightwing eyed Batman worringly. "He only said that Great Grandma forbade him to use it on humans. He never said we couldn't."

"Don't let Robin or Hood hear that." Nightwing said, even if he wanted to borrow it himself too. With B mentally still checked out he had to act as the responsible one. That wouldn't stop him from asking their Ghost Uncle later if he could borrow the sword anyway.

[purplealmonds]

Hm. This takes some explaining. I shared this illustration of Kon-Kusu inheriting the role of Shingi on Twitter, and shirousagi_mono wrote a story inspired by that idea! And I in turn was inspired to translate that story and drew some supplemental visuals for it!

English transcript below the cut.

DISCLAIMER This started out as a self-indulgent project to clumsily translate this story for myself. However, I became so enamored with it that before I knew it, I drew not only cover art but also various illustrations for each part of this story. The scope of this project has expanded far beyond my initial expectations.

I am an artist, not a writer. Furthermore, I am not an expert at the Japanese language. As such, this translation is far from perfect. Although I used Google Translate and DeepL, there may be parts of the story which I may have completely misinterpreted. A lot of nuances of the Japanese prose were also surely lost in translation. I tried to replicate an approximation of it in English, but again, I am not an expert on such matters.

Despite that, I am incredibly happy that this overseas collaboration is happening at all, and that our shared passion for Mononoke was what facilitated this connection. I can only hope that through the supplemental illustrations, the original narrative intentions of the author comes through.

–––

“Forgive me.”

It hurts, it cries. It hurts, it hurts!

The demonic wailing rises to ear-splitting shrieks.

Unforgivable, unforgivable, unforgivable!

The passion imbued in those wretched cries weigh down like great albatrosses in my heart.

The more I wield my blade, the more my soul becomes entangled in these heady emotions. But I grit my teeth and endure, swallowing all resentment and disappointment, envy and jealousy.

It is indescribable. My sword cuts through the tenuous threads of karma binding these hateful spirits helplessly raining curses upon this world.

I have long forgotten how to pray. Closing my eyes in helpless grief, I am unable to do anything but slash away with that jet black blade swaddled within the flickering blue flame.

***

The pale light of the full moon dances across the rippling waves. I have long become accustomed to the prickling cold against my clammy skin. The water laps at my existence, my senses rippling like fading echoes through its vast expanse.

A voice calls out to me. “Shingi-sama.”

Opening my eyes, I resurface to reality. The muted roar of the waterfall reverberates in my pointed ears. The cascading torrents sweep away my scarlet locks shimmering like a thin film across the water’s surface.

There is a figure stood on a distant shore. I wade towards them, wringing out the moisture in my hair.

“Are you well?” they ask.

“I am fine.”

They hands me my robes, which I accept with a shallow bow and slip onto my still dripping frame. The moisture soaks through the white fabric almost immediately. As the shining crimson fades from my hair, my minder watches on with unadulterated adoration etched upon their face.

Flustered, they avert their gaze. That gesture fills me with a strange sense nostalgia. I cannot help but stare back as they towel down my dripping hair and loosely gather the red-and-white strands into a braid.

“Somehow, this routine is soothing to me,” they confess with a sheepish smile. “Your hair is quite curly.”

Indeed, as they card through my locks, they twist and curl like crackling wildfire through their deft fingers. In the moonlight, the faintest shade of wisteria emerges from those silken locks. My unruly hair tamed into a tidy bun, they step back to admire their neat handiwork with their moon-pale gaze.

The sight of that innocent look constricts my chest with an aching familiarity.

I vehemently shake my head at this resurgence of long-buried memories. Once rekindled, those embers flare up into uncontrollable flames searing painful recollections into my heart. I know these emotions all too well.

My throat constricts in defiance. No. These are tulmultuous emotions are not my own. Not anymore.

“I’m here,” I say, steely voice concealing my heart’s turmoil. “I’m sorry.”

Plucking the mirror hanging from the sash of my other half, I toss it upwards with a practiced motion. It defies gravity, hanging eye level mid air. As it rotates lazily, my face comes into view. But it is not a familiar visage.

The reflection that gazes back at me is missing the black sclera of the my eyes and the crimson markings adorning my skin.

The warped reflection, wracked with grief and pain, stares back at me with pleading eyes.

I call out its name, long lost to time. Its eyes widen.

“You do not belong here,” I say to my past self. “Not yet.”

I reach out to the mirror.

“Go home.”

I crush the it in my fist. The shards melt harmlessly and trickle like ephemeral moonlight between my fingers.

***

I wake with a start. Gasping for breath, I take stock of sensations to ground me. Sticky sweat runs in rivulets down my skin. My chest barely cages the frantic pounding of my heart. I sweep away the stringy mop of pale lavender hair obscuring my vision.

A comfortingly familiar hand reaches out to me. He must have been roused by my unexpected awakening. I return the touch, and he squeezes my palm reassuringly. At last, my gaze shifts to my lover, moonlit eyes framed by a curtain of pitch black hair.

Yes, one day this will be my fate. It feels strange to think of myself in the future tense with such grim certainty. These stolen moments of the present – how foolish was to take them for granted until now? Gazing past my eyes into the depths of my heart, the god of the Kun exorcism sword interrogates my loud thoughts.

“What did you see?” he presses. “What did you mean by ‘my fate’?”

I wince at the graveness of his voice, but comply. Turning my thoughts inwards, I attempt to recall my nightmare. But the moment I touch upon it, it dissipates like mist. I gape helplessly as the dream loses shape.

“I–” I stammer. “I don’t remember. But–“

My racing heart still echoes feverishly in my head. My eyes dart back to my god and soulmate. As he leans over me, his dark hair falls around me like a protective cage. My throat tightens with an inexplicable grief. Despite my fading memories, there is one thing I know for certain.

“I’m scared of losing you.”

As that confession spills from my lips, my eyes grow hot. A stifling fear threatens to tear out of my trembling frame. It is such a childish cliche. Once said aloud, those words will surely become a prophetic truth. I cling to my other half’s pale sleeve as if in desperate prayer. My inability to push him away in my moment of vulnerability fills my eyes to the brim with unshed tears.

Those moon-pale eyes widen. I am stunned by the emotion flickering past his usual stone-faced expression. Before I can think more of it, his large hand obscures my vision like the moon eclipsing the sun.

“Go back to sleep. Forget this ever happened.”

At that soft spoken benediction, the fear wracking my body is snatched away along with my fretful consciousness. His sad voice follows me into a dreamless abyss.

“You should not look into the future.”

If this was truly my future, is it worth continuing down this path? As my eyes drift shut, the desire to give voice to that fading question forms silent tears trickling down my cheek.

[yanderemommabean]

Am I the only one who needs to be strapped down by the wrists and ate out against my will by alpha elias while I struggle to not show how good everything feels and beg for him to stop despite my arching body telling him the opposite?

Bonus if he flips darling over, jerks their hips upwards and sets a teasing pace with one hand pushing their upper body down so they can’t do anything but arch backwards into him and grip the sheets for dear life. All the while licking a stripe up their neck before burying his teeth into their nape to mark them, growling possessively when they refuse to moan for him, digging deeper and thrusting into them harder until they whimper in submission.

Bonus Bonus if it’s Doc Lee’s butterfly and he’s made to watch, threatening to cum inside them if he looks away.

((Female reader! Hope you beans can enjoy!))

“You’re so cute when you try to fight this” The deranged man murmurs against your skin, ice once again filling your veins as his fingers come to clutch at your thighs to spread them apart, massaging the meat and fat of them as he soaks in the sight of you, bare and open, ready for him to gorge himself on.

“The fact no one has kissed every scar and told you they were beautiful paint strokes on your canvas, shows me there’s truly less hope for humanity than I thought” Elias praises as his fingers begin to trace up and down your hips and the apex of your thighs. “Every pretty vein, every mark and mole, every scar from small to large deserves to be savored and kissed. You’re a beautiful soul who does nothing but give and give and give” he murmurs, placing a soft kiss to the top of your mound. “Such battle scars. Gorgeous even if they came from a time of hideous treatment to you”.

You feel his warm breath against you while your bindings only tighten, holding you still as the maniac worships you, praises you like you’re truly a relic or a god, as if He truly believed you gave him a purpose. You were ashamed of how your breath was stolen from you, his nimble fingers hardly touching you yet bringing out such pleasure, even when in such a state of panic.

“I know you say you don’t want this, that you only have feelings for that rat of a doctor…But I know he’s just simply brainwashed you. He doesn’t know how to treat you, hoards you like an object rather than spoil you like a lover”.

