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justgayrevolutionnaries · 1 month

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Of snowflakes and revolution

My gift for @fructidors for the @drinkwithme-exchange ! I was more than happy to make another fic for you, this time I wanted to focus on Grantaire an Jehan and I had so much fun writing about them, I hope you enjoy <3

This one takes place in canon era, a few weeks before the Barrière du Maine episode.

Read it below or find it on Ao3 !

February 1832

“You know, my friend, since you forced me to go out, I feel the least you could do is look happy I obliged.”

Jean Prouvaire’s words seemed to be met with an immediate success, as the man facing him, though he didn't assume the happy look expected of him, was effectively snapped back to reality and considered him with an ironic stare.

“I would apologize, but I should have thought you would be more than eager to look out that window yourself - are you not the same one who would rather talk about the shapes of the clouds than listen to Enjolras pestering us with practical matters ? I am curious what you should have to say about the snow out there.”

In Grantaire’s defense, although he was not usually one to admire the landscape, it was not everyday you could find Paris under the snow, and both of them had a feeling they should revel in the occasion, as they did not know when they would come across such a view again - or even if they ever would. In fact, Prouvaire’s face as he called out to his friend was more bemused than actually upset, as he had barely been able to tear his eyes from the window himself since they had sat down at the Corinthe.

The pair would usually meet at Prouvaire’s apartment, although it was so messy these days that there was barely enough room for him to move around, let alone his imposing and exuberant friend. Not that it bothered the poet in the slightest, it seemed almost natural for him to live amidst a mess of worn out-books, pieces of paper filled with fragmented verses and various flowers all around, and since there was always a bottle of good wine to be found somewhere in this mess, Grantaire did not mind either. This time however, upon finding out that his friend had been so absorbed in his readings that he had completely neglected his mortal needs such as buying decent food, Grantaire had positively dragged him out of the building, claiming that “burying yourself in books will make you even more boring than Combeferre” and that he needed to go out immediately to prevent this unfortunate occurrence from happening.

Which was how the two of them had found themselves walking along the quays of Paris under the freezing wind, looking for a decent place to eat. The streets were cold, probably colder than they had been in years, and although this did not affect their enthusiasm in the slightest, all Jehan could think about was that they would not be able to show their faces at the Musain for weeks to come, as they would never hear the end of it if Joly was to catch them with a cold.

Either way, as one could have expected, their wandering had led them to the Corinthe ; the cabaret was not exactly an establishment that could be qualified a “decent place to eat at” but it seemed any other place would have felt wrong - at least that was Courfeyrac’s usual saying to justify their constant going back. Well, that and the fact the waiter here knew Grantaire so well that she immediately brought not one, but two bottles to their table- two bottles that the man had been eyeing with envy since they had sat down.

As he reached for one, however, Jehan immediately slapped his friend’s hand away, blatantly ignoring the offended look he was met with.

“I will remind you - do not give me that wounded look, capital R - I will remind you that I agreed to come only if you did not inebriate yourself before we even got the chance at a meal together.”

Grantaire merely wrinkled his nose in disgust at the thought.

“Really, Prouvaire ? You, of all people, are going to tell me I am not allowed a drink today ?”

“Actually, I had expected my winning personality was enough to keep you good company - in fact, I shall take great offense if I find you brought me here only to immediately replace me with a bottle of wine. I should be upset, really. Positively vexed.”

The stern words only earned him a sarcastic look from his friend, who was used to Prouvaire’s theatrical lectures enough to know he did not mean one word of it.

However, though the redhead enjoyed teasing his friend about this subject, the truth was that being around Prouvaire had an unexpected effect on Grantaire. While the man was ever the most likely to grab a drink, and had drunk himself to oblivion more than once after a disdainful look from Enjolras, Jehan’s presence often sufficed to help him sober up. Not that the poet himself did not enjoy a drink, he was never the last to hold a glass of good wine to his lips, but he somehow seemed able to soothe Grantaire’s temperament with his mere words - after sharing a meal with the two of them, even Courfeyrac had marveled at the man’s sober self, effectively assigning Jehan the name of a “miracle worker”.

As if to acknowledge this, Grantaire’s eyes softened as he answered :

“And I am more than grateful for that company, Prouvaire. Although I think you are avoiding my question.”

At this point he took a solemn face and leaned in closer, earning him a puzzled look from Jehan.

“You will have to remind me what question you are talking about, R. I am afraid you were not the only one not paying attention.”

Grantaire leaned in even closer if that was possible and, whispering dramatically, he asked :

“What about the snow ?”

Prouvaire smiled as he understood what his friend meant. He leaned back into his chair, taking a puff of his pipe as he assumed a pensive look.

“The snow, uh ? A white mantle that comes to cover our whole city, petals white and pure, as if they had been sent by the gods themselves. For all we know, Chione could still be the one blowing snowflakes down until they reach us, so small and yet all chiseled by her hand, one by one. ”

“Is that all ? You are letting yourself go, Prouvaire. I expected more of-”

Grantaire burst out laughing as Jehan threw his hat at him, deliberately missing his face.

“Would you just let me think, you heathen !”

He closed his eyes to better concentrate, deciding that his friend’s ironic smile was not helping him at all.

“City asleep in the silence

Footsteps of a ghost in the night-”

“A ghost, really ? It seems to me those appear every time you try and write a verse about anything.”

“And why should we not talk about spirits ?” Jehan countered. “They are all around us. But if you have better inspiration, feel free to share it ; I shall be glad to hear what you have to say.”

Though caught off guard, Grantaire was more than happy to oblige.

“Snow falls from the sky like sparkles in the dark- no, this one doesn’t feel right. Keep going, you are better at this than I am.”

“No, no, wait, you had a good one with this. Snow falls down from the sky, sparkles in the dark / Black and white as far as my eyes can see…”

Here the poet stopped for a moment as he seemed to come back to reality, and he blushed slightly at the pride written on Grantaire’s face.

“I can keep going, if you want me to,” he said almost timidly.

“Of course you could. You seem to have a gift for this, you know. Poetry- your sensitivity seems to come almost naturally in your words.”

“You are not so bad with words yourself, my friend. You should consider coming by to help us write a speech, one of those days.”

Though light-hearted and seemingly nonchalant, the offer was merely met with a disdainful scoff from the man facing him.

“A speech ? So I can stand by and make a fool of myself with nonsense while Enjolras tells me to go home ? I don’t see what use I could be there. You should know by now your speeches mean near nothing to me.”

As Jehan was about to answer, his eyebrows furrowed, he found himself choking on the smoke of his own pipe. His friend seemed used to this occurrence, as he began softly patting the redhead's back with a bemused smile.

“I am a lost cause, Prouvaire. You should go waste your time on someone else. Besides, you should know Enjolras would never allow me in the vicinity if he is writing a speech to rally workers - or whatever it is you are trying to do - I would only spoil his credibility.”

“Grantaire, I have seen you go on for hours about the most beautiful of subjects - do you think I don’t remember that time you made up a limerick in just a few seconds, with only a candle for inspiration ? Your problem is not your style of speech, because you are splendid at it, it is merely your convictions.”

The suddenly serious tone of the poet was not lost on Grantaire, who leaned back in his chair to consider him thoughtfully.

“That is quite the compliment you are giving me here. Where are you going at with this flattery, if I may ask ?”

“I heard Enjolras is looking to make a census a few weeks from now- he believes it could be of use soon. He may be looking for someone to go to the Barrière du Maine, and I believe you are a familiar of Richefeu’s.”

Jehan understood he had got his friend’s interest as he saw, for the first time, a glint of surprise in his eye.

“You really have thought about this, have you not ?”

“What I am trying to say is, if you want to be taken as seriously as you deserve, you have to show what you are capable of. I believe you should try and convince Enjolras to let you go, just this once. You might even find you actually have beliefs- whether you are willing to admit it or not.”

As Grantaire opened his mouth to try a last word of protest, he added :

“And if you still think I was wrong about this then, I promise to buy you a meal to make up for it- and a decent one this time.”

Lost in his thoughts, his friend did not answer him immediately ; and when he did his response was lost in the noise of the conversation surrounding them. However, Jehan’s words seemed to have worked like a charm at reinvigorating Grantaire, as when the two of them finally left the café, he was engaged in one of those soliloquies not even Jehan dared to interrupt.

“Your friends may despise me, but I will have you know I am more than capable of starting a revolution if I put my mind to it. I should like to think I am not an idealist, what good did that ever do to anyone ? I refuse to die for your revolution. Prouvaire says I shall become a mere spirit too one day. I call this nonsense. Men will take a look around, and the snow bothers them no more than the sun ; still they talk of battles and oppression. I am more than happy to say I will leave the guns and the glory to you, my friend - although I shall personally be very disappointed to see a gun in your hands. You are, like me, a man of sentiment, and we shall-”

Grantaire’s grandiloquent speech was cut off abruptly as the wind caught a hold of his hat, causing it to fly off along the boulevard, a few feet before the two men. He swore profusely as he began running after it, followed by the redhead who was laughing heartily, turning his face upwards to feel the snow landing on his skin.

God, Jehan loved snow. He really wished they would get to see it fall again - next year, hopefully.

#i apologize for the late posting i have no time management skills and struggled to find a decent internet connection #hopefully i will succeed at posting this #fair warning i originally had a completely different idea for this #but then it kind of. morphed itself into a serious talk. because i can not write a fun piece to save my life #still i had so much fun writing about those two so i really hope you guys will enjoy !!!#les mis #les miserables #jean prouvaire #grantaire #les amis de l'abc #drinkwithme2024

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bellasmumblingsandmusings · 4 months

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What Could Have Been

Chapter Three

Previously: Prologue Tumblr Link for Prologue, Chapter One; Chapter Two

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. NSFW, Ethical and non Ethical BDSM, noncon, some allusions to sexual violence, attempted sexual violence, dubcon, blood licking/blood kink, reference to cheating behavior, emotional trauma, group sex, sex, smutt, anxiety, negative thinking, sexual trauma, recovery, healing, angst,

Word count: 17.5K total

Status: Ongoing

Author's note: A story about two broken people making mistakes, not being heroes and yet trying to find a way to love themselves and each other.

Song for this Chapter: My Blood - Elle Goulding : Spotify Link

A03

Entire Story Link on AO3

Spotify Playlist

Chapter 3: Beating of His Hideous Heart

The dungeon air was thick and stifling, laden with the weight of impending fate as Astarion advanced through its ancient corridors. His footsteps echoed solemnly against the green stone, each sound a grim drumbeat to the pivotal confrontation that awaited. Anticipation crawled across his skin, mingling with anxiety as he navigated the murky labyrinth of their relationship’s future.

This was not merely another meeting; it was a crucible that would test and potentially transform their bond. His steps were deliberate, his confidence in his carefully laid plans firm, yet he remained keenly aware of the unpredictable turns that might unfold.

Across the decrepit corridor, with its eerie green tourmaline and the soft clinking of now-empty cages, lay the site of his great Rite. The usual sounds of guard activity had vanished, absorbed into the shadows by his implicit command, leaving an expectant silence. Pausing at the entrance to Sima's cell, he inhaled deeply, steadying the storm within—a tempest of competing emotions: the desire to possess her, the fear of losing her, and a twisted thrill at the impending confrontation.

Inside, Sima sat on the cold, hard floor, her body curled inward, a physical echo of defeat. Her typical black leather armor was absent, replaced by a crude cotton tunic that draped loosely over her frame. Her hair, once a crown of meticulous curls, now sprawled wildly around her, a mane of despair. Flecks of sunlight pierced through a small crevice above, casting beams that streaked across her, painting her skin with stripes of light and shadow. These illuminated patches highlighted the stark fatigue etched into her features, the apathy that deepened the lines around her eyes and mouth.

Her voice, hauntingly beautiful yet laden with melancholy, filled the space as she sang. The sound carried her resignation, her fractured psyche, and a mourning for who she once was, what she had become, and who Astarion had been. Each note seemed to hang in the air, a spectral presence that tugged at Astarion's heart, reminding him of the man he once was and the love he had lost, as Sima sang:

“I am the monster you created

You ripped out all my parts

And worst of all, for me to live, I gotta kill the part of me that saw

That I needed you more

I hope you know we had everything

And you broke me and left these pieces

I want you to hurt like you hurt me today and

I want you to lose like I lose when I play

what could have been

Oh, what could have been.....”

