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cheriecelestial · 9 months ago

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Jacob Black's Self Saving System Pt.1

disclaimer *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ crack.swearing.not proofread

synopsis *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Jason, a self-proclaimed no. 1 Stephenie Meyer hater, finds himself unexpectedly transmigrated into the very novel he disdained. Following this ironic twist of fate, he is now tasked with the challenge of creating a better version of the story himself.

a/n *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Inspired from @duckysprouts ’s series. It’s so good ⁉️‼️. If you haven’t seen it already, PLEASE GO CHECK IT OUT. Like finally svsss content that isn’t shizun sphinx cats or binghe skin creature abomination. Art and concept so fresh it made my heart cry with joy and pulled me out of my three-month long writing slump. So, I humbly present this as an offering to our lord and savior, Ducky. Comment, Reblog and Like (∩˃o˂∩)♡

Pt 2

Twilight by Stephanie Meyer was a modern classic in its renaissance era with a large cult that loved to hate it. Set in a place with relentless rain, mist shrouded forest and an ethereal light piercing the gloom — the light being the one of only Edward Cullen. Though the statement is subject to fan bias — he was a man, rather sparkly vampire, who somehow managed to be both irresistible and perpetually constipated.

Nonetheless, his charms never overshadowed the stellar performance of our female lead, Isabella Marie Swan— better known as Bella — a teenager who gained worldwide fame for having a personality less vibrant than a wet cabbage. Together, they navigated the perilous world of teenage angst, vampire baseball, millenia old racist italian politicians and werewolves with a curious t-shirt allergy, all in an impressively monotone palette.

It was a heartwarming tale that began with awkward stares, cryptic yet nauseatingly clichéd conversations and Bella’s inexplicable attraction to danger, making the romance as thrilling as it was perplexing. Meanwhile, the supporting cast of her high school friends, each with their own irrelevant quirks and subplots, served as convenient plot devices — appearing and disappearing at the whim of the author.

And as if her love life wasn’t tumultuous enough, Bella befriended Jacob Black. A werewolf who, unsurprisingly, hated all things vampire and Edward Cullen in particular. Between Edward’s brooding, Jacob’s abs and Bella’s classic damsel-in-distress antics that made poor Elena Gilbert seem unremarkable by comparison — the story unfolded with the subtlety of a glitter bomb and reached unprecedented heights of melodrama. Something that helped the tale become a global phenomenon, demonstrating that improbable love stories can indeed shine in their own sparkly “skin-of-a-killer” fashion.

“This has to be the worst piece of literature I’ve ever read in my life.” Those were strong words from a man who spent years and at least six hundred dollars collecting softbacks and hardbacks in every special and limited edition the series offered. Jason Black was an anti-fan who lived to scoff at the literary mediocrities of authors who, after taking one look at their drafts, believed they deserved to be released into the world as actual literature. Such people, often inspired by similar works, spawned their own deranged narratives, subsequently contaminating the sanctity of literature.

In layman’s terms, Jason was a fervent hater of the highest order. He had a long list of things he despised about the series, yet curiously, re-watching the movies and re-reading the books always found its way to the top of his to-do list every other weekend. But do not get him wrong, not once did he say anything in favour of the series. Jason simply considered it one of those brain-rotting pieces that needed to be experienced to truly appreciate the beauty of classics like Emily Brontë and Jane Austen.

_username_1 : Bruh stfu. You’re probably an unemployed loner with nothing better to do in life than to be a keyboard warrior.

_username_2 : then idk buddy don’t read it ? It’s not that hard.

Jason huffed at the screen crossily, his fingers dancing over the keyboard unsure of what to type next. With a sigh, he stretched his arms as if preparing for battle. And a battle it was — being an anti-fan required more dedication, practice and patience than being a regular fan. What he didn’t realize was that he had knocked a water bottle off the table onto the frayed cord of his PC.

He couldn't fathom why people defended it as if their lives depended on it. If he ever met Stephenie Meyer, Jason would have a long talk with her about the plot—or rather, the lack thereof. With the number of plot holes in the books, they could qualify as swiss cheese. The inconsistencies were glaring: if sunlight made them sparkle, wouldn't they still sparkle during the day, just less brilliantly ? How did Jasper and Alice not overhear the phone call despite having super-hearing ? Why did Jasper go ballistic over a papercut when he attended a school where students would get paper cuts and scrapes all the time ? Why were vampires and werewolves the only species to exist ? And why was Bella, or more specifically her blood, so exceptional ? Did she perhaps descend from a line of flavourful blood havers or was it due to her mother's partial albinism ?

Was she special because she was the female lead, or was she the female lead because she was special ? There were so many unanswered questions and half-assed excuses for the events in the story that most explanations came from clever fans trying to make sense of things the author clearly put no effort into planning or thinking through. These questions had plagued him since he first read the series, and the lack of satisfying answers only fueled his irritation. So much so that Jason was embarrassed for the author. Regardless, he didn’t like the direction this conversation was going so he did what any intelligent person would do, i.e., spew hate comments and log off.

edward_my_bbg : Dumbfuck novel, Dumbfuck author

And as if on cue, a new notification popped up, dragging him back into the fray. It was another comment, this time mocking his apparent obsession with the series he claimed to hate. Jason’s face flushed with irritation as he furiously typed a retort, but before he could hit send, his screen flickered and went black.

He looked down and realized the water bottle he had knocked over had short-circuited his PC. With a groan, Jason leaned back in his chair, staring at the dark screen. It seemed the universe had decided to give him a break from his self-imposed battle. His hand fumbled in the dark for the plug only to feel water on the surface. The sharp pain and crackle of electricity were the last things he knew before he plunged headfirst into endless darkness.

[Activation Code:「Dumbfuck Author, Dumbfuck Novel」 ]

[System activated]

[Pairing command successful]

“What system ?” Jason asked out loud into the void even though he knew that it was most likely a figment of his imagination. He hadn’t expected to receive a reply however he did receive one much to his surprise.

[Welcome to the system. During the opening of the 「you can you up」system currently in its development phase, we wish to provide you with the best experience. It is our sincere hope that during the process, you will achieve what you have stated: to transform a piece of stupid writing in accordance with your wishes into a high-end, expansive, and classic work. We wish you happiness.]

Jason blinked, trying to make sense of the message. He glanced around the dim room, half-expecting to see some kind of holographic interface or futuristic display but there was nothing. Just the voice in his head and the darkness. “What the hell is this ?” he muttered, feeling a mix of confusion and curiosity.

[You have been selected to participate in the beta phase of the 「you can you up」 system. Your task is to improve the story you despise, turning it into a masterpiece. All resources and guidance will be provided to you. Do you accept this challenge ?]

Jason hesitated, the situation seemed absurd, yet a part of him was intrigued. As he sat in silence, a thought occurred to him—what if he could actually fix all the plot holes that drove him up a wall ? Maybe this was his chance to prove he could do better. But then, the possibility of all of this being real seemed too slim. How did he get here ? What happened to him after the electric shock? Was he dying, or was he already dead ? "And if I don't accept ?" he asked, uncertainty and fear bleeding into his voice despite his attempt at maintaining his composure. The system responded quickly in the same mechanical tone as before.

[Your connection between your former body and soul was severed before the initiation of the program. If you choose not to accept, you will be returned to your previous reality with no changes made. This opportunity is unique and will not be offered again.]

“Severed from my body ? Wait— doesn’t that mean I’ll die if I don’t accept ?” Jason's question hung in the air, met with nothing but silence from the system. The lack of response only confirmed his fear.

The system's silence was deafening, seemingly pressing him to make a decision. Realizing he had little choice, Jason took a deep breath. “Fine, I accept,” he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. How bad could it possibly be ?

[Command acknowledged. Initializing story rewrite mode.]

The void around him began to shift and wrap. Till now he felt as though he was floating with no sensation except the system’s sound. His reality dissolved into swirling colours and Jason felt himself being pulled into a vortex. When the chaos settled, he heard a man’s voice call out to him. Unlike the clinical tone of system, this voice felt comforting and personal. He could feel tender warmth run through him however he couldn’t quite figure out what the voice was saying.

“Son ? Can you hear me ?”

“Dad ?” Jason murmured involuntarily, his voice hoarse as if he had just woken up from a long sleep. The gravel in the voice reminded him of the joys of his childhood when his dad was still — wait a second. Who the hell is that ?

His eyes struggled to focus as his eyelids fluttered a few times. Eventually, he was able to make out his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was the ceiling. Unlike the damp ceiling of his old apartment with its peeling plaster and harsh lighting, this one had old glow-in-the-dark moon and star stickers. It wasn’t familiar, but it seemed oddly comforting, like he had known it all his life. He slowly turned his head and saw a middle-aged man sitting on a wheelchair beside him with concern clouding his face. The man's russet complexion was lined with wrinkles yet his hair was long and lustrous.

“Where am I ?”

“You’re at home. You’ve been asleep for so long, it’s alright if you’re confused. Take your time son.” The man he called ‘dad’ answered sincerely.

Jason’s mind raced as he tried to piece together what had happened. The familiarity of the room and the comforting presence of the man didn’t align with the reality he remembered. In that moment, everything came back to him—his death, the void, the system, everything. Jason went into what could only be described as psychological shock. His brain went on autopilot.

The man reached out to grab Jason’s hand, but Jason flinched and pulled away. Slivers of hurt flashed in the old man’s eyes as he slowly withdrew his hand. Jason hadn’t meant to react so harshly, but the information dump combined with the influx of sensory input, he was simply too overwhelmed to cope.

“I-I think i need some space. Do you mind ?” Jason spoke each word carefully, then added, “...dad,” feeling strangely guilty for hurting his feelings. The old man nodded slowly and wheeled himself out of the room. As soon as he was gone, Jason jumped out of bed and ran to the mirror. "Who the FUCK is this?"

Staring back at him was a boy, fifteen or sixteen, with the same russet skin as the old man and glossy black hair that looked like it belonged in a shampoo commercial. Recognizing the features, Jason knew this could only be one person.

[System activation successful ! Binding your role as : Jacob Black]

[System : Booting Up]

Jason, now Jacob Black, stared at his reflection in disbelief. The reality of his situation hit him like a shit ton of bricks. He brought his fist to his mouth and sobbed into it, and here he thought college was devastating. “But I’m Team Edward,” he choked out between sobs. “That’s so fucked up.”

[Thank you for initiating the execution of the system. You are not bound with the account ‘Jacob Black’. All resources and guidance will be provided to you in due time. Initial B points : 100]

Jason—Jacob—felt a rush of confusion and frustration. “Now what the hell are B points ?!” he yelled, his voice reverberating off the walls of the unfamiliar room. The loudness of his own voice startled him, making him realize just how different everything felt in this new body.

[As the plot progresses, a number of opportunities to gain more points will be available. Please make sure your B points are not lower than 0. Otherwise, the system will automatically impose penalties.]

He stumbled back from the mirror, running a hand through his hair, which was definitely longer and thicker than he remembered. He could feel the strength in his limbs, the vitality of youth coursing through him. Yet, despite the physical vigor, his mind was in turmoil. He had transmigrated into the very novel he hated; the universe always seemed to have a field day when it came to ruining his life. Jacob looked around the room that was littered with the relics of a life he had to now live — a cozy bed with rumpled sheets, a desk cluttered with schoolbooks and posters of motorcycles, bands and scenic landscapes on the walls.

“Um, so is Bella here ?” Jacob asked, scarfing down the bacon his dad made for him. Despite stressing over the role he was supposed to play in the story, he quickly adapted to his new life. He had a family, a house to live in, no worries about finding employment, no bills or taxes, a social life—or at least he assumed he had one—and, most importantly, no backaches. In hindsight, this might not be all that bad.

“Oh, you remember that ? Charlie said she’s arriving in a couple of days,” his dad, Billy, replied. Jacob felt a strange mix of anticipation and relief. Unlike most unfortunate transmigratees, he had no death flags to worry about, so he could sit back and watch Bella and Edward fall in love without “Jacob” interrupting them. Maybe he could even make things easier for Bella by acting like the perfect wingman. Who cared about making a better story anyway ? And once he had seen his OTP together, he could take his ticket out of town after the wedding and never return so that he could avoid the whole Renesmee business because some fates are worse than death.

[WARNING: Your plan is extremely dangerous and constitutes a violation. Please do not attempt it, or the system will impose strict penalties.]

Jacob choked on his water as the sudden warning window popped up in front of him. For a moment, he was so immersed in the domestic comfort of his new life that he almost forgot about the cursed system. His father looked at him with concern.

“Water went down the wrong pipe, that’s all. Nothing to worry about,” Jacob said awkwardly, trying to reassure his father. So you can read minds now ? He internally taunted the system.

[It is a feature designed to ensure maximum support for the user.]

“That’s bullshit. Also, what do you mean by violation ?” Jacob asked. Does this system really have no respect for privacy ? If he didn’t know better, he’d think it was some kind of Zuckerberg’s meta gimmick.

[You are currently at the beginning stage. OOC function freeze is activated. You must complete the beginning stage before any functions can be unlocked. If you perform any actions against the original ‘Jacob Black’ role before the functions are unfrozen, a certain number of B points will be deducted.]

Given his extensive time spent on the internet, Jacob was well aware of what OOC meant, and he knew it wasn’t a good sign. OOC stood for Out Of Character, referring to actions taken by a role that deviated from how the character was originally written.

“FUCK OFF. I’m an adult. I already finished my degree and Bella is like, a baby. And you can forget the whole Renesmee shit too. Bella belongs with Edward and and I have no intention of pursuing either her or her future daughter. So back off, you creep of a system.”

[WARNING: The system is issuing another alert. If your B points fall below 0, you will incur a penalty, which involves being automatically transported back to your original world.]

“You know, threatening me with death is really getting old,” Jacob stared at the warning message with his anger mounting. It felt like the system was encroaching on every aspect of his new life, imposing rules and restrictions without offering any clarity or real support.

He took a deep breath, trying to push past his irritation. There was no point in arguing with an automated system, especially one that clearly had its own agenda. Jacob decided to focus on what he could control. He needed to immerse himself in his role as Jacob Black and complete the introductory stage without attracting undue attention. The system’s warnings might be annoying, but he couldn’t let them derail his efforts to adapt to his new life.

As he finished his breakfast, Jacob glanced around the house. It was warm and welcoming, albeit a little messy, which was understandable. He and his dad were the only ones living there and according to his dad, he had been inexplicably unconscious for almost a week. Keeping the house tidy wasn't exactly a priority for a man worried sick about his son.

“Thanks for breakfast… Dad,” Jacob said, still not used to the idea of having a father again. There was the whole issue of stealing the real “Jacob” ’s life, dealing with imposter syndrome, and the guilt of replacing the memory of his own father by calling this old man his dad. But that was an existential crisis he chose not to mull over at the moment, especially on the precipice of the story's start. Call him selfish, but he preferred to focus on his blessings.

“I’ll go take a walk. I’ve been asleep for a while, so I need to… uh, stretch my legs,” Jacob said awkwardly, hoping Billy wouldn’t notice anything strange about his behavior.

“Sure thing, son. Also grab some red meat from the store for dinner. A growing kid like you needs that protein. And buy yourself something nice with the leftover money,” Billy replied, taking out his wallet and handing him some cash.

Jacob stared at the man in awe. As a kid who had bounced around the foster system after his dad died, he was used to being scorned and neglected. This might be part of the reason why he had become a social recluse, spending his time bashing bad literature and authors online. To him, Billy Black was the closest thing he had ever seen to an angel.

Jacob took the money, still feeling a bit dazed. “Thanks, Dad,” he managed to say, pocketing the cash. The air filling his lungs was much fresher than the pollution-riddled air of the city he used to live in. Nature seemed a lot nicer than he remembered. So, here's a lesson for the kids—don’t wait until you die and get transmigrated into a novel you hate to understand the importance of getting outside and appreciating nature. In short, go touch some fucking grass before it’s too late.

Almost as if by instinct he found himself at La Push beach. He wandered through the familiar yet new surroundings, trying to piece together his plan. If he was going to be stuck in this world, he might as well make the best of it. He thought about the story and mentally reviewed his plan. He would stay under the radar, be friendly but unobtrusive and focus on blending in with the locals. If he played his cards right, he might just manage to navigate this strange new life without getting points deducted by the system’s restrictions.

After strolling along the shore for a while, Jacob found a rock to sit on and watch the ocean. It was a stark contrast to the urban jungle he was accustomed to, this place was serene and almost idyllic.

