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yourlocalstranger123 · 2 years ago

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Genshin. ~Aether x Reader~

-Don't go. Stay-

Part 3

!¡Warning¡!

Smut, bondage, unholy words, sub! Aether, dom! Reader, female and male reader, hair pulling, so minors. Do not interact!⚠️

Both have f! And m! Reader

If you do not like it, I understand. It's my first time writing smut 🥲 also this is pretty long.

I need help with my choices rn

People who asked choice C -private-

@raesleepyhead @jamieswings they didn't know what was coming...

Sorry, I tried to find a perfect image without *cough* *cough* being specific so I just had to use Google it came from Pinterest and it didn't tell me the artist...

~★

Choice C has been chosen

"Oh? Well, I can do this one."

Aether tilted his head in confusion. He moved closer so he can see what you chose....

"...! W- wait, you are actually doing it?!!?!" He blushed. Feeling flustered, he covered his face with both of his hands.

"Did you perhaps didn't want to?"

He shakes his head as a sign of no. He went to the bed, waiting for you. You got something in return for granting his wish.

[I'm re-thinking my life choices rn]

{Bold is the reader}

[And when he says your name]

Male! Reader

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

He looked so pretty tied up in red ropes ♥︎

As you trailed down kisses on his neck, he whined. Trying to unzip your pants with his mouth. But when he saw your cock, he widen his eyes. He wondered how it's gonna fit? You reassured him that it will. You were just joking around, opening the cabinet to find some lube. To your surprise, there was a bottle of lube. Half used.

"My my! I didn't know you would do such things behind my back. Do you perhaps imagine me fucking your brains out?"

Smirking at his little attempt to look away. His throat was dry for words. He could only whimper at your words, you put a good amount of lube. Shoving a finger inside him, he arched his back trying to bite his lips to refrain his moans. Archons, your hands are too big! He can just even cum from it. You kissed him, licking the blood.

"Don't do that, your hurting yourself. Plus, I want to hear you. But even if you still do, you'll still be screaming my name in the end anyways."

Before he could answer, you shoved a second finger into him, he lets out a moan. Scissoring him even though he felt too much stimulation. You didn't even notice he came.

"T- too sensitive! Hgnh-"

He whined you to stop. His mouth doesn't match up with his body grinding into your fingers as you put a third one.

He frowned when he felt the loss of contact, he was about to say something until you kissed him. Muffling his moans in the kiss. You untied him and he thought he was free but until you griped his wrist and tied it to the bed frame.

You opened his legs, struggling to keep them close but stopped after you bit his thigh.

Very soft

You went between his legs, and before he could process it, you shoved your cock in him.

"HnGHHhH~! N- name! To m- much!"

He choked out a sob. Feeling pleasure and pain flowing through him, he couldn't think straight anymore! Only thinking about your cock. He wonders if three fingers are even enough! You made him all putty in your hands. You let him adjust it until you slammed into him once more.

Choking out a sob, he was a moaning mess.

After he came, you got your cock out of him but he tries to put it back in, grinding in the process.

"*hic* p- please name! Fuck me more! Let me touch you! Please! Cum in me!"

He begged you, sobbing when he didn't feel you. You kissed the tears away, rubbing his back to Soothe his cries. As soon as you untied him, he pushed you down on the bed. Putting his hands on your chest. Grabbing your cock to align it to his hole.

Slamming down, he stopped himself from cuming, edging in the process. He bounced on your cock, saying muffled praises about how good your cock feel inside of him.

You pushed the bulge that you made, that send him to Celestials. You continued fucking him, chasing your own pleasure. As you finally came inside him, you looked up to see aether passed out, smiling.

Of course, you cleaned him. Putting him in some comfortable clothes before cuddling him. Wrapping your arms on his waist.

Female! reader

{Bold is the reader}

[And when he says your name]

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

He looked so pretty in red ropes ♥︎

He kept squirming around, he wanted to touch you! He just wants to stuff his face into your chest :( can't blame him. It looks really soft

"You can take 1 round right? I know you can. If you do, I'll set you free."

He nodded, he tried to keep calm but wanted to be inside you so badly! Whining, you started stroking him. Whimpering at the sensation, he started moaning. But tried to refrain it by biting his lips.

"Hmm, let's not do that, shall we? I like how my name sounds when you say it. Even if you still do it, I'll make sure to make you scream it."

As you whispered in his ear. He tried to hide his face in your neck from you seeing him being flustered. You stopped, his breathe hitched from the loss of contact. He looked at you, about to say something until you slammed down on him.

"H-Hngh!"

He choked out a sob, he felt so good! He arched his back, as you grind onto him. He felt so happy when you released him from the ropes! He hugged your waist as you move up and down, Begging to cum.

"Alright, I'll permit you for being such a good boy."

The moment you gave him the permission he came. But you were still going, he trembled and became overly sensitive from the last one. He stuffed his face in your chest, giving a light squeeze.

"T- too sensitive! I can't, please N- name!"

Although he says that, his body doesn't match up the way it buckled his hips into you. You both came, patting his head saying compliments of how good he is.

Smiling happily as he rests his tired state on you, laying on your chest....he fell asleep. Of course, you woke up before him so you got him cleaned.

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inglorionamy-ammy · 4 months ago

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Of Home and Haven (Ch5/6)

Chapter snippet:

The aftermath of a departure, musings on grief and love, and one step towards the finale.

Summary: A tender tale between an outlander barbarian and a scholarly wizard, navigating life, love, and belonging (aka. What "being together" means for them) in Waterdeep and beyond.

Pairing: Half-orc Barbarian F!Tav X Gale Mature

Word count: 3.2k

@senualothbrok: As always, my first reader and beta.

AO3 link: Here

Chapter Four: Here

[This chapter's illustration hides at the end ;)]

Two tenday have passed.

Since Da’s departure, you can’t shake off a lingering sense of…stillness, as if time itself is on halt, stuck heavily on your skin. You are slumped on the couch opposite Gale’s working desk, sluggish, fingers idly playing with the necklace Ma gave you.

Gale, the sweet husband he is, has tried everything to cheer you up. From an enchanted musical box sent to your workplace at Aurora’s that turned the shift into a night of ballroom dancing through the aisles, to a quiet evening stargazing on a conjured four-poster bed at the outskirts of Waterdeep, Gale’s seemingly endless ideas have been admirable. Nevertheless, two days ago, you decided to hold both of his hands and solemnly asked him to work on his teaching duties first. Somehow, him trying so hard to please you, almost as if to fit himself into the void that your father has left, makes you feel…apologetic.

Logically, you know that you shouldn’t feel such emptiness — Your father did specify that you should not grieve him, and there truly is nothing to grieve. Anyone would agree that he lived a life worth celebrating, be it by half-orc or human standards. You trust that, as a great warrior, he is now probably a terrifying sight out there on the battlefield, terrorizing whoever he chooses to fight.

But something must be done — You swear to yourself as you catch Gale’s worried glance across the room the third time, brows deeply set but refraining from commenting. He is supposed to be head-deep in grading his apprentices’ reports, stacked up tall on his desk since he took leave for the wedding. You know your mood is certainly affecting his efficiency in catching up.

With a heavy sigh you tear your fingers away from the golden necklace between your collar bones — which has become part of your daily wardrobe along with your marriage earring — and push yourself off the sofa, commanding Gale’s full attention.

“I’m heading to Ma’s place,” you explain, deciding action is the only way to set things going again.

“Oh. Allow me—” He sets down his quill immediately, but you still his hand with your own and set a kiss on the top of his head.

“You stay and work,” another kiss as you attempt to smother his disappointment, “we will come back for dinner. And I will take this,” you slip the previously unused teleportation scroll from his drawer into your pack and add, “thank you.”

He stares at you. A moment later, he huffs, resigned.

Before you can turn to leave the room, however, he catches your wrist deftly. You tilt your head. The deep breath he takes suggests a lengthy speech, so you try your best to settle your heart to listen, pushing away the tickling impatience, the bubbling annoyance.

“…Ta’V,” surprisingly, he only utters, “please send my regards to your mother, alright?” He squeezes you lightly.

You lift his hand to your lips for a kiss, pressing a smile into his skin.

----

The teleportation scroll takes you straight into a lazy afternoon in the misty forest, right in the middle of your father’s old training ground.

The humanoid shape nearby startles you, until you realize it is just your Da’s training dummy, built and rebuilt so many times that it carries the scars and marks of a true warrior. Something stirs in you, but you push it down before it can take hold of you. Similarly, you avoid the upraised bit of land where your Da grappled you just tendays ago, or that nick on the tree where he first taught you how to use a crossbow. Instead, you opt to close your eyes.

You let yourself drift in the sound of the churning water wheel for a moment, punctuated by an occasional soft metal clinging sound. Eventually, you follow the latter and find your mother, harvesting the last of her home-grown herbs in the garden.

“Gale sends his regards.”

She pauses. “Did he?” she asks, her voice airy. “A sweet boy he is.” She does not turn towards you, only resumes her task.

“I should be able to move the last batch to Waterdeep today.” You glance past the windows of the hut, assessing the interior that is largely empty now.

For the last few days you have been assisting your mother to move, newly freed from your duty at Aurora’s. The conversation with your father at the city gate was the push you needed to finally resign, much to the annoyance of the manager. Perhaps you will find something more suitable for you in the city later. Polite society or not, you have decided to come to terms with your inclination towards physical labour over intellectual ones, even if they seem to be less valued in the social circle you find yourself in. And who’s to say that fighting isn’t intellectual? Your mind definitely feels more alive in combat than standing between aisles. You have scheduled a meeting with Jina’s cousin, a city guard, who is well placed to pull some strings for the Hero of Baldur’s Gate. Maybe you can even land yourself a consultant post if you are lucky.

You are not the only one who seeks change. Your mother has long understood that with Da gone, it’s unrealistic to live in the misty woods alone, without assistance with hunting, farming, and guarding the place. After some consideration, she declined Gale’s offer of setting up magical wards for her safety and decided to use Da’s saved treasures from the basement to buy a small place in Waterdeep recommended by Morena. It has no garden, but you know Tara and Gale are secretly planning to set up a magical greenhouse for her in the tower you share. Needless to say, it’s also an excuse for Tara and the two mothers to visit you two more often.

Everything is planned and being executed accordingly. But somehow, the stillness lingers. You stare at Ma’s back, who when kneeling amidst the plants, seems uncharacteristically hefty. You don’t know what else you can do.

Then suddenly, you remember her language, the poem. With a deep breath, you recite,

White sheep, white sheep,

On a blue hill,

She pauses. When she slowly turns towards you, the sun at her back masks her face in a deep shadow, her expression unreadable. You continue,

When the wind stops,

You all stand still.

When the wind blows,

You walk away slow.

White sheep, white sheep,

Where do you go?

Your voice cracks as the last word falls out of your mouth. A sudden loneliness floods your heart, leaving you helpless.

“I don’t know what to do, Ma,” you quietly confess, hoping that she will understand. For the first time, you are the one who watches the sheep go.

She finally stands up, and you feel more than see her soft gaze. “Oh, Ta’V,” she whispers. “Will you come with me?”

You follow her into the hut, scanning the last of the artifacts and tomes, now packed in chests, shrouded in shadows. She runs her fingers over them as if mesmerized by the patterns etched on the lid, before sitting down on it. You choose a sturdy one to follow.

Her gaze falls upon you, feather-light, all-seeing.

“Oh, my girl, you have truly grown so much.” She sets her palm gently on your knee. “Do you remember when you were just a little girl, how hard it was to sit you still just for the time to sing a verse? And yet there you are, reciting the song I taught you on your sixth birthday.”