Each verse was a dagger, her sorrow and rage woven into a melody that spoke more eloquently than words ever could. Astarion stood just beyond the bars, her song striking chords within him that had long been silent. The pain in her voice—the raw, unfiltered heartbreak—mirrored his own hidden fractures, revealing the deep, aching void where something beautiful had once dwelled.

As the haunting echo of her last note lingered in the stale dungeon air, a deep sadness enveloped Astarion. Memories of love intertwined with pain and betrayal surged forward, bringing with them an uninvited sensation: guilt. He hadn't expected the sheer force of her music to unravel him so, stripping away layers of his hardened exterior to expose his core. Regret hit him sharply, an unwelcome yet unmistakable pulse within him.

Attempting to shake off this rare vulnerability, Astarion stepped into the cell, his expression meticulously composed, his features arranged into a mask of necessity. "We need to talk," he murmured, his voice soft but imbued with a firm resolve. His eyes dwelled on her momentarily, noting the tear-streaked paths marking her cheeks, the wild disarray of her hair, and the haunting emptiness that lingered in her gaze. Each detail clawed at him, reminding him of the depths of despair she had plummeted to, and how much of it was his doing.

"The Vampire Ascendant shows his face at last. Excuse me if I don't bow," Sima replied, her voice tinged with biting sarcasm, hollow yet defiant. Her dismissal, though anticipated, stung him slightly. He smirked briefly, absorbing the sharpness of her words.

"You're right; I am here. I'm here because I want to talk. About us," he pressed on, his voice steady despite the walls she erected. The walls she had every right to build, considering how he had shattered her trust.

Sima rolled her eyes. "Us? Well, I loved an elf and spawn who no longer exists. But please, I'm all pointy ears," she retorted, her dismissal striking deeper than he cared to admit. Her words were laced with grief and anger, twisting inside him, painfully reminding him of the person he used to be.

"Yes, I'm a vampire lord. But I am still me. At my core. I'm still the person who loved you," Astarion replied, his voice a blend of sincerity and desperation. Was he convincing her, or himself? The lines between past and present, love and dominion, blurred within him. His heart ached with the weight of his words, a desperate attempt to hold onto the shreds of their former connection.

"Is that everything? Or can you please get to the point?" Sima's voice snapped him back to the present, her weariness evident even in her impatience. Her tone was sharp, cutting through his resolve like a knife, each word a thorn that deepened the chasm between them.

"Straight to it then. I want to turn you into a vampire," Astarion revealed, watching her closely for any flicker of emotion. The admission was heavy, laden with the gravity of his intentions, a declaration that hung in the air like a storm cloud.

Sima raised her eyebrows, her lips curving into a sardonic smile. "Riveting," she harshly quipped, hiding the true tenor of her fears. Her eyes widened slightly, her fists clenching as fear twisted in her gut. What if she became what he wanted? The thought was terrifying, not just for the physical transformation, but for what it symbolized—the loss of her autonomy and humanity. Beneath her defiant facade, she braced herself for the unknown, her heart pounding at the prospect of the dark path ahead.

As Astarion paced the dimly lit dungeon floor, a slight smirk hinted that Sima's sharp retorts hadn't quenched his resolve but rather fueled it. Her spirited defiance, even in chains, reassured him. She was still there—fiery, indomitable. This spark, even amidst despair, was a beacon he clung to.

"You're an intelligent woman. I assume you’ve figured it out, but... what I want from you is more than just making you a vampire," he said, stepping closer. His words were laced with an unspoken plea, hoping she would see beyond his monstrous facade.

"Oh? A true vampire? A bride? Gods, this sounds like a deluded, tawdry novel," Sima snarked, her voice laced with disdain but underscored by clarity. Her mockery was a shield against the painful reality of his words.

He chuckled, amused by her spirit. "Yes, a bride, with all the trappings and... liberties that might come with it," he replied, hinting at possibilities within their bond.

Sima’s bitter laugh echoed against the stone walls. "Liberties? Now, who's deluded? You mean trapped. A rag doll for your fantasies, your control. You'd kill my mind and own my body. You'd kill the greatest part of me, my defiance. Even as a true vampire, you will not compel me, but I'd be tied to the thing that killed the person I loved. So, kindly... Fuck off." Her voice broke with the weight of her accusations, each word a dagger slicing through his façade.

Her words pierced him like an arrow to the heart, stripping away pretense and deception. Cornered and laid bare, he mustered a bitter laugh, his lips twisting into a snarl. "Perhaps you are not as intelligent as I thought. I shall have to break you, make you mine by whatever means. That is, if you do not submit willingly," he hissed, his voice reflecting the battle between his desire for her and the dark compulsion that drove him.

"There he is... the Ascendant," Sima said, her voice cracking with rage and heartbreak. "Don't pretend to love me like my Astarion did. He was... everything to me. You destroyed my chance to return him to me." Her raw pain was a stark contrast to her earlier defiance, revealing her vulnerability.

For a fleeting moment, Astarion’s mask cracked, revealing genuine pain. "Sima...Sima, I was that man once, but no longer. He is, as you say, destroyed. I am all you have left of him. And I will take what I wish." His voice trembled with the weight of his confession, a mixture of sorrow and determination.

"I'll die first. I won't go down without a fight," she retorted fiercely, her eyes narrowing with determination.

Astarion’s laughter echoed through the dungeon. "As if you could beat me..." He gestured broadly. "I am the most powerful figure in the city. There is no one who can challenge me. I'll take you if I want. But, I'd rather you come willingly..."

His words were a proclamation of dominance, yet beneath them lay a desperate plea for her willingness. The thought of breaking her spirit repelled and enticed him. What if she never yielded? Desperation masked by authority pulsed beneath every word.

"A challenge, then? What, you’ll wait a week and try to win me over? Is that your plan?" Sima’s curiosity was audible, intrigued by the notion of a contest of wills.

"A game, perhaps?" He smirked. "I shall endeavor to win you over, and if I cannot, I will simply take you by force. The prize stays the same, no matter when I claim it." His voice was a mixture of confidence and anticipation.

Astarion's words hung heavy in the dungeon's charged air. "Ah, lovely. Take me by force—do you mean that as turning me, or are you a complete degenerate like Cazador now?" Sima snapped, her voice cutting sharply across the cold stone.

"Do not mistake me for Cazador. I shall not force myself upon you. I will only force you to become a vampire if that is what it takes to make you mine," he declared, his hand extending in a gesture between invitation and decree. The thought of becoming the monster he despised twisted his insides with pain and anger.

Sima shook her head, her hair falling in disheveled strands around her face. "The fact that you don't see the forced turn as something cruel speaks volumes of your true nature. How am I to know I won't endure a life of rape and torture? How am I to know you won't do to me what Cazador did to you, even if I am granted the freedom of true vampirism? That is what you fail to understand. As for the man you were and the one you've become... my heart can only yearn for the past." Her voice trembled with the weight of her fears, each word laced with the agony of her internal conflict. She couldn't reconcile the man she loved with the creature he had become, and the uncertainty of her fate loomed like a dark specter.

Astarion's expression darkened, a storm gathering in his eyes. The comparison to Cazador hit him like a lash, anger flaring in his chest. The nerve of her—comparing me to that fiend. Memories of Cazador's sadistic grin and the endless nights of torment flashed through his mind. I endured hell to escape that monster's clutches, and she dares to see me in the same light? The insult burned, stoking his fury.

"Do not ever compare me to Cazador," he snapped, his voice a sharp crack in the oppressive air. "I am nothing like him. I would never subject you to the horrors he inflicted upon me. You don't understand... I am trying to save us, to keep us together." His hand dropped, clenched into a fist at his side, as if the physical tension could contain the torrent of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

Sima's eyes widened at his outburst, but she did not retreat. "And yet, you speak of forcing me to turn as if it's any different. You think you can save us by stripping away my choice? How can you not see the cruelty in that?" Her defiance was unwavering, but beneath it lay a glimmer of understanding. She saw the pain in his eyes, the struggle between his desire to protect her and the fear of becoming the very thing he despised.

Astarion's anger wavered, giving way to a desperate plea. "Sima, I am not Cazador. I will never be him. But I cannot lose you. The thought of an eternity without you is unbearable. Can you not see that I am trying to find a way for us to be together?" His voice trembled with the weight of his confession, a mixture of sorrow and determination.

Her accusations resonated within him, each one a painful reminder of his own fears. He couldn't deny the truth in her words. The man he once was, compassionate and loving, seemed like a distant memory, overshadowed by the power and darkness that now defined him. The thought of causing her pain, of becoming a reflection of Cazador, filled him with bitter self-loathing. Could she ever see past the monster he had become?

"The past is all that it is,” he asserted. “You will never get it back. I know that as well as anyone. So, yes... I'll force your transformation. And then we can be happy and together. I promise I will not use you as he used me. I want an equal in this, not a toy to be abused." His words were a mix of desperation and determination, the promise of a twisted kind of love.

"Says the man who put me in a dungeon cell," Sima replied dryly, her voice dripping with irony.

"You are a dangerous, unpredictable elf. I couldn't let you run off," Astarion countered, his smile a wistful shadow of its former charm. "Even if, in some way, I knew you would not succeed, because you would always return to me. We may fight, but we will always have each other, in the end. I will force your transformation, one way or another. And, after that... Everything will be perfect. Nothing matters but us. Everything else can burn." His eyes glinted with a mix of longing and dark, twisted pleasure. The conflict and defiance between them was a game he relished, a foreplay that ignited his desires.

Sima’s smile twisted into something unhinged and wild, a reflection of the chaos swirling within her. "If you force me to become what you are, I will burn this palace to the ground, damn the consequences. And then, I will burn myself to ash, and you with me."

"My... what kind of threat is that?" Astarion hissed. To Sima’s surprise, his earlier confidence faltered, yielding to a visage stricken with horror. When he spoke again, his words were soft. "I would rather die without you than have you do that,” he said, his voice shaking. “No. I would rather suffer a thousand years of torment with you than see you choose death. Is... is that really a threat, or is it a plea? Why do you hate me so much?" The realization that she might prefer death over being with him cut through his bravado, leaving a raw wound.

Sima exhaled a long, weary sigh, the feeble light casting a patchwork of shadows over her gaunt features. "Every part of me that longs for you also drives me mad. Every piece of my heart that you used to touch so softly has been shattered. How can I envision falling into your arms again when every encounter with you brings me more agony and hatred?" Her voice wavered, a mixture of sorrow and anger tearing at her soul.

"You once told me at camp that love is a double-edged sword. By the gods, how right you were," Sima choked out, her voice heavy with the weight of her memories.

"Is that... really true? Do you... still love me?" whispered Astarion in disbelief. The vulnerability in his voice was a stark contrast to his usual arrogance, a glimpse of the man he once was.

His voice softened, almost breaking with emotion as he stepped closer, his shadow merging with hers in the dim light. "I'll take everything that's left in you. I'll take your hatred as well as your love. I'll take every part of you, because, after all, you are mine. If you want to tear me apart and then rebuild me... I will allow it." His declaration was filled with a desperate need for her acceptance, even if it meant enduring her wrath.

"How can one cherish the flame when they know it's destined to consume them?" Sima challenged, her voice steady and fierce, her eyes burning with rebellion. The fire within her was both a beacon and a curse, drawing her towards destruction.

Astarion paused, a single tear betraying the turmoil inside him. "Do you really think our love is like that? A bright but painful thing that will eventually burn out and sear you?"

Sima leaned back and laughed, the sound bitter and resonant in the stone chamber. "I'm already burning to death. You have no idea what I did to get that Wish spell, aside from murdering seven innocents. Believe me, the flames are well and truly lit," she concluded, her voice echoing off the walls, heavy with inevitability and resignation.

A flicker of emotion crossed Astarion’s face as he hesitated. His eyes closed momentarily, bracing himself against the ache that pierced his heart every time he envisioned her suffering.

"Would... would it help to know that I see the same thing you do? That I see you dying before my eyes, and that it tears me apart? What is love, if not the desire to keep someone from harm, a desire to make them safe? I want nothing more than to protect you from every pain in the world, if only you would let me." His voice was a raw plea, his own torment mirroring hers.

"And is that enough to endure? Is that enough to make the existence of eternity with this torment in my soul worth it?" Sima replied, her voice deadly calm. Her words were a challenge, a demand for him to prove that his love could withstand the hell they were in.

Astarion's expression set into a mask of resolute determination, his features hardening like the ancient stones that made up the dungeon walls. "You are my love. You are my life. I will do everything to make whatever time you have left the best it can be. And when the time comes, if I must bear the cost of eternity without you... I may just turn into the monster you already think I am." His vow was both a promise and a threat, a declaration of his willingness to endure any torment for her sake.