“Ayo, is that Jacob ? Hey, Jake !” he heard someone call out. A moment later, a boy close to his age ran up to him, followed by one more. “Um, hey guys. How’s it... going ?” Socializing wasn’t one of Jacob’s strong suits; in fact, it was the exact opposite of the skill he had meticulously avoided developing over the years.

“Man, the whole crew was freaking out about you. You were out cold for a week and for no reason !” One thing Jacob appreciated about the system was the introduction tags above each character’s head. The boy speaking was named Quil, his cousin from the Quileute tribe. He knew these interactions were unavoidable, given their significance to his new role in the plot.

“Well, I got better ?” Jacob attempted a witty quip but cringed at how poorly it landed. To his surprise, the two boys just laughed. “I’m just glad you’re okay. Stop by Sam’s sometime; he’s been asking about you,” Embry said, giving Jacob a friendly slap on the shoulder.

“Wait Sam ? Right of course. Duh. Sam’s place. Got it.” Jacob replied, blinking in confusion for a moment. Sam Uley was the Alpha—or at least the to-be Alpha—of the pack Jacob was supposed to join during New Moon.

[Mild OOC warning]

“Ay man, you feeling okay ?” Embry asked again, noticing Jacob’s hesitation. Jacob froze, Embry Call was the real Jacob’s best friend and if he figured out that Jason wasn’t really Jacob, it would spell massive trouble for him.

Jacob forced a smile. “Uh, yeah. I just—” He quickly tried to think of something. What would Jacob Black say in this situation ? What does he do to feel better ? He racked his brain for answers, knowing he needed to play the part convincingly, at least till he found a way to unfreeze the OOC function.

Go bother Bella ? a small voice suggested. Bella’s not here yet dumbass, another voice countered sharply. After years of social isolation, Jason’s inner dialogue had evolved to the point where he could have entire discussions with himself. No, he wasn’t schizophrenic.

“—I was just going to grab some red meat to chow on and uh y’know, work on my bike,” he finished, hoping his voice didn’t betray his nerves.

Embry and Quil exchanged a knowing look, which made Jacob's anxiety spike only to burst into laughter. “Classic Jake. At this rate, you might end up marrying your bike,” Quil teased and Jacob laughed along, though he desperately wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out again.

“Just take it easy, yeah ? We don’t want you passing out on us again. By the way, there's a sale at the store on the other side of town,” Embry squeezed Jacob’s shoulder reassuringly again. The familiarity they seemed to share with him was comforting, even if he felt like an imposter. He knew he had to get up to speed quickly if he wanted to maintain this facade. They soon parted ways and Jacob headed towards the store.

The store lady was overly enthusiastic upon seeing Jacob. He couldn’t tell if it was because of his face or the fact that he was a regular. As Jason, he had always been below average in looks and physique. Whereas, by the virtue of being the second male lead of a popular teenage romance novel, Jacob Black was undeniably attractive. With his deep-set dark eyes, prominent cheekbones, and beautiful long hair, he looked like someone Jason would have envied. Maybe he could try his hand at modeling once the story ended, because there was no way he was putting himself through college again.

And as unpredictable as the weather of Forks was, it began to rain. Normally, Jason would wait it out and then go but now that he as in Jacob’s body, he thought to test his body’s limits. Like c’mon a little drizzle isn’t going to hurt a big strong werewolf alpha-to-be. He stepped out into the rain, feeling the cool droplets on his skin. It was refreshing, almost invigorating. Jacob’s body seemed to handle the cold and wet far better than Jason’s ever did. As he made his way back the store, he noticed people giving him friendly nods and waves. It felt strange to be acknowledged so warmly, a stark contrast to the anonymity he was used to.

At the red light he stopped, waiting for it to turn green. Sure, there were no cars around and he could have just walked, but road rules were no joke. He liked this life too much to risk having it taken away by truck-kun. “Hey system, is double isekai a thing?” he asked. The system didn’t reply, so that was probably a no.

Jacob glanced to his side and saw a person standing under a large black umbrella. A strong sweet scent pricked his nose. How strong does this guy’s cologne have to be to reach me even with the rain ? There was a name tag hovering above the person’s head, but it was obscured by the umbrella, as was his face. One thing he had learned was that only people relevant to the story had name tags over their heads, which meant this person was a character in the story. He looked down at the stranger’s hand—it looked like porcelain.

Jacob felt a sense of foreboding, creeping up his veins. His instincts were on high alert, telling him that this stranger was no ordinary person. The rain began to pour harder, each drop bouncing off the asphalt with increasing intensity.

The person probably noticed Jacob staring and as he did, the umbrella tilted slightly, revealing a glimpse of a pale, almost ethereal face with piercing golden eyes. The moment their gazes met, Jacob was momentarily blinded by a brilliant golden aura radiating from the name tag above the person’s head.

[Edward Cullen]

Jacob’s heart skipped a beat. Of course, it had to be Edward. What were the odds of encountering your favorite character on the very first day of your new life ? He felt his knees weaken. Despite the dim lighting and gloomy setting, Edward was undeniably striking. The rain seemed to fall more slowly around him, as if even the weather was reluctant to mar his flawlessness . His tousled bronze hair framed his face perfectly and Jacob felt an inexplicable urge to reach out and touch it. Despite all his criticisms of the novel, Edward had always held a special place in his heart for reasons Jacob couldn’t quite explain.

Damn, this mf looks anemic as hell. Maybe I should feed him. It was a half-serious thought, borne from both concern and his internal struggle to reconcile his feelings towards the character with the reality of his situation.

[OOC WARNING! OOC WARNING!]

[Edward Cullen is your enemy.]

“Fuck off, he’s my babygirl,”Jacob shot a mental retort at the system in exasperation and a streak of protectiveness. The system’s declaration that Edward was an enemy wasn’t misplaced given Jacob’s role in the novel but that didn’t mean it wasn’t at odds with his feelings.

Edward had always been his favorite character, a source of fascination and admiration. This was supposed to be his chance to explore and perhaps even improve upon the narrative, not to be embroiled in conflict with a character he held dear.

Jacob didn't even notice when the light turned green and Edward started walking away, his steps soundless on the wet pavement. Acting on impulse or perhaps some hidden desire, Jacob found himself walking towards Edward and grabbing his elbow, accidentally knocking his umbrella aside. Edward stopped and turned to him as the rain continued to soak them both. His gaze was like a sharp, unyielding beam of light, cutting through the rain. His eyes, an unusual shade of golden amber, held a depth that seemed to pierce directly into Jacob's soul, scrutinizing every hidden corner of his being.

[OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC! OOC!]

[EDWARD CULLEN IS YOUR ENEMY]

I’m so stupid — I forgot completely. Jacob and Edward haven’t met yet. Maybe… maybe I can salvage this ? Be a dick and still be nice ? He definitely didn’t want to end up on Edward’s bad side, nor did he want to break the system’s rules. Annoying as it was, the system was what kept him alive. Though he’d never say it out loud, he was terrified at the thought of dying, again. The system’s constant reminders of their supposed enmity were starting to grate on him, but he couldn’t afford to make more mistakes. What was a man to do when every choice seemed fraught with peril ?

Ack — he’s staring. Can he hear my thoughts ? I hope not. He and Bella meet soon, if I remember correctly so— Jacob’s anxiety skyrocketed under the weight of that gaze. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat drumming in his ears. A tight knot of dread twisted in his stomach and whether it was the rain or not, he could feel cold sweat forming on his palms. He needed to say something—anything—that wouldn’t completely derail the plot but also wouldn’t make Edward hate him from the start, even if it was inevitable.

“Oh uh — my bad, dude. I just thought you looked kinda sick so I thought — I mean,” Jacob scrambled for an explanation, forcing a nonchalant tone as he released Edward’s elbow. He felt like a small animal trapped in the headlights of an oncoming car, desperately searching for a way to escape unscathed.

“—Uh, here.” He shoved the raw steak he had just bought into Edward’s arms. The system fell silent for a moment, as stunned by his actions as Jacob was. The sound of the rain was almost deafening as awkward silence stretched between them. Edward looked down at the raw steak in his hands, confusion and surprise painting his features.

Without waiting for a reply, Jacob quickly turned on his heel and hurried away, his footsteps splashing through the rain-soaked pavement. “Later ! Get that iron up and be the lady killer you were born to be !” he called over his shoulder. After walking a few metres, he paused briefly and added,“ And seriously lay off the sauvage man !”

As he put more distance between them, Jacob’s thoughts began to spiral. What had he just done ? Did Edward think he was completely nuts ? Or worse, could Edward have read his thoughts and seen through his facade ? Jacob shuddered at the possibility.

[Why did you do that ?]

“I don’t know okay !? I thought it’d help with looking y’know less dead when he meets Bella.” He shrugged. Explaining himself to the system felt pointless considering it was neither his parent nor his babysitter. The system remained silent, as if considering his response, Jacob rolled his eyes.

[OOC ! -20 B points ↓ ↓ ↓]

“Oh come on !”

“Still staring at that bag of steak, Ed ?” The pixie-haired woman leaned over her brother’s shoulder, teasing him.

“Go away, Alice,” Edward muttered, his gaze still locked on the steak as if it held some profound answers of the universe. His fingers occasionally running over the plastic, making the blood inside to squelch against the surface.

“Seriously what’s up with you ?” Alice frowned, dropping the banter. Ever since Edward had returned, he’d been fixated on this bag of steak that suspiciously smelled like wet dog. What was even more peculiar was the fact that she hadn’t had any visions of this event. Normally, Alice caught glimpses of all the interesting things happening with her family throughout the day but she had no clue how Edward had ended up with that steak. And from the look on his face, Edward didn’t look like he was divulging anything either.

“Nothing just… trying to figure someone out.” Edward sighed. Alice was his favorite family member, and he seldom told her off but this was something he couldn’t even make sense of himself. If he told Alice, she’d likely blow the whole thing out of proportion. But despite everything, one question kept lingering in his mind.

Who was that man ?

A.n - should I make this into a series ? If yes please lemme know if you want to be added to the taglist.

#jacob black’s self saving system #jbsss #scum villian self saving system #scumbag system #scum villain #twilight #jacob black #bella swan #edward cullen #luo binghe #shen quingqiu #svsss #mxtx svsss #mxtx #ducky if you’re seeing this just know I owe you my life and firstborn

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raisedbythetv89 · 3 months ago

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So I finally have time to watch JJK in Japanese w/ English subtitles instead of the dubbed version and I’ve only watched one and a half episodes so far but oh my god????????????????

Megumi asking Gojo to save Yuji WHY DID THEY CHANGE IT SO MUCH IN THE DUB I WASN’T PREPARED

So in the English dubbed version it’s:

Megumi: “I don’t want him to die”

Gojo: “Personal?”

Megumi: “I suppose. So can you save him?”

like obviously still vaguely implying megumi already has formed a serious attachment to yuji in a short amount of time but still VAGUE & with the “I suppose” it sounds like megumi is reluctant to admit it but gojo who has played these games before knows what’s up regardless (I know what you are megumi fushiguro 😏)

BUT In the original w/ subtitles???

Megumi: “I don’t want to let him die”

Gojo: “Your personal feelings?”

Megumi: “Yes. Please do something about this”

HELLO????????????????? MEGUMI SAYING PLEASE GOJO DO SOMETHING????????? IM SICK 😭

and the LET him die is so crucial?????? Already he feels it’s his responsibility to protect yuji because he’s only in this situation now because yuji was determined to help megumi that honestly just is not as clear in the dub. The sub just makes it so much clearer how immediately an inexplicably yuji and megumi are tied together by their shared belief systems that while even though they don’t see eye to eye on how they should utilize their energy saving people when they want to save someone they behave identically risking everything in an attempt to save who they set out to save and they both equally hold the burdens for the other for saving them “don’t tell itadori” “don’t you dare tell fushiguro” truly everything is just clicking in a new way just how fated yuji and megumi are

Like how yuji is always one step ahead of megumi- finding the finger megumi himself was sent to retrieve, being a vessel for sukuna, risking death to save megumi, being saved by sukuna from death, the pace at which he is advancing after the exchange event, sukuna using his body to take lives+losing family both blood and found fathers/mentors leading to him wanting to give up completely - yuji has already walked megumi’s path!!!!! Which is why he is able to save him at the end!!!!!!!!!! Because yuji already knew exactly what megumi was going through!!!!!! And on the flip side megumi was DETERMINED to never let yuji go too far ahead on their shared path to where he couldn’t follow always one step behind him to make sure yuji doesn’t isolate himself “i’ll be so lonely without you fushiguro” megumi the protective shadow to yuji and yuji the guiding and inspiring light to megumi (megumi lost demon dog white and yuji in the same episode (ep 4) further showing how yuji represents megumi’s light) AND THE SINGULAR FISH!!!!!!!!!! In the opening credits in s1 Yuji on the train half filled with water with ONE black and white stripped fish like yuji has already arrived and set up the aquarium and now he rests waiting for megumi to catch up as it cuts to megumi UNDER the rail tracks on the street level in a tunnel where there is only shallow puddles of water like yuji was just there and he just missed him but is hot on his trail as he’s squatting down studying the water like they’re animal tracks (which by the way re: the water - yuji is literally a pisces - the fish of the zodiac while megumi is a Capricorn - a SEA goat - which can obviously take the same path as the fish but will not be able to move along said path as quickly and needs half air half water like the train yuji is on??????? - gege is SO into astrology I have a half finished post in my drafts about all the astrology of jjk and it’s literally too perfect not to be intentional) in contrast to geto’s all black and gojo’s all white beta fishes that literally CANNOT be in the same tank together without killing each other. Showing the while geto and gojo were true opposites that worked well together for a while but eventually their paths sharply diverged both wanting to build a better world but the methodology behind it being the polar opposite geto’s being completely ego driven and gojo’s ironically being completely selfless with the goal of his students surpassing him rather than it being about a world he personally can enjoy geto and gojo were like two opposing forces who collided and that collision caused them both to ricochet in completely opposite directions - megumi and yuji are two sides of the same coin on the same path going the same direction just one tailing behind the other - yuji and megumi both have a mix of gojo and geto’s strengths and weaknesses dispersed between the two of them in a way that allows them to survive TOGETHER as represented by the one fish with black and white stripes

It’s unfortunate but honestly no wonder gege burned out under a time constraint the level of detail he put into his characters, their design, and all these hidden things in the anime it’s actually mind boggling

It’s also hysterical when ppl try and tell itafushi shippers “megumi and yuji are just best friends” it’s like BRO they are genuinely literally fated soulmates bound together by destiny and all the tragedies that came before them you don’t have to view them as romantic if you don’t want to (but I will and nothing will stop me!!) but like even just calling them best friends is an INSULT to what they truly are lol

#god I’m so insane about this fucking anime man 😭#I literally said to a friend you HAVE to watch jjk it will RUIN your life 💀#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #meta #yuji itadori #megumi fushiguro #itafushi #yuji x megumi #gojo satoru #geto suguru #stsg #satosugu #jjk spoilers

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eloquentlytired · 5 months ago

Text

SFW.

old! logan howlett x gn!reader — the sailor.

summary: You visit your village for summer vacation with your parents. And then you meet the sailor.

word count: 1.5k

warnings(?): dad logan, angsty and kinda sad, hurt to comfort, no smut, yes they kiss in like two days okay let me live, I just made this to cry tbh, sweet in the end

note: I felt inspired at 4:46am so now this came out, haven't re-checked for mistakes so pls don't kill me, kinda rushed

Vacation at the village is always fun when there's so many things happening.

Gossip. Yelling. Bickering. Throng. Bad comments. Distant relatives you've never met, or met as a baby, that you're expected to somehow still remember.

It's definitely all the things that you hate altogether and at the same time everything that overwhelms you. No matter how much time passes.

You find yourself by the sea, walking with a book in your hand. You remember this view vividly and how much comfort it used to provide you with. Now it's just another pretty view but at least there are no voices here to disturb you. You much prefer a seagull’s cry than your family’s at this point.

You walk for what feels like a few minutes when in reality it's over an hour.

The sunset is glorious and watching the sea swallow the sun makes your eyes beam with envy.

You see a single boat in the distance, nothing unusual, but it's the only thing illuminating the dark waters once the sun sets.

There's not much to see. You sit there for a while and quietly watch as the boat continues its destination. As you walk away, you wonder what that destination might be.

It's almost fateful to find a single boat anchored where you'd been the previous night. The waters were crystal clear now and the boat floated on the waves calmly.

You took in its old appearance — it looked like it'd seen better days. Despite that, the worn out letters of the ship’s title and the faded colour made it seem a little charming.