You spit something out to him, but the gag in your mouth doesn’t allow it to truly be heard. It's just more amusement for the psycho as you tremble and hiss like a terrified cat. How absolutely precious. Elias just grins, wicked and wild as he helps turn your head to face the right of you, where in the corner of the room, Lee had been bound and gagged as well, anger clear in his eyes and features as he venomously spews words that are muffled and garbled.

Elias just kisses down your bare body once again, amused and gleeful as the doctor struggles. “Oh don't tell me you thought this was a private show? Tsk tsk tsk then how would that doctor learn his lesson? No no my dear, he’s going to watch, and you are going to be good and put on a good show. I’d hate to have to take his fingers or pull his teeth, but if you insist on misbehaving…I can give it a shot”.

Oh god he was serious. Lee wouldn’t ever be caught, not by someone so easily. But again, Elias isn’t just anyone. He’s at this facility for a reason. His hand comes to cup your warmth, slowly letting his fingers spread your lips so he could feel the dewy skin, shuddering as he breathes in your scent. “Don't be too in your own head, lovely. Just relax, let me take care of everything else. Lee will be fine, if he can behave. Don't worry your cute little head about it”.

You whimper at that, his fingers sliding up your folds to toy with your clit, his eyes molten and hot as they watched you writhe and gasp from just a few quick circles being rubbed. Cute. You must really be pent up if that's all that gets you going. Not that he minds, mind you. Sensitivity just means more fun for him.

“Good. So good for me. Look at you, arching into my touch already. I haven’t even done anything” he muses, sliding his body back down until your legs were once again around his head, not that they had much of a choice. He hears Lees grunts and muffled vulgarity, but pays it no mind as he drags his tongue up from your fluttering hole to your twitching clit, greedily sucking the bud while his shoulders relax.

Yes. This is exactly where he needs to be. Between your thighs while you use his face, make him your little toy to use and throw away when you’re done. But of course, Lee had to try and take that luxury away from him too. If he had it his way, well, you’d be doing a lot more room visits for him that’s for sure. He doesn't mind following the majority of rules in this place, but he draws the fucking line at Lee trying to take you away from him.

Listening to your moans and whimpers as his tongue happily laps away, it almost makes him forget that the doctor is in here, watching as he drinks your ambrosia. He almost hates that he’s here, listening to you, but having him just an arms reach away and unable to take you, it gave him a wicked feeling of amusement.

His soft petal lips suck on your folds, moving to suck on your little bud aggressively as you gasp and try to kick, the pleasure shooting up your spine being too much and making you go taut, before once again relaxing as he holds your legs still and drags his tongue through your wetness again and again like a thirsty animal, drool covering his chin as he loses himself and tries to show your body just how much he loves you, loves your smell, your warmth, your taste- everything about you was mouth watering.

You have fresh tears dripping down your beautiful face when his viper like eyes stare back up at you, and his cock only throbs harder. He loves sending you to such planes of bliss that it’s too much to handle. So much love that you can’t fathom, so you cry. Every time you climax, it’s a sign of how much you love each other, right? That has to be why your pretty eyes are so wet and weary. You just feel so much love, you don't know what to do.

Don’t worry. He knows exactly what you need.

His hands grip your legs more firmly, lifting them up so they rested on his shoulders as he completely loses himself in you, giving you no reprieve or break as his mouth gets to work, slurping, sucking, licking and swirling right where you need it to, bringing you to the edge and not just tipping you over- with how strong it felt you might as well have been launched off, your body arching and shaking as Elias still, rather obscenely, eats you out, helping you ride through the orgasm as he continues drinking you down and savoring you on his tongue.

It’s wet, his face is covered, sweat drool and your essence is dripping down his face as he pulls away to lick his lips, chuckling darkly as he rubs up and down your legs that were still shaking on his shoulders. “Did that feel good? You came so hard baby, looked so beautiful, so sexy. Just a few more and I think it’ll shake that stage fright, don't you? Then we can really show that doctor over there how your body should be worshiped”.

(Hey! engage in some way if you enjoyed! Tell me what you thought! Comments show I'm doing good, or what I can improve on :3 Thanks for reading! -Mommabean )

[kaciidubs]

The Summoning | Spooktober 2023

❣ Summary: Desperate times called for desperate measures, and you may have just summoned the most desperate measure of them all. ❣  ❣ Word Count: 1.16k ❣ Warnings: Demon! Jisung, humor, smut, Reader is a wee bit sassy, Switch! Reader, Switch! Jisung, implied multiple rounds, riding, open ended ❣  ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣  ❣ Additional Tags: Han is referred to as Jisung, Ji, Baby, and Sir, Reader is referred to as Jagi, and Baby, barely edited, there's basically no plot ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist ❣ Spooktober 2023

You were sure you followed the incantation properly, the candles were at the right points on your - albeit crudely drawn - sigil and the pronunciation of the Latin words were damn near spot on with the YouTube video you kept bookmarked. 

So, why wasn't there currently a tall, burly demon standing in front of you, ready to snatch your soul in more ways than one?

"What the fuck?"

Standing before you, looking just as confused as you were, was a man - a man - with admittedly gorgeously styled hair, an all black outfit that some how highlighted his slim figure, and a golden cross chain hanging from his neck.

Ironic.

"What- Where-" His eyes scanned frantically around your room before settling on you, still knelt at the head of the summoning circle. "Who are you and how did you do that?! Where am I even at? Who are you?"

You bristled at his constant questioning, eyebrows furrowing, "I should be asking you who you are! I was hoping for some sort of scary horny demon who was ready to blow my back out, not whoever you are!"

"Horny demon? Blow your- Hold on, hold on." He pressed his hands to his face, muttering under his breath though you weren't able to catch what he was saying. "You... You tried summoning a demon for sex? Are you insane?!"

"No, I'm horny." You deadpanned, crossing your arms over your chest, "And you're one to judge, since you came here!"

The demon dropped his hands, eyes wide and lips - cute, plush-looking, and kissable - set in a pout, "I didn't come here on my own! You summoned me, remember?!"

Groaning, you glanced toward the notebook with your summoning notes written in it, "I guess, even though you weren't what I was expecting at all." Looking up at him again, you shrugged, "Well, if you aren't going to satisfy anything, you can just - I don't know, poof back to hell or wherever you came from?"

He froze, mouth opening and closing with stammers that made you raise an eyebrow inquisitively. "I... Well, I can't."

"Huh?"

"I can't leave until I, um... Satisfy your needs."

If you looked hard enough, you could've seen the faintest blush rising on his cheeks.

"D-Don't get this wrong, either!" He shouted, quickly falling into the defensive, "I literally can't, it's in the incantation, I'm bound to you until I satisfy the contract of your summon."

There was a beat of silence between you, the cogs in your head working double time as you processed his words and all their double entendre meanings.

"So... You're stuck with me until you-"

"-blow your back out, yes."

Sure, he may not have been the big scary demon you were hoping for, but you couldn't deny that he was attractive and he looked like he'd be a pretty good lay. Besides - when would you be able to say you summoned, and fucked, a demon?

Pushing yourself up from your knelt position, you brushed off your knees with an exaggerated huff, "Alright then," you put your hands on your hips, smirking at the brunet in front of you, "fuck me."

Within the next ten minutes you learned a few new things; the first being that his name was Jisung - or at least, that's what you caught amidst his heavenly soft lips moving rapidly against your own. The second was that there was a specific way demons operated when it came to summons, and your chant just so happened to bind onto him. The third was that he had extremely sensitive ears, and for someone so sure about initiating things, he was a mere gentle breeze away from folding to your command.

And boy, did he fold.

"Oh, fuck me-"

He laid underneath you, hair an unforgivable mess thanks to your restless fingers and face wrapped in sheer pleasure as you rode him like a woman possessed; the springs in your mattress protesting in kind.

"Fuck- Fuck, Jagi, just like that."

"I can't tell," you huffed, breaking away from your assault of the pretty skin of his neck, "if you're the one who's supposed to be fucking me," your fingers slid from his hair and to his shoulders, slowly dancing their way down to his nipples, "or if I'm the one fucking you."

"I-I tried, but you-" a whimper fell from his lips as you gently pinched at the small, perked nipples, "-didn't even g-give me a chance!"

"Give you a chance? Baby," your movements changed to slow grinds of your hips, a sinister smirk growing on your lips from the way his pouted lips fell into a small 'o'. "I gave you permission to take me, use me as you wished - show me the reason why my summon worked on you." Leaning down, your lips grazed over his, "Show me why I chose you."

The air shifted around you, sparks of excitement shooting down your spine as you felt him shiver underneath you - your only sign of a physical change before you were suddenly rolled onto your back with ease.