Sima's gaze lifted, piercing through him. “What if I won’t turn? What if I do, and try to take my own life as well as yours? If you were to survive all that, what would you do? Burn Baldur’s Gate to the ground?” she asked, her voice bitter.

Astarion’s jaw clenched. When he spoke, his words were soft, yet they reverberated off the surrounding stone. "If you were gone? I would raze this entire damnable world to ash. Leave nothing but a scorched husk as a monument to what I have lost." The thought of losing her was unbearable; the pain would be so immense that he could only envision obliterating everything as a testament to his grief.

Sima's laughter was brittle—the laughter of a madwoman. "Of course you'd make Faerûn pay for your own sins. Gods, you can't take a lick of responsibility for any of this, can you? Even if you were... him, the man I loved, what does it even matter? I see you, and I hate you for what you took from me. And it's so much more now than before. Look at me!" She laughed again, the sound hollow and haunting. "I am a ghost. I died the day you completed the ritual."

"I will take every bit of responsibility there is to take," Astarion said, his voice brimming with fierce, palpable anger. He advanced a step, staring down at her. "Don't you dare try and make me out to be some selfish coward. I'll take my punishment a hundred times over if it means I have you, only you, for eternity. Is nothing worth that to you?"

His indignation flared; how could she think he wouldn't accept responsibility? The resentment stung, but beneath it, genuine grief simmered. He mourned what they had lost, each harsh word from her a reminder of the love tainted by his transformation. Her defiance, though, ignited a dark pleasure within him. Her fierce resistance thrilled him, a primal game of one-upmanship that fed his desire to dominate and possess her completely. He would take anything from her—her love, her hate, her resentment—anything but losing her. Deep down, he believed that through this conflict, they could reclaim a semblance of their bond.

Sima smiled—a twisted caricature of amusement. "I'm afraid if you came here seeking absolution, I am not a cleric of Ilmater. No alms for the poor, poor Lord Ancunín and his utterly insane whore—I mean, bride-to-be." Her words were laced with venom, striking at his pride. She hated how he couldn't even allow her to degrade herself. It was as if he wanted to possess every part of her, even her pain. If she couldn't have control over anything else, at least she could have control over her own suffering.

Astarion hissed in response, his demeanor shifting as humiliation and anger flashed across his features. The insinuation that he saw her as nothing more than a "whore," stoked a fire of indignation within him. He wanted to possess her, to make her his in every way, but hearing her demean herself—and by extension, him—was intolerable.

In a moment, he was upon her, his presence overwhelming as he closed the distance and gripped her throat, crimson eyes flashing. "If not for yourself, for the sake of this world you've had the arrogance to condemn yourself to for all eternity, then at least show some sense of self-preservation and let me hear no more of that filth."

"Am I not even allowed to call myself what you intend to make me?" Sima asked, seemingly oblivious to the hand around her throat. Her calmness amidst his fury only fueled his internal conflict. How dare he try to take even this from her? Her pain was hers alone, and she would not let him control that too.

That response stunned him. His grip loosened, and he searched her face, presumably for signs of the woman he once knew. "I would make you a queen among vampires. A goddess among men. A vampire bride, akin to a lord. An equal in power to me. Not a 'whore' to be passed around. Never that." His voice wavered, torn between the darkness that defined him and the love he still clung to.

"No, just your whore. No choice, no way to say no. Yes, what woman wouldn't throw herself at that?" Sima scoffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. The bitterness in her words cut deep, leaving Astarion reeling from the implications.

Astarion stepped back abruptly, releasing her completely as he took a sharp breath. "Do you have any idea what I've had to endure? How much pain I've suffered? And you, who has suffered so much of the same, just assume I would inflict it on someone I love? Have you learned nothing—have you lost your mind?” His voice cracked with raw emotion, a blend of anger and desperation.

Sima slumped against the cold, damp wall of the dungeon, her figure shrouded in the dim light. "Oh yes, I am completely insane. Like I said. You seem to have missed that,” she declared. The resignation in her voice was a stark contrast to her earlier defiance. She needed to rebel against him, against the image he had of her, to maintain some semblance of agency, even in her own madness.

Astarion paused, a flicker of concern crossing his features before his eyes widened, struck by the haunting memory of her earlier laughter over his quest for absolution. "Wait. This isn't about justice for you. This isn't even about... me. This is you punishing yourself, isn’t it? Because you blame yourself for this. You think you're some kind of sinner, don't you?"

Anger sparked in Sima’s eyes, overtaking her previous veil of apathy. "Fuck you,” she spat. “You are responsible for this. You took the person I loved away from me!" The fury in her voice was palpable, a force of nature that matched his own.

Taken aback by her words, Astarion finally sensed the raw, undiluted fury simmering within her; the road to any form of reconciliation, if ever possible, seemed fraught with pain and resistance. Yet, he believed he had begun to unravel the enigma of her wrath. "Let me get this straight. I'm the devil here, right? And you're just an innocent victim? Really?" His sarcasm dripped with venom, striking at the heart of her struggle.

The sarcasm in his tone was too much, too close to that tender spot in her heart—the last remnant of her identity tethered to guilt and mortality. Without thinking, she surged to her feet and hurled herself at him, driven by a primal, desperate need to protect the last vestige of who she once was.

Astarion, utterly unprepared for her ferocity, just barely managed to catch her by the hair, holding her at arm’s length as she thrashed wildly. Her limbs flailed around, trying to break free of his hold. The nerve of her, to try and attack him after everything he’d done for her, having kept her alive during their previous battles and what he was offering her. Still, he couldn’t deny the emotion stirring inside him. Pointless as it was, her spirited defense had to be admired.

"Well. That's different. You just tried to kill me," he snarled, a note of disbelief coloring his voice as he struggled to contain her.

Sima fought like a creature cornered, her every action fueled by the mingling of profound guilt and the relentless urge to preserve the only part of her that felt genuine remorse—the part that still cared, that still felt. Astarion could overpower her easily, charm her into submission, or even end her life, yet he found himself frozen, captivated by the untamed wildness of her assault.

"You really... aren't holding back here," he bit out, gritting his teeth as he tightened his grip. "I have to admire that. Gods, I can't believe I missed it..."

"You know nothing—nothing—about me!" Sima screamed, her nails seeking his flesh in a wild attempt to mar his face.

When her words struck him, Astarion snapped into motion, not with a blow but with a swift grasp of her wrists, pulling her close. His whisper was furious, a hot breath against her ear, "I. Know. Everything. I have been obsessed, my dear. Obsessed with learning who and what you really are. For all that you claim you are uncaring and cold and unaffected—" He pulled back slightly, his eyes piercing hers, "—I know what you are hiding."

Driven by a desperate need to escape, to flee the entity that sought to strip away her last shreds of self, Sima unleashed a Shatter spell at sixth level. The spell erupted with a deafening roar, the force of the shockwave sending Astarion staggering backward, fragments of the stone doorway crumbling around him. He hit the ground hard, the impact jarring his bones, and he groaned as pain shot through his body, dazed by the sudden explosion of power.

"Shatter. Of course, your bloody spellpower hasn’t waned... yet," Astarion said as he slowly regained his footing, a mix of respect and wariness settling into his tone.

Sima, seizing the moment, dashed toward the cell door, her mind set on reaching the ritual room where it all began—the place she might finally put an end to this torment. Her steps echoed in the hollow silence of the dungeon as she fled.

Under the flickering shadows of the dungeon, Astarion's expression transformed into a twisted smile, his eyes gleaming an infernal red. This chromatic shift spoke not of anger but of a disturbing exhilaration. His whole demeanor radiated an unsettling glee, as if the unfolding chaos were a spectacle crafted for his amusement.

As she ran, Sima’s boots pounded against the ancient emerald stonework of the dungeon corridor, each step matching the frantic beat of her heart. She sprinted toward the haunting ritual chamber, the place stained by the echoes of 7,000 souls who had perished under sinister rites. The air around her grew heavier as she neared the epicenter of past horrors, the very stones whispering tales of despair.

Hot on her heels, Astarion pursued with supernatural swiftness, his inhuman speed a blur against the mossy stones. He enjoyed the chase. It was a game to him, a macabre dance between predator and prey, and he relished every moment, allowing her the illusion of hope just to savor her eventual loss.

In a desperate bid to escape, Sima whirled and unleashed a seventh-level Fireball. Astarion dodged with the grace of a specter, the flames nipping at his heels, his grin morphing into a monstrous smirk as he admired her tenacity and power.

When he finally caught her, his grip was unyielding as he pinned her to the cold, damp ground. Sima's body hit the stone with a sickening thud, pain radiating through her limbs. Astarion's eyes sparkled with a mix of admiration and curiosity, eager to witness the extent of her magical prowess up close. Her defiance and the struggle thrilled him, a twisted foreplay that fed his dark desires. He didn’t want to hurt her, but the conflict, the chase, and the fierce resistance aroused him in a way he couldn't deny.

The ritual chamber that loomed before them was a cavernous space, its architecture a grim testament to the dark arts. The floor was a mosaic of emerald green tourmaline, each block reflecting the sparse light in haunting hues. Gigantic gemstone windows cast a spectral glow across the chamber, while above, cages hung like macabre ornaments, suspended by thick chains that swayed gently with some unfelt breeze. In the center, a once blood-stained tourmaline platform stood ominously empty, the air around it thick with the residue of dark magic.

With a sudden burst of energy, Sima kicked Astarion squarely, the force of the blow making him stagger back. Seizing the moment, she dashed toward the dais. She knew one of the cages functioned as an elevator to the sewers—a potential route to freedom.

Astarion, momentarily winded, chuckled at her defiance and quickly recovered. His response was swift, a predatory sprint that closed the distance between them in a heartbeat. Just as Sima reached the cage, he enveloped her in a grasp that spun her back onto the dais. Her body slammed against the hard tourmaline with a thud, a sharp pain shooting through her side as the impact bruised her ribs.

"What do you want from me? I hate you! I don’t want anything from you!" Sima cried out, the pain and fury in her voice reverberating off the ancient stones.

His laughter was low and menacing as he pinned her hands above her head, his body looming over hers. "I know, darling. But that's alright, because I don't need anything from you. You're mine. That's all I want right now," he whispered, his face inches from hers, his breath mingling with the dank air of the dungeon.

"You're just like Cazador!” Sima spat, struggling once again to break free. “Just like him! Every minute of every day you will condemn me to a life of being your whore, even if I am a true vampire. Why? Why would I want that!"

"Because you love me," Astarion murmured, his voice soft yet chilling as he leaned closer, his dark crimson eyes locking onto hers with a palpable intensity. "You are the other half of me, the piece that's been missing. And, yes, I want to make you a vampire, to bind you to me in every way—but not as a curse. As a union, Sima. We are meant to be together," he confessed, his tone blending desperation with a twisted sense of destiny.

"If you think I want to be violated for eternity, you are insane!” Sima exclaimed furiously. “And you say you are still part of the elf who I loved? He would never have forced himself on me!"

As he leaned close, his breath hot against her cheek, his voice was a silky purr. "Are you sure?" His gaze was unyielding, eyes locked onto hers with a ferocity that felt like it could pierce her soul. In his eyes, there was no room for negotiation; his desire for control was tangible, fueled not merely by lust but by a craving for absolute dominion over her.

"Don’t you dare besmirch his memory, my Astarion who loved me! He would never… could never do that to me!" Sima responded, her voice thick with anger.

"A love is what you want from me... a type of love that I can't give you," he murmured, his smile chilling as his eyes darkened, the inner turmoil of his desires manifesting as a growing hunger. He believed in his twisted love for her, a passion that was anything but cold, yet he knew she could only see the monster, not the man consumed by a profound and complicated love.

Pinned beneath him on the cold dais, Sima writhed in desperation, trying to turn her face away from his, her disgust and rage mingling with the physical pain of her bruised ribs and weary limbs. Her energy was fading, each movement a testament to her waning strength against his overpowering presence.

Astarion watched her struggle, his laugh echoing around the stone chamber—not out of cruelty but from a dark amusement. Reminiscing about their first encounter so long ago on a beach in Elturel, he whispered close to her ear, inhaling the scent of her hair, "You're so pretty when you're angry, darling..." His heart hoped that the sweet words would finally disarm her.

"You said a week—you would give me a week to decide… What if I agreed?" Sima's voice held a faint trace of bargaining, seeking a reprieve, a sliver of autonomy.