It was odd that something so old and tortured could be so lovely.

“I cannot remember a single person that would sit under the scorching sun to stare at this trash.” A gruff voice said behind you.

You turned fast, clearly startled by the sudden approach.

The man who'd spoken to you — perhaps as old and disheveled as this boat — huffed in amusement.

“I think she's lovely.” You tell him and he seems surprised.

“She’s old and ugly. Not much different than her captain.” He murmurs while his hand pats the faded white wood of the boat.

There's not much to say as the strange man jumps into his boat and starts stacking up some boxes. You watch him grunt a lot, maybe rub his knuckles across his back a few times too.

It feels painful just to see him bend.

“Maybe you could use some help.” The words leave your mouth effortlessly but what surprises you most is his response.

That hard gaze that settles on you and the way he pauses to simply stare before going back to what he's doing.

You distance yourself from the dock and your mind wanders to the embarrassing interaction.

Despite wanting to throw yourself out of the window, you learn that the man you've indirectly insulted is named Logan.

“He’s a good man and sailor.” Your father says one day while pouring himself some orange juice. Your mom reads her book quietly by the window but she listens to him too.

“He seems a little... unpleasant.” You can't help but mutter while you read your work emails through your phone — they're piling up terribly fast.

You almost miss your father talking to you until his finger snap takes away your attention. “What?”

“I asked if you know about the name of his boat.” Your father quirks an eyebrow and he almost asks as if he's challenging you for something.

“Laura.” You mumble, remembering the faded letters on the boat.

“That’s his daughter’s name. She died last year but the man never speaks about it.” Your dad’s response makes both you and your mother's head turn towards him.

He gets the cue and continues.

“Perhaps we could cheer him up a little. Invite him over.” You know where this is going and you don't like it.

You still don't like it as you march towards Logan Howlett’s home. The road is easy and short, and his house is neater than you expect. On the outside that is.

“What?” You can hear the growl in his voice before he opens the door. When he does, he gives you that stare again and you have no idea what he means by it.

“My parents would like to invite you to dinner.” You mumble awkwardly and for a second you forget that you're a grown working person with the ability to make decisions for yourself.

Logan seems to ponder over it.

His fingers scratch his chin over his beard and his eyes appear red as if he's barely slept. Definitely as tortured as his boat.

“Listen. You don't have to—”

“I’ll come.”

Well. And he does.

The walk from Logan's house to yours isn't very bad. You never talk which is bad yes but at least he doesn't stare at you as if he wants to wack you anymore.

The dinner starts off nice. People sitting around and praying — Logan doesn't — and then eating.

You pull yourself away from the table full of your parents, loud relatives and Logan so you can sit with your younger cousins.

It’s going well. The chattering, the nice food and you wiping the food stains off your baby cousin who simply giggles in return. It's a good night until you hear the question drop.

“What about you, Logan? Got any kids? A wife?”

The silence is deafening and you turn your head around slowly to see what's happening.

You don't know if there's another person in this world that hates this more than you do. That feeling you don't want to name, those expressions you don't want to see. It's the worst because it's so evident too — written all over their faces. It's everywhere in their body language too. The awkward cough, the subtle hand brushes and the elbow swings. The eyes. Their pity.

Before you know it, you're rising from your seat and your eyes fall at your bitter Aunt— you know the one who always makes family dinner bad.

“Aunt Jodi.” You call out, drawing attention on you. “Dad tells me you got your fifth divorce on March. Happy holidays.”

She fumes, the others try to soothe her and you go. You notice Logan departing too, maybe running after you.

Your legs guide you to that dock for whatever reason. It's dumb but it somehow manages to soothe your nerves as you sit on the rocky surface and allow your feet to wiggle over the water.

The sun hasn't set yet and once again the view is beautiful.

“Not very nice to insult your family.” He doesn't startle you this time, you kind of expected him to be there.

You unconsciously scoot over and Logan sits next to you grunting.

“Careful. I might insult you next.” You murmur teasingly and for the first time you notice a smile on him. A faint one but still there.

“You know about her?” He suddenly asks and his distant gaze somehow makes you understand.

“About your daughter?” You murmur and he nods. “Only that she's passed and well... Her name.”

You look at the boat while he stares at the setting sun.

“She was everything. Loved the sea and wanted to come with me always but I'd never let her. She was so little.” You didn't dare look his way as he spoke, reminiscing his story. “Well, one day, I did it. I let her come with me and we took the boat for a ride. The weather got messy and shit and..”

It didn't take much to hear the ache in his tone. The desperation. Your heart clenched and you felt your eyes burning — this is who you were. Feeling what people felt. Maybe a little worse sometimes.

“Tried to save her. I failed.” The sun had set out long ago and the moon was high again.

Logan looked at you, at your twitching shoulders that indicated your silent sobs and huffed a little.

“No one’s ever cried for me.” He finds himself adding.

“I’m just..” Your voice shakes but Logan waits patiently, doesn't rush you. “I’m crying because of that boat. It's so ugly.”

You hope he laughs and he does. You do too.

“At least make it pretty for her before she haunts you.” You mumble through your tears and finally look at him, eyes glassy.

His hand is cold when it brushes against your cheek, wiping away a few tears. You lean into the touch quietly.

“I think she's blessed me.” Logan tells you while your gazes meet and you can't help but feel he's right in a way.

His hand wraps around your nape and tugs you forward. When your lips meet his, you close your eyes and savor the passing moment as the sea crashes quietly around you.

Your fingers reach for the wrinkles by his eyes and you touch him there as he claims your lips again — murmuring words you barely catch. Pretty. Sweet. Kind.

In the end,

it still seems so odd that something so old and tortured could be so lovely.

#old!logan howlett #old logan howlett x reader #old man logan x reader #old man logan #wolverine #deadpool and wolverine #hugh jackman #hugh jackman x reader #hugh jackman x you #old logan #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #logan x reader #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett angst #logan howlett #eloquentlytired

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withoutyouimsaskia · 1 year ago

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Sometimes It's Fated (Sandman Short Story Part 2)

GIF: Originally posted by @harleytudinous

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

Summary: Reader Self-Insert. After restoring the Dreaming and locating the missing dreams and nightmares, Morpheus turns his attention to finding you, the human he believes fate has chosen for him. (Title inspired by Placebo's "This Picture".)

Warnings: Minors DNI. Dark!Morpheus. Soulmates. Angst. Obsessive and possessive behaviour. Tension. Threat. Dream manipulation. Masturbation. Voyeurism. Plot related cigarette use. Dubious consent.

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: So I know I initially billed this as a two shot but the story has run away with me in the most lovely way. Part 3 will be coming soon. Thank you for all your kind responses to part 1, it honestly means so much to me. Hope you enjoy this one too. All my love, Saskia xx

Sandman Masterlist

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

The veil of sleep comes down upon your weary body with a feather-light touch, trying to coax your mind back into the world of dreams.

Dreamscapes have been a whole new experience for you in the past month of your life. Before, you would wake with no recollection of what had played out. Not even the slightest inkling. Now, you remember everything.

They are staggering; bursting with details and ideas beyond your most outlandish daytime imaginings. The emotions that are conjured by them, both when asleep and also awake are just as bold.

And even though it's been 23 nights since it started you are still finding them predominantly jarring and disorientating. You are baffled by how other people cope with the sheer vividness. The unpredictability. Maybe they have become desensitised. You can only hope that the same will happen for you in time.

One thing you tell yourself with each sunrise:

Thank goodness they weren't nightmares.

At least, you don't think they are. There's no resemblance between yours and what you have heard others describe over the years, nor to those outlined in a dream decoding book you had checked out of the library last week. There's no obvious threat or fear. No re-living of traumatic events. Just weird subtext.

The first dream found you standing barefoot on a beach. A mirage distorted the particulars of the scene making it impossible to see further than half a meter in front of you. The temperature of the sand under your soles was verging on painful and as such, it forced you to walk into the unknown before you.

A groaning wind started to brew and lifted the sand into sparkling flurries. You shielded your eyes from the abrasive particles.

The sun was at its apex when you heard the ear splitting bangs. Unmistakably gun shots; you didn't last much longer in the dream and woke with a start.

For the next week, your dreams had been like a series of video clips edited into a supercut.

Raven wings. Black cats. Hellfire. Ruby red glow. Sprawling library shelves. Landscapes hewn by earthquake fissures. Hotel corridors. A handsome, blond haired man wearing sunglasses, holding a blood covered knife.

If you didn't know any better, you would begin to suspect that your new box of tea bags had been laced with a psychedelic. Alas, no. Your hypothesis was unequivocally disproved when you friends had been completely unaffected after stopping by for a Sunday afternoon catch up.

This quick fire of snapshots eventually stopped, transforming into lucid long form dreams. You often think back to the first one where it happened.

Standing in the the empty room, and the appearance of the figure dressed in black. The colour that had flashed in their midnight eyes had the quality of liquid silver. Sometimes you wonder if you see the same image in other dreams, standing in amongst a crowd.

From that point on, regardless of what dream you are in, you cannot shake the intuitive prickle down your spine that tells you someone is watching you.

You reason that it is nothing to be concerned about. Humans dream, and you cannot deny that some of them - swimming in a sea of clouds, re-visiting childhood haunts, trying out superpowers - have been quite fun.

You roll over on to your left side and close your eyes.

You dream.

The room you see is expansive in breadth and depth. Impressive windows bring brilliant light into the space which bounces off the ivory stone of the floors and walls. There are statues positioned at equidistant intervals, implying that the chamber is a gallery of sorts.

One effigy, fashioned from bronze, and rich in colour draws your attention. The lines and curves of its form intrigue you, despite not knowing the creature it was portraying.

You are about to move on when the feeling of being watched sparks through your skeleton.

Everything changes.

Clarity gives way to haze. Sun is swapped for moon.

You see a man across the room. He stands with a perfect posture. Graceful, powerful. His elbows are bent, fingers interlaced, palms facing upwards. Sheer black fabric floats around his frame. It moves languidly, giving glimpses of his bare body beneath.

The man's face is imperceptible. The distance between you too great but somehow you know you are the focus of his attention.

His robes fall to the floor with a gossamer sigh. The pale, unmarked skin of his slight form glows beautifully in the moonlight. You look down in embarrassment as arousal flushes through you, and you see that you are suddenly as naked as he is.

You gasp, and snap your gaze back up.

The sight you see is rather unexpected. The man is intimately touching himself.

You feel compelled to mirror him. You immediately reach between your legs. The man groans as you make contact.

All it takes is a little bit of attention on your clit before you are ready to slide two fingers into your core. The noise you make at the feeling of the stretch is salacious. The man echoes you with a sound that is just as dirty.

It spurs you on and you burrow deeper.

You curl your fingers until your legs are weak and quivering. You long to sink to your knees so you can finish in a more comfortable position yet you can't. An invisible force is preventing you.

It keeps you on display.

Just like the statues to your left.

You wonder if it is for the man's benefit.

You try to focus on him but it is impossible to do so through the trembling glaze over your eyes. All you are able to sense from him now is the sound of the rhythmic pump of his palm around his cock and his panting breaths.

Desperate whines escape your lips. You are teetering on the edge of an orgasm but you can't seem to lose your balance and fall into the abyss. The unsteadiness in your legs is too much of a distraction. You rub at your clit again in the hope that it will bring the satisfaction you need.

It does nothing.

You are so frustrated by your body's disobedience that it is almost painful.

"Please. Please. Please," you mutter under your breath.

A voice suddenly speaks next to you ear. A velvet voice with the timbre of a thunder rumble. It pours like a soothing syrup into your brain and commands you to do exactly as it bids.

"Let go."

You climax intensely, crying out in relief, squirting all over your fingers and onto your hand as you legs finally give way.

The fall jolts you back into consciousness and you wake with a barely contained scream of pleasure in your throat and adrenaline lighting up your nervous system.

Daylight is peeking through a little gap in the curtains. You take a deep, grounding breath.

That was obscene.

The context, the actions, the sounds. That sultry voice at the end. From the throbbing in your vulva and the twitching of your legs it seems like you didn't just finish in the dream.

There is really no point in looking it up in the dream decoding book.

You were clearly horny on a subconscious level. Or craving attention, hence the exhibitionist behaviour. The latter is not usually in your nature to seek out but if it is the reason, you might not have to wait long before the desire is fulfilled. There is a work event happening this evening that may require you to accept an award and address the crowd.

You love this time of year where community projects get recognition; a nomination alone is a sure-fire way of garnering publicity which in turn helps the charity's outreach.

But first, a normal day at the office. You throw back the covers and go straight to the bathroom to rinse off the evidence of your wet dream.

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

Your right hand connects with the metal push plate of the function space's front door. The heels of your boots click and clack as you cross the threshold, moving from floor board to paving slab.

It's fortuitous that you brought a long, thick coat with you this evening for the wind is wintery and unforgiving. You stay close to the wall of the building to try and shelter from it as much as possible.

The pavements are slick with recent precipitation, streetlamps bouncing off of the water with caustic white light.

Then you see him; a figure cut from shadow.

He's breathing in such a laboured way that you wonder if he is sick.

Your phone is still inside the venue, currently being guarded by a colleague along with your bag but it wouldn't take long to retrieve it and call for medical assistance.

"You okay?" Concern colours the simple question.

His reply comes quickly and assertively, "I am well, thank you."

You nod, not entirely convinced for the stranger's response was as stiff as his posture, and reach inside the pocket of your coat for the box of cigarettes and lighter stashed within.

You settle one of the sticks between your lips and use your thumb to bring forth a flame. The crackle of smouldering paper and tobacco perforates the damp air and you take a needy drag. The nicotine taints and tantalises in equal measure, filling you with guilt and relief. You've been trying to give up but the little voice inside your head had won this evening. You close your eyes and focus on the pleasure it brings before flicking some ash into the tray mounted to the wall.

Your attention now back on your surroundings, the stranger steps into the scope of the streetlight. The angles of his cheekbones, jaw and nose are accentuated to an incredible extent in the gleam. His dark hair is being buffeted about the wind, locks of it very close to falling in the blue eyes that are unwaveringly trained on you. He begins to talk again, showcasing his deep baritone.

"I'm afraid I wasn't entirely honest with you just now. It is not how I envisaged our first interaction transpiring. I hope that you can forgive me for my deception."

You laugh nervously and take another quick drag. "It makes no difference if you're honest with me or not. I don't know you."

"You are correct. You don't know me. Not yet -"

"Oh," you cut in quickly. "I'm not looking for a hook up."

While you cannot deny that he is arrestingly beautiful, you are technically working and have never been one for one-night stands.

"You mistake my meaning. I have been searching for you for so long. I oftentimes doubted your existence however I was wrong and I find myself humbled to be in your presence at last."

The grandiose declaration is one of the stranger things you have heard in your life and you used to deal with drunken patrons when you worked at a university bar. Maybe he was intoxicated; it would explain a lot.

"Look, this might work on other people but I just came out here to have a cigarette -"

It is his turn to interrupt you now. "You will have no need of those going forward. Your addiction to them will be replaced by me."

"Excuse me?"

You are trying to sound incredulous, however, inside you are rather frightened by the turn the conversation has taken. His gaze is not helping either.

The crystalline eyes are embodying every part of the descriptor; a hard, chill inducing blue. Ash drops from the smouldering cigarette as a tremble of fear rattles through you. The man sees this and the ice suddenly melts to a warmer hue.

His tone turns soft and gentle. "We are supposed to be together. Our union is fated."

He's staring at you expectantly even after your two attempts at rejection. You swiftly stub out the part-finished cigarette and take ownership in ending the interaction.

"I've had enough of this. I'm going back inside now. If you try and follow me, I will speak to the venue's management. If you are still here when I leave later, I will call the police."

You turn towards the door.

He calls your name. Your full name. Middle name too.

Despite your brain chanting at you to go inside, you can't stop yourself from looking back at him. "H-how do you know my full name?"

The profound rumble of his voice resonates deep in your ears. "I know everything about you, Y/N."

He's right in front of you now. His posture is bordering between desperate and predatory. Like he can't quite decide if he is seeking comfort from you, or if he wants to consume you.

You are fumbling behind you to find the door handle. "Please get away from me," you say hoarsely.

He reaches for your hand.

You jump back and struggle to get out of his grip but his strength is inhumanly strong. His skin of his palm is glacial against yours and yet somehow, the touch makes heat snake up your arm and settle in your chest.

You become aware of an internal feeling that you've always had, like that of chapped lips. Low level but something that constantly nags. Something that existed every minute of your life until the moment he touched you.