There was no point in hiding the delighted giggle that floated from your mouth, not when it was subsequently followed by a shocked gasp as you took in the man - or rather, demon, before you.

His irises were a deep red, rivaling the prettiest of roses, while a set of horns curled from the sides of his head before curving up at his temples, the sharp points looking more inviting than they should have been.

Your pussy clenched at the smirk he wore, teeth bearing points that surely weren't there before.

"Why you chose me, Jagi?" Jisung spoke, the newfound low register in his tone wrapping around your mind and rendering you utterly defenseless. "Want me to show you why I'm the only one worthy of ruining this little pussy? Give you the treatment you got down on your knees for?"

His hands found your thighs, sliding down to your knees to hook your legs around his lithe hips before pressing forward, sinking whatever inches escaped you back into your slick cunt.

"Well?"

Taking that as your warm invitation to speak, you nodded quickly, "Y-Yes."

He tsked, loose strands of hair falling before his eyes as he shook his head, "Yes?"

"Yes, Sir." The title fell from your lips effortlessly, almost as if it was waiting to be used all along - natural.

His smirk grew wider, and you found yourself wishing he'd show you the delicious contrast of his sharp teeth and his pillow-soft lips, if only for a moment.

Anchoring onto his knees, Jisung cocked his head as if to process the simple addition of one word, "Sir... That's a good start, baby - keep it up and I might have to stay even when the contract's up."

From that moment on, the only chant you needed was his name, your sigil now in the form of your nails on his back, and whenever you summoned him, he came - and so did you, many, many times.

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @goblinracha, @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @j-onedrabbles, @happilydeepestwonderland, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @sometimesleeknows, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @maximumkillshot, @y-ur--i, @acker-night, @dreamescapeswriting, @specialstay, @broken-glowsticks, @s00buwu, @dancerachaslut, @junglyric, @tinyelfperson, @jj-stay, @katsukis1wife, @inlovewithmusician, @keen-li, @armystay89

✧. ┊Kinktober only: @selicua

✧. ┊If your username is in bold italics that means tumblr won't let me tag you. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill out this form!

[solargeist]

ive been seeing a lot of your posts about grian and xelqua, and i am thoroughly confused as well as ridiculously intrigued

are grian and xelqua two completely separate entities? or do they have some sort of soul-binding thing? or are they two halves of the same person? maybe it's just because ive seen so much content where grian IS xelqua, but your take on it is really fun for me to read despite me not understanding it at all,,

can i just have a quick rundown of it? qwq

ehehhee my favourite topic...............

Most of the fandom sees "Xelqua" as just Watcher Grian under a different name, the name comes from his YT channel's name, however I write Xelqua as a different timeline Grian, so they are technically the same person, but different, their lives are not exactly the same.

Xelqua is "Grian" but Grian is not "Xelqua"

TIMELINE A: EVO/HERMITCRAFT Grian. The one that joined the Watchers first. Joining the Watchers splits into multiple timelines. This Grian runs away from the Watchers to Hermitcraft. Xelqua was his patron. He does not meet Xelqua until the end of s8. (other timelines don't matter he probably just died a bunch lol) -- TIMELINE B: A version of Evo Grian. He does not run away from the Watchers, this leads to him becoming a god-like figure, he rips own timeline apart, it does not exist. Xelqua has the ability to hop timelines, this is how he helps other Grians, usually giving them bombs. its an odd coping mechanism he has, (he gives other people bombs though sometimes.) Xelqua is a destroyer. He is the only version (of grian) to become this. (They are contradictory on purpose)

"Kid Grian prays to Xelqua. -> the same Grian grows up and joins the Watchers -> This leads to Another Timeline version of Grian becoming "Xelqua", a god-like Watcher. -> This Xelqua version protects/watches other versions of Grian, even the main timeline one who caused Xelqua's existence. Xelqua has always existed."

(This also implies that "kid grian" grows up to Be Xelqua ? Their lives were pretty much the same until the Watchers..)

-- Xelqua doesn't typically let people orr versions of himself see him, he helps from the sidelines.

Kid Grian prays to Xelqua, he grows up and is unintentionally the direct reason Xelqua exists, and Xelqua unknowingly watches Kid Grian--the original, and occasionally protects him. (Xelqua gets to see his own memories from 3rd person !)

Xelqua doesn't find out abt the main Grian til he finds him in s8, its very interesting for him to realize.

The Void is .. watcher radioactive, with it propped open all the time, its enchantments echo in Grian's ears and race in his blood, it has him feeling crazy, stressed, and exhausted. Xelqua crawls out of the void and pulls him down in it. Theres a brief moment in time where Xelqua is angry and bitter at this Grian for dooming his life, but they get this sorted out throughout s9.

Xelqua also has the ability to change into different forms of Grian, so he can become the "kid grian" version, or the evo one, or his own young watcher days, this affects his mental state though, its not the strongest ability ever.

If he's stressed enough he involuntarily turns into a child and is stuck like that for awhile, completely unaware, but usually ends up in Hermitcraft where hes safe (not like anything could hurt him in other worlds anyway, he's still ridiculous strong as a kid.)

I think that covers the bases HMM !!!

[adinfernumadinfinitum]

Welcome to my silly little fan theory @emmg:

How Raphael is the ‘Mastermind’ behind the plot of Baldur’s Gate 3…

…or how I give him more importance than I should.

DISCLAIMER:

In this ‘dissertation,’ I present my take on things based on Dungeons and Dragons 5e lore from the Forgotten Realms universe, along with fandom theories and headcanons where they suit me. This is NOT an in-depth analysis of anything, so I won’t be reciting specific quotes, etc.

I repeat, this is just MY take on things. If a similar theory already exists, feel free to reach out, and I’ll gladly tag the material!

Oh, and there are a lot of spoilers about, well, everything, so read at your own risk ⚠️

I thank the lovely @bitethedevil for allowing me to tag their posts, making it easier on me so I don’t have to write everything out! I also want to take this moment to appreciate their work and contributions to this fandom! ☺️

Introduction

Baldur’s Gate 3 is a brilliant, complex, multi-layered game filled with multiple villains, heroic figures, and a plot that weaves players in seamlessly. That’s why we love this game—at least, that’s why I do—the gripping storyline and its faceted characters.

The game is set in the Forgotten Realms with DnD lore and rules, while still adding and maintaining its own unique features and twists.

But what if we entirely take a look at it from DnD lore perspective?

Section 1: Raphael as the core character in Baldur’s Gate 3

Fans of the Emperor might argue with me here, but oh man, have you seen how many pies Raphael has his fingers in?

This narcissistic little shit of a cambion plotted his grand design to take the Crown of Karsus for over 2,000 years, planning everything with terrifying precision and putting in a staggering amount of effort—all to manipulate Tav or Durge into giving him the crown.

To understand just how far back his scheming goes, we have to start with the fall of Netheril. As Raphael himself tells us, this is where it all began, and when his father seized the crown, it became impossible for Raphael to obtain it himself.

Baator—the Nine Layers of Hell—has its own system and rules. The plane is aligned as lawful evil, and by its laws, anyone who breaks them is punished; in other words, theft is a crime (don’t try this at home edition).

Am I going to explain the system and rules of the Nine Hells? Hell no, or I’ll be sitting here until next Halloween. Sorry, maybe in a separate post sometime (or not) 😭

So Raphael had to get creative if he wanted to get his greedy claws on the crown.

You can read about how much Raphael’s involvement is actually found in the game Baldur’s Gate 3 here.

What’s relevant for this ‘dissertation’ are the following points, which all show how he orchestrates the plot:

1. Raphael, Vlaakith, and the Astral Prism —

Raphael even plots to capture Orpheus. Not personally, of course, but with the knowledge that it could benefit him and would even serve its purpose in the future. This is a crucial detail.

However, I don’t believe Raphael would craft or have someone craft an item like the Astral Prism, as well as the bindings of Orpheus (the mask, chains, and binding crystals) and the Orphic Hammer. It’s more likely these objects already existed in the Hells, with Raphael profiting by dealing with them.

Sadly there is no official information on that, I really find that interesting.

As for why the Orphic Hammer is called Orphic Hammer - why is Orpheus called Orpheus? He’s a liberator for his people, having inherited the power of Mother Gith, who freed the Gith from mind flayer enslavement. The character of Orpheus draws heavily from Orpheus in Greek mythology, a symbol of liberation, love, and the attempt to rescue a soul from the bonds of death. The term “Orphic” reflects this sense of breaking free from constraints or seeking transformation (of course, it has other meanings, too, but this one feels like what the developers were aiming for).

So the hammer’s name has both symbolic depth and a bit of pun, as it’s intended to free the character Orpheus from his chains.