She chuckles, full of nostalgia. You know she has drifted back to that hot summer night, cradling her half-orc daughter in her lap, counting the stars as you began to fall asleep. But now you are wide awake, and you sense her words turning solemn, thoughtful.

“I could tell from the looks you gave me. You thought I gave up a lot to be here, leaving civilization, nobility, whatever past life there was, to stay with your Da, with you.”

Her tone commands attention.

“But my girl, nothing is further from the truth. He was the one who suspended his desires for glory and warfare to be domesticated with a frail, disgraced noblewoman like me, living only a fraction of his old life in the training ground, until you came along. It will always be my honour to have spent a life with him and with you, my wild, wild love.”

She holds your gaze. “So I say thank you. I thank him for the time he devoted to me. For the prime years that he spent not for bloodshed but to build us a home and shelter us within it. And as he needed to leave, I celebrate the fact that even though his time is up, he will always remain the light of my life, a part of my soul.”

You are captivated by how the warm afternoon sunrays shower her, tears unmistakably shimmering on her face that she makes no attempt to wipe away. She wears them with dignity, almost regally, as she holds her head up high and welcomes the waves of grief as the price she pays for love.

You suddenly know what you must do. You stand up and stroll, revisiting every corner of your childhood home and allow the memories to wash over you. You walk past the kitchen counter, where your father taught you how to prepare a beholder tentacle for roasting, your Ma tutting disapprovingly but soon adopting it as her favorite meal. You walk past the bathroom, where you hid and cried after you lost a fight with your father, blocking your worried parents outside the locked door. You walk past the empty bookshelves, which were once full of books, and remember how your mother would hum as she chose one to be your bedtime story, even though you were already half asleep. Suddenly, the stillness, while still lingering, seems easier to bear.

With gratitude, you extend your hand to Ma. “Let’s finish this. Gale will be cooking tonight.”

At that, she breaks into a smile, matching your own.

Later that evening, Gale opens the door and is greeted by two women with red, puffy eyes, his own widening in concern. But before it can turn into full-fledged panic you crush his train of thoughts with a squeezing hug.

“Thank you,” you whisper in his ear, where the sapphire earring is glimmering.

“Of course, but what for?” He pulls back with a frown and a smile, equally confused and amused.

“For sharing your life with me.”

And that is why as nighttime approaches and Morena and Tara arrive, they are greeted by three people with red, puffy eyes. Even in tears, each of you feels so joyful, so tranquil, so deeply in love.

----

Another two months have passed.

You are used to Gale losing himself deep in thoughts after receiving messages delivered by his apprentices. Even though he complains about the cohort a lot, he is at heart a devoted teacher who spends night after night thinking of ways to improve his tuition.

But the letter today has sent him into a frenzy, so much so that you have to physically stop him from pacing around the room. You hold him by his shoulders, eyes soft but insistent, demanding him to come back to you. Eventually, he looks up and meets your gaze.

“Ta’V, my love, there’s something I have to tell you.” He starts cautiously, and you briefly wonder whether you will have to stomp Blackstaff. “Do you recall that day, almost a year ago now, when you told, or rather, wrote to me, expressing that you want to be a part of the Blackstaff Academy?”

Uncharacteristically, in his anxiety he still waits for you to answer, rather than just leaving a pause before continuing his speech.

So you consider. Ah, the day you were denied entry. Since then, you still haven’t had a chance to visit the campus, busy working at Aurora’s, preparing for the wedding, and now training the city guards and occasionally helping the Harper network. Not that you would ever admit that when the patrolling leads you close to the Academy gate, you still feel a slight hint of embarrassment. You slowly nod that yes, you remember, although now you think of it, it was more a desperate cry for a home, for belonging.

“Well,” he clears his throat, “I wonder if you…uh, still feel the same?”

As your eyes widen in shock, he quickly continues, “it’s not confirmed yet! What I received is an invitation to an…interview. You see, after your surprising request, I did spend some time forming a plan, supported by ample research, of course, and came up with a rather convincing proposal for the school board.”

Looking at his proud face, you realize that this was what he had been doing all along when you were out at Aurora’s, and Tara complained he was not getting enough sleep.

“By analyzing your leadership and battle prowess during our shared adventure, as well as the mercenary stories from your past as anecdotal evidence, I argue that a skilled martial fighter like yourself could in fact both pose great danger or be of great assistance to magic users. It would be immensely beneficial if the Academy could prepare the students, often overly confident with their own arcane skills, to embrace a more multi-disciplinary worldview.”

You frown. While you are more used to his monologues these days, this is still a lot to take in.

“But I don’t know magic,” you drawl with hesitation.

“Oh, but you do!” he exclaims. The once arrogant wizard now eager and genuine, his hands gesturing as if to disperse the nervous air that surrounds the both of you. “You know how to fight it.”

----

A tenday before the interview, Gale is forbidden to have any contact with you until the test is over. After a long, passionate kiss that leads to a very enjoyable session before the well-lit fireplace — which might or might not have coaxed the tiniest hint of tears from not only him but you as well — he reluctantly lets you pack and move to the designated dormitory in the Academy. You know that it is guarded against any attempts to communicate with him or anyone who might leak the details of the interview.

Gale protests this. You have to remind him that it is only a tenday, not an eternal separation. But from the clinging force of his embrace by the door of your new room, you are not entirely sure he understands this. As the door closes, the reality sets in. After being among friends for so long, once again you are in solitude.

You spend your days preparing for the test. The term “interview” does not do justice to the fact that it is going to be a battle against a mysterious magic user at a gigantic elliptical amphitheatre, the center of the Blackstaff Tower. Looking out your window, you can see students walking around with increasing joyful chatters, and you know that their semester is drawing to a close. The day of your fight, which will be open to all, is right before the Midwinter holidays. You expect a full house of audiences looking for entertainment as their own exams and deadlines are over.

Stilling your heart, you decide to sharpen your chosen weapons and count the potion flasks you have. You are allowed to choose your own equipment with one exception—scrolls. External spell assistance is forbidden. You will have to resolve to mostly physical means to counter the magical attacks, so you draw on your past experiences against powerful magic users.

Will your opponent be like Lorroakan, a small man with a huge ego who summoned four distinct elementals to fight alongside him? Will they be like the hag, who fought nastily and specialized in cruel mind control? Will they be like Gale, your beloved strategist who always gains the best position with misty steps and invisibility, and blasts powerful lightning attacks when the enemies least expect it? You fight them mentally, over and over again, alone.

The night before the interview you have a nightmare. In your traitorous mind, Gale of Waterdeep glares at you with estranged contempt as you both stand on top of Blackstaff Tower. You shout as his fingers dance, and suddenly you are pushed off the surface, falling down, down, down back onto your mattress. You jostle awake. Gasping desperately for air, you realize it is the first time you remember a dream. This damned place surely is doing something to your nerves.

Still, you are now awake, three hours before the battle as planned. It’s time.

----

The arena is humming.

Standing behind the gate with two guards, you can already hear the audience’s excitement inside. Your opponent is behind the gate opposite to yours. You two will greet each other from opposite sides of the massive field when the fight starts. With any spellcasters, closing the distance is the key to defeating them.

Suddenly you are reminded of how Shadowheart took on the trials of Shar. She must have felt as restless as you are, eager to prove herself. But back then she believed she was blessed by her Goddess, destined to pass, and you are under no such illusion. In fact, you are quite certain that save for Gale and whoever he convinces to come with him, the whole crowd is rooting for your defeat. A non-magic user, a half-orc barbarian, who dares to venture into the heart of the most esteemed arcane institution.

But isn’t that what you have been facing since the very beginning? Neither fully an orc nor a human, for the longest time you wandered the wild, fought day and night, to forget the rejection, the fear that settled people threw at you. You are used to being excluded, suspected, and ridiculed. The thought ignites a rage inside you, fueling your body but clouding your mind.

Then you remember this is no longer the case. You have found your home, your haven, in the arms of the most ridiculously loving man in the world, your very own talented wizard. If you fail, he will no doubt be disappointed, but he will also be fussing over you, taking care of you, together with Tara and Morena and your mother. Perhaps the next day you will be back at the city guard camp, training, feasting, and laughing with them about your little adventure in the prestigious college. You are thankful, for the people you have found, the life you now live.

So you take a deep breath. If a show is what they want, it is what you will provide. You will be the threat that they deserve. That Gale deserves, after spending so many sleepless nights defending your name against his people.

“You can start,” the guard instructs, but you stop him from opening the gate. Instead, you ROAR. Your presence is now amplified, echoed, inescapable.

The arena goes silent.

It is now that you push open the gate, letting its squeaky hinges scream, savoring every second. As you step forward, you intentionally drag the Nyrulna on the dusty soil, stirring up a misty veil to wrap yourself in. You know what they see — A silhouette, an almost seven-foot-tall barbarian, with a great trident as tall as herself shining in the sunlight. Tense, ready to parry.

This time, big rocks are not against the rules.

Chapter 6 (ending)

Hey readers, long time no see! I can't believe it has been a month. For this chapter to make sense I highly recommend rereading the previous chapters for callbacks, Ta'V's growth as a person, and as someone in a network of relationships! (I am truly like a proud mom here hehe) <3

Next chapter - finale.

As always, love to hear your feedback!

#bg3 #gale dekarios #baldur's gate 3 #gale x tav #gale of waterdeep #galemancer #fansart #myart #gale posting #bg3 fanfiction #half orc tav #barbarian tav #galemancer week #galemancer always

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b1mbodoll · 8 months ago

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hihi ! i’m sososo extremely sorry for bein a bit ia lately!!! i recently celebrated my 21st bday n have been busy with birthday plans and just life in general !!!! but i have a few lil announcements bcus ive received lots of asks n dms recently n have a lot to discuss so i would appreciate if you all took the time to read this 🎀

first of all, i am super iffy about sharing my private life on here and do not appreciate questions regarding my hometown / where i’m from / even asking my ethnicity is a big no because you can nvr be too careful online. i’ve also gotten questions asking about why ive been so busy / not been writing and i hughly dislike them bc they seem intrusive and demanding. i have a life outside of tumblr and will not be sharing private details about myself with people i’m not close to!!!! i love my anons and followers so much n u guys know this but please respect my boundaries.

secondly, i’ve also received asks regarding a situation between an ex mutual of mine and i from a few months back and would greatly appreciate if they stopped!!!!! i wont go into detail about it because i honestly just want to forget about that person and the situation due to the mental distress it caused me and the negative feelings brought up when they / the situation are brought up, so again, please refrain from asking me about it because asks will be deleted and i will block you from sending anonymous asks if this persists.

third of all, i’ve been doing a lot of thinking regarding this and i won’t be taking official requests anymore. i love writing and fulfilling your fantasies n thoughts about idols but i’ve received too many demanding and hateful asks from people when their request is not posted. my asks will always be open for thirsting and suggesting ideas n if i enjoy it i’ll elaborate!!!!! but please do not expect a reply to every single ask sent it, i am only one person :( it breaks my heart to stop taking requests but it’s ultimately the best thing for me and my mental health.

lastly, PLEASE read my rules before sending in your thirsts / ideas / suggestions. time and time again i’ve had to reiterate boundaries and things i won’t write about because people are not taking the time to check my pinned posts and it’s tiring having to see multiple requests for kinks / scenarios i absolutely do not write for. it isn’t hard to check an author’s dni / byf and overall rules before asking something of them!!!!!!!!!!

oh one more thing!!!! i absolutely do NOT write for stray kids. they make me extremely uncomfortable and i don’t even have them listed in my “who i write for” section of my pinned post so, kindly, stop sending asks about them or i will have to block you :(

#♡.gabi barks #im so nervous to post this please dont hate me guys :(#i promise im not posting this to be mean or to shade anyone or anything like that! ive just been a little tired of having my boundaries #constantly disrespected and it’s really disheartening to receive asks demanding for their rq to be answered or #being reminded of such an awful experience that occured on here

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dragonmasterhiccup · 7 months ago

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*UPDATED 11/15*

You can find the headcanons I use here!