Caught off guard, his gaze softened slightly, his posture easing as he contemplated her offer. A part of him, the remnant of the man who once loved her deeply, flickered within him, stirred by her plea. He loosened his grip.

"Just to be clear, if I do not agree—at least with how you see things now—I am presuming you will force the change on me regardless?" Sima's tone was resolute, her eyes steely as she prepared for any outcome.

"Of course. I will not risk losing you again. One way or another, I will have you with me for eternity. But…Please, do not force me to make that decision. I want—I need you to want this," he replied fervently, his tone desperate but pleading. The desperation in his voice was palpable, a mix of longing and fear. He needed her to understand, to choose him willingly, but the darkness within him whispered otherwise.

Sima's gaze hardened, but there was also a flicker of something else—an old wound, a fear that he might strip away the last vestiges of her autonomy. "Be prepared for the consequences of your actions then, because I will be prepared for mine. Now, let me go this instant. You have your bargain. I'm presuming some insane courtship or persuasion will be coming. Let me up."

"I promise... I will court you," Astarion conceded with a grin, his face still close to hers, his dark crimson eyes a swirling mix of dark intentions and flickering hope. He released her, rolling aside to sit upright, crossing his legs and watching her with both a hint of cruelty and a newly kindled spark of anticipation. The game had changed, but it was still a game to him, a twisted dance of power and desire.

Sima drew herself up to her full height, putting distance between them with a measured step backward. "You disgust me," she said coldly.

Astarion's smile faltered, crumpling into genuine hurt. His eyes shimmered with moisture, and the ache he fought to repress grew in his chest. The words sliced through the remnants of their shared past, revealing the raw nerve of his unrequited affections. Yet, he steeled himself against this weakness, the heavy weight of his immortal existence pressing down upon him. With a snarl, he stepped closer, his voice turning cold. "You are being unreasonable."

"That's what grief will do to you, especially when it hardens into hatred,” Sima retorted, her words echoing off the stone walls, filled with venom. “So, am I to be returned to my cell, then? Or treated with some decency, if you are capable of it?"

"You are my guest," he hissed back, his jaw tensing as his eyes narrowed. Despite his anger, he restrained himself, turning away from her. Perhaps, he thought, she might yet be swayed by promises of a gilded cage rather than an iron one.

"Which means?" Sima arched an eyebrow, her tone laced with skepticism.

"Which means... which means..." He struggled for a moment, then turned back to face her. Her presence, so close, yet so far removed from his reach, reignited a familiar desire—a longing to bridge the chasm between them with a touch, a kiss. Shaking his head to dispel these dangerous notions, he admitted, "It means you're being held captive."

"So am I to be held in the palace then, rather than the dungeons?"

"The palace! This palace is your prison now. You'll simply get... nicer rooms and better food," he grumbled, his pride wounded. Truth be told, he hadn’t expected her to be so defiant even now. This entire situation was absurd.

Sima glanced up at the shadow of the man she once loved, now ensconced in the trappings of a pampered lord, and sighed in disgust at her fate. Yet, there was a part of her, perhaps touched by madness, that found a strange solace in the waiting game she now had to play. "Then get me the Hells out of this infernal place. I never want to see this ritual room again," she demanded.

His annoyance flared at her tone, but he masked it with a weary sigh, acknowledging her request with a reluctant nod. "Fine. I'll get my servants to put you into some better bedrooms. Just behave, hm? Don't think you're going to make a run for it, my love. I'm not that stupid."

Astarion’s internal conflict raged, the struggle between his love for her and his vampiric instincts creating a tumultuous storm within him. He hated the idea of hurting her, but his need for control and possession was overwhelming. Sima's defiance, her fierce spirit, only fueled his desire, making the game all the more intoxicating. As they left the ritual chamber, the echoes of their past clung to the air, a haunting reminder of what once was and what could never be again.

The new chambers assigned to Sima were a stark contrast to the dank dungeon below. Opulent and bathed in natural light, the rooms boasted marble floors and walls draped with pale green silk and deep crimson velvet. Delicate golden filigree adorned the furniture, while crystal chandeliers cast sparkling reflections across the room. An ivory desk sat against one wall, a deep crimson velvet couch against another, and a large mirror framed with the Ancunin coat of arms dominated one side of the room, reflecting a world of deceptive luxury.

Sima entered the room, her bag of holding—a remnant of her time in the cells—still in her possession. She turned to face Astarion, who had followed her up. "What happened to them—my friends? Your spawn captured them, but they didn't come for me after I tried the Wish spell on you. I presume you had to let them go, considering Duke Wyll was in on the plan?"

Astarion’s brow furrowed in irritation. He wasn’t pleased that she still controlled her possessions, but he was unwilling to strip them from her forcibly—it wouldn’t befit his status, nor would it aid his cause. Instead, he forced a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. "They came to me and made their case. After some negotiation..." His voice hardened as he met her gaze. "The Duke is quite persuasive. I allowed them to go."

"And none came for me? Not one?" Sima’s voice carried a mix of disbelief and a dawning chill of abandonment. Each word felt like a betrayal, deepening the chasm of isolation that threatened to engulf her.

Avoiding her piercing stare, Astarion's eyes clouded over with a wave of unspoken thoughts. "I had hoped they would persuade you to join me willingly, under the guise that you were a reluctant yet open captive. That was the agreement they sought. So I consented, in a moment of what I believed to be magnanimity—or perhaps folly."

"You misled them about my stay, then. They assume you're actually offering me a choice?" Sima's tone was sharp, cutting through the façade of diplomatic exchange to the heart of his deceit.

His response was a cold glare, a frost settling over his earlier feigned warmth. "Yes. They insisted on your autonomy in the decision. They desire for you to choose freely—even if that choice is to join me in eternal night," he admitted, his voice a blend of reluctance and hidden satisfaction.

Sima's expression hardened as she absorbed the full weight of his words, the stark reality of her isolation settling in like a heavy stone in her chest. "Then they are fools. They should have rescued me from you. They chose not to." Her voice trembled with a mix of anger and despair, the betrayal of her friends cutting deeper than she had anticipated.

Astarion watched her, a complex play of emotions flickering across his face. The shadows in the room seemed to deepen, mirroring the hollow emptiness blossoming within Sima as she faced the grim truth of her abandonment, surrounded by opulence but bereft of any true ally. He felt a pang of regret, a fleeting whisper of the man he once was, buried beneath the weight of his vampiric nature. Yet, his desire to keep her close, to ensure she remained with him, was equally strong. It was a delicate balance of love and possessiveness, each step a careful dance between his old self and the darkness that now defined him.

"This palace may be your prison, but it can also be your sanctuary. If you choose to see it that way," he murmured, the words a seductive promise wrapped in a plea for understanding. He didn’t want to hurt her, but his need to not lose her drove his every action.

Sima’s breath hitched slightly, her mind racing. The grandeur around her felt like a mockery of the freedom she once had. Each luxurious detail seemed to taunt her, a reminder of her captivity dressed in silk and gold. She wanted to lash out, to break free, but the reality of her situation weighed heavily on her spirit. The opulence of the room clashed violently with the raw wound in her heart, a wound reopened by Astarion's presence and his manipulations.

"You claim to retain some part of him?” Sima asked, her voice steadier now, though an undercurrent of fear and an old wound lingered. “If that's true, then grant me this week... After that, I'll make my decision. Your actions on that final day will speak for themselves. I might resist you, or perhaps I won't—but if your love for me is genuine, you’ll respect that the choice must be mine."

Her words seemed to reach the remnants of the man he once was, appealing to a past that still haunted the fringes of his transformed self. The memories of their shared moments, the tenderness that once existed, flickered in the dark recesses of his mind, a ghost of his former self. His eyes softened momentarily, reflecting a glimmer of the love he once held for her, but the conflict within him was palpable.

Sima glanced up at the shadow of the man she once loved, now ensconced in the trappings of a pampered lord, and sighed in disgust at her fate. Hugging her side, she felt the sharp pain in her ribs—a cruel reminder of their physical battle. Yet, there was a part of her, perhaps touched by madness, that found a strange solace in the waiting game she now had to play. The weight of her isolation pressed heavily upon her, the realization that she was surrounded by opulence but bereft of any true ally. It was a cold comfort, a gilded prison, and she felt the full measure of her abandonment settling over her like a suffocating shroud.

Her heart sank further, the isolation deepening as she faced the reality of her beautiful cage. The opulence around her felt hollow, a stark contrast to the raw wound in her heart. She was alone, truly alone, in a world that had turned its back on her. The sharp clarity of her pain only reinforced what she had always known: the only one who could save her now was herself.

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poetfrancis · 1 month

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Behind the bookstore

Chapter One - word count:967

From Andrew Hozier-Byrne’s point of view, he meets Y/N at a speakeasy and is instantly hooked. When Damian Haas shows up, things get awkward as the two men compete for Y/N’s attention. Y/N, however, stays clueless about the weird tension between them.

(it has been a hot minute since I have written a fanfiction...I am so sorry if this sucks)

She slipped into the speakeasy like a whisper, barely disturbing the air yet transforming the room with her mere presence. Her hair, a cascade of midnight and mahogany, framed a face that seemed hewn from moonlight. Though she never sought attention, the room paused, caught in the soft glow of her aura.

The speakeasy was hidden behind an old bookstore, its creaky door groaning as it opened. A haven for poets and dreamers, it was a place not meant to be found, yet she had a knack for uncovering such sanctuaries—places where smoke curled like poetry and silence held secrets.

Her name was Y/N, though she wore it lightly, as if it might drift away with the night. She was an artist or a poet, or perhaps both, though she never claimed the titles. She simply created, leaving traces of herself in every brushstroke, every verse, every lingering smile. She carried her beauty like a gift for others, even as it made hearts ache.

She settled into her usual spot at the bar—a worn wooden stool where the light was soft and the music seemed a private whisper. Her usual order—a glass of red wine, deep and rich like the verses she penned—was prepared without question by the bartender, a man with knowing eyes who had seen her here before, always alone, always with that distant look.

As she sipped her wine, her gaze fell upon a figure at the piano. Andrew Hozier-Byrne’s fingers danced over the keys with a grace that belied the rough world outside. Tonight, his music was a lullaby for the stars. When he noticed her, his smile radiated more warmth than summer sun. She returned it, her smile soft and unaware of its effect on him.

Andrew had watched her since her first visit, a night creature who seemed to blend with shadows and light. Torn between speaking to her and preserving the spell she cast over the room, he hesitated until tonight, when her open, trusting gaze urged him to act. He finished his piece with a flourish and approached her.

“Do you mind if I join you?” he asked, his voice low and respectful.

Y/N looked up, her eyes meeting his with a softness that made his breath hitch. “Of course,” she replied, her voice a melody he wanted to hear forever.

They spoke, or rather, Andrew spoke while Y/N listened, her head tilted, capturing every word as if it were a treasure. He shared stories of the piano, his solace and voice. She nodded, understanding in her eyes, and responded as though weaving a tale just for him.

“You play like the night sings,” she said, and Andrew’s heart stumbled. “It’s like... you tell a story without words, and it’s the most beautiful thing.”

He smiled shyly, unused to such praise. “And you, Y/N, what story do you tell?”

She looked down at her wine, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “I’m not sure I have a story worth telling,” she said. Andrew longed to tell her otherwise, that she was a story, a poem, a painting deserving to be seen. But before he could speak, the door creaked open again.

Damian Haas entered, his presence as commanding as a storm. Despite his casual attire—a skeleton shirt—his eyes held depths of someone who had seen much yet still found joy. He saw Y/N at the bar, illuminated by dim light, and felt a pull he couldn’t name but knew he needed.

Y/N greeted him with a smile that blossomed like a secret flower. “Damian,” she said, and Andrew felt a sharp pang in his chest.

Andrew smiled crookedly and nodded as Damian took the seat beside Y/N. “Have you two met?” she asked, her voice lively and sweet.

“We were just talking,” Andrew said, his voice deep.

Y/N sipped her wine, seemingly unaware of the tension between the men. “You both have the same kind of soul. Like you’re made of music and stories, and the world is waiting to hear what you’ll say next.”

Andrew and Damian exchanged a glance, an unspoken understanding—or rivalry—passing between them. Y/N remained blissfully unaware, her warmth wrapping around them like a gentle embrace.

They spent the evening talking, laughing, and sharing. Y/N’s affection was light and innocent, yet it sent shivers down their spines. She didn’t notice how they leaned closer or how their gazes lingered on her.