ANYWAY

2. Raphael, Moonrise Towers, and the Gauntlet of Shar —

The amount of interwoven contracts Raphael has made in the Shadow Cursed Lands is suspicious, and each and every one of them is too , an important point.

Isn’t it just a bit too convenient that Ketheric’s misery plays right into Raphael’s hands? The Shadow-Cursed Lands—Reithwin, once ruled by Ketheric, formerly full of Selunite worshippers but ruined by schemes of the Dark Lady who turned a grieving worshipper of her sister into a Shar follower and leader of an army of Dark Justiciars—is a whole breeding ground for contracts and a stage for Raphael’s play.

Hold on, I’m not implying that I believe Raphael had a hand in Shar’s mischief here, but I do think Raphael handpicked Ketheric, a grieving and obsessed madman (a truly tragic character, honestly), to be an unwitting pawn in his schemes, without directly involving himself. To do this, he contracted with desperate beings like the Architect, Yurgir, and the last Dark Justiciar.

To understand why Raphael would even need Ketheric, we have to look a step further.

3. Raphael and my beloved raccoon boy, Gortash —

Raphael buying Gortash from his parents was a calculated move and the final piece in the Netherbrain plot scheme.

I believe Raphael specifically chose Enver Gortash, a boy with potential, for his plans to get the Crown of Karsus.

Look, Gortash is anything but dumb; in fact, he’s the exact opposite. He learned the ropes in Hell, literally imprisoned in Raphael’s House of Hope. All jokes aside about pot-scrubbing duty and overhearing Raphael and Haarlep getting it on, Gortash is a quick learner.

Raphael just had to watch as Gortash escaped the House of Hope with vital information about the crown. With this, Raphael set up an ambitious, cunning man with the drive to steal the crown.

And this is where Ketheric returns to the picture. Ketheric, the chosen of Myrkul; Gortash, the chosen of Bane; and Durge, the chosen of Bhaal.

As for how Raphael might have gotten his hands on Durge? I’ll leave that as the theory’s plot hole.

I could fill it with headcanons—like Gortash and Durge knowing each other even before Gortash was sold—but that feels a bit far-fetched.

Actually, all of this is a bit far-fetched, but hey, it’s my silly little theory.

But hey again, we’re slowly coming to a conclusion how Raphael is the mastermind behind BG3, do you see my vision?

All Raphael needed was patience. The chosen ones, Gortash and Durge, set the stage by planning the Netherbrain coup and, in stealing the crown, executed Raphael’s plan. All they needed was the third chosen, Ketheric, to carry out the rest of the plot: building the Absolute’s army, etc., the rest we know...

So, what was left? Just someone desperate enough to make a deal with Raphael and actually hand over the Crown of Karsus. And how would he pull that off?

✨The Tadpole Gang✨

Every single one of them fits the bill. Especially if the player chooses Durge.

The next question is: how could he manipulate the group if they were under the Absolute’s influence? Well, that’s where the Emperor comes onto the stage.

Because, hear me out one more time: isn’t it convenient that the Emperor, of all people, finds the Astral Prism? A figure obsessed with freedom and manipulation, ambitious and clever, who would serve perfectly as a kind of protection shield from the Elder Brain’s influence for the gang? And to that even a disposable figure as it is a mind flayer who would not be trusted in the end.

(Naturally, in the game the player is the ultimate executional force, making any kind of higher plan or scheme either perfect or useless)

Nevertheless, this is as far as I will dive into this specific pond.

I just think it adds up nicely.

But Björni, if you have a Section 1, what about a Section 2? you might ask. Well, here it comes…

… how this ‘dissertation’ is actually about Mephistopheles being the ‘Mastermind’ behind the plot of Baldur’s Gate 3.

Section 2: Raphael as the Scapegoat

DnD’s lore about fiends—and, specifically, cambions—teaches us that they’re doomed to fail from birth. While they may think they’re in control of their schemes, they’re actually playing into the hands of their fiendish parent.

Ever wondered why Mephistopheles would even bother devouring Raphael if we defeat him? Sure, cambion sons are nourishing (yum yum), but given Mephistopheles’ personality, I’d guess he does it to humiliate his son, even in death, for being a failure—a failure to retrieve the crown for his father.

But wait, Mephistopheles already had the crown—why would he bother plotting all of this just to get it back? Isn’t that a bit over-the-top, Björni?

Bear with me: it’s not officially written anywhere, but it’s more or less canon based on what we know of the Archdevils Asmodeus and Mephistopheles.

Asmodeus rules the Hells, while Mephistopheles, as the Archduke of the 8th layer, Cania, is arguably the second most powerful being in Baator. Mephistopheles has never stopped dreaming of overthrowing Asmodeus, even after repeatedly failing miserably. But if he openly tried to use the crown against Asmodeus, it would be a direct affront, and Asmodeus would have shut it down from the start.

Mephistopheles has other children besides Raphael, and Raphael isn’t exactly useless, he’s actually the complete opposite. Strategically, it wouldn’t make sense to discard such a puppet (call him son)—unless Raphael had done something atrocious. And for someone as mighty as Mephistopheles, controlling his little cambion son would be child’s play. So, then why does Raphael hate his father so much, and why is Raphael ‘residing’ in Avernus?

As we know, Avernus is the armpit of Baator, a plane for exiles and outcasts.

I think Mephistopheles intentionally filled his relationship with Raphael with hatred, so Raphael’s ambition to overthrow his father would ignite and one day serve him. When Mephistopheles got the Crown of Karsus, unable to wield it himself, he set the stage for his son’s scheme—by casting Raphael aside, Mephistopheles set him on the path to steal the crown, with Mephistopheles only indirectly involved in overthrowing Asmodeus. Raphael would do the dirty work—taking over the other layers—before ultimately facing his father, who could then just snatch the crown from him. And yes, I do believe Mephistopheles is arrogant enough to think he’d still be more powerful than his son, even with a god-like artifact. He has that bloated of an ego.

BUT (Nr. 36,252), what about Asmodeus? Wouldn’t he step in and crush the plan?

Here’s the thing: Asmodeus generally doesn’t mind if his archdukes fight for control of their layers, as long as it doesn’t threaten his supreme authority or destabilize Hell’s hierarchy. In fact, he encourages a bit of rivalry and ambition among his archdevils, as infighting serves his purposes.

And can you imagine THE Asmodeus being worried about an over-ambitious cambion?

However, this leads to the TRUE instigator and the true subject of this ‘dissertation’…

… how Asmodeus is actually the ‘Mastermind’ behind the plot of Baldur’s Gate 3.

Section 3: Asmodeus doing things, just because

Joke’s on you—it’s been about Asmodeus all along, because even if he’d lose (not that he ever would—he’s just that powerful), he’d claim at the last minute that it was his plan all along. Losing trusted allies? What a bunch of traitors—perfect excuse to clean house. Losing Baator? Finally, he was sick of the job.

All jokes aside, Asmodeus being the cunning bastard he is, would likely pull off everything mentioned above.

To understand why he’d even bother, let’s take a quick (really quick, this is already getting too long) dive into his background and shenanigans in DnD.

Throughout DnD’s development from 1e to 5e, Asmodeus has gone through quite the evolution, eventually becoming a Greater Deity, the Embodiment of Evil, and one of the mightiest beings in existence, rivaled only by Ao.

While 5e keeps things vague to allow player interpretation, Asmodeus has consistently been the most powerful entity in the Hells—a schemer, strategist, and supreme manipulator.

(Here’s the only quote I’ll reference:) “[…] His sinister machinations could take centuries, if not millennia, to come to fruition, and his master plans extended across the entire multiverse. His labyrinthine, insidious intrigues could seem inexplicable to most outside observers, for Asmodeus let even his own servants stew in fear of his next move. With all the planes as his board, the Lord of Lies maneuvered the forces of evil like chess pieces in his grand designs, slowly and subtly manipulating everyone from deities to, when needed, lowly mortals.”

He’s described as being a thousand steps ahead of everyone. And while most of his plans serve greater purposes beyond even godly comprehension, some things he does just because—just for fun.

CONCLUSION

Of course Asmodeus knew Mephistopheles had the crown. Of course he knew Mephistopheles would never use it openly against him. And of course he knew Mephistopheles would keep scheming to use it indirectly, bringing his cambion son Raphael into the game.

Why would Asmodeus let all this happen, and why am I saying he’s the real mastermind?