NEW RP/ANON THREADS: OPEN

See below for details and blog rules!

(((IF ABOVE STATES AS CLOSED: Anons can still ask Hiccup questions, but I can't take on any additional storytelling anons or threads at the moment. If we already have one established, we can keep going until it concludes. When things have calmed down, I'll switch it back to 'open'. Please let me know if you have any questions!

RULES:

I'm going to try to keep this short and sweet, but as time goes things will be added.

My blog is family friendly, please keep content PG! No language is preferred, but any strong language will not be answered, and only deleted.

I will do limited threads, just mainly focusing on asks/anons. Things are limited because I work a full time job, and I am married and have some additional responsibilities.

I have 10+ years of RP experience. Open to M!A and to anons! Any asks that do not follow the rules will be deleted. I will try to message you privately if I can, but if done on anon I will have to make a public post.

I only ship Hiccup with Astrid, and write him as straight. Please refrain from sending any asks hinting or stating that Hiccup has flirted/kissed any other characters.

HOWEVER, sometimes there is undeniable chemistry, in which case I may be open to shipping the two characters.

Anon/RP asks may be reblogged, but if it's an RP thread that gets reblogged by me and the other writer, please only like so it can easily be kept track of.

If you're an anon, and pretending to be a character from the movies or shows: if there are multiple different anons portraying the same character, it gets confusing fast. I may not respond if I already have another thread going with another anon for that character.

No godmodding, no grabbing or dragging Hiccup [without permission], no controlling Hiccup's or Toothless' actions, and no smut.

Mun is 21+, I just like to keep things clean.

For anything coming into my inbox: unless it's specified for the mun, please make sure it's something Hiccup can respond or react to in some way.

You do not have to match my length, however, if all of your replies are essentially one to three sentences, I also struggle with responding to those as well. I work a very mentally demanding job, so sometimes I can't fill in the blanks, unless the muse is particularly strong with our thread.

If you're interested in bringing in more characters from the HTTYD universe, just discuss it with me first! I will extend the same courtesy to you if I'm interested in bringing in more characters from your muses world.

I have the right to decline any starters for threads that come into my askbox.

It's nothing against your writing, sometimes I'll read one and Hiccup just goes: 😐😑😐🤐

Writing styles: For some reason, when someone writes with me and they're using first person pov (I, me) it's extremely off-putting. I've tried to continue despite that, but for some reason it just causes the Hiccup muse to shut down 🤷‍♀️ Third person works best, since rp is telling two different characters perspectives.

The only exception is if you're asking Hiccup a question, and it's not in conjunction with quotation marks for dialogue, I have zero issue with that.

I only add this because it's come up a few times: Hiccup is the type to ask questions when he thinks of them. If your character sits down and says "You must have some questions for me, ask away!" I tend to panic because everything we've ever written together immediately drops from my brain. I also use the app to write more than my computer, and it can be difficult to track down and reread our threads. Please try not to ask this of Hiccup unless it pertains to something that was revealed in your current response, I'd really appreciate it!

Brief list of storylines I will not write or take part in can be found here. This list will be updated if more come to mind or come up in conversation.

Do not be stressed to reply quickly, real life always comes first!

I will never pressure you to write a response. If you want to quietly drop the thread, that's ok! If you don't think our writing jives well, or have trouble responding, just let me know! I will completely understand.

Got an idea for a thread? Let me know! I love to plot!

Want to bug Hiccup a bit? Send some fun anons! Ask him questions!

Don't know what to ask? Check out the tag #ask memes on my blog for inspiration!

Have questions for me? Message me! I'm open for chatting.

Mun fc is Rapunzel!

As for all of the HTTYD media, I have seen the movies, short films, and Race to the Edge. I have also read the books, and The Serpent's Heir. I have not had an opportunity yet to watch Defenders of Berk or Riders of Berk just yet.

Thanks for reading! Send me a "My ring's outside" so I can know you read this all the way through!)))

#ooc #rules #mun fc

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femininenachos · 2 years ago

Note

Who makes the first move in vacation au

Previously

The taverna gets livelier after midnight, when the staff mix with the patrons and the wine really starts flowing. Carafes of cheap yet delicious local red go out at every table, compliments of the owners, along with platters of cheese and olives. Despite her earlier protestations (it would be rude to refuse such generous hospitality, after all), Clarke partakes freely and by the time Octavia returns from an extended trip to the bathroom, she has a pleasant alcohol buzz going.

“Did you get lost on the way? Or did the squid disagree with you?” Clarke smirks into the rim of her glass.

Octavia shoots her a droll look, but it’s soon replaced by a sneaky, private little smile as she retakes her seat.

“What?” Clarke asks, instantly suspicious.

“Nothing bad. We've just been invited to a bar by Lincoln and the rest of the wait staff. He’s even hotter up close, by the way, it’s insane.” Octavia fans herself. “Whew.”

“Mm, pass,” Wells says. “I’ll have to bow out gracefully. It’s been a long day, plus I really want to hit the archaeological sites early tomorrow before the cruise ship hordes descend.”

Octavia sends him a pitying glance, but refrains from insulting his nerdery. She turns her focus to Clarke instead. Waggles her eyebrows. “How about it? Lexa will be there…”

Clarke’s face flushes hot, but she hesitates.

“You should go,” Wells says with an encouraging smile. “At least to make sure O doesn’t get abducted and killed by a stranger whose attractiveness doesn’t preclude him from being a psychopath.”

“Well, that went dark,” Octavia mutters under her breath. “But, yeah, we can be each other’s wingwomen.”

She clasps her hands together, silently begging please, please, please.

Clarke vacillates back and forth; conflicted. On the one hand, she’s bone tired, more tipsy than she cares to admit on only a handful of drinks, and she would kind of like to join Wells on his excursion in the morning. But on the flip side… she hasn’t had any action in six months and Lexa is so, so fucking hot.

While she’s debating it internally, the object of her desire saunters into her field of vision, and Clarke loses her train of thought once she sees that Lexa has changed into open toe sandals, black denim cut-offs and a black t-shirt that reveals an intriguing piece of ink that peeks out from under her sleeve. Her hair is down, falling in soft, flowing waves down her back, and Clarke has a sudden craving to run her fingers through those gorgeous locks.

She caves.

“Two drinks, max.”

~*~

The bar is an open air spot that’s just a short stroll from the taverna and overlooks the harbour from a vantage point, providing a stunning panoramic vista. A slew of dinky little blue and white fishing boats are docked, bobbing in the water, gleaming amid the pretty harbour lights, with the inky darkness of the sea stretching into the horizon beyond.

On the decks over in the corner a DJ plays soulful, laidback deep house, infectious beats that are hard to resist shimmying to. Lantern lights are strung up between olive trees, adding to the mellow atmosphere. The patrons, a younger crowd that’s a mix of tourists and locals, cluster together in small groups drinking beers and colourful cocktails.

Clarke slowly nurses a vodka soda and lime, feeling very much like the third wheel while Octavia and Lincoln engage in flirty exchanges. From what Clarke has gleaned, he seems far from the murdering type, a gentleness to him that belies his bulky stature. Bless his heart, he keeps trying to include Clarke in the conversation, but Octavia is adept at commanding his attention with the brash confidence she exudes and her frequent habit of touching his biceps when she speaks.

Besides, Clarke’s mind is elsewhere, conscious of being watched. It makes her skin prickle. Fills her with nervous energy.

They keep sharing glances.

Every time Clarke looks over, Lexa is staring right back. Curious eyes drawn to one another, scanning up and down. Something thrilling about the way they’re each too restrained to act on their obvious interest—that, or they’re both too stupidly stubborn to make the first move.

But Clarke feels the anticipation building.

Tastes it in the air.

Even though Lexa is with friends, she still stands a little aloof and apart. Now and then, she’s pulled back into their boisterous chatter and jokes, but Clarke finds that intense gaze on her time and again, and it makes her tingle all over.

“And you?” Lincoln asks, jolting her out of her trance. He nods towards the glass in her hand, a small smile on his lips. “Can I buy you another?”

She meets his smile with a distracted one of her own. “Oh, no. I’m good, thanks.”

Once he heads for the bar, her eyes flick in Lexa’s direction again, and Clarke‘s mouth runs dry, noting the graceful line of Lexa’s throat as she swigs from a beer bottle, long fingers wrapped around the neck.

Never in her life has Clarke been so envious of an inanimate object…

An arm swings around her shoulders, startling her and sending a little vodka mix sloshing over the side of the glass onto her hand, and she scowls at Octavia’s unapologetic expression.

“This is physically painful to watch, Griffin. Go talk to her, please.”

“And say what?”

“Just be your charming self. And if that doesn’t work,” Octavia tugs on the neckline of Clarke’s summer dress, “Use the girls.”

“I can’t just sidle up and flash my cleavage at her.”

“Really? Because that’s definitely a thing you’ve done in the past, and you’ve also had a good success rate with it.”

Clarke half-shoves Octavia, raising a wicked laugh. Even so, she allows herself to be turned around by the shoulders and pushed in the direction of Lexa and her group, weak complaints falling on deaf ears.

On her slow approach, Clarke sees Lexa straighten up, pulling that plump bottom lip between her teeth as her eyes trip over Clarke’s form, and for some reason…

Clarke loses her nerve.

At the last second she wheels away, making a beeline for the restroom. It’s empty, thankfully, and she sets down her purse on the counter, rummaging through it to find the tube of lipstick. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she reapplies the colour and presses her lips together to blot, eyeing her reflection critically in the long mirror above the sinks. She primps and preens, giving her hair a little zhuzh. Turns this way and that to admire the fit of her dress, running her hands over her curves.

And, yeah, she’s feeling herself.

She’s got this.

Confidence renewed, she struts out with an extra sway in her hips only to find the space Lexa occupied is now empty. Her heart sinks. Annoyed at herself for squandering the opportunity and a little upset about being abandoned, she casts her eyes around until she spots Octavia by the steps that lead to the street. She beckons Clarke over with a wave.

“Thank God. For a hot second I thought you’d left without me,” Clarke grumbles.

Octavia sends her a look like: girl, please.

“Where’d everyone go?”

“Chill. They’re just waiting for us on the curb side. Linc’s friends want to head on to a club. You in?”

The thought has barely entered Clarke’s mind when Octavia preempts her. “Don’t worry, Lexa’s going too.”

Clarke tries not to react too much, deflecting with a teasing drawl. “Linc, huh? You’ve known him all of five minutes and we’re shortening his name already? Must be serious.”

But unlike Clarke, Octavia is completely unflappable and unfazed. Just flips Clarke the finger and glides away.

~*~

Fewer in number now, their group winds through the labyrinthian jumble of cobbled streets that make up the oldest part of the village. Squat, rustic, pastel-coloured buildings with blue or terracotta doors line the narrow streets, adorned with hanging baskets, trailing vines, and potted plants on window sills.

While Clarke soaks the quaint character of it all in, Lexa smoothly falls into step beside her.

“Your boyfriend didn’t want to come out tonight?” Lexa asks. Eyes ahead. A slight pout on her lips.

Clarke almost trips. “Boyfriend?”

Lexa looks directly at her then, and Clarke nearly loses her footing again on the uneven paving.