You grip his hand and look up at his face in astonishment.

"Good. That's it. Look into my eyes. See what you know is there."

You do as he says, totally stunned by the depths that seem to reside within them. It's as if there are universes suspended inside. Maybe there are. Perhaps you could float among the celestial bodies if you asked him to show you how.

You feel so alive and overstimulated that you welcome the delirious thoughts taking over your mind.

You welcome him.

It's like there is a cord connected between your heart and his that is shortening in length. The intensity scares you.

"Give into the pull," he urges darkly, sensing your anxiety.

You obey, feet moving of their own accord and then you are standing before him, just centimetres apart.

He smiles triumphantly and presses you flush against his body.

His free hand comes up to cup your jaw, fingers brushing the sensitive skin of your neck. More heat sears through you from the additional skin-on-skin contact.

Your peripheral vision closes tighter and tighter with every passing moment. The outside world is gone.

He leans in further and you wonder hazily if he is going to kiss you or break your neck. Both options are equally viable given the behaviour he has exhibited. You keep staring at him regardless.

His irises flash silver as he intones his next sentence. "Y/N, I claim you as my soulmate."

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

Taglist: @herfantasyworldd @kpopgirlbtssvt

"Am I your dream girl? You think of me in bed. But you could never hold me. You like me better in your head."

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galway-girlatwork · 3 months ago

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Of Death and Butterflies

Fandom: Game of Thrones-This is all AU.

Okay...It's here. It took a while because I wanted it just right. I played around with a lot of mythology on this. If this is not your shot of whisky, scroll on by. As a talented, wise woman has said, “I write for me and share with you.”

Rating: Mature-There is angst, angst, smut, teeny tiny fluff.

WARNING: Talk of death and blood.

Central Characters: Oberyn, Lilith and Death

Central Relationship: Oberyn and Lilith (Original Female Character)

Word Count: 7,979

AO3

Please do not copy my work. If you liked it, please re-blog and tag me. Please do not steal the mood board, it was a gift by the lovely Freya. Stealing is just WRONG. I do not give permission to copy, translate, or post my work to any other platform.

This is for Freya’s Let’s Get Angsty writing challenge.

Freya, I had such a gut-wrenching time writing this. Thank you for letting me partake. I utterly adore you.

Jana, Thank you for your encouragement and telling me you loved it when it was just a baby.

Bre, Ryan and Carole, thank you for the support.

Love you guys

Music Inspiration:

I Will Find You-The Phantoms

Love The Way You Lie-Rihanna

Rescue-Lauren Daigle

River-Bishop Briggs

Whispers In the Dark-Skillet

Summary:

Everyone’s heard the stories of Lilith. Of how she came to be. But are the stories true? Is she really a demon or something else? She was not born of angels but created by Death himself. To walk between the land of the living and dead. But what happens when The Fates intervene and present her soulmate? Countless lives and re-incarnations have been lived and lost. Will Oberyn remember before another life slips between their fingers like sand?

Standing at the doorway, tracing the infinity tattoo on her wrist, the bright yellow glow a sharp contrast to pale skin. Remembering her father telling her that it was a symbol of her refusal to let go of him, the deep ache settling in her chest as she watched the man who didn’t remember her.

Time stood still as she remembered her past, his always elusive. She’d been hidden in a small town, unlike anyone else, skin pale as moonlight, with eyes that saw both past and future, she had moved through her life with an unsettling grace. Rumors always swirled around her, like the mists at midnight. Whispers of how she was the daughter of death but those were merely tales, weren’t they? Surely, she had to have been adopted, a stray taken in by Death, out of pity perhaps or some twisted dark humor. Suspend reality for a moment, how could Death have a daughter?

Truth be told, she couldn’t remember any of her earlier years. All she knew was that Death himself had raised her, taught her to read from ancient books and walk silently across any surface. He had shown her kindnesses too, in his own dark way. On birthdays, there would be a single black rose waiting by her bedside. On difficult nights, he would wrap his cloak around her like the world’s heaviest blanket, dark but oddly comforting.

He never behaved like other parents. He was distant but watchful, a presence that filled rooms even when he stood outside them, his scythe never far, for he was both a guardian and a reminder of what she was, of what she could become. Until him. Until his soul called to her darkness, his vibrancy a contradiction to her darkness. Of course she made her decision known to her father, wanting to claim humanity for this man. Oh but there would be consequences to this.

“Some things,” he murmured, “are better left unknown, child.”

“What would they be Father?”

“Once you know, there’s no going back. Knowledge is a door; once you open it, you cannot close it.”

She felt a shiver creep down her spine but nodded, unwavering. “I know this.”

Death took a slow breath, though he didn’t need to breathe, as if gathering his thoughts.

“You are my own,” he finally said. “But if you choose this path to humanity, he will never remember you when he passes and is reborn. You will be destined to live with him and then without him until you find him again. Until he can fully remember, without any of your powers, this is how it will be.”

“What? Why would you give such conditions? That is torture Father, harsh, even for you.”

“You were born from a fragment of my own essence, a piece of my soul given life. I carved you from the fabric of eternity itself. You are…my legacy, my beginning, and my end.”

His words filled her with awe and dread. She was not just Death’s child; she was a part of Death himself, as eternal and unyielding as he was. She was made from the very stuff that shaped the boundaries of life and death.

Death watched her closely, his gaze softer now, almost…human. “It will not be an easy existence, but it is yours. It’s my hope,” he added, “that one day, you will understand the power and the burden that comes with it and forget him.”

For the first time in her existence, she hated him. She understood her destiny but she desperately wanted to bend and create her own. Belonging to both the world of the living and the domain of the dead, a bridge between the realms, was a treacherous path, one she was unsure she could navigate. But then she looked up, seeing him step into the room, sharp features illuminated by golden light, spilling in from the high windows, devastatingly handsome as he had always been in every life before this that she could remember. His roguish smile, combined with a piercing gaze, she knew she had no choice. To him, she was a stranger, just another woman who had stepped into his world. A woman who’d been looking for years to find him.

“You’ve been watching me,” his voice smooth but edged with curiosity. A tilt to his head, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Do I know you?”

Her heart clenched, her father’s cruel conditions, leaving her stranded in this moment, faced with the impossible task of rekindling memories buried by the sands of time. She forced a smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Not yet,” she replied, her voice soft but steady.

Stepping closer, movements deliberate, predatory. “Then tell me, why do you look at me as if we share a history?”

Because we do, she wanted to scream. Instead, fists were clenched, nails biting into her palms. The succubus living inside her soul surged within her, whispering of the easy path—seduce him, ensnare him, make him yours, but she couldn’t. Oberyn deserved more than manipulation; he deserved to remember on his own.

“Perhaps it’s just curiosity,” she said instead, voice laced with a false confidence she’d mastered over centuries.

“Curiosity can be dangerous,” he murmured, eyes narrowing. “Especially with someone like me.”

“And yet,” she said, stepping closer, “I find myself drawn to the danger.”

For a fleeting moment, she saw something in his gaze—a flicker of recognition, a shadow of the man he had been, but it vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving her with only the ghost of hope.

That night, sitting by the fire in her chambers, mind replaying every interaction she had with him that day. She had tried to spark something, anything, that might awaken his memories, but it was as if the thread of their past had been severed beyond repair. Her father’s voice echoed in her mind, his cryptic warning: He will not remember, and it is up to you to make him.

“Why?” she whispered into the silence. The infinity tattoo burned on her wrist, the pain a cruel reminder of her fate. She had been destined for greatness, her father had said, not to be tied to a man. But what was greatness without love? Without him? Without the other half of her soul?

A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts, wiping her face, she moved to open it, finding him on the other side, his expression unreadable.

“You haunt me,” he said simply, his voice raw. “I do not know why, but I cannot stop thinking of you.” When they had parted ways earlier in the day, he assumed she would be like every other woman that crossed his path, a body to use, she refused him, someone that was just a passing desire but he found that her presence lingered in the recesses of his mind, causing him to seek her out.

“Perhaps it’s destiny,” she offered, voice trembling slightly.

“Destiny,” he echoed, stepping closer, a hand brushing hers, and for a moment, the yellow glow of her tattoo illuminated his face, eyes widening, a flicker of something deeper sparking within them. “What are you to me?”

Swallowing hard, resolve crumbling. “Everything.”

Brows furrowed as he looked at her, his usual confidence wavering. “Why does it feel like I’ve heard those words before? As if they’re a whisper in the back of my mind, something I cannot quite grasp.”

“Because they are,” stepping back, wrapping her arms around herself, voice barely audible. “You don’t remember me, but I remember you. I remember everything.”

“Then tell me,” He urged, tone more desperate now. “Tell me who you are, who I was to you.”

She wanted to tell him, wanted to spill every memory, every detail of the love they had shared, of every life before this but she knew it wouldn’t be enough. Words alone couldn’t reignite the fire that burned between them in every time before this.

“It doesn’t work that way,” she whispered. “You have to remember on your own.”

His frustration was palpable, reaching out, cupping her face in his hands. “Then help me. Show me. I can feel it—this pull toward you. It’s maddening, like I’ve lost something vital and you’re the key to finding it.”

She could feel tears welling in her eyes, delicate hands wrapping around his wrists. “It’s not fair, that I remember and you can’t” she said, voice shaking. “This task is mine alone. One day, in another lifetime, you will remember, I swear.”

His thumb brushed away a tear that slipped down her cheek, bringing it to his mouth, he could taste the salt in it but there was something more, something tugging at him, like his soul wanting his mind to remember. “Then let us make new memories,” he said softly. “If I cannot reclaim the past, then give me the present. Give me you.”

“You don’t understand. If you don’t remember, we’ll never truly be whole. I can’t… I can’t lose you again.”

“Again?” His gaze hardened with determination. “I do not understand but I will remember. Even if it takes a lifetime, I will find the pieces. But you must promise me one thing.”

“What?” she asked.

“Don’t leave,” he said. “Whatever it takes, stay here with me. Let me prove to you that I’m worth remembering.”

She hesitated, the weight of her father’s warning heavy on her shoulders but as she looked into his eyes, she saw a spark of the man she had loved, the man she still loved, would always love.

“I will stay,” she said at last, voice firm despite the turmoil in her heart. “But you have to promise me something too.”

“Anything butterfly,” he said.

She gasped as he called her by the pet name he’d given her two lifetimes ago. She’d found it humorous since anyone who came near her felt nothing but darkness. “Promise me you’ll fight. No matter how hard it gets, no matter how much it hurts.”

He took her hand, pressing a kiss to her wrist, where the infinity tattoo glowed brighter than ever. “Always.”

Days turned to weeks, Lilith staying by his side, trying to guide him through the labyrinth of forgotten memories. Some nights, he would wake in a cold sweat, fragments of their past flashing through his dreams. Other nights, they would sit under the stars, her voice weaving stories of the life they had shared but just as he would remember, they would slip through his fingers like sand. Then there were nights she was above and below him, the sex so incredible, he swore he saw colors but when dawn came, some fragments stayed, others vanishing like the stars but he knew she clung to hope, like a life line, praying he would remember not just who she was but what they were together.

“When the sun rises tomorrow,” he said, his voice thick with determination, “I will announce our union to the court.”

“Oberyn, they will not accept me. I am nothing to them.”

“But you are everything to me.”

A hand gently cupped his cheek, palm brushing against the prickly stubble of his beard, as strong arms enveloped her. “As you are to me, love. But tread carefully and remember your promise”

She knew what was going to happen before it did but she could not warn him, it would go against the rules just as the succubus within was demanding she claim him, forcing him to remember. It was primal, tearing at her, knowing when he died, they’d have to wait another lifetime to find him.

The next day, she awoke to chaos. Screams and shouts, piercing and echoing off stone walls, one of the maids bursting into their chambers, telling her to hurry. He had been found lifeless in the palace gardens and upon seeing his body, throat slit from ear to ear, it felt as if she was being flayed alive. Being the daughter of Death, revenge was swift and oh so sweet, finding those that would take him from her, their blood soaking her skin as the ferryman approached, hand outstretched for payment. “You will get no payment from me nor them. Let them wander the shores, I care not.”

Returning home, devastated once more, her path a wake of destruction, she found her father, sharpening his scythe, the click of his tongue against the roof of his mouth in disapproval.

“Father why has this happened, you need to fix this, now. It is the closest I’ve been to him remembering. I can’t take this constant crushing hurt. We were so close.”

“I cannot. You know this. All the lives you’ve led with him will end the same, until he remembers. My child, you wanted your humanity for this man, this is the price you must pay for it.”

He watched his child collapse on the cold stone floor, great sobs wrenched from her soul, hating to see her in this kind of pain. Enveloping her within the folds of his cloak, shielding her from prying eyes, trying to give comfort as best he could. “Lilith, I must ask, is this man worth what you have gone through? What you will continue to go through?”

“Always father.”

Centuries later, the hum of modern London filled her ears as she sat in her corner office, typing away, stopping mid-sentence to adjust the cuffs of the blazer she was wearing. Modern clothes were so restrictive and quite frankly hideous. She missed the days of wearing flowing gowns, of feeling a breeze tease the fabric against her legs. Now the only time she wore them was on weekends. She would never understand the modern world and all the rules but she followed them like a bitch in heat, strung at the end of a leash.

Finger tips absently running over the tattoo, the soft yellow glow vibrating with her pulse. She knew he was here, his company on the cusp of going public. Sighing, pinching the bridge of her nose, knowing that they would have to start all over in this life. So many lifetimes that she’d almost lost count. Almost. In everyone they always got close but then he would be taken and she’d have to start over. In all the centuries his soul had started over in, none had come as close as the fourth one, when he had remembered the nickname, he’d given her. The butterfly, wings of vibrant yellow and earthy browns, decorated her other wrist, her father displeased with the defiance.

The intercom buzzed. “Miss Scott, Mr. Martel is here to discuss the merger.”

“Send him in.”

She rose, smoothing the black skirt, walking around her desk, nerves making her edgy and temperamental. As the door opened, he entered, his presence still commanding and familiar. For a moment, neither spoke but the handshake they shared felt electric, a jolt that sent flashes of another life racing through their minds. She let the handshake linger for another second or two, seeing the flash of recognition before it was gone. Her succubus, recognizing his soul, roared to life, clawing at heart and lungs, wanting to consume him. Inhaling a deep breath, holding for a count of five before slowly releasing it, she motioned to the chair in front of her desk.

“Mr. Martel, please have a seat.”

He had no idea what had just happened, the whole thing throwing him off balance. When they shook hands, flashes of memories, seared themselves into his sub-conscious. He saw her in a simple gown, smile radiant beneath the sun. Of endless nights beneath the brightness of stars. Of limbs and tongues tangled together, whispered words of love and lust, vibrant colors exploding behind eyelids as she came, his cock buried deep within her body.

“Do I know you?” His voice unsteady.

“Not yet.”

He’d heard those words before. More than once. He was so sure of it but it couldn’t be, could it?

She wanted to scream, let lose all of the rage and frustration. She wanted to rip her father apart for the endless loop of her life. Of finding him only to lose him again. She swore his determination at this game was more of a test than anything. Sitting down, fists clenched in her lap, those nails biting into her palms, forcing herself to remain composed when she actually wanted to slaughter the world. The weight of lifetimes pressed against her heart as she looked down. “So, let’s discuss the merger of your company with the one you are looking to buy.”

She could see the confusion etched into his features, the slight furrow of his brow, the way his lips parted as if he was about to say something more. But the conversation never switched from business to personal. Two hours later, all papers were signed and documented. “Well Mr. Martel, now that everything is in order,” Sliding a business card across her desk, a single black nail tapping the paper, “Should you need anything else before next week, please let me know.” Standing, she rounded the corner of the barrier between them and went to open the door. Suddenly large warm hands, wrapped around her upper arms, pinning her to the wall.

“I cannot shake this feeling that I know you but I don’t. I’ve never met you before today…” The urge to kiss her, to bury himself within her depths was primal, almost animalistic, mind flooding with images from somewhere in his sub-conscious. Her name rolled off his lips before he kissed her, mind and body coming alive almost as if they had been reanimated, the heat between them so intense, it could scorch the earth.

She was the one who broke the kiss, despite the desperate screams of the succubus, needing to breath. He was always so consuming when passion flared between them. “Oberyn.” She could hear her father’s voice, echoing in her mind, a cruel reminder of their fate.

“My name from you sounds as if you have said a thousand times before today.”

“Because I have.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying her with a mix of curiosity and wariness. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like,” she replied, taking a step back.