Like already mentioned, Asmodeus often (indirectly) encourages and manipulates his archdukes to scheme and fight among themselves as a means to reinforce his dominance, foster survival of the fittest, and test loyalty within the infernal hierarchy. However, he maintains strict boundaries, and any conflict that risks his supreme authority, disrupts Hell’s role in the multiverse, or leads to excessive chaos would be swiftly and ruthlessly quashed. In Asmodeus’s mind, such rivalries are a useful tool—as long as they remain safely under his control.

In my view, the Crown of Karsus was never a real threat to him; this whole plot served his entertainment, tested loyalties, or helped him gauge his chess pieces.

And that’s how Asmodeus is the real mastermind behind the plot of Baldur’s Gate 3.

Thanks for reading this mass of nonsense ❤️

Why I even bothered with all this shit? It’s one of the key plot points in my longfic, Ah, You Devil!

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Fallen angel; Dean Winchester x reader

*Author's note*

Well this request was really starting to collect dust in my inbox but I finally got around to doing it so I'd like to thank @topstory21 for being so patient with me for their request and hope that you enjoy it.

Warnings: Swearing, violence (this is SPN after all), mentions of family death, some angst and fluff.

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@queen-paladin

@waddles03

@psychosupernatural

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@remussl0vers

__________________________________________________________

I awoke to find myself out in a field and the sound of mooing next to me.  I turned with a groan to see a few cows staring at me as they continued their grazing, their deep brown eyes staring deep into my very soul.  Slowly I got up feeling nothing but aches and pains in my body which I found strange.

Normally my body heals on its own pretty fast being an angel and all that but now my powers weren’t working.  Wait, how did I even get down to earth in the first place? Dean didn’t pray for me and Cas wasn’t in trouble nor was big brother Gabriel causing any trouble.

After composing myself I walked out of the field and followed the road to the nearest town where I managed to find a convenient store.  I walked in and saw on the tv above about a meteor shower the like of which these humans had never seen before.  It was then I remembered what had happened.

I—I had fallen.  And not just me but—every angel in heaven had been cast out and fallen to earth.  I tried to tap into the angel radio but I came up with nothing, not even static.  No, no, no, no this couldn’t be happening.

“Miss? Miss? Are you alright?” I turned to see a young man in his young teen years and I asked him.

“Where am I?”

“Miles City, Montana.” He answered.  “Do you uhh—need me to call someone?”

“No, no I….thank you. Forget I was here.” I then walked out of the store and felt a sudden overwhelming feeling after realizing that I had now become a fallen angel, I wasn’t in Kansas, I can’t communicate with any of my brothers and sisters, and I had no access to my powers.  “Why didn’t I accept that cellphone that Dean offered me? I just had to follow the rules. No human technology in heaven. I could’ve played off like big brother Cas but nooo.”

Okay (Y/n) just calm down and think about this.  You’ve got a location, now all you need to do is find a way to get in contact with either Dean, Sam or Cas.  Surely someone will let me use their phone for just a moment or two to make a call.  I saw a group of skater teens gathered by another convenient store and I walked up to them and asked.

“Excuse me, could I use one of your cellphones to call someone?”

“Why can’t you just use your own lady?” asked a rude boy with face acne.

“I—seemed to have misplaced it. Please it’d just be for a minute or two.”

“Sorry lady. We don’t even carry our own phones. Parents tracking us and all that shit. That’s why we just have our go-pros.” Said another boy with long brown hair.

“Your parents only worry for your safety.”

“Jesus Christ another Karen comin to tell us to what to do. Let’s get out of here.” The teens then got on their skateboards and bikes and soon left me in the dust (quite literally as they purposefully kicked up the rocks and debris nearby).

“I swear children today have no respect for anyone. And why do they keep using that term Karen?”

“The rise of social media and technology raising them and careless parents not fit to discipline them.” I jumped at the voice and saw a woman with curly blonde hair.  She appeared to be around her early to mid-40’s but she still held someone of a youthful glow about her.  Her hypnotic green eyes glared out towards the teenagers that had just left me in the dust.

“They do seem to think they’re above authority nowadays don’t they?” I vocalized my thoughts.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to intrude or anything but I had heard you were in a bit of a bind and just thought I’d offer my help.” She said turning toward me.

“I’d greatly appreciate it, thank you Miss…..”

“Agatha. Agatha Dubois.” She extended her hand out and I greatly took it as we shook hands.

“Thank you Miss DuBois, really I do appreciate it. You would not believe that I’ve been through today.”

“From what I heard about those meteor showers, I’d say it was quite an event. Some people have lost their homes due to collateral damage from the explosions that had been happening.” Oh my….I hope I didn’t cause anyone any harm when I had landed.  “If you don’t mind helping me load up some stuff into my truck, I’d be more than willing to allow you to use my telephone. Maybe even get you a nice home-cooked meal. Lord knows you look like you need it.”

Being an angel I’ve never really had the taste for food.  But now with my grace potentially gone and now feeling 100% human, I could feel the extreme hunger that was now knowing at the edges of my stomach.

“Are you sure about all that? All I’d really need is just to use a phone.”

“Ahhh don’t worry about it. Besides, my mama always taught me to help out a stranger in need.”

“Well, thank you Ms. DuBois.”

“Oh you can call me Agatha. Now c’mon, these gas tanks can get pretty heavy and you’d be a life savior if I didn’t have to make more than two trips.” I walked over towards her truck and helped her load up the gas tanks that I’ve seen be used to grills for barbecuing.  Once we were done, I got up in the passenger seat and she drove us towards her cabin out in the woods.

We unloaded her truck and after storing away the last gas tank in her shed, I wiped my forehead of the sweat that now clamped onto my brow.  Whew, who would’ve thought this is what humans feel like after every work day?

“I greatly appreciate you helping me out (Y/n).” Agatha thanked me.

“I’m glad I could help out. Now may I ask where you’re phones at?”

“Come with me to the kitchen and it’ll be right by the sink. Sometimes cell reception gets a little funky so I keep a landline just in case.” She escorted me towards her house and it was like any other home I had seen.

Decent cabin with various trinkets, knick-knacks, furniture and pictures.  Some by herself and others with what appeared to be either friends or family.  We got into the kitchen and she pointed the phone out to me.  And boy I hadn’t seen phones like that since the 1970’s.  I walked over to it, picked it up and began dialing Dean’s number but just as I started to press the last two numbers, I felt something hit the back of my neck and I was knocked out like a light.

*Dean’s POV*

Now we’ve had crazy things happen to us before, hell we started the freakin apocalypse for crying out loud. But this shit…..this was way beyond anything we’ve come across.  To be told that the trials for sealing off Hell for good was nothing but a rouse, a filthy lie.  And now hundreds maybe thousands of angels, including my girl are scattered throughout the world.

“Anything coming up yet?” I asked Sam who was on his laptop typing away.

“Nothing other than the news talking about the supposed ‘Great meteor shower of 2013’.”

“How bout Cas, heard anything from him?”

“No.” I let out a growl as I paced through the motel room. 

“I told that girl to keep the damn phone, why doesn’t she ever listen to me?”

“You can’t blame (Y/n) for this.”

“I’m not! She’s not the one who casted the angels out of heaven. And don’t go thinking I’m blaming you either, we both believed that those trials would be for the demons of Hell. If I ever see Metatron again…..”

“You won’t be able to do anything Dean.” We both jumped at the sudden voice of Cas appearing behind us.

“The hell have you been?! We’ve been calling and praying to you and you just ghost us!”

“In case you hadn’t noticed Dean, I’ve been a bit busy as of late.” Cas sneered sarcastically.

“Cas, what exactly is going on out there?” Sam asked him.

“The angel radio has been blaring nonstop of angels in a state of panic. However it’s about half the normal voices I usually hear. I fear that most of the angels that had fallen had also lost their grace. Including (Y/n).” oh fuck no! If she’s lost her grace then…..she’s practically useless out there.

Unlike most angels, she’s more of a diplomat than a soldier, hardly ever really fought unless her life depended on it.  She’s confessed that the only real wars she’s participated in was the 100 years War with Joan of Arc and some battle during the Civil war.  But she’s had her powers to use to take down any demon or monster that came at her, without it she’ll—NO!!

“Do you know where she might be?” I asked.

“I’ve tried everything in whatever power I have left since my own casting out and I’ve come up with….how you guys say, squat.” My breathing sharpened, “However, there might be someone we could see in order to find her.”

“What do you mean Cas?” I asked.

“In her secret visits down here to Earth back during the Civil war, I’m told she once connected with someone who was able to see and know all of the past and the future.”

“What you’re saying she met with a fortune teller?” asked Sam.

“No, not people who claim to know your fortunes I literally mean a deity that can see the past and the future. An oracle.” Said Cas.

“You—you serious? Like an actual oracle?”

