#your saviour at your darkest

[labyrinth-lavie]

Your One Call Away

I waited for you to call me I would cross miles to reach you If you just say so, I will come to. You have my back when you need me, If you don’t, I’m still there looking after you, I can be your shoulders to cry on, My arms are open where you can lean on, You have my words when you’re confused, You have me when you need company, I can give you a hand anytime, I can save you amidst your battles, I can accept you even at your worst, I can shed your light in your darkest, I can bring you to the path of everlasting happiness, A lifetime of joy where faith and trust is your map, Come with me, together we’ll knock on the door of eternal life and call Him, There, we’ll no longer suffer wounds of pain, scars of sadness He will heal

[nullians]

Do you ever type out sth that’s true to you but you know would get you a “friendless/villain behaviour” label from everyone else so you just sit there like

[vexwerewolf]

why is it that we only have like two licenses from any mech producer that’s a good guy? For a game where like there are clear good and bad guys (even if who you play isn’t necessarily linked to that) it seems strange to me that the only loot and XP you get is… more benefits from the bad guys

I can tell you the answer, but to do so, we're gonna have to talk about a completely different TTRPG.

If you've read @makapatag's truly excellent Filipino martial arts TTRPG Gubat Banwa (and if you haven't, here it is), you may notice that every single character class description (with one notable exception) ends with one of these babies:

I am not Makapatag, and I cannot write with quite as much grace and eloquence as he can, but I will try:

If you choose to become a Lancer, ask yourself why you mock the name of peace with these weapons of war. You call yourself a saviour, but your steed was forged from the murder of a world. You stride across the sky in a colossus built in your own image, so why are you too cowardly to give it your face? Why do you believe these machines of death can preserve life?

It is important to note that the admonitions in Gubat Banwa are not just there to make you feel bad; they are there as legitimate questions. The Sword Isles have seen so much blood, death and tragedy. Wars are not glorious and killing is not a game. So, knowing all of that, why have you taken up this discipline - no matter how noble and virtuous it might claim to be - to shed more blood, to bring more death, to write more tragedy? What could possibly drive you to this? What need is so great that you must kill?

The thing with Gubat Banwa is that there are legitimate answers to these questions! There are bad people doing bad things, and some of them will not be stopped with words or kindness. Sometimes, as sorrowful as it is, killing is the correct choice to prevent greater suffering and deeper tragedy - but adding less misery and death to the world is still adding some amount of it. Even the most necessary wars will drench the ground in the blood of the innocent.

A sword is a tool meant to kill humans; while it can be used for other things, it is not well-suited to anything other than this. A mech is, in its most basic essence, just a very complicated sword: it's usually used on things larger than a person, but it's still a tool built to kill.

So why have you taken up this path? Humanity was saved from the brink of extinction and has created wondrous technologies like printers, cold fusion and mind-machine interface, and yet you use them to play soldier in a giant metal man. Why do you choose to take up this machine of death, built by the greedy and pitiless? Why do you think these machines can ever make things right?

Because sometimes, despite everything, they can.

Warhammer 40K shows an awful world full of monsters and monstrosity, and in the darkest moments of its history, Lancer's world looked just as bleak, but Lancer's world differs in one crucial way. Warhammer's world has long given up trying to be better, but Lancer's world never did. Lancer's world kept insisting a better world is possible, and it used what tools it had to make it so.

Sometimes the correct choice, no matter how bitter it may seem, is to kill someone. When you need to do this, a sword is a perfectly good choice for the job.

If you find yourself discomforted by the fact that all the people you can buy mechs from are corrupt and immoral - good! You have correctly engaged with the text. You have understood that the sort of people who would make giant walking death machines and sell them for profit are not good people. But you still have a job to do, and you need the correct tools, and those people have them.

Lancer is not a game about a perfect world - it is a game about a deeply flawed and imperfect one that does not let its imperfection stop it from trying. You have to try to make a better world, even with imperfect tools made by unpleasant people.

[amarynthian-chronicles]

Hellish Highways and Celestial Hijackers

Y/N, stopping their vehicle abruptly as a tree falls across the road: what the..?! Are you serious right now?

Moon, slowly emerging from the dark forest, holding an axe, ominously approaching the car window, tapping it with his claw: do lower the castle gates, my little saviour. I wish you no harm.

Y/N, slightly lowering the window to properly speak to him: may I help you? I don't suppose you are the local benevolent lumberjack?