As the night wore on and the speakeasy emptied, Y/N finished her wine with a contented sigh. “I should be going,” she said, her voice tinged with something. “But I’m glad I ran into you both tonight. It’s nice to be around people who understand.”

She stood, slightly unsteady, and both Damian and Andrew reached out to steady her. Their hands brushed, and they froze, acutely aware of each other’s presence.

“Let me walk you home,” Damian offered gently, his eyes meeting Andrew’s with a silent challenge.

Andrew hesitated, then smiled sadly. “Yes, let Damian walk you home,” he said, though his heart ached to be the one by her side.

Y/N looked between them, her smile bright, oblivious to the tension. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. “You’re both so kind, but...”

Damian took her arm, and Andrew watched, his heart heavy. Y/N started walking to the door. “I can get home alone,” she said with a smile, as the door closed behind her. The room sighed, the echoes of their conversation lingering like a song that hadn’t yet ended.

Andrew turned to Damian. “Are you two... together?” he asked, frowning.

Damian met his gaze, sadness and irritation evident. “No,” he said firmly, signaling the bartender for a tab Andrew hadn’t realized he had. Andrew sensed a rivalry forming for Y/N’s affection or attention, and as he daydreamed, he didn’t notice Damian leaving quietly.

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christianbelievers · 3 months

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ARE YOU CURIOUS ABOUT WHAT LIFE IN ETERNITY WILL BE LIKE?

Are there days when you just want to hear God’s voice, or feel his hand upon your shoulder? The closer we get to going home, the more I long to see and feel what’s ahead. I look forward to seeing the beauty of Heaven, the Lord on his throne, and the people that are waiting there for us. I long to feel the never ending peace that will fill us and never run dry. I long to see the New Earth. I can’t wait to see if it’s going to be like the Garden of Eden in the beginning, or some other kind of paradise.

Jesus spoke of a paradise twice in the New Testament, and Paul once. The first time was when the thief on the cross next to Jesus asked the Lord to remember him when He came into his kingdom. Jesus replied, "Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise." (Luke 23:43) The next time Jesus uses the word is in the Book of Revelation, “Whoever has ears, let them hear what the Spirit says to the churches. To the one who is victorious, I will give the right to eat from the tree of life, which is in the paradise of God.” (Revelation 2:7) The Apostle Paul told about an experience that he had.

“I know a man in Christ who fourteen years ago was caught up to the third heaven. Whether it was in the body or out of the body I do not know—God knows. And I know that this man—whether in the body or apart from the body I do not know, but God knows—was caught up to paradise and heard inexpressible things, things that no one is permitted to tell.”

(2nd Corinthians 12:2-4)

I can’t help but wonder what Paul saw. Was it more than what the Apostle John saw and describes in the Book of Revelation? A phrase that Paul used definitely causes a sense of wonder. He said that he “heard inexpressible things, things that no one is permitted to tell.” Like a curious child, I look forward to hearing, and seeing the things that Paul did.

I think it’s a fun thing to wonder about what lies ahead, in that castle in the sky. Oh, the things that we’ll see! Who will we see? Will we actually meet Jesus face to face? Will He talk to us, and tell us, “Well done, good and faithful servant”? I’ve often wondered how I will act when I first enter Heaven. Will I stand there when I should be kneeling? Will I be looking around when I’m supposed to be singing? Will there be hymnals, or will we automatically know the words?

The other night, I laid in bed listening to end of The Pilgrims Progress (Part 1). The two pilgrims, Christian and Hopeful, were just entering the Celestial City. As the gates to Heaven were opened for them, their bodies were transformed into their eternal bodies. Then, as they entered they were greeted by thousands of angels and others who had gone before them, including friends and family members. They were cheering for them as though they had just crossed the finish line. Oh, what a wonderful thought!

The Bible tells us the kinds of things we should be thinking about while we wait for the Lord, and I would add, “things that we should be thinking about when life gets hard.”

“Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.” (Philippians 4:8)

I find that this verse in particular helps me lately…

“So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.” (2nd Corinthians 4:18)

Eternal is the key word. Eternal means that we’ll never die, or even get sick. Our shoes, or sandals, will never wear out. There will always be enough to eat, and no more grocery bills. No bills whatsoever! Instead of writing checks, we’ll trade our fruits and vegetables. Oh, it does sound good doesn’t it!

There are some places in the Bible where I think we can get a glimpse or two into the future. In one there is an ailing beggar who dies and is taken to Abraham’s side. In the King James Version it says that he went into Abraham’s bosom. The word bosom in the Greek can mean “a bay” or “creek”. To me, that sounds peaceful, nice quiet, trickling streams of water…even living water!

The Prophet Isaiah prophesied about Jesus…

“Righteousness will be his belt and faithfulness the sash around his waist.

The wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will lie down with the goat, the calf and the lion and the yearling together; and a little child will lead them. The cow will feed with the bear, their young will lie down together, and the lion will eat straw like the ox. The infant will play near the cobra's den, the young child will put its hand into the viper's nest.

They will neither harm nor destroy on all my holy mountain, for the earth will be filled with the knowledge of the LORD as the waters cover the sea.” (Isaiah 11:5-9)

There is a similar passage in Isaiah 65. It is speaking of the 1000 year reign, but there are still things at that time that will also be eternal. The 1000 years, the Millenium, is the period after Jesus has returned to Earth and placed Satan in the Abyss, or pit. After the thousand years is over Satan will be released for a short time for one final chance to deceive the world. I don’t understand the Millennial period as well as I would like to, but with the help of better equipped Christian scholars I will share what I can about this strange time. But I can tell you that if you are a born again Christian at the time of the Rapture…your eternity is secure in Christ. So, let’s take a brief look at some of the things concerning the Millenium.

"See, I will create new heavens and a new earth. The former things will not be remembered, nor will they come to mind. But be glad and rejoice forever in what I will create, for I will create Jerusalem to be a delight and its people a joy.

I will rejoice over Jerusalem and take delight in my people; the sound of weeping and of crying will be heard in it no more. "Never again will there be in it an infant who lives but a few days, or an old man who does not live out his years; the one who dies at a hundred will be thought a mere child; the one who fails to reach a hundred will be considered accursed.

They will build houses and dwell in them; they will plant vineyards and eat their fruit. No longer will they build houses and others live in them, or plant and others eat. For as the days of a tree, so will be the days of my people; my chosen ones will long enjoy the work of their hands.

They will not labor in vain, nor will they bear children doomed to misfortune; for they will be a people blessed by the LORD, they and their descendants with them.

Before they call I will answer; while they are still speaking I will hear.

The wolf and the lamb will feed together, and the lion will eat straw like the ox, and dust will be the serpent's food. They will neither harm nor destroy on all my holy mountain," says the LORD.” (Isaiah 65:17-25)

The following sections of notes are copied from got questions dot org…

(“The 1,000-year reign will be the beginning of Jesus’ reign over Israel and the earth.” “God promised the nations of the world that they would live in peace with Jesus as their ruler.” (Daniel 7:11–14) And He promised creation that the curse would be lifted (Romans 8:18–23), animals and the earth would be restored to peace and prosperity (Isaiah 11:6–9; 32:13–15), and people would be freed from disease (Ezekiel 34:16). These, too, will be fulfilled during the 1,000-year reign.”)

Now, you’re probably wondering who will occupy the Earth during the Millenium…

(“Everyone who enters that kingdom will be redeemed by God and therefore righteous (see Isaiah 35:8–10). Among those redeemed will be two distinct groups of people: those with glorified physical bodies and those with natural, earthly bodies.

Those who occupy the millennial kingdom with glorified bodies can be divided into three subgroups: the church, whose bodies were either resurrected or changed at the rapture (1 Thessalonians 4:13–18; 1 Corinthians 15:21–23, 51–53); tribulation martyrs, who are resurrected after Christ returns to earth (Revelation 20:4–6); and the Old Testament saints, who we assume are resurrected at the same time (see Daniel 12:2). Those who occupy the kingdom with earthly bodies have survived the tribulation and can be subdivided into two groups: believing Gentiles and believing Jews.”)

So, only Believers will enter the Millenium. And because they will have earthly bodies…they will have children…and repopulate the Earth. But here is what got questions dot org says concerning these children, etc…. (“Children born during the millennial kingdom will have the responsibility to exercise faith in Christ, the same as all people of past ages. Some of those born during the millennial kingdom will choose to not believe. That is why Scripture speaks of those who die under a curse (Isaiah 65:20) and why the Lord lays out consequences for nations that do not worship Him: “If any of the peoples of the earth do not go up to Jerusalem to worship the King, the Lord Almighty, they will have no rain” (Zechariah 14:17).)

This is why Satan is released after the 1000 years. Like I said, it’s kind of strange period that God has planned, but for those that come out of the seven year tribulation it will be a time of growing in Christ and teaching their children about Jesus.

I’ve often wondered if this would be the time when we “rule and reign” with Christ, and that part of our responsibility would be to do our best to help all those who came out of the tribulation, and the children born to them, to become true Believers who would not be deceived by Satan when he is released. This is what got questions dot org said about that…

(“However, all believers will rule the nations (Revelation 2:26–27; 20:4) and judge the world (1 Corinthians 6:2). The apostle Peter calls Christians “a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation” (1 Peter 2:9). In Revelation 3:21, Jesus says about the believer who conquers, “I will grant him to sit with me on my throne.” In some sense, then, Christians will share authority with Christ (cf. Ephesians 2:6). There is some biblical evidence, as in the Parable of the Ten Minas (Luke 19:11–27), that individuals will be given more or less authority in the Kingdom according to how they handle the responsibilities God has given them in this age (Luke 19:17).”)

So, this could mean that you and I will govern over cities and towns during the Millenium. We will be perfected in Christ at that time so we would reign as He would.

But after all that, we will finally begin the eternal state for ALL the true Believers. This is the time when any chance of sin is completely removed from the world, never to be seen or heard of ever again. Amen!

There are going to be a lot of changes from the world that we live in now. It sounds like the Lord could make things the way that they used to be. Instead of killing animals for food we will do as God told Adam and Eve in the beginning…

“Then God said, "I give you every seed-bearing plant on the face of the whole earth and every tree that has fruit with seed in it. They will be yours for food.

And to all the beasts of the earth and all the birds in the sky and all the creatures that move along the ground—everything that has the breath of life in it—I give every green plant for food." And it was so.” (Genesis 1:29-30)

You know, there won’t be any natural disasters anymore either. No earthquakes, twisters, floods, or anything that might harm God’s children. It won’t be too hot, or too cold…it will be “just right” all the time.

My wife reminded me of another thing that we will see…John’s vision of the Holy City coming down from Heaven.

“I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, "Look! God's dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God.

'He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death' or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away." He who was seated on the throne said, "I am making everything new!" Then he said, "Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true."

He said to me: "It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will give water without cost from the spring of the water of life. Those who are victorious will inherit all this, and I will be their God and they will be my children.”

(Revelation 21:2-7)

Yes, what a beautiful sight that will be. And we thought the grand finale at the fireworks show was cool! As my wife said about the Holy City coming down, “prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband.” The Groom and his Bride…forever.

This life is only temporary. Soon all the bad things of this life will be forgotten and never brought to mind again. So, while we wait a little longer, let’s take Paul’s advice and…

“Fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.” (2nd Corinthians 4:18)

These are the things that Jesus began to tell his disciples about when He said…

“Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also.” (John 14:1-3 KJV)

I think all of us have things in our lives that cause our hearts to be troubled at one time or another, things that cause us to feel weary and worn out. Jesus knew that we would have these times; but He wanted us to remember that our faith in Him overcomes all of life’s trials, and secures eternity in paradise for us.

"I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world." (John 16:33)

Are you ready? I can’t wait! I can’t wait to see those waiting for me when I cross the finish line.

It won’t be much longer. Hang in there friends. God truly has a wonderful plan for the rest of our life…the eternal one. These times of trouble truly are just momentary when we consider a future without any pain, suffering, crying, sorrow, or death.

And I’ll leave you with my personal thoughts…

Will there be dinosaurs, and will I be able to ride them? Will I be able to run across a lake, instead of walking around it? Oh, the possibilities!

God Bless!

#christian #christian bible #christian blog #christian faith #christianity #christian living #bible verse #faith in god #i love jesus #jesus

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josephslittledeputy · 8 months

Text

WIP... Oh shit, its actually Wednesday??