“We’ve come across dragons before Dean, oracles don’t seem so farfetched.” Said Sam with a shrug.

“Alright well, how do we get in touch with this oracle?”

“If I recall, their last known location was deep in bayou of New Orleans.”

“Then Louisiana it is. We’re wasting time let’s go!” I ordered as the two of them followed me outside to the car and I floored it till we got to Louisiana.

We reached the city within a day and a half and managed to book a ferry ride down the bayou to where Cas would guide us.  He said the oracle lived on a small island on the bayou known as Moonscar isle.  I leaned up against the railings of the ferry staring out into the murky waters and creepy swamps.  Normally I’d be saying we’re living out an actual Scooby doo location but all my mind was thinking about was (Y/n).

“Dean.” Cas voice called out to me.  I felt his hand on my shoulder, “We’ll find her. She might not be the strongest fighter of my sisters but she is clever. If she does run into trouble, she’ll find a way out of it.”

“You better be right Cas. Cause I don’t know what I’ll do if we find her too late.” We soon reached the dock of Moonscar isle and I drove us through the bumpy roads.  I know you ain’t used to these roads Baby but I promise you, we’ll be back on the smooth road soon.

“Okay Cas did (Y/n) say anything specific on how to find this oracle’s location?” Sam questioned.

“It should be the only thing living on this island. No one has lived here since the days of the Civil War.”

“Seems easy enough.” I floored Baby a bit faster until we hit a hump which caused all of us to hit our heads on the roof.

“Dean I know you want to save (Y/n) but maybe try to go easy on the gas. At least until we hit smoother terrain.” Suggested Sam.  As we drove through the thick mist, we soon caught sight of what appeared to be torches lighting the way.  We followed the light until we came upon a small cabin.

I turned the engine off and the three of us got out of Baby and closed the doors.

“Typical, witchy and spooky. Remind me to question her friends when we find her.” I told them both before trudging through the wet mud and marshes towards the cabin.  I climbed up the ladder which lead to the cabin above and I opened the door only to be greeted by a hissing snake.  “JESUS…..”

“No Jesus Christ be ‘ere. Only the one who speaks between the realms of gods and mortals.” A female Cajun voice spoke up.  The snake retreated backward but kept its unblinking eyes on me as hand reached out and stroked it’s head.

Soon a woman in an old, and when I say old I meant like past century or two old, dress.  Long and elegant yet battered and weathered by time.  Her hair was styled in dreads and styled much like Eddie Van Halen’s hair.  But what had me unsettled was the snake-like eyes that she had.  Give me black, red, yellow, or even white eyes but not snake eyes.

“Calypso.” Cas greeted.

“Castiel.” Her wicked and rotten smile greeted.  Seriously I’ve seen vampires with better dental hygiene than this woman.  “And de Winchester brothers. Calypso ‘erd many tings about you two. Destiny and fate twists around you both like puppets on a string.” Calypso said as the snake that scared me now began wrapping itself around her neck.

“Yeah we uhh—get that a lot. Listen we’ve come to…..”

“I know what it is that you come for cher.” Calypso interrupted my brother.  “Enter but be weary of your step.” Oh yeah sure that’s comforting.  We entered inside the cabin and saw that the entire place was filled with jars, voodoo stuff, jars with the most randomness, weird, freaky and creepy stuff I had only seen be put in movies.  Snakes, bats, and rats also made their home in this cabin.  “Sit down.”

We were lead to a table that held scrolls, maps and books that would make even Bobby’s library seem like the kid’s section at the library.

“You ‘ave come to seek ma Cherie (Y/n).”

“Yeah, do you know where she is?”

“To answer such a question must be bound. For her heart may soon be in de ground.” I soon felt my chin being tilted upward as I was now forced to look up at her.  “You above the two share that bond with ma cher.” I forced my way out of her strong grip.

“I may have failed Spanish but I know what that endearment means so don’t be trying to call her any of that when she’s already spoken for.”

“Angels ave lived many lives. To stick to one partner is never just enough.” She said with me with a seductive smirk.  Okay so did she mean that she and (Y/n) once…..okay not that I don’t think it’s hot but c’mon Dean now’s really not the time to be thinking about things like that right now.

“Calypso. We’re worried about her, Cas has said she’s lost touch with angel radio. And if that’s true then that means she’s lost her grace when she fell from Heaven.”

“When de angels fell from the sky, Hell itself shook. More demons seep out now to destroy their lifelong foes. The balance between them has now shifted to Hell’s favor, and if not set straight, all will be lost.” Calypso said as she walked over towards one of her bookshelves and allowed the snake to slither down her arm and track down a rat.

As she spoke, just seeing the snake hunt down the rat and catch it before wrapping itself around it and squeezing it to death made me feel uncomfortable.

“Calypso, you and (Y/n) were close with one another. If you still care for her at all, will you help us find her?” the oracle remained silent before she said.

“I ave wha you seek, but I demand special payment before I can give this precious gift away.”

“What is it that you want?” I demanded.  A slow, wicked smirk came across her face.

*My POV*

I woke up feeling groggy and with a massive headache but I also felt my hands and feet were strapped down.  I struggled to get up but I heard Agatha’s voice.

“There’s no point in struggling.” I turned my head to see her cleaning up an angel blade.  “That there is angel blades mixed with the strongest iron melted and forged into handcuffs.”

“You know what I am?” I asked her.

“Trust me sweetheart, you’re not the first angel we came across.”

“We?” I then thought back to the photo’s I saw in her cabin.  “Your family.”

“Yeah. My husband Frank, and my two boys Nathan and Jake. My husband and I had left the hunter’s life behind in order to raise our two boys. But when word got out that the apocalypse and the end of the world was happening, well…..let’s just say the Winchester’s weren’t the only ones on the demons radar. Soon the angels started coming after us, all because we refused to be their pawns.”

“I take it that the angel that came to you was called Zachariah?”

“Yeah.” She sneered. 

“Figures. I hated that douchebag so much. Out of all my brothers, I hated him more than Lucifer and Michael combined.”

“Just because you claim that, doesn’t mean I’ll go easy on you.” She said as she stood over me and placed the angel blade right to my neck.

“Listen Agatha, even if you do kill me it won’t change anything.”

“I’m not gonna kill you. At least not yet. First you’re gonna tell me where I can find that rat bastard, and then once I’m through with him then I’ll kill you. And finally be rid of you angels.”

“I don’t think the angels will be the least of your concern these days. If any hunter out there knows all lore, then they’d know that what they witnessed wasn’t a meteor shower.”

“They were fallen angels yeah, yeah I read up more on the lore once we kept running into Zachariah and after he had killed my boys. That’s why I’ve been hunting down you angels that came here. And you dearie, make number three.”

“Who were the other two?”

“Didn’t care to ask them. But they proved useless to me in the end. But oh do I remember seeing your name in some of the lore books. The Angel of Mercy. So any angel that’s out there, you would know where they are.”

“That was before I had fallen. Now I’m as mortal as you are. I’m of no use to you Agatha. And even if you were to kill me, no angel is going to tell you where to find Zachariah.”

“Then I guess I’ll keep killing your kind until someone screams.” Gunshots suddenly fired just a few feet away from her and I heard Dean’s voice roar out.

“THE HELL YOU WILL!” we looked up to see Dean with his revolver pointed right at Agatha.

“The infamous Dean Winchester.” Agatha mocked in praise.  “Should I be honored by your presence?”

“Cut the small talk you psychotic bitch, I ain’t here to make friends.”

“From one hunter to another, I thought the job was to kill any monster that got in our way? That includes these so called ‘angels’.”

“Look, I’ll admit that most of them were douchebags with wings but the one you’ve got right there. She’s about as harmless as a kitten. So I’m only gonna say this one last time, let her go or I pump you full of lead.” It was then I saw Castiel and Sam sneaking in from the back, when I caught my brother’s eye, he pressed his finger to his lips as I withdrew his own angel blade while Sam took out his own pistol.

“Not until I get what I want. And I’ll kill anyone who gets in my way.” It was then Sam came up and grabbed Agatha in a headlock with the gun placed at her back.

“First rule you should’ve remembered. Never bring a knife to a gun fight.” Sam sneered in her ear.  Castiel then came up and freed me of my bonds and cupped my face checking me for injuries.

“Are you hurt?”

“Besides the ache in my head and the aftermath of falling from heaven, I’m fine.” I brushed his hands away from my face and stood up and walked over to Dean.  I placed my hand over his gun and gave him the look to lower his gun.  He stared at me wide eyed in anger but I gave him a harsh look which got him to obey my order.  “You misunderstood me what I had said earlier.”