“The guy you were with at dinner?”

Clarke’s brows leap up her forehead.

“Wells?” She barks out a sudden laugh. “Wells isn’t—” She chuckles again. “No. There’s no boyfriend. I am very much free and single.”

Is that what was holding Lexa back? Crossed wires and mistaken assumptions. How gallant.

Lexa studies her a moment longer. Glances away, then back. Something vital and alive dancing in her eyes. Pleased. “Me too.”

Good sits on the tip of Clarke’s tongue, but she holds it in, if not the little smile that follows, her mouth pulling to one side.

They walk the rest of the way in comfortable silence, their knuckles brushing once or twice before Lexa catches Clarke’s fingers and lets them entwine. A loose, gentle grip, but enough to send the butterflies in Clarke’s stomach into overdrive.

Because it’s such an assured move, and Clarke isn’t used to things being this easy. There’s far too much bullshit around dating, the plethora of apps, the red flags and rules and expectations, so Clarke had chosen to largely opt out of the whole affair. Not that she really has the time or energy with the grueling hours she puts in at the hospital, how she can never quite let go of the heaviness she brings home with her, two qualities that aren’t exactly appealing to most people.

(Finn told her as much when they broke up, having soon learned that the reality of being with a doctor is not nearly as sexy as Grey’s makes it out to be.)

But there’s freedom in being in a foreign land, where she can be a different, more carefree version of herself, the version that would absolutely entertain the idea of a meaningless hookup with a beautiful, mysterious local. Even if this is a well-tread playbook for Lexa, picking up horny tourists at work for kicks, Clarke is 100% willing to be a notch on that particular bedpost.

It doesn’t matter that she doesn’t know the first thing about this girl.

She wants Lexa.

Wants that mouth and those hands on her body.

Wants to taste those lips and feel all that tan skin pressed against every inch of her own.

She gets her wish at the club.

#Asks #vacation au #clexa

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astariondisapproves · 1 year ago

Text

"Ugh. How dull. It appears our Rebby has an announcement to make, I suppose we'll have to hear them out." Astarion says with an eye roll and a scoff, obviously not pleased at being interrupted from his time with his darling Tavs.

"Astarion, would you please at least pretend you're interested in what I have to say? It pertains to us after all, so it's important," I explain, shooting him an annoyed glare as I pinch the bridge of my nose.

"Oh, if it's about us, then by all means, you have the floor, my leige," He says with a sly smirk, obviously trying to press Rebby's buttons.

"You're insufferable sometimes, you know that, right?"

"Oh, so you finally noticed?" He says with a raised eyebrow.

"You never shut up, do you?" I say, crossing my arms across my chest as I glare up at him, pushing my glasses up in the process, making me much less threatening, and Astarion can't help but chuckle.

"Another brilliant observation, Rebby! You're on a roll today~!" He muses as he ruffles the top of my head, strewing about strands of my hair every which way, purposefully making a mess of it.

"You motherfu—" Before I can finish my sentence, Astarion's hand slaps to my mouth, shutting me up instantly.

"Now, now, let's refrain from profanities, hmm? You had something to announce, remember? What is it you wish to tell us?" Astarion asks, releasing his hand from my mouth.

"R-Right, ehm..." I clear my throat before continuing with a clear voice, "Please continue below for the announcement."

Hihi friends! I'm Rebby, the one in charge of this account, also the one who's writing up the responses to all of the wonderful asks Astarion has been receiving. First of all, I made this account for Astarion a week ago and am absolutely FLOORED at the amount of followers we gained in such a short time. Not to mention all the fun interactions we've been having with you all. It really means a lot to us. So thank you from the bottom of my heart.

The second thing I wanted to say is that while yes, I don't mind the asks that are talking about personal trauma you go through(I'm sending hugs to you all, and that I'm personally also here for you not just Astarion), just keep in mind that I am not a professional, just someone who has a lot of empathy, and my responses are based on what I think Astarion would say.

The third thing is that I am open to feedback on how I can improve portraying Astarion, or how I can improve the page in general via DMs, constructive criticism is allowed, just please be polite about it, that's all I ask :)

Anyways, that's all! Lots of love to you all <3

#astarion #astarion baldurs gate #astarion bg3 #astarion x reader #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x tav #baldur's gate iii #bg3 astarion #rebby's rp

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hologramcowboy · 1 year ago

Note

I honestly don’t understand how you can frame Jensen reprising his role as Soldier Boy for a cameo in Gen V as bad for his career when posts like this are getting the engagement they are: https://x.com/theboystv/status/1715163421929308301?s=46&t=eTIYBJflezjsZxlN-TlYeQ

Being part of The Boys universe has boosted his career far beyond the level of his former costars. It just seems like jealousy when people who are mainly Jared fans try to belittle Jensen’s accomplishments/continually rising popularity…

Fact: Jensen's presence didn't affect The Boys ratings.

Another fact: Being downgraded from a Guest star tier to a Cameo instead of being promoted to series regular is not the flex you think it is.

Third fact: horny old women and young girls liking Jensen's vulgar potrayal means zilch for his career. What matters is how we will be perceived by his BUYERS. Right now Jensen is going against his real brand and type and confusing his buyers.

Branding fact: If he wants to play a superhero he needs to have the personality of one instead of playing the anti hero.

Fact about you: You know zero about how the industry works. So why are you even sending in such an ask? Ever stop to think the engagement is more about the Gen V brand than about Jensen himself? Like it or not, his performance was less than believable. If you didn't study acting in an in depth way at Hollywood standards please refrain from evaluating actors. You can only damage their direction. Any scene can always be improved upon and pointing out things that can and should be improved is a constant for actors who wish to grow and shift tiers. Jensen can be exquisite when he connects but, unfortunately, like you, he is an amateur craft wise and that sets him back. He seems to fail to realize that acting standards have shifted and being histrionic is not what real acting entails.

Fact about Jared: Jared is currently a leading man...which means he is far beyond jensen's tier. Open a book about actors and how marketing works within their industry before spouting nonsense. Did you mean envy? How could I be envious of Jensen when I am highly cultured, more educated and trained than him? How could Jared fans envy Jensen since he is currently at a very sad tier in his career? 🤭

Final fact: Jensen can be exquisite but it's precisely getting caught up in buying the fake hype fans in heat create that is keeping him from becoming an accomplished high tier actor.

#jensen critical #anti AAs

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enchantedchocolatebars · 2 years ago

Text

The Rock🪨

Story inspired by this ask.

"Pip, catch!" Caleb happily exclaims, tossing the grey pebble he had to his little brother who stood across from him.

The two boys were outside playing their third favorite game - catch.

When Philip catches the small stone, he hops up and down in glee. "I caught it!" The brunette exults to the blonde.

"Good job!" Caleb beams, the older boy raising his opened hands in the air. "Now throw it back, but not too far. Okay?"

Philip nods. He's got this. He sticks his tongue out in concentration.

Cocking his arm back, Pip throws the pebble with all his might past Caleb. Both boys watch as the rock disappears into the woods.

The corners of Pip's mouth instantly draw downwards.

"Aww," He starts off with a sad coo. "It's gone now." His small shoulders slouch in disappointment.

How was he and Caleb going to continue their game now?

"Don't worry!" Caleb reassures his little bro, a look of confidence crossing his face. "I'll get it back! I promise. Wait here!" He then rushes into the woods to retrieve their rock.

...

Meanwhile, Belos, without his mask, was wandering aimlessly around in the same woods, his eyes taking in the earthly environment.

The green trees and blue skies said it all - he was back in the human realm. Back in Gravesfield, he assumed, due to the forest feeling familiar.

Home at last, he thought.

But how?

Suddenly, something small and round strikes him on the head.

"Ow!" he yelps, gently rubbing the spot that was hit.

He growls in pure annoyance.

That hurt!

What in heaven's even was that?

Bringing his attention to the brown ground, he spots a pebble and picks it up.

He begins examining it.

Looks like he found his answer, but who was the culprit?

In an instant, his cut ears pick up on the sound of twigs being crunched under feet.

He looks forward.

Someone was approaching.

But who?

Perhaps another human?

When Caleb appeared, he froze. He didn't dare take another step. His eyes widened at what he saw. A witch! A really old one. He looked to be a thousand. Maybe even older.

The blonde couldn't believe it.

The employer's eyes copy Caleb's. Before him was his little big brother. He looked to be about twelve. His shock soon shifts to anger at the boy. Caleb! The name alone made his blood boil. That traitor! That witch lover! How he hated him so.

Belos felt like morphing his arm into something sharp and shoving it through him, but he refrains from doing so. The action remains a thought. This version of his brother hasn't betrayed him yet. The one that did was dead.

Though, that didn't stop the tyrant from sending a glare at the young elder.

As Caleb was deciding in his head to fight or flight, he spots his rock in the witch's hand.

He points a finger at him.

"H-Hey!" he shouts, his voice terribly shaky. Despite his fear, the boy was trying his best to sound brave. He was a witch hunter after all. "That's mine! G-Give it back, you witch!"

Witch? Tch! Philip rolled his eyes.

"This is yours?" Belos asked, holding the pebble up in irritation. Looks like he found his culprit.

"Yes! N-Now give it back right now o-or else!"

Or else? Philip raised a brow at this. Arms are then crossed as chapped lips curl up in a smirk.

This could be fun.

"Or else what?"

Not a word was spoken.

Belos smugly chuckles at this.

"Well, I'm waiting."

Terrible man.

"I'll... I'll... I'll..." Caleb was stumped. What would he do? Could he do anything? As he thinks, the answer suddenly hits him. Aha! >:D He gives the witch a cute, cocky smile.

"I'll snitch by yelling. My screams will get the attention of someone in town. Maybe even a mob. They'll flock in droves here. Once they see you, they'll tie you up and you'll get taken to--"

"The gallows?" Belos rudely interrupts, his smirk spreading. He knows he's right.

Caleb shakes his head. "Not there. You'll probably be tossed in the pyre."

"Pyre?" Philip had to laugh. "Please. Don't be ridiculous. The people of Gravesfield are far too smart to burn their witch hunter general alive."

Witch hunter general? Now it was Caleb's turn to laugh. "Witch hunter generals don't have pointy witch ears," The little elder informs. "They have normal round ears like mine."

Looking at both his ears, Belos begins to realize something. Caleb was right. He goes back to glaring at him.

"Not so funny now, is it?" Caleb snickers, crossing his arms.

Philip narrows his eyes. "You wouldn't dare..."

This only made Caleb's grin grow.

As he's about to scream, a goopy, green hand lunges forth and grabs him.

He squeaks.

When he's brought over to Belos, he felt frightened. Being face-to-face with a witch made the small blonde tremble.

Philip took note of his terrified expression, it looking all too familiar.

...

"Please, Philip, you can't! You mustn't do this!" An adult Caleb begged his little brother as he stood across from him, a knife in hand.

The two were facing off inside a fiery cave as the flames burned strongly, smoke drifting into the atmosphere.

A beyond vexed Philip starts to slowly approach Caleb, his grip tight on his dagger.

He was ready to strike.

The blonde begins to take a step back, his brown eyes filling with tears.

"Please, don't do this..."

...

A sigh at the past memory, pain and grief swelling inside his chest. His grip slowly loosens. When Caleb was released, he was surprised to see the old witch look so... hollow. Like he was lacking something. Someone? Did he... have a family? Nonsense. Witches can't feel sadness, or have families. They weren't human. Was this witch... different? Only one way to find out.

"Mr. Witch, what's wrong?" Caleb would go on to ask, concern in his voice.

"Nothing," Philip grumbles, trying not to tear up.