Before he could respond, she turned and walked back to her side of the desk, heart heavy with the knowledge of what lay ahead. She couldn’t stop the cycle, couldn’t break free of it—not without him. But the question that haunted her more than any other was simple: Would this time be different?

“Good day Mr. Martel.” She was dismissing him, as if the kiss had never happened, knowing it would only be a matter of time before he found her. He was nothing if not persistent. This time, it only took two days.

The heavy wooden door rattled under his fist as he pounded against it again. The narrow street, cloaked in twilight, leaving the small village bathed in shadow. His chest heaved with barely contained anger and confusion as he stared at the intricate carvings on the door—symbols he didn’t recognize but felt unnervingly familiar. When the door creaked open, she stood there, eyes widening slightly before narrowing in a mixture of sorrow and resignation, the flowing black robe clinging to her frame like shadows, tattoo glowing faintly against the dusky light.

“Oberyn,” she said, voice a careful balance of warmth and caution.

“You knew it was me, didn’t you?” he growled, stepping forward until he was close enough to see the faint pulse at her neck, noticing that she didn’t flinch. “I need answers. Why do I keep dreaming of you? Of us? I’ve seen things—a life I can’t remember but feel like I lived. Tell me the truth.”

She sighed, stepping aside, gesturing for him to enter. Her home was small, dimly lit, the air heavy with the scent of hydrangea’s and something darker, more ancient. Candles flickered on every available surface, their flames casting shadows across the walls. Here, in this place, she didn’t have to hide behind a façade, didn’t have to pretend to blend in with the modernness around her.

“You always were persistent,” she murmured, closing the door behind him, turning to face him, her expression softer now but tinged with a subtle anguish. “There are rules, Oberyn. Rules I cannot break.”

He stepped closer, dark eyes blazing. “Enough with the riddles. You’ve been in my head. Faces, places, emotions I can’t explain, you’re always there. Why?”

Lips pressed into a thin line as she turned away, walking to the small table in the corner, fingers tracing its edge. “Because you’re meant to remember, all I can tell you are stories of the lives we’ve shared, the love we had. The memories of them, the feelings behind them? It’s all inside you but you have to unlock it yourself. That was the deal.”

“What deal? With who?”

“My father.”

“Your father? This makes no sense Lilith. You speak in such riddles.”

“Frustrating, isn’t it? I can tell you everything,” she said quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “But if I force the memories, the cycle will never end.”

He stared at her, the weight of her words crashing down on him. “The cycle?”

She nodded, expression grim. “We’ve been here before, Oberyn. Many, many times. Each life, I find you. Each life, you remember too late, or not at all. And then…” Hesitating, voice breaking. “Then we’re torn apart again.”

“And what happens if I do remember? If I break this… cycle?”

Her gaze bored into his, fierce and unyielding. “Then we’re free. You and I. Free of the cycle that binds us. But the risk is yours to take. I cannot guide you, Oberyn. I can only share and hope.”

Stepping closer, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “I don’t care about rules or deals or your father. I care about you when I know I shouldn’t. I’m not leaving until I understand everything.”

Lips curved into a sad smile. “You’ve always been so stubborn, persistent, demanding. Things I love most about you. But this path, it’s yours to walk.”

For a moment, they stood in silence, the air thick with unspoken words, before he reached out, fingers twinning with hers. “If you remember everything, then tell me one thing only I would know.”

Hesitating, before leaning closer, voice a soft murmur against his ear. “You once told me that the stars reminded you of me. Because no matter how far away they seemed, they were always there, lighting your way.”

His breath hitched as the memory, dim and distant, flickered to life in his mind. A warm night, a sea of stars, and her laughter blending with the wind. His grip on her hand tightened for just a second or two before he let her go.

She saw it, the flicker of something in his eyes, pupils dilating, the pause in breath. “Do you know how hard it is to have hope after so many centuries? I want to believe, to have faith but I don’t know if I can.”

“Te amo, Lilith.” Those words escaping his lips, without hesitation, without pause. It felt as normal for him to say it as breathing.

“And I you.” Those words had been spoken so many times, in so many different languages, Spanish being the last one.

The blackout curtains in her room blurred the line between night and day, casting the space in a perpetual twilight that made time feel irrelevant. Leaning against the headboard, the cool wood grounding him as his gaze stayed fixed on her, her breath, soft and steady, he couldn’t help but replay every moment they had shared. The weight of what had unfolded between them settled deep in his chest, equal parts exhilaration and disbelief.

When their lips met, it was more than a kiss, it was a spark igniting something primal and consuming within them. The intensity of it coursed through his veins, a heady rush that felt like fire and ecstasy all at once. She wasn’t just a fleeting distraction; she was an addiction, a pull so strong he doubted he’d ever be free of it. Laying back down, he gently traced her features with his fingertips, memorizing every detail, as if she might disappear the moment he looked away. The soft glow of the infinity symbol on her wrist, mesmerizing.

“Hasn’t anyone told you it’s rude to stare?” Eyes blinking open, his face inches from hers.

“Is it staring or admiring beauty?”

“I swear you have the tongue of a viper.”

“I am not being deceitful; I am being truthful.”

Moving, body now covering his, bare breasts crushed against the warmth of his skin. “Such a way with words. Tis no wonder woman threw themselves at you.” There wasn’t any hint of jealousy in her voice when she spoke, knowing there had been so many before she found him.

“Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“Anywhere, I care not where, just as long as it is you and I.”

“Oberyn we can’t just run away.” Although she was wondering why they couldn’t. The job she had? A façade because she knew he would be here, in this time and place.

“It is really running away or is it wanting to be together?”

“How can I argue with such logic?”

“You can’t but first.” Flipping her over so that she was now beneath him, hands spread thighs apart, lips tracing a path down her neck, over the skin of a shoulder, feeling her shiver as his mouth suckled at the skin just above her breast before they wrapped around a nipple, teeth pulling at it until he could feel the hardness against his tongue.

A loud moan bubbled out of her as her back arched off the bed, enjoying the sensations that coursed through her. The demon within roared to life with the promise of him, needing the high only his soul could give them. He always left her breathless, needing more. Reaching down between them, she wrapped fingers around the hardness of him, feeling the warmth of his cock, using long strokes to tease him, feeling the vibration of his groan against her skin, hips thrusting into her hand. With each stroke, she could feel him growing harder and more eager. Increasing the pace, using faster strokes to bring him closer to release and just when it seemed like he was about to explode, she slowed down, teasing him with gentle touches that left him gasping for breath.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of foreplay, he pushed inside her with one swift motion, filling her completely with hard thick flesh, holding himself still for a moment, feeling her cunt spasm around him. Strokes were slow at first, wanting to drag out the pleasure for both of them but the way she gripped him, limbs wrapped his body, his pace became deeper and harder until her cries of pleasure echoed in his head.

Their bodies moved together in perfect sync, each thrust pushing them closer to release. Sweat dripped from his brows onto the sheets below, hearts pounding to the same rhythm. In end it wasn't possible tell whose moans were louder, whose body shook more violently but didn't matter because both knew exactly what other needed. She could feel the pad of his thumb brush against her clit, the orgasm so intense it threatened to drown them both as it fed her succubus, who would never get enough of the man above her. Power seeped from her pores as he came, seed scalding her womb, walls clenching around his cock, as he covered her with his body, warmth and weight seeping into her skin.

He didn’t know how long they laid that way before he rolled off of her, gathering her close, lips at her ear. “Such passion butterfly.”

Sitting up, she looked down at him, eyes wide before she leaned in, brushing her lips along his, body curling around him.

“What is wrong?”

“The nickname…Butterfly. You’ve said it before.”

“There is still something about you I cannot place, something that feels…ancient. It is something that tickled at the back of my mind. Is that why you have the tattoo on your wrist?”

Nodding against his chest, unable to form words, eyes drifting shut, remembering the past times he’s uttered the name. She wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take, of losing him, finding him. How many more lifetimes would she put herself through this before she simply gave up and claimed her birthright, heart heavy with the weight of truths. Wouldn’t it just be easier to simply let him go? She was tired, so very tired of the crushing pain every time he was ripped away from her.

Fingers found the hollow of jawbone beneath her chin, tilting her head back, seeing cheeks wet, he kissed the tip of her nose. “Where did you go butterfly?”

Shaking her head, she got up, wrapping silk around her, belt knotted tightly at her waist. “It matters not. If you want to go somewhere then let’s go. Anywhere. Spain, Italy, France.” She could feel it, the darkness edging around them, letting her know his time was coming. It could be weeks, could be months but however long they had, she didn’t want it to be here.

They’d been together two weeks, racing across Europe, desperately trying to shove as many memories into this life time as they could. Standing at the edge of the cliff, sun setting on the horizon, the edge of darkness was closing in faster than she wanted, knowing there was nothing she could do. Her father would soon come for him, the details, something she didn’t want to know. Be it natural or taken by force, his death would be her undoing and she would bath in blood, letting it soak her skin as she grieved yet another lifetime. Again, she wondered how many lives she could go through, how many times would she mourn before she stopped, finally letting him go.

Feeling the warmth of him against her back, arms winding their way around her waist, a faint smile given despite the crushing weight of what was to come.

“Hello lil butterfly. Where is your mind?”

“Everywhere.” Turning within his embrace, a palm resting on his chest. “Oberyn perhaps it is time for me to stop. To stop chasing something I shouldn’t have. It’s not fair to you. To constantly have my presence in your life. If I just let go, perhaps your soul could find peace instead of being tormented.” She could feel muscles tense beneath her hand, the way his expression darkened, feeling the shift of power between them. She’d been selfish, thinking she could be what she was and have some type of humanity but watching him die, over and over, with the hint of what could be, wasn’t fair to him. “Fate could give you what I cannot.”

The arm encircling her waist tightened as fingers curled possessively against the small of her back, his free hand came up to cradle her chin, tilting her face up so her gaze could meet his. “Do you think fate holds sway over me, Lilith?” voice low and steady. “Do you really believe that anyone could offer me something greater than you? You speak as if I am the victim but you, giving up, I do believe that would be the cruelest twist of said fate.” Thumb brushed against her jaw as he stepped closer, bodies almost flush, lips curled into a faint smirk. “You’ve told yourself a thousand times, haven’t you? That you are unworthy of what we are? You want to speak of everywhere? That is where you are. In my thoughts, dreams, every heartbeat.”

She hesitated for a moment, warmth spreading from her touch. “I love you more than my existence. It’s why I need to let you go. Human life is so much shorter. You need to live a full life, one where you grow to be a hundred, to have babies, to have all the things that are always taken from you because of me.”

“Lilith, none of that matters if it is not with you. Why can you not you understand that? I would rather go through a thousand lifetimes with glimpses of you, than one in which I never feel the way I do right now. I love you more than my soul. I care not how much time I have in any life as long as you are in it.”

As he slept that night, she grew restless, slipping from the bed, trying not to wake him, she opened door of their room and stepped into another that was foreign to her. Shock rooted her to the spot, and when she turned to go back, the doorway was gone. True she walked the land of the dead and the living but ending up someplace else…Yea that was new. The room was impossibly quiet, the kind of silence that stole your breath and in front of her was a spinning loom, threads weaving images of lives long gone and those yet to come. An almost ethereal figure sat at the loom, she was neither young nor old, eyes shining with smile.

“Come closer child.”

“I think I am fine where I am thank you.”

“Do you know why you are here? It is because Death thought himself clever but even, he cannot rewrite the destiny of another without consequence.”

“You’re one of the fates, aren’t you? What do you mean by consequence?”

“Such a clever child.” Hands hovered over the loom, tugging at a golden thread that pulsed, tangled with one that was inky black. “His soul is tethered to yours, always has been. But your father, severed his memories to spare you the constant pain of loss when in reality, your pain cries out to the old gods when he is taken from you. It was not Death’s choice to make.”

“I don’t understand. Why would he do such a thing? Why take from me what is mine?”

“Because Oberyn’s love for you would bind you to the mortal realm and you have a destiny far greater than being his lover, his wife. You are meant to take your fathers place when the time comes.”

Stepping forward, voice laced with determination. “That is not my choice nor my path.”

The Fate, shook her head, a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “It has always been your path my child but we are not without mercy. There is a way to restore all to Oberyn, every life, every love, every moment shared with you but it comes with a price.”

“Doesn’t everything?”

“True. When Oberyn passes in this lifetime, you will have to be the one to guide him to the afterlife. Then you will take your father’s place as Death itself. You will become all that he is. The ferryman, the reaper, the shepherd of souls and you will no longer walk among the living. It is of course your choice to make. Just know that if you choose a different path, the cycle will never be broken. The bond between you both will weaken and eventually his soul will be lost to you forever.”

The weight of Fate’s words carved their way into her heart. “What if I just let it all go now, what would come to pass?”

“His soul would be taken, never to come back into a body. We are offering you this life, children to be born of the union. Children that were taken from you both, many lives ago. Human children that were destined for great things. Hence the knot of threads.”

She thought about every life they’d had together. How his was always cut so short because of her. How every time he passed, it destroyed a little piece of her. Now? They could have a full life. Together. They could chase every sunrise, exist under the stars and never have the fear of that darkness edging around their lives. Voice steady despite the storm raging inside her at what would come to pass after. "Do it. Give him his memories back. And when the time comes, I’ll take my father’s place."

The Fate nodded; her expression inscrutable. "So, mote it be."

She watched in awe as with a wave of her hand, the loom began to turn, the golden thread untangling and rejoining the black strands.

“When he awakens, he will remember all. Past and present. The mark on your wrist will fade by morning. That is when you must face Death. Love fierce and free my child.”

As Fate disappeared, the weight of her decision settled over her. The darkness that was edging around them now gone from her sight and on the morrow, they could begin anew.

She was jerked awake by the dream she’d had. It had to have been a dream, right? In all the years of her existence, she’d never met any of the Fates, remembering that there were those who believed they were even more powerful than the Gods themselves, at least that is what she’d been told. Shaking her head, cursing imagination gone wild, she got up, the robe wrapped around her, she stepped out onto the balcony that joined their room, watching oranges blend into blues as the sun rose over the ocean.

The dreams were relentless, like a montage of things from lives that belonged to him but didn’t. Chambers were bathed in soft orange light from a dawn so many lives ago, its vividness lingering like the scent of flowers after a storm. Silk sheets were pooled at his waist and he could see her, Lilith, eyes focused on him, her laugh soft but lethal, teasing the edges of his mind. Her touch was warm like the sun, setting his skin on fire when he touched her, always yearning for her. But the dreams weren’t what unnerved him the most, it was the memories that flooded him of them. He had been a Prince, she’d been nothing. She’d been a scholar, he’d been passing through the land, seeking shelter. He’d been a bloodied warrior; she’d been his bride. In every life, she’d found him, memories now cascading over him like an unrelenting tide but each one ended the same. Pain, loss, the ache of separation. Over and over, their fates intertwined, his memories, long buried under layers of mortal existence, came rushing back. Waking with a sharp inhale of breath, heart pounding like war drums echoing in his chest, he looked to the empty space next to him, panic causing him to scramble from bed, her name called out. “Lilith?”

Stepping back into the room, seeing him standing there, brows knitted together in fear. “I’m here,” she said quietly, voice a gentle balm against his panic. Walking towards him, she palmed his cheek, eyes searching his. “What’s wrong?”

“I remember.”

“What?”

“I remember. All of it. Spain. That was the last time before now. Every life, you find me. Every life you lose me. How could you endure it?” Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her close. “Butterfly, I do not understand but I remember everything.”

Voice barely a whisper, knees almost giving out at the shock. “It was real. All of it. I thought it a dream.”

“What dream?”

Stepping out of his embrace, she sat on the edge of the bed and told him about the Fates, the loom, the yellow and black threads, the tangled mess they had weaved. How The Allotter had been angry for her father defying them, making his own destiny for her, that they would grant them mercy and allow him to remember. However, she left out the choice she’d made, that when this life was over, she would become what she was meant to be and he would, again, never remember her. She’d decided in that moment, to never let him know, that it would be her secret to keep. She watched as he came to his knees in front of her, arms wrapping around her waist. She didn’t realize she was shaking with the implications of what had actually happened. Heart pounding behind bone. Doubt, like vines, creeped through ribs, threatening to strangle. “Tell me something you remember.”

“A palace. A night beneath the stars. You told me stories of other lives before that one. A knight. A traveler. I was a Prince; you said you were nothing. Egypt. Italy. Spain. I remember all.” He held her close as he stood, nose rubbing against the skin below her ear, feeling the erratic pulse against her throat. “Do not question the how or the why, Butterfly. Just exist in this moment with me.” Lips dragged along the column of her throat, before teeth nipped at her earlobe. “I love you.”