“What do you mean?” Agatha snarled as she tried to struggle but Sam kept a firm hold of her.

“When I told you that no angel was going to tell you where Zachariah was. It’s because he’s no longer with us. This man here,” I gestured to Dean. “My boyfriend, he’s the one who killed Zachariah and ended his endless lies and deceit. So your vengeance is wasted.”

The harsh look in Agatha’s eyes slowly began to soften as her struggling ceased.

“He’s…..”

“Yes. He’s dead. And no one is bringing him back, but nor would killing him bring your family back. Ask yourself this Agatha, if your husband and boys could see you now, would they want this from you? To be so consumed by hatred and vengeance that you’d lose yourself to it?”

“So you’re telling me all of this was an Inigo Montoya scenario?” Dean asked incredulously.

“Not now babe.” I hushed him.  “You’ve been consumed by your hate for long enough Agatha, it’s time to let it go.” I then gave Sam a nod and he released Agatha who just fell to her knees.

“Three years felt like an eternity. Everytime I close my eyes I can still see how he did it. He snapped my youngest boys bones like twigs, I can still see his limbs all twisted and contorted. My eldest boy, he stabbed him right through the back. I still can’t get the blood off my face from it spurting out. And Fr—Frank he……” Agatha wept into her hands.

The guys’ anger soon turned to sympathy as they stared at their potential enemy they were so adamant on killing now break down in tears.  I walked over to Agatha and knelt down beside her.  I placed my hand to her head and she looked up at me, tears slipping down past her lashes.

“Know that didn’t blame you. And they’ll always be watching over you until you are all together again.” Agatha crumbled once more as she wept into the floor and I chose to walk out with the guys following behind me.

There was a moment of silence as we walked away from Agatha’s property until Sam spoke up.

“I still sometimes can’t get over how you can still find the mercy and compassion in situations (Y/n).”

“That is who my sister is Sam. As the Angel of Mercy, she knows when force is needed, or when someone needs a compassionate hand. Agatha Morrison was just a grieving wife and mother, not a monster.” Cas explained.

“Doesn’t mean I’ll forgive her for what she did to you.” Dean said to me.

“That is up to you. But if you choose to continuously live with hate in your heart Dean, that’s all your life will ever be. You already carry such a weight of regret on you already Dean. Don’t add hatred to the mix.” I said stopping him as I placed my hand over his heart.  He looked me in the eye and said.

“How is it that you always have to get the last word in whenever we argue?”

“Cause you know I’m always right. Even when I’m wrong, I’m right.”

“But now will this show you to at least carry a phone with you? Not every human is like Agatha. Be thankful she was mourning as you said she was. Next person could’ve been a John Wayne Gacey or Ted Bundy copy-cat.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“No, no thinking about it. I’ll give you one of my old burner phones. You don’t have to upgrade to a smartphone.”

“Fine, I’ll take one of the burners.”

“Thank you.” Dean then brought me into his arms and kissed the top of my head.  “I was so worried about you. And you’re sure you don’t got a concussion or something?”

“I’m fine Dean, really. But question though, how did you guys find me so quickly?”

“We called in a favor from your old…..uhh—lover.” Dean groaned out the last part.

“My old lover? Dean what are you talking about?”

“The Oracle, Calypso.” Sam said.  I bit back my laughter but it soon escaped me as Dean demanded.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh you guys are a riot! Hahahaha! Calypso and me lovers! Hahaha!”

“Again not to say there’s anything wrong, especially now with people more accepting….”

“Sam, Calypso is just a friend. Nothing more. Being the child of Eros they’re a natural minx and will flirt with just about anyone, including me. But they never take it further than that cause they know I’m straight.”

“So you—you guys weren’t ever…..”

“Dean Winchester were you jealous?” I teased with a raised brow.

“What? No! No! No I’m completely comfortable with my masculinity and won’t be like those insecure bastards that feel the need to be possessive over their girls.”

“Tink again Winchester!” a portal soon opened up to Calypso’s cabin and there stood the old minx themself holding Juju, their albino python around their neck.  “You really got dis one wound up cher! Him really thought he was de only partner you ever had.” They laughed as they stroked Juju’s head with their index and tall fingers.

“Cally you are a card.” I shook my head as I entered through the portal and stood beside them.

“You know I can never resist a good joke mon cher.” I walked through the portal followed by Sam, Cas and Dean who was still flabbergasted.

After finding a motel in New Orleans, Dean lay down on the bed while I brushed through my hair.

“So you had us be sent out while you and Calypso talked. What did she—I mean they want? I mean the way they had it made, it sounded like they wanted something else like…..you know.”

“As I told you, being the child of a God of Love and lust, they can’t help but be attracted to anyone they see. But Calypso and I have no romantic feelings for one another. They merely demanded a poker game rematch.”

“Seriously? A poker game?”

“Yep. Our last poker game I had beaten her 10 games out of 12 and got 20lbs of their weight in gold they had collected. I’m gonna play against them in three days’ time to see if they’ve improved their skill to win back the gold.”

“And that’s all they want?”

“Yes Dean, now will you let this whole thing go?” I walked over to him and lay down beside him cupping the side of his face.  “The only one meant for me is you.”

“Your damn right I am.”

“Whatever happened to ‘not being the possessive boyfriend’ and ‘completely secure about my masculinity’?”

“I swear if you ever tell Sam this, I’ll deny every word of it.”

“Don’t worry, you don’t have to say it. And like I just told you, you don’t have to worry about anything.” I leaned in and gave him a soft kiss which he soon deepened before we proceeded to make love all night long after that.

[kirkscarr]

ok so i just finished my book cover for First, Best Destiny - Part 1 by the amazing @ophelia-j !!

admittedly i was going to wait until i actually attached the text block to the cover before i posted this haha, but i was SO excited after making this cover that i decided to just post it and then update with the finished product later!!

this book is absolutely embedded in my soul, and words cannot even describe how gorgeously it’s written. it’s a book that made me realize - hey, the adventure doesn’t end as you grow old.

you can read it here. i promise you won’t regret it!!!

anyways!!! here’s all of my other bookbinding steps for anyone interested.

cam’s somewhat incomplete bookbinding guide

please note that i am an AMATEUR hobbyist. please do not actually use this as a tutorial.

oh also!! bookbinding terminology will have a * by it which will be explained at the end in order to make this flow better. i’ll also link the tutorials i used at the end of this for anyone interested.

1) Formatting the document! I downloaded the original text as a PDF, and then designed a cover page, grabbed some art from the internet (i know, frowned upon, but this is just a personal copy so it is what it is), and then designed a table of contents and chapter icons!!

*side note! i added which episodes each chapter follows to the table of contents (pictured below) as this book was written as an accompaniment to TOS and the movies.

2) Next, I printed out all NINE HUNDRED PAGES??? admittedly i could have done it in less if I’d used a bigger page size, but sending things out to be printed is expensive so we made do. after printing, i folded them into signatures*.

*there’s an additional note about the paper i used at the end

3) punching out holes in all the signatures! although not technically necessary, I honestly don’t think i would’ve been able to sew this behemoth without doing it.

4) sewing the pages into a real!! actual!! book!! this was the part i was most nervous about. i’ve NEVER attempted to sew anywhere near this large of a book before, so i tried out a new method of sewing in hopes of making it a bit more sturdy. we won’t know if it worked until this book endures some wear and tear, but i’m pretty optimistic!

5) next up is glueing the spine! this is where it really hit me that a lot of bookbinding is just…glueing shit together. later i also added cardstock to the spine in hopes of helping it adhere to the cover better, and a book headband* for decoration.

5) now we’re onto the book cover!! they only sell bookboard in minor bulk around here, so we’re not even gonna discuss how much bookboard i now own… anyways! i glued the faux leather onto the bookboard and then let that dry.

6) last up! off to the cricket! a huge thank you to my friend for letting me borrow her cricket AND supplies! anywho, this is where i designed my cover art. i then adhered the design to the cover. after this step, i realized i…definitely need some kind of sealant - so, if any more seasoned bookbinders have suggestions for this i am all ears!!

all in all, this was a super fun project, and a great way to kill some time while i recover from surgery! i absolutely plan to bind the sequel at some point, but that may be a…ways away. i’m a STEM major and school starts back up soon so…time will be in short supply lol!

To be continued...

Terminology

*signature: group of sheets folded in half, to be worked into the binding as a unit.

*book headband: just look up a picture if you’re curious because tumblr says i can't add any more pictures lol.

*about the paper!! i actually got it from a local specialty paper store, but if you want something similar i've heard amazon has some good bookbinding alternatives!