Tagged by @wrathfulrook @clicheantagonist @marivenah @cassietrn @the-silver-chronicles @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat and I thiiiiink that's it... sorry if you've tagged me & you're not on here, its been a hot minute since I've posted a wip wednesday & my memory is basically Swiss cheese

Tagging anyone who wants to self indulgently share a WIP! Feel free to tag me, I love to read new stuff :)

**Also terribly sorry in advance cause this turned out to be a bit longer than I thought it would be**

WIP 1: OG Verse - fun times with Celeste & Gabriel

He has to resist the urge to throttle her, lest he ruin the inside of his house filled with years of carefully handpicked items, ones he held a certain fondness for. "You ruined my life, Celeste. Or do you not recall?” "Your life?" She tilts her head in mock curiosity. "What life? The one where you were sent anywhere they told you to go, like some mongrel with a barely slackened leash?" “Excuse me?" “We can pretend otherwise. Keep up the illusion that your life was marvelous, picture perfect even. But we both know the truth, don't we?" She takes a step closer. “You were nothing but the High Council’s defanged pup. Cluelessly doing their bidding before I freed you. If anything, you should be thanking me." "Thanking you?" He clenches and unclenches his fist in an attempt to suppress his anger. "Hate me if you must, fight me even, but do it later. Right now we must get out of here. If they do not know where I am yet, they soon will. What do you think will happen once they realize one of their precious dhamphirs has been under their nose this whole time?"

Celeste truly is the nicest individual you'll ever meet :))

Including this little snippet from Gabriel's pov as well cause idk, I just really like it

Unbidden worry strikes him. He listens, waits, and when his ears pick up the sound of soft, even breathing he lets out a breath of his own. Celeste and the baby were still there, unharmed, perhaps even sleeping. It brings an odd sense of comfort, reminiscent of times long forgotten, times he didn’t want to remember. If he did, he’d have to remember what brought them to a halt in the first place and he had a job to do. Grief and old wounds had no place here, at least not at the moment. Kicking his boots off, he treks into the bathroom and gently closes the door behind him. It’s a simple design: Shower to his left, toilet to his right, and a sink with a mirror above it directly across from the door. Leaning against the sink, he ruffles his short, black hair that's shaved on the sides and traces his fingers over an old, faded scar. It runs down almost the whole length of his face, going over his left eye and stopping just shy of the corner of his mouth. Overlapping it is another, only this one goes across his face horizontally, over the bridge of his nose and from cheek to cheek. The only thing that remains of the old Gabriel are his blue eyes, once full of life and mischief, now faded and dull. Turning away from his visage, he heads toward the shower and turns it on, stripping down while he waits for the water to heat up. He doesn’t need a mirror to see the multitude of scars and tattoos that adorn his body. Aching for another drink—if only to dull his senses and lingering memories once more—he curbs the yearning and steps beneath the water.

WIP 2: They Watch From The Pews

Willa squirms, trying to dodge cold fingers that reach out to trace over the letters, caressing them with a sadistic fascination that makes her stomach curdle in disgust. Disgust quickly transforms into a desperation to get away once he finally reveals the knife kept hidden behind his back. “Usually I’d peel the sin off but… I think this will suit you much better, don't you?" Pressing the tip of his blade into her skin, he teasingly drags it across her skin. "Tell me, Deputy, how did you feel when you got the news of Samuel's death?" "Chipper." She spitefully answers with a sneer. John heaves a dramatic sigh and presses the blade down harder, prompting tiny beads of blood to bubble up as he traces over the letters of her tattoo. "You can make this easier for yourself, you know." "I've heard that before. Got me a bullet to the leg." "Because you ran. My men only acted accordingly." "Fuck you and your men, pussy." "My, what a mouth on you." He tuts and makes a deeper cut. Her teeth sink into the leather in her mouth, denying him the satisfaction of hearing her make a noise. Without pause, he moves onto the second letter, brows scrunched up in concentration as he goes over the lines again and again. It isn’t until he’s on the last letter that she finally breaks with a muffled groan. He stops, lifting his eyes from his work. “Comfortable?”

John & Willa are bonding so well. Truly, I think they're starting to get along!

#**wips subject to change**#nah i thought it was tuesday today like... huh #anyway guess what guys i actually have stuff for wip wednesday! granted its not that great but ehh we tryin & thats all that counts #i love when docs will put a red underline under my words like... hunni if that aint a word it is now!!#ohhhh gabriel may be taking celestes shit now but just wait for it... hes a man who suppresses his anger until it builds and blows <3 #i need gabriel like a dog needs a bone ya feel? (shh dont look at me...)#Cel & Gabriel's past history is interesting and a bit convoluted (yes; they fucked)#also i love writing willa bc im like 'how many times can i make her swear? yes!' she just doesnt care anymore #shes feral & angry & shes finally indulging in it #also willas overreacting it was a bullet GRAZE not a bullet WOUND**#meanwhile johns like 'hehe knife time while i interrogate you bestie! <3'#wanted to include some stuff from Sparrows fic too but ah well. maybe next time #ok tag spam done SORRY #oc: celeste night #oc: gabriel walker #oc: willa rook

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lumenflowered · 5 months

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Pelipper mail! A dream of a life that, not long ago, was peaceful and carefree. But no longer.

The statue sings. This strange, tall idol of a man with animalistic face, through means unknown produces a song – in notes so low you could not possibly repeat them except several octaves up, but you do echo its melody. You respond in kind, even as the sparks kindled from its notes sting against your skin and avoiding them becomes ever harder as they reflect off the intricately carved walls...

And when you have finished this odd, disjointed song, and put its pieces all together as one, the statue falls silent.

You sing to it, you call forth a melody so sorrowful yet sharp, folding the Verse into a shape you never before dared... A dizziness overtakes you, and when you come to, you are transformed.

Energy flows through your every vein in place of blood, your skin is pallid and your eyes glow orange from within, and the statue before you has crumbled to the floor in a thousand shards. Did you do that? The most careless wave of your hand sends darts of glowing force waving through the waters, and as you swim onward, deeper into the temple, you find yourself hoping to meet resistance.

You find creatures that spread orbs of the same energy behind them, and even a salamander that sprays the room with splashes of fire, but you would hardly call that resistance. That was barely a fight. You come across nests of swarming, hopping creatures that normally you would have avoided or fled from, but you tear them apart and relish the rush of power releasing from your every move.

...But in this form, you cannot sing, and that nags at you. It is wrong, to be so silent, to not exclaim in wonder at each new sight and fill the caverns and the halls with the sounds of your delight.

So you revert when you can, and use the energy form only to fight back against hostile octopodes and amphibians, as you navigate the maze of winding halls and diabolical traps. You find a pearl, and fit it to a gate, and slam your newfound energy upon its surface until it glows and powers the door to open, letting you swim down further into the foreboding depths.

And at the bottom of the temple, you discover its god.

Or at least, you discover a creature down there, injured and diseased, missing half its lower body and with open sores covering all that remains, with a face still clearly recognizable as the same visage that was carved upon the singing statue and every other relief set upon the walls of this forgotten place.

Whatever intelligence once lived in this creature, it is long departed. You throw bolts of energy upon it to no avail, and are nearly torn apart by its claws when it moves faster than you can swim, but even though the beast is immune to the gift its image bestowed on you, there is still a way forward.

You lure the zombie god back, chasing you toward where you entered its resting place, and there you turn the temple itself against the one it once honored. The traps you dodged while exploring this place show no mercy even to their creator, and though it takes several blasts, the monster eventually falls.

And yet, as you swim past, it seems there was not quite nothing left of the old god after all, for its presence reaches into your mind with a vision, and a memory.

This was the god of the Krotites, a warlike race, each one of them with that same strange mammalian face so out of place here beneath the waves. They laid claim to the waters you now call home, but so did another species as well. The Erulians, like that spirit you awoke in the cave of spiral stones, lived here too... until they were wiped out, every one, in war. And then, with none left to challenge them, the Krotites' lust for conflict turned inward, and their civilization too perished, leaving none to wander these waters save you alone.

You have answers, now, and yet more questions than ever before. You are not a survivor of either of these races, so who are your people? Do they have a creator god like this one? Do they still live, somewhere, far beyond this ancient battlefield?

Those are not questions you can settle from here. You exit the energy temple and make your way to the far side of your home territory, to the Krotite door that bars the way to the unknown... and there, for a while, you sit and reflect.

The sea has gods, you know now. The sea has gods with the power to create life and to destroy, with the power to reach into minds even with their dying breath. And yet, for all the horrors and the nightmares this god imparted unto you, none of it felt like punishment. It felt only like recognition, like the desperation of a once-great being to be seen and understood and above all, remembered. This dying god wanted to help you, in its own foreign way, by giving you a shard of its power and a glimpse of its history.

Should it have been left well alone? Perhaps. But perhaps the knowledge gained was worth the danger, and perhaps it wanted to be found.

But you cannot think here forever. You know now how to operate the mechanisms before you, and so you sing yourself into empowered form once more and open the gate ahead. And you swim forward to wide open waters beyond, never before seen, where your past and your future together await.

[When you awaken, you find countless splinters of red crystal lodged under your fingernails like dirt. Without the light shining through them as easily, they appear darker, the color of blood.]

Th is is starting to fee l like apersonal att ack .

Cont inue sending m enightmares of he ocean li ke this and they w ill simply cea se to affect me so. Thou gh the inclusion of an ocean god that shou ld perhaps not have bee n left well alon eis. Nove l.

If you wil l excuse me ,I n ee d to wash m y hand s.

#aquaria spoilers #pelipper mail #rotomblr #pokeblogging #pokeblog rp #pokemon irl

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rat-cannibal · 6 months

Text

Word Count: 2000+

ao3:

It’d be weird fucking you with explicit permission from Valentino. I don’t want him to know when I get off.”

“Honestly?” Angel grinned. “Same here. Don’t get much of a choice, though, personally.”

“A real shame.” Husk smiled coyly. “A hottie like you deserves full autonomy over his body.”

“Holy shit, that’s the sexiest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“I’ll take anything you want to give me.”

Husk’s eyes narrowed as he idly shuffled the deck of cards in his hands. Instead of gambling today, he was dealing - the euphoric high he got from winning would cloud his judgement for the overlord meeting he was being forced to attend.

Every so often, Valentino liked to host ‘casino-themed meetings’ that consisted of Vox, Velvette, Husker, Zeezi, and Valentino himself. Husk was certain they were just an excuse for Valentino to rebuild his ego after the regular overlord meetings. Everybody in the aptly named ‘casino squad’ was either allied with Valentino or didn’t give enough of a shit to argue with him.

Husk sat staunchly in the second category.

He still continued to attend them because why the hell wouldn’t he? Free entertainment. Watching Valentino prance around like a child while spouting whatever inane idea he had recently come up with brought Husker more joy than it probably should have.

But whatever. He would take his dopamine rushes where he could get them.

As he dealt the deck, he watched the microexpressions of the patrons. A cheek twitch and a tap of the finger - a good deck.

A thick swallow and a lax grin to put off the other patrons - a bad deck.

Husker knew the game all too well, and was well versed in playing it.

The bad deck guy was bad at bluffing. He was trying to bait good deck guy into folding, and was betting more than he probably should have been on it. Rookie mistake.

Not like being good at gambling was a good thing, either, though, thought Husker, somewhat spitefully. Look at where it got him. Knee deep in cash, and elbow deep in a bottle of vodka every other night.

He didn’t drink to feel happy anymore - that ship sailed a long ass time ago. No, he drank to not feel like shit. The only thing that brought him joy was gambling.

He knew his position as overlord wouldn’t last forever. Even the best gamblers had to lose sometime. Maybe being kicked out of his self-made fortress of destructive habits wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Valentino.

“Sorry, fellas, gotta bounce. You’ll be alright without me, won’t you?” He handed the deck to an employee of the casino and gave the bad-deck-guy a comforting pat on the shoulder. “Good luck on the floor tonight,” he murmured, just loud enough for him to hear, “and by the way - your tell is your right leg. It bounces when you bluff.”

Husk entered the VIP lounge, where Vox and Zeezi were already waiting. Valentino and Velvette usually liked to make some sort of grand entrance.

He motioned to the bartender. “Gimme a scotch whiskey. No ice.”

The bartender slid the drink to him. He grabbed it, then took a seat, sipping it idly. With the tolerance he’d built up, one drink would do nothing to him. Made him look pretty badass, though.

As expected, around 5 minutes after the meeting time, Valentino and Velvette strutted in, followed by a posse of their employees.

“Hello, darlings!” crowed Valentino, languishing onto the loveseat. “So lovely to see you all today.”