"Are you sad because you're all alone in the woods? And you're old? And you... smell funny?"

A gasp emits. Belos took great offense at that blatant lie Caleb had said at the end. "I smell just fine!" He shouts, defending his "amazing" scent.

"...You mustn't yell to get your point across. I always tell my brother that," Caleb notifies the senior.

A groan came from Belos. He couldn't believe he of all people was being lectured by a child.

A child who was technically his older brother, but still a child.

"Perhaps you're disheartened because you lost your family." Caleb takes the old man's hand as if he were a child far younger than him. A little brother almost. "Shall we go look for them?"

Belos immediately pulls his hand away. "No," He refuses in a stern, authoritative voice. He was still the adult here. "I don't need some snot-nosed little..." His arm suddenly morphs into slime and falls off. A pressed sigh passes his lips. How fun.

A second squeak left Little Caleb as he saw the limb lying down on the forest floor.

He directs a pointer finger at it.

"I-Is that normal for you!?"

"Unfortunately," Belos murmurs, bending down to pick up his own arm with his free hand. When he fixes it back on, it falls again.

The emperor frowns in frustration at this.

"Looks like you could use a hand." Or rather, an arm in this situation. Caleb was willing to offer just that. He picks up the upper limb. "Hold still," He instructs Belos, who does just that.

Standing on his tippy toes, the blonde sticks the arm back onto the shoulder joint.

The limb manages to reattach, green goo forming back into human skin.

With his upper arm connected, Belos was already begining to feel better. "Thank you," He mumbles, scratching the back of his head as he looks away in slight embarrassment.

This causes Caleb to give him a sunny smile.

"You're welcome! I think you might need to sit down after all that." Coincidentally, the blonde spots two side-by-side stumps close by.

Sitting down on the first stump, Caleb looks to Belos and happily pats the second one.

It was quite obvious what he wanted the old man to do.

As Belos takes a seat beside him on the other stump, he can't but help raise a suspicious brow at the boy.

"I thought you said I smelled funny."

Caleb chuckles before giving an honest answer. "You do."

Philip gave the child a glare. This younger Caleb was being a thorn in his side. One more crass comment about his scent, just one more, and he'll--

"But you also seem harmless. I'm not sure if you're a good witch or a bad witch, but you haven't used your powers to hurt or curse me or take my soul, so... thank you."

His words were genuine as he continued. He then holds out a hand for the old witch to shake. "My name is Caleb," he'd go on to say. "Caleb Wittebane. What's yours?"

Blue eyes glance at Caleb's hand before looking back at him. Belos was reluctant to shake hands and share his real name. His guilt wouldn't allow it.

Instead, he pulls out Caleb's pebble, holding it between his forefinger and thumb.

"Take your rock and leave."

Caleb shakes his head, smiling again. "Actually, you can keep it. Who knows, you might find someone to play catch with... if you're nice enough," he chuckles.

"CALEB, HURRY UP!" A young, impatient voice yells from out of the woods.

The blonde knew who it belonged to. He rose from his seat, turning to Belos. "That was my little brother. I have to go now." Before Little Caleb leaves, he wraps his small arms around the witch.

Eyes closed, he clings to him fondly.

The sudden embrace catches Philip off guard, his eyes wide.

...

Adult Caleb's eyes were closed as he continued to hug the dark figure that was his baby brother, a gentle smile on his face.

"Oh Philip, I'm so happy to see you again..."

...

Letting go, Caleb bids Belos a farewell. "Bye!" The boy beams as he rushes off, leaving the old fart flabbergasted.

...

"There you are!" Little Philip watched as Caleb came back to him safe and sound. "What took you so long? Did you find our rock?"

Caleb gives him a head shake. "Sorry," He says. Despite the white lie, his apology was sincere.

Seeing the sad puppy look appear on Pip's face, the blonde lifts a hand above his head, gently patting it. "Aww, don't be sad."

He shined his sibling a sympathetic smile.

"How about I take you to the pond? They'll be plenty of rocks there. We can even skip a few in the water. Would you like that?"

Such a suggestion greatly excites Philip, his blue eyes gleaming in delight. He liked the sound of that! Quickly nodding his head, Caleb chuckles, taking his hand. "Let's go then."

...

As the two were on their way to Pious Pond, a thought crossed Caleb's mind. The witch. He thought about the hug he gave him. It felt instinctive for some reason.

Would the two ever meet again?

Only time would tell.

...

Inside the Emperor's bedroom, the ruler awoke from his slumber.

He let out a neutral sigh.

It was all just a dream.

#(kid caleb CARRIES this WHOLE story with his cuteness and kindness)#(oh sweet precious blonde baby i love u i love u i love u💕💕💕)#(not the best @ writing philip as emperor belos but if you love a character you'll go '🤷‍♀️' and write them anyways lol)#(ngl i had fun)#(writing certain parts)#the owl house #owl house #toh #caleb wittebane #emperor belos #belos #philip wittebane #moldy crumpet husbando #writing #my writing

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uravitypng · 10 months ago

Text

⋆˚✿˖° 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 ⋆˚✿˖°

i post and reblog 18+ content often! i also will occasionally reblog darker content, but if i do it will be tagged.

please be 18+ to interact with me! you also need to have your age in your bio/pinned post! give me some indication of your age! you will be blocked if i don't have your age somewhere.

dark content will be tagged as ' cw : dark ' if anyone wants more specific tags i might do that. block the tag if you'd rather not see any dark content

characters i write for that need to be time skipped will be even if not explicitly stated (obviously) if that makes you uncomfortable please do not follow me.

a lot of my fics are written with a chubby reader in mind because i feel like we do not get enough representation in fics and its always good to have more, sometimes it will be explicated stated sometimes it will just be implied and sometimes i won't allude to the readers weight at all and they won't be a chubby reader.

besides the reader being chubby i do not describe the readers body other than that, for example not mentioning skin tones or hair length.

i do not write any character x character content or for male readers. i wouldn't do male readers justice. if i wrote character x character it would be a threesome with the reader. i do write gn readers sometimes but mainly i write fem readers. i won't write any angst and unhappy endings. all you angst writers are built different i swear (affectionate) if i do write angst it will end in comfort and fluff due to an original misunderstanding.

please try to refrain from asking for a part two for my fics. i'll post a part two if i feel like it but i'm glad you enjoy my content enough to ask for more.

please reblog my writing! that's the best way to support me, leave comments, let me know about the fic, it honestly makes my day when people leave a tag or a comment complimenting my writing.

i currently write for: hq, bnha, bsd, jjk, tokyo rev, kimetsu no yaiba( but i write for bnha, hq, and bsd more!)

you can request things but i might not do them! i have a kofi where i will write anything given but i will answer asks about general ideas and prompts. you're always welcome to message me but please do not do anything that you feel would make me uncomfortable or something you consider inappropriate. please do not send me requests for events i have closed. i do not want to get a request for an event i did weeks/months ago.

i love getting tagged in things so please do not hesitate to do so! all the fics i love are under the tag ' ♡ recs ' this is for longer form content. shorter form content i reblog i still recommend but they will not be tagged as recs.

all my queued posts are under the tag ' ₊ ⊹.𖥔 ݁ ˖ queue - avity ✩࿐ '

do not steal, repost, copy, or claim my writing as your own. do not feed my writing to any ai or third party programs

#♡ rules #new rules post made 26th of feb<333

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osunism · 5 months ago

Text

Summary: A young widowed sorceress seeks protection under the aegis of the Honored One, but he has a better idea for keeping her out of the clutches of her dangerous clan.

Warnings: Gojo might be a lil’ toxic, there’s some smut in this story [a lot actually the attraction is pretty instant], and it’s already on AO3 if that’s the format you prefer.

II.

Over the course of dinner, they talk. Gojo isn’t prone to ultra-spicy food, being a sweet-tooth minion, but he marvels at Asabé’s casual handling of Thai levels of spice. When he asks about it, she mentions off-handedly that the food from her homeland is much spicier.

“It’s a shame you’re so averse,” she teases, “I’d cook a few dishes for you. But I can modify the spice levels easily. The ingredients I need are relatively easy to find here.”

Gojo smiles. “You offering to cook? You do realize that I’ve already been paid, correct?”

She shakes her head. “I know, but it feels imposing to be shacking up with you and not…contributing in some way. And you mentioned you didn’t cook. I’d hate to subsist on takeout for the duration of the case, even if the food is good.”

Gojo surmises that being married to Mr. Hayashi was a frugal experience, but he refrains from commenting. Even he knows that bragging about wealth is a gauche and quite frankly, very silly thing to do. He is who he is, but it’s not his wealth that makes him better than everyone else. He could be penniless tomorrow and still be content. Not that he wants to be: the money fucking helps grease all the right palms when he’s working cases, especially abroad.

“Well, if you insist, then please make a list of everything you need and I’ll send Ijichi after it.”

Asabé blinks. “You mean the driver? Is he not just a driver?”

Gojo laughs. “He’s whatever I need him to be. It’s why we pay him, after all. I’m not going to let you go outside and risk being spotted. This penthouse is more secure than an American military base, at least as far as jujutsu is concerned. It’s why you can feel free to unseal yourself anytime without fear. And…of course, you have me.”

Something about the way he says that makes her pause mid-bite, before she swallows her food and hides her expression in a hasty sip of her drink. She licks her lips as Gojo watches her. He doesn’t wear his blindfold in his home, and she is beginning to understand that the blindfold is likely for his comfort rather than everyone else’s. It must be exhausting, seeing the world the way he does.

“You know what we forgot?” Gojo says suddenly. “Dessert. Mochi would be clutch right now. Oh! I know, I think there’s some leftover ice cream in the freezer…”

Asabé watches him, a little mystified. Sometimes she looks at him and sees a man-child, and then moments like before, she sees the Honored One, and a wintry distance in his interstellar gaze that reminds her of carvings of ancient gods and how they view humanity. When he looks over his shoulder and catches her gaze, a popsicle hovering inches from his lips, she sees something else that makes her shiver. She’s not quite sure what it is. Something about his eyes makes her feel too visible.

Gojo smiles at her, and enjoys his popsicle.

The first night of security detail goes by like a high school first date. Gojo and his charge elect to watch movies, deciding on something lighthearted and funny. Without realizing it, Asabé finds herself moving closer to Gojo, their mutual laughter bringing them closer together until her knee is pressed against his. Gojo watches her cheeks flush with heat, her pulse racing at the contact.

It doesn’t take long, but by the third movie, Asabé feels herself drifting, and she leans over. Gojo hesitates at first, but then offers her his shoulder, buffered with one of the pillows. Soon, she’s asleep, and Gojo allows his awareness to expand. For a moment, he is beyond the penthouse, his sight taking him beyond the windows, the skylight, and the warded park.

There are several curse users within range of his sight, likely doing surveillance. His residence is very secure and he’s since learned how to spot tails. Unlike his beautiful charge, sleeping so peacefully, he has been hunted since birth. One does not survive to become the strongest sorcerer in the modern age by being unable to spot and foil assassins and kidnappers.

Without a second thought, he sends a warning shot. Just an expansion of his cursed energy. He can see them startle like prey, and he grins. No, he will not hunt them just yet. Let the would-be sharks circle in search of blood. He will enjoy showing them just how far down the food chain they actually are when the time is right. For now, he is secure in the knowledge that they are too afraid to approach now that their prey has found shelter with an apex predator.

Gojo returns to himself with a slow, controlled exhale. Asabé barely stirs, and he reaches up, runs his fingers over her neck and head. She makes a small moan of pleasure, curling into him. He wants to kiss her throat, right on the spot that beautiful noise comes from. He wants to know what other noises he can elicit from her. Instead, he scoops her into his arms, effortlessly, and carries her to the guest room. She turns her head, burying her face in his chest.