Tutorials

please PLEASE go check out Jess Less on youtube. she's phenomenal. here are her vids and what i used them for.

don't laugh!! i actually stole MOST of my techniques straight from this video.

i used this one to help me format the book correctly! although i still ended up with some goofs haha (see: any pages on the left side have the page number in the margin LMAO).

[rainystarters]

๋࣭ ⭑𓆩✧𓆪🗡ྀ࿔ 〖 stories and songs . . . 〗 a collection of sentence starters inspired by various codex entries from the dragon age rpg series. some prompts usfw. adjust details as necessary.

the wind that stirs their shallow graves carries their song.

heed our words, hear our cry.

oh, fair damsel of the garden!

surely your work is far too vital to be interrupted by one like me.

i was a fool to pluck that flower.

you are not a man known for your honor.

you allowed me to live once, and so now i do the same for you.

i am humbled by your words.

but some things cannot be repent.

there is something in here with us.

death is certain, either way.

you have been my rock and my shield.

strike true, do not waver. and let not your prey suffer.

as the sapling bends, so must you.

you are lost, and soon you will fade.

go forth and claim the empty throne of heaven.

you have brought doom upon the world.

magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.

they shall find no rest in this world or beyond.

there is but one truth.

all things in this world are finite.

each night in dreams you may always remember me.

the light shall lead you safely.

i am but your faithful servant.

if blood must be shed and used, so be it.

step away from this folly, before it consumes us all.

i long to dance with you beneath the moonlight.

do not despair. for it is not you, it is of me.

my most heartfelt apologies for the ripped bodice.

such depravity i have never been forced to suffer!

let them hunt, and dread finding me.

truth will hold you for that is what truth does.

i shouldn't have doubted your resolve.

please accept my humble apologies.

in truth, it is i who has been most vulnerable.

the seals are already weakening.

it must be protected at all costs.

of unknown metal and magic keen, a finer blade there's never been.

any army is only as good as its equipment.

blessed by the vine in spring, i shall not fear the winter's sting.

only fools ignore the history of the ground they walk and the people they meet.

i could use an extra pair of eyes to keep watch at night.

i hope they found peace.

blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.

in blood, my will is written.

we are forever in your graces.

the oath you have taken is all but broken.

can you be forgiven when the cold grave has come?

once we raised up our chalice in victory.

why change the past when you can own this day?

the wolves are our allies.

always keep an eye out for the noble owl.

nothing burns like the first cup.

gallows master, hold they hand. hold it back awhile.

look away, look into the sun.

you know we all are dying.

alas, i cannot stay.

we'll beat down the bastard, and then we'll get plastered!

what of the old secrets the burn in our hearts?

now we pray for a dawn that will never arrive.

but it is our blood he seeks.

you will realize the smiles are false, and behind them lies revenge.

for all your fancy intrigue, you have spent your life creating nothing of worth.

it moves on without you, uncaring.

who could bear the weight of a people destroyed by his hand?

what was your vision of our purpose?

so buy the lads a round.

i'm ashore for the night and seeking company.

i'd still rather die.

why be what i am when i can be more?

have you threatened to cut out anyone's tongue today?

for have i not grown in skill and measure?

binding a demon of higher power is dangerous...

let it be my choice to have served and died.

i'm not staying to watch you die like a fool.

the undead you have been fighting are people i killed with my own hands.

here is my soul, trapped in a cage of bone.

turn around, face the shadows. don't blink.

just going to lie here for a while.

chopping off their heads should do the trick.

i am empty, filled with nothing.

arrogance becomes our end.

i'm here to die. but i won't go quietly.

i don't want to die like this.

cry for the past; only there does glory dwell.

so the forest grows, a reflection of our might.

mourn the past and all that was left there.

mastery of the self is mastery of the world.

suffering is choice and we can refuse it.

pride disguises itself in its surety.

[arafilez]

੭୧ ⼂ LIES YOU BUILT ﹗

ー☆ㅤㅤ [ kwh x reader ] ㅤ੭𓂃 ㅤangst, no comfort, bsf to strangers ㅤ warnings crying, woonhak is a little toxic ㅤ﹢ㅤ1k wc

Kim Woonhak,

It’s stupid how you still have a mark in my life, the smallest importance with the biggest meaning. Your footprints over my soul never washed away, instead, they stay, stubborn and scratched, like rock carvings. To put it simply I hate you. That is pretty straightforward, isn’t it? I am like that, I have always been like that. Oh, wait you know that already. You used to find me simple, you loved that. Said we completed each other. Now, I cry in my bed thinking about all the lies you fed me about being best friends forever.

Oh, the lies you mastered so well!

I regret every one of those days I had called you up just so I could update you on my life. Every single secret, every laugh, and every tear I had told you of and every bit of our shared stories. I used to be interesting to you, so when did I become so boring that you had to find newer, more popular and cooler friends? What happened to our late-night chats, the ones till three where we both had to hide from our parents with excuses? Where are the stories now? Did you forget them as easily as you threw away our friendship? Did you tell your new friends my stories just so you could get a good laugh out of them? A good laugh out of the class’s lame bitch’s stories- yeah I believe you can do that. If anyone told me a year ago that Kim Woonhak is doing this I would have laughed at their faces. Now, I am the one who scoffs and tells those to the few classmates who feel sympathy for me.

Pathetic! I am pathetic!

There is still no note, no explanation, not a single sentence you said about this while I hold on to the thread loosely binding the last pieces of our friendship. Every time I asked you what was wrong you had one word, “Nothing.” Where was I wrong? I think I was wrong to put my trust in you. Tell me why you left our friendship as if it was not even worth the dirt under your shoe? Tell me why am I still hung up on our last conversation even if it was just you taking advantage of me and wanting my notes? Tell me, did I become lame after you found friends who are more popular than me? Tell me, was I lame the way I behaved? Or was it the way I became loud when I got excited or the way I laughed? Did that make you leave and go to your new friends who have the “cool” aura? How could you take everything I love and crush it so easily? Are your fingers that strong Woonhak?

What happened to our years of friendship Woonhak? Why does this hurt more than any break-up ever did? Why does every time now a simple, sub-important friendship breaks or an argument happens with my friends do I hurriedly apologise multiple times even if I was not in the wrong? Why does it always me feel maybe I am the rotten apple among my friends? Why does your face drop in my mind every time I think I am not enough? Why I am still hung up on you when I have so many newer friends who actually appreciate me? Why do I still picture myself in the mirror arguing with you and putting you in your place with my words and my confidence? Confidence I have only when I am alone? Why do I fantasize about a time you even feel a little fucking sorry for doing all this?

I have so many questions for you, questions I never got to ask and questions that formed later. What did I do for you to break this friendship? Where was I wrong? Why did you start ignoring me that Tuesday when we talked on Monday? Why did you make sure your whole new friend circle hate me? Why did you make fun of me with them? How could you do that? Did our friendship mean nothing to you? Was it that worthless? Was I wasting that much of your time?

Do you think I am being dramatic? Then explain this!

I have so many friends, but every time a minor crack appears, my insecurities build up. Insecurities that weren’t there till you crafted them. Insecurities that weren’t there till you made fun of me in front of me only. Insecurities that weren’t there before you decided to blatantly ignore me one day after our years of friendship. Insecurities that weren’t there until you decided the term best friend is not for me anymore. I would say we both drew blood, and we both got hurt, but were those cuts ever equal?

This is all very straightforward, isn’t it? That’s the second time I am asking you that. Because damn hell, it is. It is my rawest and truest emotions and I don’t want to twist my words to let you know this, which you never will. The worst part of the whole thing is that you will never read this, I will never send this and this will not get you a scratch but it is jabbing my heart multiple times. Twisting the knife you crafted especially for me and pushing it in repeatedly. Why would you do this all to me? Can we talk? Is there something there you never told me and let it build inside you? Or am I just simply horrible? I wish I could let it go, I have tried so many times but I can’t. I wish I could forgive you but what should I forgive you and your cocky, small-minded friends for? Nothing! It is terrible how you come into my mind whenever the smallest incident occurs and I think of telling you, and then it hits me again.

You are still everything to me while I am nothing to you!

From Y/n

ー☆ㅤㅤ [ ara's notes ] ㅤ੭𓂃 ㅤ is this self-indulgent? yes, a lot! i will be back with bonedo fluff tho TT ㅤ𓏧ㅤ library ㅤ bnd shelfㅤ navi

੭ 𝅄ㅤ ꒰ TAGLIST ꒱ ㅤ⏤ㅤ @haneagerr @slytherinshua ㅤ𓏧ㅤ fill this or comment or ask to be added.

ㅤㅤ(ㅤㅤ© arafilez on tumblrㅤㅤ)