The glow of the infinity tattoo had drawn Death himself to their moment of clarity, and as Oberyn and Lilith stood entwined, the air grew cold, shadows creeping around them until the room was plunged into darkness, words whispered against his lips before she turned, hand holding his. “Do not let go, no matter what.”

A figure emerged from the void—tall, imposing, and cloaked in an aura of eternal stillness.

Death’s presence was undeniable, commanding reverence and fear, yet she held her ground.

“Father,” she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil in her heart.

Death’s hollow eyes, void of emotion, turned to her. “You’ve defied me, Lilith.” His voice was like the rustling of ancient leaves, cold and unrelenting. “You’ve chosen to squander your destiny for a fleeting mortal love.”

Stepping forward, shielding Oberyn as if her defiance could protect them both. “It’s not fleeting, Father. You know this. Have known this. For hundreds of years. Oberyn was my destiny. You kept it from me.”

“Because you were meant for greater things,” Death replied, his tone sharp. “The daughter of Death is not meant to linger in humanity’s frailty. You are power, Lilith, eternal and untouchable. Yet you throw it away for him.” He cast an icy glance at Oberyn, who stood firm, unbowed, his gaze boring into Oberyn, as though weighing the mortal’s soul. “He cannot fathom it. I could unmake him with a thought.”

“The Fates will not allow it and you know this. How many children, human children were lost to us? Human children, Father. The Allotter told me everything. They were destined for great things but you took them from me. From us. You had no right.”

For a long moment, Death said nothing. The silence oppressive, heavy with the weight of millennia. Finally, he took his child’s hand. “You disappoint me,” he said quietly, though the words cut deeper than any shout. “You’ve chosen humanity, knowing it will strip you of what you are. You will age, weaken, and die, like all mortals. And yet, you stand here, unrepentant.”

Lifting her chin, tears brimming in her eyes, holding tight to both hands. One tethering her to her past, the other anchoring to her future. “I choose this because he is the other half of my soul. The soul you gifted to me when you created me. You made me what I am, someone who could walk both worlds. It is my choice.”

Death’s form seemed to flicker, the edges of his presence blurring. For the first time, a glimmer of something softer passed through his eternal visage—regret, perhaps, or sorrow.

“So be it,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of finality. “From this day forward, you are no longer my daughter. You are mortal, bound to the same laws of time and death as the man you’ve chosen.”

The tattoo dimmed completely, fading into her skin until it was no more. She felt the shift instantly—her powers, the divine connection she’d always known, slipped away like sand through her fingers. “I will see you again, Father,” she said softly, watching as he simply vanished, leaving them alone, the heat of the rising sun bringing warmth and light back to the room. Turning to Oberyn, a now mortal heart racing in her chest, head tilted slightly, waiting for something, judgement perhaps, fear but his features showed none of it. Instead, he cupped her face, his lips pressing against her forehead. Eyes closed as she let out a shuddering breath before pressing herself to him, needing to feel, to have him close, wanting to climb into his skin and curl up beneath his heart, knowing they would only have this one last lifetime together. “I love you.”

“And I you Butterfly.”

Turning her, pressing his front to her back, lips finding the muscle of her shoulder, he pushed her forward, until she fell onto the bed, positioning himself on top of her. Fingers finding their way to her clit, gently pressing against it, already feeling her wetness, while a hand slipped around her throat, grip firm but not constricting, feeling her press against the raging hard on he had. “So beautiful.”

His weight was like the sun, warmth sinking into her skin, settling deep in the marrow of her bones. She could feel the orgasm already building, feeling his hardness against her folds, sent shivers down her spine, causing her to arc her back slightly, a silent plea for him to continue. His hand around her throat only added to the intensity of the moment, a gentle reminder that she was surrendering control to him. His movements were slow, deliberate, fingers teasing every ounce of pleasure from her, soft moans muffled by the pillow, his grip tightened slightly. She could feel herself getting closer and closer and when the orgasm ripped through her, he buried himself within her, cock twitching as she clenched around him.

“Beautiful butterfly, coming apart underneath me.” God she was so tight, her slick soaking the sheets as she rode out her orgasm around her. It took every ounce of strength he had to not come, as he kissed along her shoulder, feeling how supple she was, he pulled out just until the head of him was inside before he drove his hips forward. He could feel deep connection he had with her. This wasn’t just about the physical act, it was how trusting she was of him, of how she laid her self vulnerable to him. How her soul had claimed his. Movements became harder, faster, needing to feel her again, an edge of desperation seeping from him.

His name came from slightly parted lips as she came again, feeling the flutter of her walls as he drove into one more time before she felt the pulsing of his cock as he came, his heart pounding against her back, teeth finding her shoulder, the pressure of the hand around her throat, instantly slack, holding her to him. Despite the choice she made, knowing that when this life was over, she’d have to let him go, she knew she was exactly where she wanted to be-under him, surrounded by his strength, his love and his passion.

Rolling to his side, taking her with him, bodies still connected, tongue soothed the spot where he bit her, feeling the indentations of teeth marks. “Forgive me. Tis a sin to mare such beauty.” He groaned when she moved, feeling himself, somehow still semi-hard, leave the warmth of her body. Her lips were at the base of his throat, kissing and suckling at sweaty skin. “Marry me, Butterfly. Then we will go anywhere you choose. Just tell me where, where would you like to go?”

Slightly pulling back, head tilted up, eyes finding his. “Everywhere.”

@almostfoxglove @guiltyasdave @604to647 @morallyinept @tinyglamdramaqueen @pedgito @whocaresstillthelouvre @ease-out-the-clutch @littlemisspascal @jolapeno @kittyfox1107

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

#almostfoxgloveangst2 #oberyn martell #original female character #alternate universe #mythology #pedro pascal fanfiction #angst #smut #tiny fluff

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alicelufenia · 3 months ago

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From Long Prices to Long Odds - yep, I'm starting Pale Lights

While chipping away at my re-read of A Practical Guide to Evil, and with patch 8 of Baldur's Gate 3 STILL a ways out, I've started reading ErraticErrata's next big project - Pale Lights.

Right away I can tell how much the author's improved since book 1 of the Guide. We've got two point of view characters for our journey through the subterranean, post-apocalypse world of Vesper. Tristan Abrascal - orphan, street rat, and thief, with a vendetta to settle against the nobles who've wronged him; and Lady Angharad Tredegar, a noble in exile with nothing to her name save her sword arm and unshakable sense of honor, who has sworn vengeance against her family's killers, even as she's dogged by assassins at every step.

Both from worlds like night and day (or I guess that would be Gloam and Glare in this world), they could not be more different, but fate has set them on the same path; to survive to see their enemies punished, they must first survive the trials on the island - the Dominion of Lost Things - alongside other competitors from all walks of life, in order to escape their past and join the Watch, that special band of elite god-killers that toe the line between civilization and the monsters who lurk in the endless dark beyond the points of light.

And it really isn't any big spoiler or anything to mention contracts, basically pacts with supernatural beings for power and guidance. Both our main characters have them—Tristan with a minor god of luck (he's literally her only follower) called Fortuna, the Lady of Long Odds, who only he can interact with, and is constantly snarking at him; while Angharad's contract is with a mysterious entity of few words known only as the Fisher. Many other characters possess contracts that are detailed to varying degrees, but we get the closest look at them through our main characters, both patrons being just as different from each other as their human charges.

It's only a few chapters in that the supporting cast expands immensely, with over a dozen other competitors shipped off to the same destination. Some are paid for by a sponsor, like our protagonist duo, others are here by their own expense, mainly a group of Sacromontan nobles for whom getting even partway through the trials will gain them status with their families. And some are here because they have no other choice, forced in by debtors and legbreakers to pay with their lives or their eventual service in the Watch. Think Man in the Iron Mask meets And Then There Were None.

Keeping track of so many characters early on has been a challenge, but luckily the extremely prolific @gwennafran has created visual guides per chapter of the entire cast, their origins, abilities, affiliations, and status of living or dead or mia. It also serves as a handy reference to visualize what everyone looks like, the cast being just as diverse and multicultural as in the Guide, except everyone's human this time around.

Where the Guide draws from Mediterranean Europe and North Africa for its naming conventions and cultural touchstones, Pale Lights starts us off with a very Central and South America-inspired setting. Place names like Izcalli and Sacromonte, the nobles of the latter being referred to constantly as infanzones (literally minor nobles in Spanish), are just a few early examples. Right now the scope is very limited, starting in one city before moving to a "deserted" island, which is actually totally occupied by hollows, or "darklings", the extremely indigenous-coded pale-skinned people who have completely adapted to living in the total dark of Vesper, away from any pits of Glare (the perpetual light shining through cracks in firmament above, where most civilization gathers). Especially given we're already exploring class dynamics of nobles and non-nobles, I expect we'll also find the "Red Eye cultists" to be more than they appear at first.

I'm only 16 chapters in, and already am very much hooked. Both Tristan and Angharad serve as excellent foils for each other; pragmatist vs idealist, street smarts vs noble scion, untrusting to a fault vs too honorable for her own good. It's all very delicious, and I have reasons to root for both of them even as their beliefs and methods remain anathema to each other. One of the coolest things about a primarily single-perspective narrative are those times when you can see that character from an outsider's view, and because each chapter or two flips between protagonists, we get an impression of how both of them come across to other people, giving us a chance to be out of their heads for a bit.

Dunno how often I'll post live reading thoughts on this one, but I'll certainly try, including anytime I finish a book; which right now is just the two. But hey, at least with this one I'll be catching up to current releases, which is a nice change of pace.

#pale lights #webnovel #tristan abrascal #angharad tredegar #I can see why fans refer to Angharad as 'Angie' in place of trying to pronounce her name lol #I looked up the pronunciation right away and just pronounce it like the Welsh name (humble brag)#but I get it if others have more trouble with it #oh yeah also the thematic similarities to Blades in the Dark also stood out to me right away #from the perpetually dark setting to the large amount of scoundrel characters #even the pacts with minor gods and spirits in place of ghosts #queue

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frvnkcastles · 10 months ago

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The fluffiest of fluffs perhaps🙃☝🏼

Sunshine!Reader who works at an office and goes out spontaneously during lunch to cut her long hair into a cute bob and She’s super excited to come home and show Frank her new hairstyle.

Also love your writing your amazing.🩵🩵

STUCK IN THE SUNSHINE RIPTIDE ➵ F. CASTLE

Summary: You get a new haircut and Frank loves it.

Warnings: Feminine nicknames, fluff, THAT’S IT!!

Word count: 1.1k

Author’s note: I was soooo excited to write something soft!! Thank you anon for the request and for the kind words <3 Also, I’m a bob girly for sure and have been for as long as I can remember so I’m so here for picturing Frank as a fan of it.

It was a completely impulsive decision made in a fleeting moment of curiosity and intrigue, but damn it, you were a victim to your whims. It had started when you had had a quiet moment during your workday and you had scrolled through Pinterest for cute pictures of cats — the usual — when you had suddenly been flooded with inspiration for shorter hairstyles. You couldn’t tell where it was all coming from, but you supposed it was fate or some kind of a sign, one that took over your brain far too easily.

You had had long hair for years, and you had liked it that way. Frank loved it too, always caressing and playing with it, and he had even retaught himself how to do braids. But you couldn’t deny having shorter hair would have its advantages, and you thought you could pull it off well enough. If not, it would just grow back, right?

You convinced yourself quickly enough, and once your lunch break started, you were bolting out of the office and straight to your salon, lucking out considering it wasn’t too far from work. Your good fortune only continued when you made it inside and discovered the place to be empty from customers, but your trusted hairdresser was sweeping the floors, just waiting for someone to come in.

Five minutes later, you were seated with the cape shielding your chest, your giddiness smiling back at you from the long mirror in front of you while your hairdresser prepared the scissors. You felt a little ridiculous and daring, but you liked to think it was just spontaneous, not impulsive — something you always told yourself when you took a leap like this, but this time, you were sure you weren’t going to regret it.

The whole time your hairdresser cut and styled your hair, you couldn’t stop thinking about Frank and what he was going to say. He had always been supportive, always finding the right thing to say if you showed up home with a new hair color or just a switch in styles. You knew he would love you, regardless, but you still felt the buzz of nervous butterflies in the pit of your stomach at the thought of his face when he’d see you.

When it was done, you couldn’t get your grin off of your face. You admired yourself in the mirror, your hands incessantly touching your new bob and your confidence skyrocketing. You felt like a new person, re-energized and revitalized, and you thanked your hairdresser a million times, feeling like it was one hundred percent money well-spent.

You were overjoyed and excited as you got back to work, the only thing on your mind being getting home and showing Frank. The day dragged on as you anticipated clocking out, but with praise from your co-workers, the hours finally ticked by and you were soon headed to your and Frank’s shared apartment. This was a familiar routine, you being utterly enthusiastic about something and talking Frank’s ear off, and him nodding along, a fond smile on his own face as he watched you gush. It made you indescribably happy that he never seemed to get sick or tired of you, he never judged you and he always, always listened to what you had to say.

Stepping inside your apartment, you began kicking off your shoes. ”Frank? I’m home”, you called out, the excitement obvious in your voice as you shrugged off your jacket next, hanging it up by the door you made sure to lock behind you.

”In the kitchen, sweetheart”, he responded, and smiling already, you made your way to him, only to find him stirring a pot on the stove with a kitchen towel thrown across his shoulder — a perfectly domestic sight that melted your heart and almost made you forget what you were so thrilled about.

He didn’t look at you at first, focused on the pasta in the pot, but he acknowledged you verbally. ”How was your day, sweet girl?” he questioned, casual and caring as he wondered the same thing he did every day.

”It was good. I did something kind of exciting on my lunch break”, you dropped hints, waiting for him to look at you and realize, amusement on your face as he stood there, clueless.

”Oh yeah? What’s that?” he asked, finally looking up at you, his eyes immediately widening. ”Shit, sweetheart”, he exhaled, amazement spreading across his features as he took in the sight of you, eyes darting from side to side to fully appreciate every cropped inch of your new hair.

”Well, what do you think?” you giggled, shy under his scanning stare, and chuckling himself, Frank dropped the wooden spoon into the pot and stepped closer to you. His hands snuck to your hips and he tilted his head at you to curiously survey you, a smile spreading over his lips.

”Christ, you got me all flustered and shit. Speechless, baby. You look fuckin’ stunnin’, that’s what I think. My gorgeous girl”, he complimented you with sincerity, one of his hands coming up to carefully run his hands through your hair, feeling it for himself.

You blushed and ducked your head down, and he took the opportunity to press a kiss on your forehead. ”Makin’ me feel all sorts of things over here, beautiful. What inspired this?” he queried, his deep voice making you shiver, especially when it was so thick with attraction and admiration. He clearly really, really liked the haircut, and it drove you crazy to know that.

”It was pretty much just a whim. Saw some pictures online and thought I could use a change”, you shrugged, truly glad that you had given in to the impulsive urges inside you, because clearly, it had paid off.

”Well, it was a pretty good goddamn idea. Can’t get enough of this”, Frank agreed, his hand travelling up the back of your neck and gliding through your hair; allowing him to get a gentle but firm grip as he leaned in to kiss you, his lips hot and heavy on yours. It was needy and full of fire and passion and it set something ablaze within you, a burning want that you figured Frank was feeling, too.

He was all over you the rest of the night, too. You two spent the evening watching a movie on TV, woven into one big mass on the couch and he refused to stop caressing your hair, his fingers carding through the short strands again and again.

Safe to say, he loved it, and so did you.

#frank castle #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle x reader #the punisher #the punisher x reader

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lavishl0ve · 2 years ago

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🩸 Johnny Slaughter x Fem Reader 🩸

!disclaimer!