Gojo stops momentarily, looking down at her. Everything his eyes are telling him says she’s asleep. Is she dreaming of him?

Asabé breathes deep, smiling.

“Mm,” she says. “You smell so good.” Her words are slurred, but Gojo smiles anyway. She is dreaming of him.

Slowly, gently, almost reverent, he lowers her into her bed, tucking her beneath the covers. He stays there a moment, watching as she snuggles into the bed, and he entertains the thought of joining her. He wants to press his lips to her nape, and leave a trail of kisses down her spine until she shivers like a fly-stung horse.

Fuck.

Instead, Gojo leans down, brushing his lips along her temple, keeping infinity between her skin and his. She shivers, tucking her head in her shrugged shoulders when his technique tickles her skin.

Goodnight, beautiful.

Gojo leaves her to sleep, shutting the door behind him. He doesn’t go to his room, requiring little sleep. He thinks of Riko again, of Suguru’s insistence that he rest. He thinks of Fushiguro Toji’s strategy: wearing him down enough to get close and kill him. He has since made sure he never makes such a mistake again. He has since become even more powerful.

Now…now he reads through the dossier of the case, opting to do actual work. He spots a detail that intrigues him: Asabé’s surname. She allegedly comes from a powerful foreign sorcerer family, and Gojo silently curses the jujutsu community for being so goddamned insular. The more conservative generation of sorcerers have little interest in the study or cataloguing of foreign-born sorcerers. Gojo is still disbelieving that they still cannot accept that there will be more foreign-born sorcerers as curses get stronger and their numbers in Japan continue to dwindle. It is the nature of things. It is one of the reasons why he is reluctant to kill younger curse users if he can convince them to come to Jujutsu Tech instead and nurture their skills and turn them to a good cause.

He wants to make the same offer to Asabé, and being a citizen via marriage would make it easier to get her accepted into the school. But that won’t work. She’s already beyond high school age. Gojo leans back on the couch, reaching for a Jolly Rancher out of the dish on his coffee table while he works.

Then, he has an idea.

In the morning, Gojo orders breakfast, and smiles when Asabé emerges, clad in a pair of pajama pants and an old t-shirt. Even being dressed like this does nothing to diminish how stunning she is. Gojo could see her in a potato sack and still want to know what her lips tastes like after they’re wet with wine. She blinks sleepily and blearily at him.

“How are you this cheerful this early in the morning?” She asks, her voice husky with recent wakefulness. Gojo points to the coffee pot, and she glances from it to him with a grateful look in her eyes.

While Asabé makes coffee, Gojo considers his idea before speaking.

“So,” he begins, and watches as she peers at him over her mug. He laughs to himself. She brought her own coffee mug? He doesn’t cook but man she must think he’s a useless bachelor!

“So,” he repeats, “I have an idea as to how we can reduce the number of enforcers and the like coming after you. It also may be able to allow you more freedom of movement within Tokyo. I know it sucks being confined to this gorgeous, massive penthouse all day like some princess in a castle, so it occurred to me that we can solve this problem one simple way.”

Asabé’s brows knit together in consternation. “Alright…what is this idea you have, Gojo?”

Gojo claps his hands together. “We get married!”

It’s worth it just to see her sputter, coughing as she tries to process what he’s just said. Married?! Is he insane?

“What do you mean ‘married’, exactly?” She asks. Gojo’s mouth opens, then closes.

“I mean married…?” He ventures. “Look, if you’re married to me, the likelihood of curse users coming after you will drop significantly. They’re all scared of me, and they should be because I will absolutely kill them, so it stands to reason that they would never come after my wife.”

Asabé shakes her head, disbelieving. “Isn’t this a little extreme? Wouldn’t it be just as effective if we simply said we were dating, instead?”

Gojo shakes his head. “No, because if push came to shove, and I had to sacrifice a girlfriend for the greater good, I wouldn’t hesitate to do so. A wife carries more value, especially for my clan.”

Asabé tries not to feel chilled by the casual way he says this. First with killing curse users, and then with valuing a wife over a girlfriend. Though, after the chill passes, she can see the cold logic in it. If she is ‘Mrs. Gojo’ the likelihood her father’s enforcers will take her by force will reduce. No one wants to be within the path of Gojo Satoru’s wrath. But marriage?

“It wouldn’t be a real marriage,” Gojo assures her. “I’m not going to require you to act like my wife or anything. You’ll just be taking my name. That alone should buy you protection and mitigate the annoyance of me having to do pest control with curse users for however long your family wants to send them.”

Asabé wonders how badly her father wants her back in the clan, likely to be married into another family soon after. He can only drain their expansive coffers so much before he gives up the chase. She wonders whom will outlast whom in this war of attrition. But still…she thinks of Jin, of his body spread across that mountain road, twisted at an unnatural angle, his viscera dark and red and slick amidst the glitter of shattered glass and rent metal.

She thinks of his face, wide-eyed and slack jawed, his eyes almost accusing her of his death while her body healed and knit itself back together.

Gojo frowns, seeing her vitals shift before his eyes.

“Hey,” he says, his voice soft. Asabé doesn’t respond. “Hey, look at me. I’m right here, you’re not in danger.”

Asabé blinks like a waking dreamer, or a fugitive from a nightmare. She gasps. At some point in her dissociative state, her mug had slipped from her grasp. It floats, suspended in midair, and Gojo peers at her, his expression gentle. An angel, coldblooded and logical, but compassionate too. She reaches for the mug, and once her grasp is sure, Gojo releases his technique. The weight of the mug becomes solid in her grasp once more.

“Thank you,” she whispers, still mystified at what transpired. Gojo smirks.

“Told you I was fun to be around,” he says. “So, what do you say: wanna get married and make some curse users shit bricks?”

Asabé laughs, a sultry, simmering sound that makes Gojo’s scalp tingle.

“Proposing to a widow after she finishes having a flashback of her dead husband is certainly a choice.”

Gojo waves his hand. “It’s for a good cause! I’m sure he wouldn’t mind knowing you’re being kept safe.”

Asabé looks up at him, her expression caught between shock and surprise. Gojo holds her gaze fearlessly. There’s something so guileless about it, and yet she can’t fathom how his mind works for him to say some of the things he does.

“I suppose it can’t hurt,” she says slowly. “And we can dissolve the marriage once I’ve secured my safety from my family.”

For some reason the idea of that nettles at Gojo’s pride, but his smile never leaves his face.

“Exactly,” he says. “So is that a ‘yes’? I’m not buying us matching rings until you say yes.”

Asabé sips her coffee, peering at him over the rim. “That depends,” she purrs. “You going to bend the knee and ask me properly?”

Gojo swallows. Oh.

Even sealed, her voice is rich and velvety, and he wants to actually taste it. He wants to hold her close and drink down that voice as he kisses her until her thoughts are nothing but petals scattered on the wind. He wants to lift her up on one of these quartz countertops, spread her legs, and hear that throaty voice moan his name until the sun sets and Tokyo’s skyline paints her in a smattering of neon.

Fuck. He turns from her in time to hear the intercom buzz, indicating the food is here. He is also painfully hard thinking about his charge in every position he can successfully put her in. God he bets she looks so fucking good with her knees pushed back, folded in half, her cunt wet and—

“Gojo?” Her voice calls. “Are you okay? You seem…distracted.”

Gojo holds up a hand. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just went to bed a bit late last night is all.” He moves toward the door, answering it. The delivery driver attempts curiosity by trying to sneak a peek beyond Gojo, but he finds a pair of cerulean eyes boring into him before handing over the food and retreating back into the elevator without so much as a backward glance.

Gojo turns, his little ‘inconvenience’ taken care of and breakfast in hand.

“Let’s eat!”

Over breakfast, Asabé is quiet. She’s surprised Gojo is so talkative, and most of the time it sounds like conversations he’s having with himself. Well, she would never credit him with being in his right mind. This world they inhabit can make one crazy. It’s one of the reasons she walked away from it.

“So, tell me about your family,” Gojo says. Asabé frowns.

“Not much to tell, really,” she says, almost bitterly, and Gojo knows it’s a lie even as the words leave her mouth. “They’re typical affluent sorcerers: think they own everyone and everything. My dad’s the advisor to his uncle, the Emir of Zaria, and they’ve got ties to the House of Saud by marriage.”

Gojo nods. Sounds like typical sorcerer politics. Not much different than his own family. He wagers being a daughter of such an affluent family comes with its own baggage. He’s been lucky enough that most of the people around him who would hinder him are dead, either through betrayal or someone trying to get to him through them. He wonders how much different things would be if one of his ancestors had been smart enough to Pact their descendants into not trying to kill each other.

Now he’s the head of a clan that has dwindled in size, boasting mostly members of extended branches with little to no cursed techniques to speak of, trading only on the ancient and indispensable coin of the Gojo name and legacy. His mother lives alone on the ancestral estate, and he barely talks to her, now save for on important festival days or when he wants to make use of the estate’s ancient hot springs.

He is comforted to know that Asabé’s own relationship with her family is just as strained. At least he is not alone in being alone.

“So, aside from the inherited technique, what else does your family do?”

Asabé chews her bagel and washes it down with a slurp of orange juice.

“Well, the Ruhín clan boasts a large arsenal of cursed tools, and some of them have developed weaker offshoots of the inherited technique, and then there’s our rivals, the Keita clan, whose technique allows them to make animals into servants by imbuing them with the essence of shikigami.”

Gojo nods. He’s surprised at how much of a culture of sorcerers thrives outside of Japan. He wonders how many students Jujutsu Tech would have if they could approach these new sorcerers before they walked the path of a curse user, or if there is a way to get these insular clans to be more open about sharing their knowledge and sorcerers. Suddenly, his idea for changing jujutsu society from the ground up feels more of a monumental task than it did previously. He still believes it can be done, but Asabé’s existence and circumstances serve to remind him that he must think beyond the borders of his own country if he wants to truly shake the table.

Ah well, he is the strongest sorcerer of the modern age. Nothing is beyond his ability to accomplish, even if it takes him longer than he would like.

“Are there a lot of cursed spirits in your homeland?” He asks softly, his tone that of a curious scholar—a teacher seeking to broaden his educational repertoire. He’s only been to Kenya thus far, but Africa is a huge continent by far, of course there’s bound to be more sorcerers. It’s simple math.

Asabé nods. “My continent has been through much over the course of human history, with many wrongs that have yet to be redressed. Cursed energy and spirits abound, though our sorcerers lack the stringent organizational hierarchy of Japan’s own. As a result, the ones who fight curses could be technically branded curse users. They only work for pay, and most places where cursed spirits tend to gather aren’t around people who can afford a sorcerer’s exorbitant asking price.”

Gojo nods. So the problem’s the same, no matter the country. Curse users whoring their skills out for insane fees, which leaves many civilians in the lurch. Sometimes he wishes he could solve the problem of capitalism and the ridiculousness of the jujutsu world at the same damn time. Asabé watches him with a curious expression.

“Would you want to become an official sorcerer?” He asks suddenly. “You have a rare and powerful gift, and to be quite honest we could really use the help. I feel like hiding is such a waste of your talents.”

Asabé smiles grimly. “I know what you’re trying to do, Gojo, and while I appreciate the praise, I also know it comes with the expectation of a foreshortened lifespan. I don’t want to sign up for this just to find myself in an early grave because some curse user or spirit got the drop on me.”