“Lovely to see you, too, Valentino,” said Vox, crossing his arms. Husker grunted, then took a swig of his drink. The TV demon leaned forward. “Any particular occasion for this meeting? Or is it just a little get together between friends?”

“As a matter of fact, there is! Some of the other overlords - Zestiel specifically - are a bit too uptight to appreciate what I do. It is, however, the 10th anniversary of the opening of my business, so I thought it was due time to celebrate! To mark the occasion, I brought some of my favourite pets along to show off.”

With a snap, Valentino dimmed the lights. Pornstar after pornstar filed in from the door, striking a couple poses before draping themselves over Valentino suggestively.

Velvette and Vox clapped enthusiastically for each one that entered the room. They weren’t anything special in Husk’s opinion, but he paid attention as a courtesy.

“And, as a grand finale, my favourite little pet, Angel Dust!”

A white spider demon with multi-coloured eyes came strutting towards the table, a seductive grin across his face.

His eyes didn’t match his smile, and his movements seemed forced - Husk could tell he didn’t want to be there.

When Valentino traced Angel Dust’s jawline, he flinched momentarily, before leaning into the touch, purring something into the porn demon’s ear.

Valentino pulled Angel Dust into his lap. “Quite something, aren’t they? This is the epitome of all of my hard work. The hottest, sexiest, most desireable demons in hell are all in this room.” Valentino spread his arms. “Go on! Mingle! Get to know them.” He grinned saucily. “The first time for you, my friends, is free.”

Husk held back a scoff. This bitch was whoring out his workers to total strangers. No fucking way this was in the porn star job description. Knowing Valentino, he probably added it to the fine print of the contract they were no doubt forced to sign.

A scantily-clad cat demon shimmied up to him, giving him a sultry smile. “Hey, handsome, love yer whiskers,”

“Uh, thanks.” He shifted uncomfortably. He had no interest in sleeping with one of Valentino’s toys, but he had a feeling that outright rejecting her would land her in trouble with her boss. “I like your, uh, smile. Real genuine.”

Her eyes widened slightly. Surprise. Then, oddly enough, her pupils dilated - arousal. “Why, thank you, honey,” she purred, “my teeth certainly are sharp, aren’t they? Wanna see what they can do?”

“Hey, Callie,” interrupted a brooklyn-accented voice, “lay off, why don’t ya? I got a feeling he doesn’t swing your way.”

The cat - Callie - walked away wordlessly. Husk’s rescuer made himself known by stepping towards him. Angel Dust. “Thanks for helping me out,” thanked Husk.

Angel Dust waved his hand dismissively and took a seat next to him. “Nah, don’t mention it. I could tell you were uncomfortable. Yano, you could’ve just said no and she woulda backed off.”

“I could have,” agreed Husk, taking a sip of his drink, “but I’m sure Valentino would’ve made her pay for it. Am I wrong?”

The spider demon fidgeted with his harness. His eyes darted to the side. “Well, yeah, but that’s not your problem. You don’t need to sit through that shit if you don’t want to.” The words ‘unlike us’ were left unspoken.

“I don’t want to make her job any harder than it has to be.” Husk cleared his throat. “No pun intended.”

Angel barked out a laugh. “I like your style, sweetheart. Kind when you don’t gotta be, not to mention legs for days. Nothin’ compared to me, though, of course, but that’s real hard to accomplish.”

Husk could tell the porn-star was rambling. He didn’t know how to communicate without flirting. A pang of sympathy shot through him. “You know you’re more than that, right?”

Angel swallowed. “What?”

“You’re more than just a sex figure. You’re a real person. And you seem like an upright one, too - real hard to find down here.”

“I’m not part of the ‘first time’s free’ deal, just so ya know. You don’t gotta butter me up.”

“Don’t worry, I have absolutely no intention of doing that.” Husk finished off his glass. “Even if you were part of the deal, I wouldn’t be interested.”

“How come? In case ya didn’t hear Val, I’m hell’s most desirable boy toy.”

“I like my sex fully consensual and free of coercion.” Husk shot a disgusted look at Vox and Velvette, who were indulging in Valentino’s offer already - in plain goddamn daylight. “Unlike some people.”

He heaved himself up from his seat and returned to the bar. He knew the bartender really damn well - too damn well, actually. Both he and the barkeep knew exactly how the night was going to go.

The bartender wordlessly slid a glass of overproof rum over to him - no ice and filled exactly halfway, just how he liked it.

Angel Dust, much to his surprise, had followed him to the bar. “So what’s your deal then, huh? Why’re you at this meeting anyways? No offense, but ya don’t exactly fit in here, toots.”

Husk snorted. “Oh, don’t worry, I take it as a compliment.” He swirled his glass. “I’m here outta boredom.”

“Boredom? I’d think bein’ an overlord would be enough to combat boredom.”

“You’d be surprised,” quipped Husk. “Shit gets old fast. Every day is pretty much the same down here when you don’t need to fear for your life. And when you do the same thing over and over, it stops bringing you joy. So when I find something that does give me that hit of dopamine - namely, your boss making an ass of himself - I indulge it wholeheartedly.”

Angel blinked. “Goddamn. That’s way deeper than I thought it’d be.”

“Sorry.”

“No, no, don’t apologise. Happens a lot in the industry, actually. Drunken colleagues spillin’ secrets to their porno partners, cryin’ in the middle of a scene..” Angel’s eyes widened. “Not that I mean to compare you to us, though. You’re obviously doin’ way better for yourself. Just reminded me of that is all.”

Husk chuckled duly. “Don’t sweat it. And for the record, I’m not doing nearly as well as I seem. I doubt you are, either, are you?” He waved his hand. “You don’t have to answer that.”

Angel took the out and changed the conversation. “So you’re the gambling demon or somethin’ right? I’ve heard a bit about you. Killin’ people with card tricks is pretty badass, ya know.”

“I wouldn’t call them ‘card tricks’,” sniffed Husk, “and I didn’t know people referred to me as the ‘gambling demon’. Not exactly flattering, being named after an addiction. Even if it is accurate.”

“Oh, you think that’s bad? People point to me on the street and yell ‘hey, that’s the porn star!’ At least your title gets you respect.”

Husk laughed deeply. “Well, they’re exposing themselves by saying that, then, aren’t they?”

“As someone who watches porn?” Angel rolled his eyes. “Not much of a confession down here. I’d be more surprised if someone didn’t.”

“I don’t,” said Husk, staring at Angel over the rim of his glass. “I prefer to go straight to the source. Being an overlord doesn’t exactly leave me wanting for a bed warmer. Pretty people are aplenty when you’ve got the power and money to make ‘em stay.”

Angel blinked. Then swallowed. Then bit his lip. “Lucky people they must be, to get a taste of that. I wouldn’t mind joinin’ em.”

Husk threw his drink back and motioned to the barkeep for another. “Tempting offer, but your boss doesn’t seem the type to share. Not outside the industry, at least.”

The spider demon’s eyes darkened. “He owns me in the studio, but outside it, I’m my own goddamn man. He can’t stop me from fucking who I want, when I want, no matter how much he may want to.”

Husk looked him up and down. “Good to know. I’ll store that information away for safekeeping.”

Valentino slinked up to them, draping an arm across Angel’s shoulders. The spider demon flinched slightly, just as he had when Valentino touched his jaw, but relaxed into his arm. “Enjoying yourself, Angel Cakes?”

Angel smiled tightly. “You know it, Val.”

“So glad to hear that.” The moth demon grabbed Angel’s shoulder. Husk held back a wince - he’d seen Valentino’s nails before, and they looked sharp as fuck. “You and I are going to have our own, private celebration after the party. Understood?”

Husk watched Angel’s face fall slightly. His smile looked forced. “Yes sir,” he purred, nestling into Valentino’s arm, “looking forward to it, Val.”

“Good.” Valentino retracted his arm. “I would expect nothing less from my good, little moneymaker.” He looked up at Husk, who had started on his third drink of the night. “You’ll take care of my Angel, won’t you? I don’t like my toys too broken when I play with them.”

Angel’s eyes widened. “But Val, you said -"

“That was for Vox and Velvette,” said Valentino dismissively, “they’ve already taken a liking to you, and I wouldn’t want to get you stolen away. Husker, here, on the other hand.. Well, I’m sure he knows better than to try to take you from me. No matter how tempted he may be.”

Husk grinned laxly. “That I do, that I do. I’d say most people know better than to mess with you - unless they’ve got a death wish, that is,” he flattered. Playing the game was one of his greatest talents. One of the only reasons he still got invited to the casino club gatherings, too.

Valentino relaxed, seemingly satisfied with Husk’s answer. He laughed heartily. “Very true, my friend. Well, I’ll leave you two be.” He sauntered back to the Vee’s table - how he was able to stand Vox and Velvette’s obnoxious moaning was a mystery to Husk.

Angel hesitated. “So, uh, you wanna..?”

“What, fuck you?” Husk sighed. “Like I said earlier. I like my sex fully consensual and free of coercion. And honestly? It’d be weird fucking you with explicit permission from Valentino. I don’t want him to know when I get off.”

“Honestly?” Angel grinned. “Same here. Don’t get much of a choice, though, personally.”

“A real shame.” Husk smiled coyly. “A hottie like you deserves full autonomy over his body.”

“Holy shit, that’s the sexiest thing anyone’s ever said to me.” Angel bit his lip. “You know, I have a phone number. You can have it, too, if you’d like.”

“I’ll take anything you want to give me.”

#fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #bibliophile #books #literature #hazbin hotel #hazbin angel dust #huskerdust #angel x husk #angel dust x husk #gay men #gay #lgbtqia #fanfic #ao3feed #ao3 link #ao3 writer #bookish

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elencr · 1 year

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´ ･ . ✶ ━━ her body rests against the front door frame. her brows raised ever so slightly , as jesse stood in the hallway of her apartment. ellie hadn’t expected him to show up. but she wasn’t letting him in , not just yet anyway. there’s that little mean streak in her that makes her want him to beg , especially after what the decepticons did to her bakery. she still isn’t over that. “ so you should be. ” she replied , arms crossed over her chest. “ what happened this time ? ” she had been trying to keep low and out of the decepticons radar , but being involved with their human , it was really hard to keep being a nobody.

╰ ––––––– ✧ @decepticonranks : asked ❨ hi, welcome to i feel guilty. ❩˙

#decepticonranks #⌜ ANSWERED ⌟ ✦ * · ˚ YOU'VE REACHED THE VOICEMAIL OF ELENORE.#⌜ TRANSFORMERS VERSE ⌟ ✦ * · ˚ THERE'S MORE TO THEM THAN MEETS THE EYE.

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fangirlshrewt97 · 2 years

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TAOAT’verse - Drunk with Affection

So. Remember how I said I would update TAOAT in October. And then I didn’t? This is still not chapter 12. But I missed the boys and I missed this universe so I wanted to write something for it. This is the result. I am not quite sure if it is the same quality of TAOAT, it is set in the same universe. Timeline wise, I guess you could consider it “post-canon’? I tried my best to not include any spoilers for the story I have planned.

Again, apologies for the delay in updating, but I hope I can get back into the verse soon!

I love and appreciate how patient you have been with me, and I hope this work is to your liking.

///

Jai sat down heavily on the pillows arranged into a seating area in the corner of his suite of rooms. He interlocked his fingers behind his neck, leaning back to stretch. Today had not been as rough as last month’s meeting with the ministers, but the meetings had been so dry, Kaakha had had to poke him a few times to keep him awake. Not that Minister Devaraj had noticed.

He exhaled roughly as he finished his stretches, melting back against the pillows as he started stretching his legs. He opened his eyes to scan the room, but obviously Bhairava had yet to return.

Getting up, he walked to the small table piled high with fruits and refreshments, and poured himself a cup of water. A faint tinkling sound started from the balcony, and when Jai turned to look, he saw the wind chime Bhairava had hung up. He started to make his way towards it, only to pause at the sound of knocks at his door.

Finishing the rest of his water, Jai placed the cup back on the table before he went to open the door.

He didn't manage to hide his look of surprise if the half sheepish, half apologetic look Tapan gave him was any indication.

"My apologies for interrupting your evening Maharaj, but I fear Bhairava garu may have celebrated a touch too much."

"Tapan," Bhairava whined, "The hallway won't stop spinning."

Jai blinked at the sight of his beloved. Bhairava rarely indulged in drinks, and never more than a single cup. How on Earth had he managed to get drunk?