I love Johnny and he low-key inspired me to write something. This is my first “fic” and is a decent length (lol), if y’all are interested in the full story please lmk!! (btw nothing spicy in this first part- sorry 😔) Thank and enjoy.💋💋

Part 1: The Cellar

Oh God, stay quiet… I silence my whimpers pushing my hand against my mouth as I watch the skinned face wearing man run around frantically. Each rev of his chainsaw had made me flinch. I slowly shift myself in the shadows hoping to avoid detection, the tall grass covering my view. The sky is painted with tones of tangerine complimented by flesh-colors. The longer time seems to pass the more I seem unable to move. I take a deep breath and squeeze my eyes shut hoping to escape reality, the darkness only paints pictures in my head. Julie. Hanging on that meat hook in that red room. I suddenly feel a wetness dripping down my cheek. We didn't deserve any of this, especially not her and God knows where the others are. I just hope they're safe. The others. I have to do this for them, I have to escape. Adrenaline seems to rush through me, I peek my head above the grass searching around hoping for a clear shot. No sign of them. I slowly ascend and sneak towards what seems to be the closest exit. I dive back into a patch of grass as I hear the sound of the chainsaw approaching again. The sounds accompanied with female screams… Ana’s screams. My body makes its own decision and suddenly I flee from the grass patch running towards the gated fence, the sky darkening. Keep running Y/N. Just keep running. Tears blur my vision as the scream becomes distant for each pace I run. I shouldn't, I can't help doing so, only hoping to confirm reality. I look behind my shoulder, that man drilling the chainsaw through her abdomen, her blue tank top now red. Stained with her own blood. I run faster but can't help to look away. A loud snap erupts from beneath me; fire engulfs my right leg and I trip over. My ankle caught in some bone contraption it had cut deep, deep enough to see tissue. That man sensed the sound, revving up his stalled chainsaw, I look back panicking and quickening my pace to release myself. The pain is horrific. Blood drips into my shoes and I limp towards that gate. No. The faint symbol of a red padlock is tightened around the gate. I won't make it. I scream out in pain hoping for the slightest bit of hope. A deteriorating wooden barn. Maybe I can hide there. I shift my direction pulling my leg along with me as that man approaches. I ran through the large doors, the barn still in darkness. I looked behind again, that man hadn't been able to squeeze through the crawl space I shimmied through. I have distance. I’ll be okay. I face forward and crash into a hard surface. I fall back onto the floor and my vision blurs. Blood rushing to my brain, fumbling the noise around me, the chainsaw re-approaching and the laugh of a man in front of me, faint footsteps walk toward me, the orange hues of the sky paint out his features. My vision is blurry, I can only map out his sleeveless tank top, and his slicked hair…? He grips a knife in his right hand. He crouches down his arms wrapping around my waist. I groan out in pain. His hard chest instituted a throbbing headache, my head pounding. He leans forward toward my face.

“Oh, I’m keeping you.” The man growls.

Then with a effortless hurl he throws me over his shoulder. My sight goes foggy. I can’t lose consciousness now. Stay awake. With each step the man takes his shoulder digs deeper into my stomach. I can't seem to stay awake. No need to fight back anymore. This is my fate.

“S’okay, I got er’ boy.” The man says, “Put that chainsaw to use. Find the other one.”

A low moan had replied from the man with the chainsaw, like an agreement. Wait- the other one…? Leland! He’s still alive! I cry out, putting each ounce of strength into my punches trying to knock myself down from the man's shoulder.

“No need to fight me on this Darlin’. You’ll just make it harder for yourself.” He remarks.

I grunt still trying to fight back. I’ve done no damage to anything but myself. I feel my energy slip away along with my consciousness…

—------------------------------------------------------

I awaken to the cold beneath me, I sit on the wet concrete ground. My vision clears, I look above, my wrists had been tied to the wall. I pull against the rope hoping to loosen them. I feel my blood circulation cutting off, my hands are numbing. It’s too tight and I can't seem to make any wiggle room. I look around hoping for some sort of tool I can use. Nothing. The cell just contains a worn-out mattress. Just great. I crawl over on the mattress hoping it’ll bring me more comfort than the cold floor. It’s better…I guess. I sit in silence, my head against the stone wall for what feels like an eternity. I fumble with my shirt. My shirt- it’s different. Damn. That outfit I had on was my favorite. Now I’m stuck in this worn out oversized black shirt. Realization had hit me, they changed my clothes, had that man undressed me? Shivers ran through my veins; I disregard the thought. Suddenly a woman skips in front of my cell giggling whilst peeking through. I hadn’t heard her approach.

“Aww, you’se caught yourself an aw’fully purty one.” The woman remarked.

She dragged her razor blade along the iron bars making a scraping sound, hitting each bar. Laughing mockingly.

“Leave the girl alone Sissy.” The man approached.

The same man from earlier had stood next to the woman supposedly named Sissy. He jumbled his keys, standing in front of the lock for the cellar.

“Ain’tcha got things to do??” The man says sternly.

“You ain’t no fun Johnny.” She replies, clicking her tongue and walking away.

Johnny inserts the key into the lock, twisting it and sliding the cell door open. Then closes it behind him. I find myself backing against the corner, the cold shooting through my spine once my bottom contacts with the cold floor again. Johnny turns around, walks over toward the mattress and sits down, his arms resting on his knees. I sat a few inches away from him. Completely defenseless. He shifts his head toward the left a bit, enough only so he could see me. I stare down at the ground avoiding eye contact. He analyzes me for a while. Complete silence.

“You can look at me y’know?” He breaks the silence.

I feel tears dwelling in my eyes, “What do you want?”

“Ain’t no need to be cryin’ sweetheart, ‘m not gonna hurt ya’...” He trails off.

He removes some sort of compact tin from his jean pocket, following a roll of gauze...? He places them on the mattress and gestures to my leg where I’d been caught. It takes me a moment to realize what he’s motioning towards. I look down and realize my leg has been wrapped up. I gasp slightly, surprised he wouldn't have just let me rot. I scoot forward slowly allowing him to have access to my ankle, I watch slowly as he unwraps the bandage trying to see the damage that was done. I hiss once the cold air touches the wound.

“Those damn traps he be makin’,” he laughs shaking his head, “Work a lil’ too well.”

Johnny then grabs the tin container from his side, it contains some sort of topical cream. He rubs two fingers into the paste and rubs it over the wound.

“Ah-” I groan in pain. The topical stinging my cut.

“You’se all right sweetheart.” He reassures me.

I shut my eyes, furrowing my brows waiting for the stinging to be over. I can feel the gauze wrapping lightly around my ankle. For a man that had brought me and held me captive in their basement Johnny's surprisingly gentle. I can't tell why but, I find myself ease around him a bit.

“Johnny-” I speak,

He looks up at me inquisitive, like I said something wrong. He raises his eyebrows, waiting.

“...why are you helping me?”

He chuckles to himself; a piece of his hair drops in front of his face.

“Can’t have our food spoiled now, can we?” He looks up.

My eyes widen at his response, I try and jerk my leg away, but his grip stays firm, his calloused hands keeping me from backing away.

“I was jokin’.”

He finishes tying up the gauze and rises to his feet. He leaves, re-locking the cell door. And then again, I’m left in the cell waiting, thinking. I try to stand seeing where I am, yet can’t reach the front of the cell, my wrists beginning to burn from all the tugging on the rope. I stop, throwing myself on the rough mattress. My dreams ought to be better than this place, right?

————————————————————————

#johnny tcm #tcm #johnny x reader #johnny slaughter #johnny slaughter x reader #tcm x reader #leland tcm #tcm game #johnny sawyer #johnny sawyer x reader #fanfic #x reader #julie tcm #ana tcm

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gandalfsalt · 8 months ago

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Solavellan Angst and Dido & Aeneas

Here's an "essay" (more like notes) I wrote about a year ago after finishing Trespasser, and surprisingly it holds up ok! You can watch a video essay version on my TikTok @gandalfs_alt. I think the video version is a bit more polished because I wrote it yesterday, this old one is pretty rough.

Unfortunately no citations... feels weird to post w/o citations. Future posts I think I will start citing my sources.

A great love story that I see relating to Solavellan is the story of Dido and Aeneas. This story is even older than Tristan and Isolde, dating back to ancient Rome (specifically Virgil’s The Aeneid, completed in 19 BCE, about 2000 years ago). It is widely considered the archetypal love story that symbolizes the tension between love and duty in Western literature.

Dido was the Queen of Carthage, a city located in North Africa. In some versions she is a sorceress, and she is beloved by her people. Aeneas was a Trojan hero who escaped the fall of Troy. Aeneas and his fellow Trojans fled across the Mediterranean Sea after the fall of Troy. They landed in Carthage, and were welcomed by Dido, who offered them hospitality.

Dido and Aeneas spend a significant amount of time together, and fall deeply in love. Over time their love became increasingly intense. In some versions they marry. However, Jupiter (Zeus), the king of the gods, sends the messenger god Mercury (Hermes) to remind Aeneas of his duty to establish a new homeland in Italy (what becomes modern day Rome). After contemplating staying by Dido’s side, Aeneas feels that he must fulfill his divine mission to re-establish his homeland and he abandons Dido, departing for Italy.

Dido is devastated by Aeneas’ departure. In her anguish, Dido constructs a funeral pyre, on which she places Aeneas's belongings, including a sword he had left behind. She then took her own life by falling on the sword. Aeneas, unaware of Dido's fate, continues his journey to Italy, where he eventually fulfills his destiny and founds the city that would become Rome.

I think some of the parallels are pretty clear. A mysterious wandering hero fleeing the aftermath of a fallen civilization joins up with a group of people and falls in love with their leader. He then abandons said leader to fulfill what he believes is his divine mission, which is to re-establish what has fallen in a new place.

There’s two ways I think this story is helpful for understanding Solas, Lavellan, or Solavellan:

It has inspired so much art, we can look at how other artists have handled this theme to get insights into the characters, learn more about them, and learn about different ways this conflict (love vs duty) can be interpreted or represented.

If this story did in fact inspire the DA:I writers, learning more about it can possibly help uncover where they may take Solavellan in DA:D (dear god, I hope they don’t go the Dido route with Lavellan, pls no 😭)

Even though Solas is a pretty clear Aeneas type, I actually see him share a lot of attributes with Dido as well. One of the most famous versions of Dido and Aeneas is an opera (yes, opera again, lol) composed by Henry Purcell in 1689. It is one of the first operas composed in English, and is pretty much considered the premiere retelling of the Dido/Aeneas story in the English language. One of the most famous pieces from the opera is Dido’s Lament, and it’s the song Dido sings after she decides she can’t live without Aeneas, and is about to, literally, fall on a sword.

The lyrics of Dido’s lament are:

More I would, but Death invades me:

Death is now a welcome guest.

When I am laid, am laid in earth,

May my wrongs create no trouble, no

trouble in thy breast;

Remember me! Remember me! But ah!

forget my fate.

To me, this is 100% Solas’s psychological state when he leaves Lavellan. The lament is obviously very tragic and sad, but there’s something extremely stubborn and self-centered about it. It feels like a lot of self-imposed misery. In Dido’s case, she was certainly wronged by Aeneas, she was treated very unfairly and it’s not her fault at all, but her reaction to it is very self-pitying and self-sabotaging, literally and figuratively. I got the same feelings from Solas during his final confrontation with Lavellan.

“Death invades me, Death is now a welcome guest,” - Wait a minute, who says anyone has to die? Why is dying the only option here, Dido and Solas?

“May my wrongs create no trouble in thy breast,” - It seems like Dido and Aeneas have the option not to commit these wrongs or additional wrongs, so why act all stubborn and resigned about it?

The “wrong” I think Dido is referencing is her impending suicide. Solas may be referencing the same thing if he knows he is going to die, but in his case destroying the world and loving then leaving Lavellan are some other wrongs. But again, based on what we know, it seems like he has the option to stay and not destroy the world a second time. So why so stubborn?

“Remember me! But forget my fate.” My dudes. It seems to us like you’re choosing this fate. And you think we can remember you and not remember how you left us? You want Aeneas/Lavellan to hold the torch, but just forget a very monumental decision you made? That’s a little delusional. This line is so simple, but it does an excellent job of underscoring the conflict between love and sense of duty. In both cases, the heroine/hero want to be remembered by the ones they love, but at the same time they don’t want their choices to impact their lovers, or their lover’s recollection of them. Which really is impossible.

#dragon age #solas #solavellan #solas dragon age #solasmance #dragon age inquisition

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paperbackribs · 2 years ago

Text

Witch Steve

(working title)

next: Chapter 2: The Aftermath

So 👉👈 You were all so encouraging that I was inspired to write 14 chapters of Witch Steve. This will eventually be going up on Ao3, but while I'm finishing it up and re-editing I'll post the start of it all on Tumblr. Chapter content: steddie to come, platonic stobin, ~2K words.

Edit/Update: This is a 15 chapter fic. Ao3 here.

Chapter 1 The Sacrifice

Robin fiddles with the vodka bottle full of gasoline in her hands, “…in the face of the world ending, the stakes of my love life feel spectacularly low.”

She sighs, stuffing one of their rags into the mouth of the clear glass and completing their next Molotov cocktail. Steve watches the resignation on her face and thinks that if anyone deserves to have a moment of love and joy in the face of the world ending, it’s Robin.

It’s all of them, he reflects, looking out onto the grassy clearing.

The forest of trees behind Lucas and Erica reminds him of where they will be taking their battle to shortly. Vecna waiting in the Upside Down like a venomous spider in his web. Manipulating the troubled emotions and frightening visions of his victims, ready to break them in more than one way for his selfish desires.

Exuberant laughter draws his eyes over Nancy tailoring her weapon to Dustin as he dodges Eddie’s outstretched hands. Fondness rises within Steve like the warmth of rising bread. The fading sun frames the two boys as Eddie speaks earnestly into Dustin’s grinning face, the bond between them obvious even from here.

“Maybe it’s not the time for romance,” he admits, pensive as he watches Eddie tackle Dustin to the ground with a cackle. “But isn't love the most important thing when it is the end of the world.”

Robin knocks her knees amicably against his and he knows that this is her way of saying she loves him. He smiles back at her; he loves her too. He says it silently because he does, more than he can say at this moment. The words heavy and stuck at the back of his throat.

He wishes she could have had her moment with Vickie before they face the coming danger. The fragility of their situation leaves him with a disturbing feeling of unease churning in his gut.

It’s the fear of losing Robin that further feeds into Steve’s increasing sense of foreboding, making his teeth clench and nails dig into his palms. He has to Know, Steve decides; he needs to make sure there is hope for a later where love and romance can be indulged.

In the heart of the quiet afternoon, Steve allows the sounds of the boys roughhousing and Erica’s sharp, but not unkind, words to become muffled. While he relaxes his fists and Robin fades from his sight, Steve unfurls his uncanny gift to see into the murky depths of their futures. He hears a soft, haunting melody reaching out to him through the ethereal and a glimmering sheen covers his vision.

Like a weaver of fate, he gently unravels the white threads of destiny that intertwine around the lives of those he cherishes. Even Eddie, new to the party but just as entrenched in their fight, running scared; yet Steve thinks, just as courageously meeting the more experienced members toe to toe.

And it is only Eddie’s fate that gleams a terrible ox-blood red, a twisted tapestry of the future revealing a grim reality. Steve’s unease deepens as he Sees two roads diverging before Eddie, each leading to vastly different destinies.

One road, he is unsurprised to find, is golden bright and brilliant, full of joy, love, and friendship. This Eddie would be the guiding light for those he loves and who will love him just as fiercely as he holds them to his heart.

Steve swallows over the hard knot in his throat at the thought of all the beauty that is stolen if Eddie loses that path: because the other is shrouded in a terrible darkness.

If Eddie chooses this road, a jagged tear will be torn through the tapestry of too many lives. An unravelling thread that leads to the frayed fabric of its survivors in a way that Steve thinks the self-deprecating Eddie would never suspect.

Aside from family, only one other person knows Steve’s truth. Keeps his secret close to her breast, alongside twin confessions on a bathroom floor. Robin haltingly refusing Steve’s advances to favour Tammy Thompson and Steve blurting out that he comes from a long line of Witches. Taught at his nana’s knee and made to understand that this is something just as private to him as Robin understands her sexuality to be to her.

He watches Dustin’s wide smile, still innocent amongst a grim collection of dark moments, and Knows that this will be a turning point for his young friend. One in which Dustin lives a life spirited and mirthful or another irrecoverable scarred and linked to a critical event of grief and regret. A shiver runs down Steve’s spine and he decides he can’t stand idly by, watching as Eddie teeters on the precipice of these two divergent paths.

Drawing from long lessons of heritage and the power he and his kind hold, Steve decides on a potent action that will allow him to weave a new pattern.

---

Scarlet lightning roars in the darkness behind Eddie and Dustin as the boys wait for Steve, Robin and Nancy to depart and attack Vecna. The trailer behind the boys is tightly wrapped in the sinister vines of the Upside Down and the smell of sulphur rains down with the grey ash that coats the world in a bitter blanket. Steve watches the ghostly flakes drift onto the cloud of Eddie’s bound-back hair, and he knows that this is the moment that he readied for.