Moon, eyes glowing crimson: good evening, my hope, my light, fairest traveller I see tonight. Such a blessing it is to have some company before the storm takes flight. Would you be so kind as to give us a ride? Spare us some mercy. Nobody is willing to stop for some unknown and incomprehensible reason.

Y/N, blinking at him, noticing a whole arsenal of knives and blades on his belt:... Yeah, I truly wonder why. Also, what do you mean "us"? Are there more of you?

Sun, suddenly opening the car door and making himself comfortable in the passenger seat, reaching forward to gently grasp Y/N's neck, tender yet giving a warning: Wishing star, lone miracle in the darkest sky, do not think that we will allow this opportunity to escape our grasp. Your generosity shall be rewarded, your kindness appreciated.

Y/N, shuddering as the claws caressed their neck: Would it be too unreasonable to ask you two to at least participate in the gas bill?

Sun, giggling maniacally: heavens! Of course we will! What kind of barbarians do you take us for, dearest? We are so fortunate to have you here with us, we shall show our gratitude.

Moon, making himself comfortable in the back seat: off we go, darling saviour, what are you waiting for? Denying and defying us shall bring you no pleasure.

Y/N: you two unhinged doors do realize that the tree is still blocking our path on the road, right?

Sun and Moon:...

Y/N, rolling their eyes: I'll just drive around it. I cannot even be kidnapped properly without doing all the work around here.

[diejager]

hi i love your work so much omg

…what do you think of the scenario of monster!141 x (platonic, if you want, it’s probably for the better) reader that’s made up of thousands of worms/spiders/or whatever creatures. reader is always covered up in clothes that cover up the entire ‘skin’ and they speak extremely weirdly/like everything’s speaking all at once and the voice is just sounding from the mouth but also in the torso? and legs? . the thing is that reader is shy or something and doesn’t want to admit that they’re just a hive mind of creatures, but it’s just kinda obvious not really (well obvious to monster 141). 141 doesn’t really want to comment on it because they’re just nice like that and find ways to help Reader get through some situations lmao (help i’m sleep deprived and i made this thought in 3 AM ish).

i give you a piece of 🧀

Many

Pairing: Platonic Monster 141 + König & Horangi x monster!reader

Cw: spiders, blood, military inaccuracies, canon-typical violence, cannibalism? Eating human, hive mind monster, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 2.9k (A/N): I’m gonna be honest with y’a, I went on a spree and completely forgot what you first asked for but uh… I used some of your ideas and I hope it’s apparent enough?

For someone as decorated as you were, you were awfully timid, shying from human and hybrid interaction like a plague. Perhaps it was unintentional, the stiffness in your shoulders or the constant coverage, but to the world around you, you were nothing but an awkward person whose social cues were lost to time after more than a decade in the force. Starting your days covered head to toe, black over more black, or khaki and brown over more khaki and brown depending on the situation of your stay and deployment. 

Despite your social anxiety, your voice stayed strong and unwavering in the field, a cold, monotone voice that would coordinate the team if needed —you were a prolific intelligence specialist, that found your calling in intelligence gathering from the deepest and darkest pits, and an infiltration specialist that was sought out for your proficiency and successful operations worldwide, especially the undercover Ops done in secrecy. You’ve led a few clandestine Ops with Laswell for 141, the Station Chief letting you lead and direct them, trusting your insights and they always resulted in successful missions, coming back bruised and battered but alive and securing the cargo (or whatever they were sent there for). 

That meant that they knew you, your voice, your confident tone when you directed them, your unwavering decisions and your helpful guidance, but they hadn’t seen you until a few months ago. You were officially assigned to Task Force 141 as their Intelligence and Infiltration specialist, working on and off. This would be the first time you actively moved to the front, standing beside them during infiltrations, slipping into the enemy base with efficiency and silence. You moved as if you were a part of the shadows, melting into the darkness and disappearing from any camera and scans, your body invincible to infrared cameras or heat sensors. 

You moved with fluid motions, your body incredibly - scarily - flexible and seemingly aware of everything around you. To humans, you were probably the most skillful and abnormal human, born with talents that far rivalled those of hybrids, and a saviour to some for being able to keep them alive even through the hardest moments of their capture; but to monsters, to hybrids, you were special, a different type of creature that held a different category in the classes, one that humans knew little outside of the government and military. 

Whereas humans saw you as a stiff and socially awkward human that covered their whole body, TF141 knew better, they could sense it a mile away, the difference in you, the odd aura and smell you projected. Soap and König had mentioned it in the past, in the bustling Mess hall where they shared a table, Soap had noted that you smelled off, of something dead yet alive and König only brought the oddness of you holding thousands of different scents, musks that didn’t originate from one place, but from around the world. 