“They’d never harm you as long as I’m there. I’d kill them before I let anything happen to you.” Gojo says before he realizes what he’s saying. His voice is fierce, a growl underpinning his tone, his eyes hardening like gems in a look of fearsome and possessive determination. Asabé gasps, and he can see the capillaries in her face open up, sending a rush of crimson heat to her cheeks. She puts her gaze in her coffee mug.

“That’s…” she tries to find words. “That’s very reassuring, Gojo. Thank you.”

Gojo grins. “So in order for our fake marriage to work, you’re gonna have to drop the formalities with me.”

Asabé blinks several times. “Excuse me?”

Gojo leans back in his chair, still grinning. “You heard me: you have to say my name.”

“Gojo?”

“Try again, Asabé.” The way he says her name makes her shiver. It’s a name from her homeland, of course, but the vowel pronunciations of Hausa and Japanese are similar enough that he puts the inflections on it perfectly. Not only that, but his voice drops an octave when he says it, and she tries to ignore the warmth rushing through her veins, dripping to pool between her thighs. Has it really been so long that just him saying her name is enough to turn her on? And the way he’s looking at her, it’s as if he knows what he’s doing to her!

“I suppose you’re right,” she says slowly, hesitant to say his name for fear of how it will sound when shaped by her lips, while an ember of what she now knows to be desire struggles to become a flame in her belly.

“Satoru.” She says simply, so softly the vented air almost steals it away. Gojo watches the way her lips part around his name, the way they shape the syllables, the breathy little sigh that accompanies it. The way her eyes seem to soften as she realizes saying his name isn’t so bad.

He wants to hear it again and again. He wants it as a refrain in his ear while he buries his face in her neck and does his best to leave his mark on her skin. He wants to unshackle her voice and hear her sing for him, only for him.

Asabé is silent, as if there is precious little else of import to say after his name. Instead, they gaze at one another, realizing that despite their scheme, some threshold has now been crossed. The tension warbles a bit longer before the trilling and vibrating of Gojo’s phone interrupts them. He answers, reluctant to tear his eyes off the woman who is practically smoldering across from him. He watches her while he takes the call, listening intently, eyes focused.

Asabé realizes what that feeling is when he looks at her. She feels naked.

“Uh huh,” Gojo is saying while she’s imagining things that no woman should be imagining about this man. “Alright. Got it.”

He hangs up, and she can practically feel his divided attention coming together to focus on her in full again, even though his gaze never left hers the entire call. Her gaze drops to his mouth. God, what a beautiful mouth he has, and she can tell it’s soft, probably smooth and sweet like the candy he likes to eat.

“Asabé,” he says her name in a sing-song voice. “You’re staring at me like you want to eat me.”

Asabé blinks again, startled. Of course she hadn’t been discreet about her…admiration.

“It’s your eyes,” she says by way of excuse. “I cannot help it. I have never seen anything like them before.”

Gojo smirks, wondering why a compliment he’s heard innumerable times over the course of his life makes his stomach go into knots when she’s giving it to him. Asabé gets up from her seat, coming around to him. He looks up at her, smiling, cerulean eyes bright and alert and expectant.

“If I’m to be your wife I suppose that we should be comfortable with a level of intimacy that makes our union convincing.” She reaches down, tentatively brushing a few locks of silver-white hair from his face. He never takes his eyes off of her, even as her curious fingertips linger on his temple, trailing down his cheek, watching a spot of color bloom there.

“You’re not wearing your infinity,” she whispers, her fingertips coming to linger on his lips. Gojo’s mouth smiles under her touch.

“For my wife?” He muses, his breath warm and moist on her skin. “I don’t need to.”

He kisses her fingertips, watches her eyes widen a little as his lips trail lower, planting a kiss in her palm. Asabé shivers, then cups his face in that same hand. Gojo leans into it.

“Looks like we’re getting the hang of it already,” he says, looking at her with a knowing smirk. She laughs, that sultry and simmering sound that he’s growing to love.

“And so we are,” she says, those honey eyes twinkling. “Satoru.”

Gojo swallows. This woman’s voice is powerful even with the seal because why does his name sound so fucking good coming from her lips? He wonders what she will sound like moaning it in hsi ear. He wants to hear her scream it while she begs him to—

“We should go out,” he says, willing those not-so-wholesome thoughts to the back of his mind. Asabé raises a brow. “A public appearance of us together is necessary to make the ruse convincing. Don’t worry, no one will dare harm you while you’re by my side.”

Asabé takes her hand away and Gojo wonders why that bothers him. He wants her to keep touching him. God he wants her to kiss him. That beautiful mouth of hers is made to be kissed until—

“That’s a good idea,” she says. “Where shall we go?”

Gojo grins. “Well, I wouldn’t be a good husband if I didn’t take my gorgeous wife shopping, now would I?”

Asabé feels as if she has underestimated just how wealthy Gojo is because when their car pulls up to a shopping center that exclusively houses major designers, she wonders if maybe they should have gone with more conservative shopping options.

That’s the old you, she thinks bitterly. Jin is dead, and Satoru is from one of the oldest and wealthiest families in the country. Accept it. Aside, you deserve nice things! Indulge.

Thus, her inner voice reasons.

The amount of money Gojo is willing to spend seems, for lack of a better term, limitless. When she picks out a Versace bag? The Centurion card comes out, heavy and tapered and casual. The attendant ringing them up tries not to look shocked, more so at how beautiful they look together rather than at the fact that Gojo is casually spending money on items that cost more than most people’s rent.

And throughout the shopping spree, Gojo is indulgent, leaning into the affection of their sham relationship with a relish that almost convinces Asabé it is not entirely feigned.

He holds her hand while they walk through the busy mall, keeping her close. At one point, he leans in, presses a kiss to the top of her head, and she glances up at him with surprise, before smiling shyly as he winks at her from above the rim of his glasses.

When they slide into Balmain, she models clothes for him: racy dresses that cling to her curves like a glorious art deco skin. Gojo sits in a chair, sipping offered champagne, legs spread as he watches his “wife” emerge from the dressing room to model clothes for him.

“How about this one?” She asks, turning on the balls of her feet in the triptych mirror. Gojo’s lips are wet with champagne, and he sets it down. He doesn’t drink usually, and if he does decide to, he prefers a sweet dessert wine to anything else. This champagne is dry, possibly burned, as if it has been frozen rather than kept on ice. He does not pick it up again.

“Why not get them all?” He asks casually. “You look good in everything, my dear. And even better in nothing.”

Asabé feels her pulse leap at the words, and for a moment it’s as if everything around them is obsolete. She studies Gojo momentarily, who watches her with a bright and amused focus that makes her shift, squeezing her thighs together. Then, his tongue snakes out, tracing his beautiful lips, still moist with champagne. With one large, strong hand, he beckons her to come to him and Asabé can’t help it. Her steps go to him, faltering at first, before she remembers she is supposed to be his wife. She comes to stand between his spread legs.

“You look incredible,” Gojo says, and she wonders if this is part of the ruse or if he means it. His hand comes forward, and he gives her a questioning look. She nods. His hand comes to rest on her calf, before slowly moving upward, tracing one of those long legs until her just barely begins to lift the hem of her dress.

“I can’t wait to get home and peel this off of you,” he murmurs, shocking not only Asabé but the attendant coming up behind him, who startles at walking in on what is undoubtedly an intimate moment between them. In a sudden boldness, Asabé leans over until her face hovers a mere breath from Gojo’s own.

“If you behave yourself,” she whispers, husky and sultry, “I’ll let you do anything you like tonight.”

“Anything?” Gojo’s eyes are bright with anticipation. Asabé can see the attendant trembling as they discreetly attempt to collect the champagne glass.

“Anything.”

The rest of their day is spent walking around Tokyo. Gojo never lets go of her hand, and sometimes he even brings it up to his lips to kiss her knuckles. Whoever must be watching cannot be convinced that their relationship is genuine, and even Asabé forgets that this is a ruse sometimes. The way he speaks, the way he holds her close, the way he looks at her, all of it feels so real she momentarily forgets her heartache and fear.

Gojo takes Asabé to a bridge overlooking a pond in a park. The sun will be setting soon, and he wants to see her eyes match the sunset.

“You know,” he says, leaning against the railing. “For a fake marriage this was actually a lovely first date.”

“Yeah…” Asabé says a little dreamily. “If this were real I’d definitely call you back for a second date.”

“Only because I spent the equivalent of two homes on you today.” Gojo teases and she nudges him playfully, scoffing when he turns on his infinity to evade her.

“It’s more than that, Satoru,” strange how she’s gotten used to saying his name after only a day. “You are good company. The money helps, and anyone would be happy to be spoiled by you.”

Gojo turns to her, reaching up to cup her face in his hand, tracing an unhurried thumb along the sleek curve of her cheekbone, tender and almost genuine.

“Yeah, but you’re not just anyone, Asabé,” he says. “You’re my wife.”

And then he leans down and kisses her.

Masterlist 🧿 Previous Chapter 🧿 Next Chapter

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #jjk #jjk x oc #ch: gojo satoru #oc: asabé hayashi #fic: halfsleeper #otp: stellar collision #muse writes

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rosalinewintrell · 2 years ago

Text

A Lesson in Companionship

Part Three of my Hogwarts AU one-shot series.

“Accio!” Rosaline whispered, a large Gobstone flying down from the trophy room rafters and into her hand. This one fit just perfectly in the cup of her palm and the iridescent green hue darkened and lightened as she rolled it around. A third year Ravenclaw girl had asked for help retrieving her collections of Gobstones after a few overly competitive students had hidden them all over the school. When Rosaline had discovered that Imelda had been one such culprit, she had guilted her friend into revealing their locations.

Rosaline wasn’t a fan of the game, she often leaned towards her feminine side, and being sprayed with smelly liquids, magical or not, was not a pleasing notion. However, she simply refrained from playing the game, finding enough enjoyment from watching other players put their daily hygiene at risk. She reprimanded Imelda for her behavior, reminding her that if she decided to enter competitive play, she should take her win or loss with grace, rather than playing sore. Imelda was thoroughly chastised, and revealed the Gobstones hiding places, and wile rounding up the stones had taken a bit of time, it allowed Rosaline the chance to explore the castle and make herself familiar with the areas she did not visit during her day-to-day activities.

Zenobia was still lurking around the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower when Rosaline returned, her eyes lighting up upon noticing the older girl’s approach. She was hopping on the balls of her feet, a smile spreading on her face. “Oh! Please tell me you were able to find my Gobstones!” Zenobia called, a few wandering students turning towards the sudden yelling. Rosaline chuckled and held up a small blue pouch and shaking it, the tell-tale tinkling of Gobstones echoing down the corridor. “Oh, how wonderful!” Zenobia cried again, clapping her hands, “I knew you would be able to find them! Can I please have them back now?”

“Of course,” Rosaline said, though she did not lower the pouch to Zenobia’s waiting hands just yet, “On one condition.”

“Oh,” Zenobia’s face fell just a little, and she reached into her pockets, pulling a few Knuts out and lifting them towards her, “I’m sorry this is all I have. I hope its enough.”

Rosaline was still for a moment, staring blankly at what must have been the girl’s allowance before shaking her head and pushing Zenobia’s hand away, curling the younger girl’s fingers over the offered money in the process. “No, that is not what I mean.” Rosaline said and Zenobia was quick to stash the money away again. “I was just thinking that maybe we could work together to make you Gobstones a bit more…pleasant.”

“More pleasant? I’m not sure that’s possible,” Zenobia snorted a little as she talked, her doubt evident.

“Well, let me see if I can work something out, and if I do, will you work with me?” Rosaline stretched her hand out, ready to make a deal with the third year despite her lack of confidence.