"Sorry Bhairava garu, but see, we are back to your room." Tapan cajoled.

Bhairava blinked his eyes open with effort. They were glazed and half-lidded. Until they seemed to focus on Jai and understand what they were seeing.

It was a transformation, for Bhairava went from hanging heavily from Tapan's shoulder, forcing him to support most of his weight, to standing to his full height by himself. Even if he swayed dangerously to one side.

"Jai!" Bhairava exclaimed, utterly delighted.

That was the only warning Jai got before the other man threw himself into his arms, nearly sending them both falling to the floor. As it was, Jai stumbled back a few steps. It was only the presence of the column that kept them upright. Jai grunted, ears going warm as Bhairava wrapped his arms around Jai's chest, rubbing his nose affectionately at Jai's chest.

Bhairava never called him by his name in front of others, nor did he initiate any affectionate touch in public.

For him to do both in front of Tapan, well Jai was starting to understand why Bhairava stayed away from alcohol.

Tapan cleared his throat, and when Jai glanced up, the man was very clearly staring over their shoulder. There was a light blush dusting his cheeks.

Jai cleared his throat, one hand coming up to steady Bhairava at the hip.

"Alright, thank you Tapan. I will s-see you tomorrow."

Tapan bowed. "Thank you Maharaj. Good night."

Jai maneuvered Bhairava enough to go close the door before leading him to his small nest of pillows. It was a task, with how much Bhairava was trying to cling to him instead of putting one step in front of the another, but eventually they made it to their destination.

Once he had gotten the other man to sit, Jai wrapped a hand around the back of Bhairava’s neck, setting his thumb at the juncture below his ear, and tilted it back. He carded Bhairava’s hair back with the other. “Bhairava?”

Bhairava’s eyes fluttered rapidly before he managed to blink them open. When he caught sight of Jai, his mouth parted slightly as his pupils dilated wider. “Jai…”

It was still so alien to him, but intoxicating, being the object of Bhairava’s besotted gaze. Jai cleared his throat even as he felt the back of his neck grow warm. “Bhairava, can you t-t-tell me what happ-p-ened?”

Bhairava’s face twisted into a deep frown, and he tilted forward. “I…Tapan took me to meet our men. We were celebrating… something. They all gave me drinks.”

Jai’s lips twitched. “Yes, and you accepted all of them did you?”

Bhairava whined lowly. “It was so much. It would have been rude to say yes to a couple and no to others. But then it started to feel so good.”

Bhairava swung his head back to look at Jai. “I think I can float Jai.”

Jai bit his lip to keep his smile in check. “Is that so?”

Bhairava nodded his head vigorously, only to break off abruptly as he held his forehead. “Ow. That hurt.”

Jai huffed. “Yes, I am s-sure it will be worse in the morning.”

He went to move back, only to be pulled back in by Bhairava’s steel grip and pleading eyes. “Noooo, don’t go.”

Jai ran his thumb over Bhairava’s cheekbone, a warmth curling around his heart as the man melted against his hand. “I’m not going anywhere, just to get some water.”

Bhairava whined.

“Bhairava.” Jai chided. “It will barely take me a minute.”

Bhairava pouted but released his hold, swaying unsteadily when Jai took his hands off of him.

Jai hurried to the refreshment table, grabbing the pitcher of water and a cup, as well as the platter of fruits for good measure.

He brought these over to the corner, setting them on the low laying stool nearby. Bhairava was staring intently at something on the opposite wall, but then Jai turned he couldn’t see anything particularly striking.

“Bhairava?”

No response.

Jai lightly tapped his shoulder, making the man jump when he sat before he looked at Jai, blinking those warm brown eyes of his. The kajal from the morning had faded, but enough was still visible to make his eyes seem larger than their size. Jai broadcast his movements as he placed a gentle hand over Bhairava’s cheek.

He filled the cup with water from the pitcher one handed, bringing the cup to Bhairava’s lips. The man tried to push it away, but Jai applied some light pressure. “Come on, drink up.”

Bhairava whined but opened his mouth, allowing Jai to pour small sips past his lips. Jai set aside the cup and sat beside Bhairava. He grabbed Bhairava’s chin between his thumb and forefinger and turned it towards him.

He then reached for the fruit, quickly carving up a couple of the chikku fruits before he held out a piece to Bhairava’s lips. “Open.”

Bhairava’s face twisted in displeasure but he opened his mouth. Jai made him eat both fruits, satisfied that at least he wouldn’t be going to bed empty handed. Pouring some water over his hands to clean them, he wiped them on a nearby cloth before he sat down in the nest of pillows.

“So, how was tonight?” Jai asked.

Bhairava sighed tiredly, and tilted sideways to rest his head on Jai’s thigh. “It was good, there were so many people. And everyone wanted to talk to me. I just wanted to be home.”

Jai raised an eyebrow. “You aren’t one to tire so easily.Or shy away from p-people.”

Bhairava glared at him without any heat, batting at his shoulder. “You’ve been away on one of your trips again, you just got back two days ago. I wanted to be here. With you. I missed you.”

Jai’s eyes widened slightly. It was still a novel feeling, being someone another person actually cared for. Being someone who could be missed.

Bhairava continued. “Besides, the attention faded once the dancers came in.”

Jai started to brush through Bhairava’s hair with his fingers, a small smile settling on his face as the action made Bhairava sigh in contentment and rub his nose into Jai’s dhoti. “You didn’t feel like dancing?”

Bhairava lightly pinched him, making him jump. “Ask another stupid question, and you won’t like the result.”

Jai held back the laughter. “Oh? You would d-d-dare lay a hand against your Maharaj?”

Bhairava opened one eye to look at him, a mischievous smile taking over his face. “Who said anything about a hand?”

Jai’s face heated, and it was his turn to pinch at Bhairava’s bare hip where his kurta had ridden up. “Who corrupted you?”

Bhairava laughed. “You.”

Jai grumbled, making Bhairava chuckle some more as he propped himself up on one elbow, reaching up with the other one to tangle his fingers in Jai’s hair. Jai’s eyes closed as those fingers started to scratch at his scalp.

An eternity passed in those few minutes Jai fell into a doze under Bhairava’s ministrations. The sounding of the horns calling out the midnight hour rang through the room, and Jai blinked his eyes open.

Bhairava was staring at him with that besotted expression again, one fist curled and tucked against his cheek.

Jai felt his cheeks warm. “What?”

Bhairava ducked down, giggling.

Jai poked at his hip. “What?

Bhairava giggled harder.

Jai slipped his fingers under Bhairava’s kurta and ran two fingers lightly over his side, making the man try to squirm away from his touch even as his giggles turned into laughter. “Stop, stop!”

Jai removed his hand, instead wrapping his arm around Bhairava as the man adjusted himself to lay on his back. “Now, tell me.”

Bhairava smiled widely at him, making Jai’s heart skip a beat. And then flinch as Bhairava slapped his face from both sides, holding his face into a firm grip. “Bhairava!”

Bhairava was unfazed, instead digging the heel of his palms into Jai’s cheeks and stretching them. “You are so cute!”

Jai growled as he pried Bhairava’s hands away. The other man was still amused as he sat up again, this time, throwing his arms around Jai’s neck and nuzzling there.

Jai was unimpressed, even as he wrapped his arms around Bhairava’s waist. “Anyone e-else and they would be in the dungeons right now.”

Bhairava hummed. “No one else would dare. And you know why?”

“I am the king.” Jai responded.

Bhairava bumped his forehead into Jai’s jaw. “No. Because you are mine. And they’d have to get through me to even have a chance.”

Bhairava said these things so easily. These declarations that pulled the rug from beneath Jai’s reality and set him afloat without any idea of which was was up and down. He did so even when he wasn’t drunk.”

Bhairava pulled back enough for Jai to see the bright twinkle in his eyes, as well as the staggering amount of fondness in that gaze that made Jai look away.

Bhairava tsked, nudging one finger against Jai’s jaw to get him to turn back. “You’re so handsome Jai.”

Jai definitely blushed, if the way Bhairava’s lips curved into a smile against his neck was any indication. He looked hesitantly at Bhairava, who cupped his cheek.

“Why do you do this? When the world praises your leadership? Or your people praise your kindness? Or whenever I say something nice, you hide yourself away.”

Jai’s gaze focused on the hollow of Bhairava’s throat, words choking in his throat.

Bhairava ran his lips over Jai’s stubble till his earlobe, making him tighten his grip on the man’s waist.

Bhairava whispered directly into his ear. “You are amazing, and smart, and brave. And so, so good Jai. I wish you could see yourself the way I do.”

Jai tugged his beloved closer, hiding his face in the curve of his neck. Bhairava pressed a light kiss to his cheek, leading him to draw a ragged breath as even inhaling seemed difficult right now. He had started shaking.

“I-I-I’m not g-g-good.” he finally stammered out.

Bhairava rubbed his face against Jai’s. “You are the very best. And you know what else you are?”

Jai raised his eyes fearfully. Bhairava leaned forward to press a kiss to his forehead. “You are mine. My Maharaj. My protector. My friend. My confidant. And most importantly,” Here Bhairava wrapped his arms fully around Jai’s torso and squeezed with all his strength. “You are my baby.”

A kiss to his temple.

“Mine to play with.”

A kiss to his cheek.

“And cuddle.”

A kiss to his jaw.

“And coddle.”

A kiss to his nose.

“And take care of.”

A kiss to the top of his hair, wherein he tucked Jai underneath his chin.

“And hold.”

Jai was grateful Bhairava was holding him so tight because he couldn’t promise he would not have shattered into a million pieces otherwise. Unable to form a reply, Jai held on just as tight, breathing in the familiar scent of sandalwood and musky sweat.

Bhairava started rocking them gently, humming an old drinking song. Eventually his hold slackened, and though Jai was reluctant to let go, his muscles had started to cramp up as well.

“Bhairava…” Jai started, only to have to shoot out his arms to catch a sleeping Bhairava who seemed to have dozed off in their hold.

Jai’s mouth parted in surprise, only to twist into an adoring smile at the sight of his lover’s peaceful countenance.

Hooking his arms beneath Bhairava’s shoulders and knees, he pushed off the pillows, hefting Bhairava into the bedroom to comfortably set him down in the middle of their bed. He surrepititously removed Bhairava’s kurta and the bigger pieces of jewellery so he could lie down easily.

He went to move away once done, but an iron grip on his wrist stopped him.

“Don’t go…” Bhairava slurred, clearly still asleep.

Jai leaned down to kiss the back of his hand. “I need to extinguish the candles, Bhairava. I’ll be quick.”

He pried the fingers away, hurrying to complete his task. He returned to bed, removing his kurta before he entered. He pressed close to Bhairava, drawing the light blankets up to cover their hips. He then lay down on his back.

Immediately, Bhairava rolled up to him, throwing a leg over his thighs.

Jai turned on his side slightly, tucking Bhairava close against him before he caressed down his side.

A few rays of moonlight fell across their bed, lighting the other man up in silver and shadows that made him seem just like the apparitions Jai witnessed in his dreams. Except far superior because he was real.

And he was here. With Jai.

He leaned down to press a kiss to Bhairava’s hair.

He did not know what he did to earn Bhairava’s love, and wasn’t sure he was worthy of it. But he would fight with everything he had to keep it.

“Good night, my brave warrior.” Jai murmured before he closed his own eyes, and let himself be lulled to sleep by the sound of his beloved’s breathing.

///

What do you guys think? Did I characterize them right?

Tagging (Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the tag list!): @rambheem-is-real @budugu @bromance-minus-the-b @hissterical-nyaan @obsessedtoafault @hufhkbgg @yehsahihai @rorapostsbl @fadedscarlets @alikokinav @chaotic-moonlight @rambheemisgoated @rambheemlove @jaganmaya @burningsheepcrown @lovingperfectionwonderland @rosayounan @iam-siriuslysher-lokid @thewinchestergirl1208 @dumdaradumdaradum @ronaldofandom @jjwolfesworld @jrntrtitties @kashpaymentsonly @jeonmahi1864 @zackcrazyvalentine @stanleykubricks @tulodiscord @teddybat24 @sally-for-sally @jadebomani @stuckyandlarrystuff @veteran-fanperson @ohfuckoffpls @carminavulcana @boochhaan @doodlesofthelastpage @filesbeorganized @meownique @ssabriel @meastradeur @ronika-writes-stuff @umbrulla

#rrr #taoat #jairava #jai x bhairava #jai kumar #bhairava #kala bhairava #jai lava kusa #magadheera #my fic #my writing

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