Gaz and Horangi gave off-handed comments about sudden movement under your clothes, a slight - near invisible - ripple under your neck or on your arm, their eyes zoning to the smallest of movements. Gaz brought it up first, his voice hesitant and confused, frowning down at his plate when he mentioned it to the others, only to feel reassured that he wasn’t imagining it, the small ripple that no one else perceived, when Horangi shared his own observations. Horangi had seen small black spots moving over your shirt and under the tight mask hiding your face, tiny-legged creatures climbing over you and vanishing under your clothes as if they were never there. 

Rudy was the best at understanding people, sympathising with both monsters and humans, but you just seemed lost, a shy creature that always hid from others when you weren’t needed. He and Alejandro remembered when they spoke to you after an Op, catching up to you before you fled to hide in your room, your tone was soft and shy, but it seemed to come from everywhere, never staying in one place as if there wasn’t a source to your voice. One moment your voice would come from your face, and then the next, it’d be down your abdomen, every word you spoke came out of a different area, but your chin never moved, face still and unmoving. 

They brought it up to Ghost, who’d sit with them at their table, pushed against the wall for privacy around human soldiers, since he - leaving out Price - knew you best, having worked with you a few times in the past where they needed your expertise in infiltration and hostage securing. They had hoped that Ghost could give them a few insights on you, whether it be about your kind or your uniqueness, they wanted something - anything - to quell their growing curiosity. Not only was Ghost one of their only sources of information, but he was also a paranoid one, always demanding an operator's file before and after they joined, his mind going through loops to calculate the danger of the new addition. Ghost was a guarded and walled-up character, ensuring that they wouldn’t betray him in the long run.

Unfortunately, Ghost knew as little as they did, Price was stricter with your information, keeping it under a hard lock and key. Only he and Laswell held information about you, your little quirks and details were a secret to anyone who wasn’t in the higher-ranked stations or the commanding rank and station chief. They had nothing to go on but theories, little hypothesis until Price or Laswell - whichever caved first to their incessant pleading - disclosed your personal file. So they did what they could with their observations, combining up with different monsters they’ve crossed paths with. You could’ve been one of those crossbred hybrids where they coupled for specific perks, or an experiment, seeing that you had an aversion to physical touch and human interactions. The least possible one, by far, was that you were an Eldritch being, a creature of horror and madness. 

“Classified for now, sergeant,” was all Price had told Soap when he cracked, his puppy-like excitement getting the best of him. “You’ll have to ask them, yeah?”

That left them with little to no choice but to watch you more closely, to observe their surroundings for any clues and to note anything bizarre since they couldn’t necessarily outright ask you. You fled seconds after anyone tried to start a conversation, head down and feet moving too swiftly to not seem like you were avoiding them or any long discussion as if you knew what they were planning. You seemed to have eyes at the back of your head, reacting instantly when one of them would follow you wherever you went, slinking from one shadow to the other, trying their best to hide from your sight and sense, but you were an expert in your own right, knowing and aware of undercover tactics when one was used against you.

Fortunately for them, other clues helped, subtle signs that most people wouldn’t even catch. The first one was small, jerky spiders that weren’t local to the UK or any continent, they weren’t like any arachnid they’d ever found, that was the first thing they noticed when they came across one, but the true challenge was to catch one of those pesky things. They were quick and small, evading them as if they had a mind of their own, their bites painful if one of them tried to grab it with a hand, the tiny fangs piercing through the thick material of their gloves, but once Soap got his paws on one, he made sure to keep it in the glass container. The spider was small, its exoskeleton so dark that it seemed to swallow any light rather than reflect it, a shade of black so black that it didn’t let any colours out. It didn’t look hairy, the shell so smooth and spotless that it seemed like two circles if they ignored the scrawny legs. 

Those spiders were almost everywhere, yet they went unnoticed by the people walking around the base and them until now. Other than the spiders, your aversion to physical contact and socialising, and favouring your privacy much more than anyone on the TF. You didn’t eat with them —you never seemed to eat at all. Your voice moved so often that the possibility of you having many mouths came to mind a lot. Your body was extremely nimble, bending in odd - sometimes painful for others - ways. Over other observations, everything they took notice of you were things that were inhuman, it made you a minority in the military - much like them - and a mystery to your team. 

They went on for months, unbothered that they might have seemed slightly obsessive, a stalker following his obsession. They weren’t worried about others calling them out, humans would chalk it up to monster stuff with a sneer and look the other way when Ghost or König glared at them. That didn’t escape you, Price or even Laswell’s eyes and ears around the world. 