“Hmm,” Zenobia eyed Rosaline before shaking her hand slowly, “I suppose it can’t hurt.”

“Great,” Rosaline smiled and deposited the bag of Gobstones into Zenobia’s palm.

“Oh, I am so glad to have these back!” Zenobia opened the pouch and examined her collection before tightening the drawstring, “Maybe I’ll go see if anyone on the common room would play!” Zenobia was just turning around when Rosaline stopped her one more time.

Sorry, just one more question.” She said, “Do people often ask for money in exchange for favors here?”

Ah,” Zenobia said, glancing around, her voice lowering to whisper, “I can’t say for sure. I just overheard a Gryffindor girl refusing to Help Cressida Blume with something about her diary because she didn’t have any money. I’m sorry for assuming you’d want something too.”

“That’s alright. I was just curious.” Rosaline said before sending the young Ravenclaw on her way, mind running a mile a minute as she meandered to the Great Hall for dinner.

***

Rosaline was the first of her small group to arrive at dinner, but she didn’t wait for them to start eating. Autumn had only just begun falling over the highlands of Scotland, but already Rosaline was feeling chilled, so the sight of pots of steaming potato soup was a temptation to great to resist as Rosaline scooped herself a large bowl full. Rosaline had never been a picky eater, but even she had to agree that the caliber of the food at Hogwarts was truly beyond compare. The soup was thick and creamy, lacking any of the grittiness she often found a bit distracting in such thick broths, and each piece of potato was a perfect; hot, fully cooked, but tame enough to be bitten into without burning her mouth. Suffice to say, by the time Natty, Imelda and Poppy sat around her she was scooping a second bowl and cutting herself a piece of bread as well.

“Someone is enjoying themselves,” Imelda teased as she sat, though her smile quickly faded as she laid a hand on Rosaline’s shoulder. “Were you able to find all of Zenobia’s Gobstones? I would have looked with you but if I turned in another Arithmancy assignment late It’s have been detention.”

Rosaline waved her off, “It was no problem. But you owe me one!” Imelda laughed and agreed before piling her plate with fried potatoes and ham with gravy and medley of steaming autumn vegetables.

“Aren’t you going to have anything else?” Poppy asked, a bit of concern lacing her voice as she eyed Rosaline’s bowl of soup.

“I doubt it,” Natty said, though she too was serving herself a healthy portion of the potato and cream delicacy, “Rosaline is always cold recently, she needs to warm up!”

“Oh! Poor thing!” Imelda teased again, a wide smile on her face, “Do you need someone to warm you up?” She then proceeded to wrap her arms tight around Rosaline’s shoulders, nearly knocking the last of her bowl to the floor.

“Be careful what you offer,” Rosaline said, “Or I’ll wake you up in the middle of the night for some of those cuddles.”

“You would not,” Indeed, Imelda had seen the number of quilts piled on Rosaline’s bed. The girl was thoroughly warm even in the deepest of night, and Rosaline smiled at Imelda’s cheek.

“Perhaps not,” She responded, her challenging grin only growing. “But I might forget to wake you up for your morning constitutional.” One of the greatest advantages to their friendship, if you asked Imelda, was Rosaline’s penchant for waking up early in the mornings. The girl seemed able to function at the earliest hours, never mind the time she finally found herself asleep.

Imelda gasped, her mouth hanging open like a fish, “But you’d be up anyway! Come on!” Rosaline did not deign to respond, only taking another bite of her broth-soaked bread with an impish smile. Imelda sighed, “Fine. You are perfectly normal temperature, and everyone should stop bugging you about it.” Rosaline heard the girl grumble more under her breath and she chuckled.

“Oh, hey,” she said, getting the attention of all three girls, “have any of you seen Cressida Blume recently?” All three looked around, unaware that Rosaline even knew of the mild-mannered Gryffindor. Cressida kept a very small circle of friends and none of them ran in the same circles as Rosaline’s growing group of companions.

“I did not even think you knew her,” Natty replied, lips pursed.

“I don’t,” Rosaline shrugged and wiped at the corners of her mouth with a napkin, “But I heard someone might be trying to extort her for money. Something about her diary? I was hoping to speak with her about it, but I don’t know where I might find her.”

“Isn’t extortion a bit… harsh? We’re only students after all” Poppy inquired as she ate. Her face was concerned, and Rosaline knew Poppy was worried about Cressida, but the sweet Hufflepuff girl tried to see the best in every situation.

“Extortion is extortion, whether carried out by a fifty-year-old man or a sixteen-year-old student.” Rosaline replied with a shake of her head. “I just want to help her if I can. Goodness knows I’d hate for my diary to go missing with no way to get it back.”

“That would be devastating!” Poppy agreed quickly.

“I am not sure how willing she will be to accept your help, though,” Natty said as she too finished her meal. “Slytherins don’t have the best reputation, especially with Gryffindors,” Natty cringed a little, shooting Rosaline and Imelda apologetic smiles.

“We know,” Imelda said rolling her eyes.

“We might all be in different houses with grudges against the others,” Rosaline began, “But at the end of the day we are all still just teenage witches and wizards, and I am not going to let house politics stop me from helping a fellow girl in need, especially when she needs help with something so sensitive.”

“You’re right,” Natty agrees quickly, having always possessed a strong sense of justice and she was followed quickly by Poppy who, despite her initial misgivings was quick to help a fellow student.

“I won’t pretend to get it,” Imelda said with a shrug, “But I’ll help too I guess.” Rosaline bumped the other girl with her shoulder a goofy smile spreading her cheeks.

“You wanna help!” Rosaline sing-songed, “You just don’t won’t admit it!”

“And I never will.”

#garreth weasley #hogwarts au #hogwarts legacy #garreth weasley x mc #garreth x mc #garreth x you

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hermithunter · 1 month ago

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how i'll be writing on this blog;

all my replies will be written in third person & generally all interactions (whether through posts, or asks) will be handled as if you are in person interacting with eden rather than it being a scenario of eden-running-a-blog.

my replies will often not have a serious element to them but there may be occasions where i post the occasional crack-post.

i write eden according to my own personal interpretation's & headcanons. you may find clashing opinions or thoughts varying from what is declared "canon" for the most part. you can find all this information down below.

general submission rules;

you can flirt, engage, say whatever you wish to eden and i'll do my utmost to respond. give me time as well! you can approach me as if you are your PC as well!

nsfw content or messages in written form is okay! however please refrain from sending any sort of NSFW images/media (media asks ARE open but if this is disregarded i'll close them)

name. eden

titles. eden the hunter

aliases. n/a

gender. cis male (he/him)

age. 37 years old (november 20th, scorpio)

occupation. hunter

residence. a cabin in the forest.

from a visual standpoint for the most part, how i see eden is most accurately depicted through this design.

though there are slight variations as my eden is far more heavily scarred & his hair length often grows out with him every so often coming to cut it.

any more information about eden will be found through various tags on this blog. this is starting off barebones until i get around to posting more headcanon + infodumps about my portrayal of him.

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inpresa · 3 months ago

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𝗴𝘂𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗌

cody , she / her , twenty4 , est , united states. an independent , private , highly selective mumu blog affiliated with both the tumblr + instagram rpc. featuring canon and original characters of various media.

this account is extremely private and highly selective. as such i ask that you do not follow me first , as i am incredibly wary as to who follows this account atm. this is nothing against anyone on the site , it's simply for my own comfort. same goes for my instagram. i will only interact with my mutuals and do not interact with personal / non character blogs or group affiliated blogs / characters.

as much as i enjoy a good romance plot , i will not be prioritizing shipping on this account and will not be engaging in ships without chemistry. please do not force ship or face chase with me , you will be blocked.

i am a literate writer with focus on third person para style threads however i don't mind first person so long as we discuss so beforehand. as for formatting , i tend to utilize small size text and multi spacing with the occasional large text for emphasis or more important information. colored text and fancy fonts are utilized very sparingly. i will only use screenshotted / banners for aesthetic purposes and never for important information. if you have any issues with my formatting , please contact me to discuss a change. i will typically begin a thread using gifs for my replies , however i will adjust my resources to fit whatever my partner is using. i ask that you do not reach out to me via tumblr or instagram DMs as i have a hard time keeping up with them and the lack of organization really tends to stress me out. instead , please contact me via my interactions form here or through my discord , @qhostf4ces. i feel most comfortable partaking in threads via discord , especially if we have multiple threads in progress , however i will respond to memes and such via the tumblr dash and am open to continuing those threads via those means. my anon remains off always as i feel much more comfortable vetting who sends me messages at any given time. i am mutuals only and highly selective , and again , i ask that you refrain from following me first.

DO NOT FOLLOW if you are under the age of eighteen , partake in whitewashed / race washed , genderbent , krp , or ’ historical ‘ / real life portrayals. do not interact if you are involved with kali / the most hated admins gc in any way. i will not interact with the stranger things , hazbin hotel / helluvaboss , most adult swim / adult shows ( south park , rick and morty , etc. ), harry potter , doctor who ( no hate to the fandom just due to past issues with fans outside of the rp space ), glee , american horror story , any ryan murphy media tbh , euphoria , the idol , or anything created by sam levinson , or any characters / faceclaims i am uncomfortable with for whatever reason ( which is my discretion , and will not be discussed openly. if you'd like to discuss my banned list 1x1 like adults , i am willing to do so ). i will not under any circumstances interact with anyone who holds any bigoted or phobic views or partakes in disgusting , taboo topics ( r4pe , inc3st , n0n c0n , etc. ) mumus are selectively immune to my fandom rules.

this account can and will feature dead dove , do not eat content. many of the fandoms i find myself in feature content that may be deemed pg13 or nsfw , and may be triggering to others. while all potentially triggering content i post will be tagged to the best of my ability ( in which i will say now i am only human and may mistakenly forget to add certain triggers , in which case please let me know if there is ever anything i do miss or something i may have overlooked out of ignorance that i should be tagging in the future ), please note that if you are sensitive to certain subjects or generally wish to refrain from the occasional graphic or triggering content you may not want to follow this blog , and i have no ill will toward you for setting your own personal boundaries in that case! keep in mind that although i do partake in mature content , i find no interest in partaking in any smut , so please do not ask me to do so.

inspiration has been pulled from pinterest , the general roleplay tag , and my own past work. all graphics are my own unless otherwise stated. icon border was created myself with inspiration taken from the general rpc. gif credits go to various creators as well as myself. psd created by me.

i practice mains and exclusives fairly heavily on this account just to keep things properly organized for me. i know not everyone is into the idea of mains or exclusives but i personally rely on these set positions so i can properly keep track of all of my plots and relationships. as such , i will be allowing a total of three mains per character ( three separate writers of the same character ) and only one exclusive per character ( one writer of a single character ). mains must have plotted with me at least once to request to become a main , and exclusives must have plotted and interacted with me at least once to be considered as an exclusive. canons are the only characters allowed as mains. all original characters will be considered an exclusive due to their one of a kind nature. i am single ship for all muses unless otherwise specified.

some of my characters once originated from set fandoms but i have removed them from said fandoms and placed them into new ones or i have created my own , loosely based universe and no longer affiliate myself or the muse with the fandom at all. i ask that you please respect this and do not ask me to partake in any interactions involving the original fandom. however , if you'd like to become a part of my own , updated and extended universes you are more than welcome to reach out to me to do so. most of my characters feature their own , custom lore and headcanons personal to me only. DO NOT TAKE THESE UNIVERSES , HEADCANONS , LORE , ETC. AND PULL INSPIRATION OR CLAIM THEM AS YOUR OWN.

#READ ⸻ guidelines.

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