Steve reaches out to Eddie with his uncanny gift — a glass sphere, like a marble, is cradled innocently at the centre of his hand. It is as big as an apricot pit and strangely swirls with warm browns and flecks of gold, like the gentle play of sunlight flickering through to a forest floor. Steve holds his open palm out to Eddie, his hazel eyes filled with a heartfelt entreaty.

"Eddie," he asks softly, "take the marble and swallow it. Please, trust me."

Even in the short time that Steve has known Eddie, he gets that the other guy isn’t known for his impulse control. Despite this, he’s still somewhat surprised when Eddie, with no hesitation, takes the marble and swallows it down. Doe-eyed pools of warm brown look up at him through dark bangs.

“I do,” Eddie shrugs with a mysterious smile.

“What was that” Dustin shrieks, the faux military tags he had insisted on wearing jingling in agitation.

Robin stays silent behind him; Steve knows she’s holding her questions for later, having cottoned onto that he was up to something mystical when he’d hidden in the RV for a while. Only clasping his arm briefly in support when he had walked past, sweating and still pale.

Nancy though is just as surprised as Dustin and looks on at them suspiciously.

Eddie knocks an arm lightly into Dustin’s side, “I don’t know, but it tastes like hot chocolate. Warm,” he chuckles softly, “even comforting.” He turns questioning eyes back to Steve, “but, yeah, what was that?”

Steve feels how tight his smile is. “A little insurance.”

He talks to both of them, trying to instil them to obey by the force of his words alone. Knows that Dustin can be a stubborn little shit. “Just… if this goes south, I mean, at all. You abort.” But his focus turns, inevitably, to Eddie. “Don’t be a hero, man. Okay?”

A flash of emotion crosses Eddie’s face too quickly for Steve to understand before he slings an arm around Dustin’s skinny shoulders. “Of course, look at us. We are not heroes.” Under his hoodie and headband, Dustin grimaces in agreement.

The deep feeling of foreboding in his gut is untouched by their reassurance, but Steve doesn’t bother to unravel his Sight again. He’s done what he can and now he follows the girls to battle Vecna and maybe free them all from this nightmare once and for damn good.

As they travel through the dark forest, neither girl notices the small glowing pulse that Steve presses to each of them. The marks fade softly before the other can notice it. Transported by a light brush over Nancy’s tight shoulders and a firm squeeze of Robin’s sweaty hand in his.

The attack against Vecna is fierce but the three of them have never struck more certain or true. Steve with his axe, Robin and her cocktails, and Nancy with the shorn-off shotgun. Their attacks land every time and between their physical assault and Max’s diversion, something must go right because the world shudders once, then twice, but stays steady before Vecna screams harshly and his pale, grotesque body falls broken to floor. His web of terror finally shattered.

The rest of the decrepit house, vines and all, quickly catch from the blazing gasoline and the three stumble after each other, racing to the still-rancid outdoor air. But it’s air free of Vecna and that makes it all the sweeter.

With a whoop, Robin jumps into Steve’s waiting arms and breathlessly he swings her in joy. Resting his forehead on hers, he knows she can see every nuance of his relief, sensing him finally releasing the suffocating fear of the Upside Down. “This is it, Robin. I can feel it.” Steve exclaims.

Robin’s blue eyes, which sometimes can be so cynical for a person this young, gleam in belief. Belief in Steve and that he can See the truth of it all. She wraps her hands around his shoulders and is shaking in a combination of comfort and ebbing adrenalin. “Thank god,” she breathes.

“Let’s hope so,” Nancy interrupts. But she’s looking on at them with a small smile.

Steve knows it will take a long time for her to believe that it is true. And she doesn’t have the benefit of Steve’s Knowing as they do. But she’ll get there, he thinks. Much like it will take them all time to heal, they will. And the kids will bounce back, he thinks with faith. They’ve been made to be too resilient for children their age but he’s grateful for it, nonetheless.

It’s at the thought of Dustin that Steve remembers Eddie and those two paths he had seen; he urges the girls on, back to the uncanny version of the trailer park. Impatience sparking through to his fingertips.

They’ve not quite reached it yet when Steve hears the haunting cries of anguish that echo through the empty forest and roads of the Upside Down.

Dustin is hunched over the still-warm but devastatingly motionless body of his beloved Dungeon Master and friend. Bright red blood spills everywhere, coating Dustin's hands and across his face where he has smeared a hand over his cheeks. Eyes filled with tears and pain, Dustin looks up at Steve and cries out that the older boy had tried to save him.

“He said he didn’t run, Steve. But he did. He did. He ran to the demo-bats and they— they—"

Dustin starts hiccupping between tears and short, frantic breaths. He grabs at Eddie’s camouflage jacket, shaking the body as if it will jolt the older boy awake.

“Eddie!” Dustin cries. His voice, often bigger and louder than his short body would seem, breaks through the empty quiet of the Upside Down. No more swarming bats or jagged bolts of red lightning to distract from the palpable sense of grief saturating into their tired bodies. The only cruel answer is the flakes of ash gathering over Eddie’s unresponsive body like this terrible world is already trying to bury him away.

Steve’s heart is breaking, he feels the crack of it cleanly through his chest and in the thickening at the back of his throat and burning behind his eyes. But he is not powerless; this is exactly what he prepared for.

With a firm, yet gentle hand, Steve unlocks Dustin’s stiff fingers and shifts him into Nancy’s waiting embrace. She tries to turn him in her arms, but Dustin refuses to look away.

Nancy must think that Steve is going to quietly close the lids over Eddie’s blank eyes, which should be bright and expressive; eyes that were full of mischief just hours ago. Or that Steve will try to pick up the body and take it back with them, impossible as it seems in the moment, to think of carrying a heavy and limp weight vertically and against gravity where climbing through the Upside Down gates, with only their own bodies to support them, had been hard enough.

He’s not going to do any of those things, Steve thinks fiercely. He won’t need to.

With an unwavering determination, Steve drops to his knees and pushes his left hand down, through and deep into the realm of the mystical, until he finds an answering beat, a corresponding warmth. He pulls, straining with every ounce of physical and spiritual strength he possesses. A pearlescent light suddenly pushes out from Steve's link to Eddie, it pours unendingly into the dark landscape before pulsing sharply. The ethereal cuts precisely through the unclean atmosphere before rapidly shrinking back into the connection between the two boys.

Steve's own spirit is being drained, a live wire shooting up his arm and threading through every vein of his body in a white, blinding heat. But Steve knows that it is in this critical moment where he could lose his own body and soul, where the world hangs in the balance between life and death, that something miraculous can happen.

And it does.

Eddie draws a shuddering breath and his eyelids flutter open. His chest starts to rise even as his gaze looks unsteadily out into the living world once more.

“Steve?” he whispers hoarsely.

“I’ve got you, Eddie,” Steve murmurs, checking that the wounds are healing under the slick blood. His left arm is numb, but he uses the shaking right to examine Eddie’s torso where jagged gashes are rapidly closing over.

“It’s all right, we’ll get you help, you’re gonna be okay."

“No, Steve, your eyes…” Eddie lifts a shaking finger to touch Steve’s face, leaving a red fingerprint behind to mark Steve with the very essence of his mortal life.

Steve knows what he must see since this has worked. Because reality is not the same as when Eddie had closed his eyes for seemingly the last time. As Eddie returned from the brink of death, Steve now sees the world through one rich hazel eye, while the other will remain forever white and sightless, an eerie testament to the price paid to mend the shattered threads of destiny.

If you liked anything, please consider leaving a comment over on Ao3 :-) It would make my day!

Taglist

My taglist is always open so let me know if you want to be added. Likewise, if you want to be removed let me know too. :) If I've missed you, definitely let me know because it's an accident!

@a-gae-af-racoon

@a-lovely-craziness

@aly-reads-alot

@bookworm0690

@cinnamon-mushroomabomination

@everyrandomthing

@goodolefashionedloverboi

@hallucinatedjosten

@ilikeititspretty

@just-a-tiny-void

@ledleaf

@littlewildflowerkitten

@lostonceandneverfound

@manda-panda-monium

@matchingbatbites

@nburkhardt

@newtstabber

@obliosworld

@oliver-sykes

@probablyscreamingintothevoid

@rajumat

@scoops-stevie

@spectrum-spectre

@tartarusknight

@whackyrach

#witchsteve #steddie #platonic stobin #stobin #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #dustin henderson #paperbackribs writing

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sorcerous-caress · 1 year ago

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Re: making homemade porn w your loser elf bestie FNSKFKSODKE GOD YOUR BRAIN IS SO HUGE AND WRINKLED!!! I deeply enjoy how one of this biggest degenerate losers in the forum falls off the face of the planet for a few weeks, comes back with a human partner, and suddenly the whole forum is like “our human 👁️👁️”

Now I am thinking more about bullying him for the camera. Sipping the thought of sitting astride him while slowly grinding on his cock and watching how red his face gets like it’s fine wine. Delighting in how his eyes get hazy and he babbles so desperately in whatever language his poor porn rotted brain can conjure up in the moment. He’s so cute when he’s losing his mind over the way your insides feel wrapped around his dick while the camera peers between your legs and watches him barely slide in and out of you. A witness to how just a bit of tight human hole makes such an elegant, graceful creature fall apart at the seams and lapse into an animalistic state. Yeah sure the two of you may take inspiration from the large amount of suggestions you get, but honestly this is your favorite way to have him <3

As an aside I NEED more of your thoughts on the people on the forum getting on his nerves and making him, dare I say, possessive? 👀 It’s one thing for him to willingly show you off, it’s another to have others so brashly ask to borrow you. I wonder if we would ever accidentally get a peek at some of the online messages that refer to him as our boyfriend 👀

(I also have some cute fluffy ideas for this pornbrained loser but this ask is already so long, I sowrry 🙈)

—🩵 Anon

"O u r Human 👁 👁" XKSJKSJXJAKAJX i love your humour

Honestly, if he also stayed a lone loser on the forum and never met you, then he'd have the same reaction to someone else bringing a human there.

He is aware it was mere fate and chance that you chose him, pure luck. That's why he doesn't feel bad about being a bit selfish and never fully showing you the forum or suggestions.

Like yes, these people are his community and were there for him when normal elf porn websites removed their human category after some some public backlash. These forums were the only reason he could even experience sexual pleasure anymore.

But now he has you. A whole real human to himself. One so willing and enthusiastic about sleeping with him, he would be crazy to pay attention to anyone else.

On the fluffy side, you were also his first ever real friend, before he knew you were human. He really has spent his days with brainrot as he fell deeper and deeper into the porn addiction, his views on actual humans morphing and mixing with fantasy. The thing that helped bring him pleasure was also becoming an addiction that made it akin to impossible to make any friends.

But he met you online, also by fate, and the two of you clicked. Played video games together or chatted by texts for hours deep into the night. He has replied to the weird memes you've sent him at 3am almost immediately since he never has the need to sleep.

You became another source of happiness for him, a true blessing he thanked Corellon for everyday.

He was so excited to meet you, preparing an entire day of fun things you can do together. But you just had to be the most attractive human he has ever seen, huh?

And yet you didn't reject him or think he was weird when he couldn't keep his obsession from showing, your insides felt so amazing as you held him close and whispered praises into his ear with every thrust.

Indulging him with your body and making him almost pass out from happiness, his heart was immediately yours to do whatever you wished to with. Even if you squeezed it and stepped on it, he'd thank you and find it the hottest thing ever.

The forums became a thing of the past, his human magazines that he spent so much of his salary on collecting and getting every new edition the day it dropped, are now forgotten and collecting dust.

He's very clingy and is a sad mess whenever you leave his apartment to go back to your home, you haven't invited him over yet so he has to helplessly wait until the next time you come over.

Coaxing you to stay whilst eating you out, using every trick in the book he can think of to convince you on why it's better to just spend the night at his place. If you want to stuff then he is ready to drive you there and back here just to get them, you don't have to lift a finger and be his lovely passenger princess.

Although, now his salary goes into funding this homemade porn new habit of his. Buying only the best of the toys for you, the highest quality vibratiors and lingerie that's tailored to your body.

He gets off using them whenever you're not around, watching a past video of you fucking yourself with these toys as he does the same. Just the idea of them having been used by a human gets him on the edge, but the fact you were that human specifically is what gets him to cum whilst crying your name.

You're very eager to film with him. He notices the way your lips curl from humiliating him on camera, softly bullying him as you tease and edge his cock. Making him fuck you with the slowest pace possible and turning him from a respectful noble high elf, into a desperate needy pathetic whore who needs his cock inside you to function.

Elves known for their grace and wisdom. The fact he has lived way more than a century and yet you reduced him to an animalistic state as he fucks you with all of his power.

High elves call sex lovemaking instead, consider it to be a joining of soul that's full of love passion and gentleness like no other. Yet he is leaving his marks along your body, squeezing your thighs so hard until his handprints stay there, kissing and sucking on your neck and throat so he can spend the whole night admiring his work while you sleep.

Sometimes during your sleep, you do hear a wet sound besides you, heavy breathing and a muffled moans as he strokes his cock, rubbing at the head to quietly get off. He doesn't dare touch you while you sleep, merely laying besides you in agony at never being able to get off on his own no matter how many times he fucks his own fist.

Your smell is everywhere too, that human scen that your kind is blissfully unaware of. He can smell it on his clothes that he lets you borrow, pillow cases and sheets.

Even his home office isn't free from it, as much as he tries to keep that space neat and tidy in case of a video call work meeting, he just couldn't refuse your request to tie him to his office chair and suck him off while he tries not to cum.

He gets the same heated feeling between his legs whenever he sits in that chair since then, clearing his throat and hiding his tenting hard cock under his desk from the camera on his work laptop. Keeping the facade of being a calm, collected noble elf.

More on the fluffy moments, he found out he likes having his ears petted gently because of your curiosity that one time. Usually elf ears are off limit since the pointer they are, the more a show of pride they represent.

Elves are discouraged to touch their ears or anyone's because of that, since they were children. Parents would tell their kids that their ears would flop or stay in weire shapes if they let others touch them.

But you just did it one day, without regard. Asking if you can try something and just reaching out towards his face. At first he panicked when he realised it was his ears, but then it felt...good.

Your touches were gentle, comforting. He found himself relaxing and leaning into you, not even caring if this is considered inappropriate. Human hands are really soft and round in comparison to elves, almost like these hands were made for the sole purpose of petting things.

Another time, you two found each other by mere chance at a supermarket while shopping. He usually avoids all humans and never looks them in the eyes, but he couldn't look away from you since the second he recognised you.

The two of you spent the afternoon shopping for groceries together, getting to know each other's food preference and actually having a good time. It reminded him that he never lost the friend he made in you, that sex never made you view him differently.

He took note of a particular snack or drink in your cart. The next time you went to visit him, he had it in his fridge for you. He isn't very good at cooking, but sometimes he shares elven dishes with you.

They're heavy on the vegetables and spices, and each dish prefers complexity rather than simplicity. He knows the tastes might be too intense for humans so he prepared a watered down version of it for you.

You make the mistake of kissing him after it, and just the taste of the original dish on his lips sends your tastebuds into alarm. One flavour after another invading your sense, it's like everything all at once was pushed to the limit. He confesses that magic is involved in making that dish to intensify the spices, but he rubs your back as you chug water afterwards to try and wash it out.

One time, you accidentally mixed your glasses and took a sip of elvish alcohol, a single small sip. You were hungover for three days after and had to take time off work. He stayed by your side in bed and nursed you back to health. Thankfully, the cantrip he was born with does alleviate pain and refresh the mind.

He admits he finds it adorable, how humans are oversensitive to so many "normal things". Like a fresh breath of life trying things for the first time.

As for the possessive side, he'd probably get really defensive about you on these forums. Claiming since he is your "boyfriend" then he has every right to be protective of you and never allow anyone else the chance to contact or meet you.

He doesn't think less of you for sleeping with him or being friends with benfits. It is one of the many things he really admires about humans and find unimaginably hot. Even if you never start a relationship with him, he will die happily knowing he was your boytoy for all of your lifetime.

What he hates is the potential that he might lose you to someone else. That other human enthusiasts like him no doubt also find these things hot about you and would want a piece for themselves.

And it's making him more possessive of you, feeling more entitled to the videos you two film. Half of them he doesn't actually share on the forums and just saves for himself. He took editing courses on the side to learn how to fully make your identity untraceable so that none of them gets the chance to find you let alone your online accounts.

#♡🩵anon #♡human reader #♡human kink #♡modern au human kink #♡modern loser high elf #♡smut #♡fluff

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