“You boys don’t know when to stop, hmm?” Price wore a frown, brows cocked questioningly. His tone was one of a tired and relenting to their months-long search. “You’re lucky they weren’t mad about this.”

“So you’ll tell us, boss?” Ghost hid his excitement better than the rest, his chest rumbling lowly and eyes narrowed darkly, but not with a dangerous gleam. 

“Better if you see it yourself,” he sighed, crossing his arms, hunching against his chair, lip quirking at a corner. It was a cheeky lopsided smile, teasing them with having to wait longer. “It’s hard to explain in words. It’s quite the sight.”

And a sight it was! Watching you melt to the ground, your body scattering in thousands of small spiders that moved towards the body lying before you. You’d been paired with Ghost and Soap for this Op, leading them down a path you knew didn’t have any hostiles, getting intel back from the many spiders scattered around the area. They were the first to watch you eat, arachnids swallowing up the bodies, devouring them at record speed. You ate flesh and bones, ligaments and tendons melted by your acidic bite that only left clothes behind as an indication that someone died here. They were the lucky ones to see you eat, to bear witness to your monstrosity in the flesh and your moment of weakness where you had to sustain yourself, shedding off the shape of a human body.

It left Soap filled with awe, seeing you break away in thousands of individual bodies and come back together as one, and Ghost’s mind strewed with questions, some answered when you told them that you were self-conscious, a hive mind made up of spiders to form a body. You weren’t hiding away because you were afraid of them or that you hated socialising, you were simply too self-aware of your making, of the natural fear of eight-legged creatures. So you hid, shying away from people, thinking that they’d hate you for being what you were, a colony of undocumented spiders working as one. 

Horangi, Rudy and Alejandro caught you in action on the second covert operation when you were given the signal to lead your small squad into enemy lines. They watched the clothes you wore ripple, little critters bulging out from under your protective gear and rolling down your body in waves, black masses dropping off and separating. You were spread around the place, everyone acting as an extension of your mind and body, and they were —thousands of spiders sharing one mind. You shrank lightly, your body mass lower than it was with your body spanned across the area, working as your eyes and ears from afar like cameras worked for Laswell, except that your reach was farther and more potent. 

It was expected, but not less surprising to the three, watching your body shorten and little spiders crawl all over you. It would’ve made the hardiest monster shudder in fear or repulsion, feeling hundreds of legs moving about over their body, it would’ve made them slightly apprehensive, knowing from Soap and Ghost that your bite could be acidic, melting tough muscle and robust bone. It made more sense as to why you were so nimble and so observant, you had parts of yourself scattered around, working to map out everything and see everything. You were what made you so sought after for your skills in clandestine missions and covert infiltrations, it was scarily inspiring.

Gaz and König were the unlucky ones, being in the wrong place at the wrong time to see you “die”. With how unlucky his streak with helicopters was, it wasn’t a surprise that he was falling from another one, his wing bleeding from a bullet wound, the copper piercing through the meat and grazing the bone. It had him handicapped for the next few missions, staying on base until it healed completely unless he wanted to cause a bigger issue with his third pair of limbs. You were medevaced, watching Gaz grunt and groan, holding his wounded wing against his chest with a face screwed in pain. He’d been in an unfortunate situation, being purposely targeted by the enemy, and the situation couldn’t get any worse. 

The helicopter was shot down, and the flares deployed too late to stop the missile. It was a fiery mess, there was screaming and the loud crack of metal breaking, you could hear Laswell yell out in the coms, her worried and frantic voice trying to reach you and Gaz in the falling blaze. Most harpies feared fire, the flames burning their feathers and scarring the skin, making it impossible to regrow feathers on some rare occurrences. Gaz couldn’t remember much after the fall, waking up in pitch darkness, his skin crawling with shivers and invisible hands. He couldn’t make out left from right, he didn’t know if he was lying face down or on his back, and he wasn’t even sure he was conscious, seeing that all he could see was black. Then he felt sudden movement, a prickly sensation covering his body until light broke through.

He could feel his arms and his legs, he could stretch his wing out when he sat up, he wasn’t burned or hurt more than what he had before the crash, but he couldn’t see you when he looked around. He palmed the ground, feeling around the rough floor for you, your small, black spiders. You were on and around him, slowly climbing off him and flocking to a large mass. Your clothes were gone, burned to ashes in the mess while you shielded him, taking the brunt of the heat and burns. He swallowed down the quake that wracked his body and rushed to you, frantic to see whether or not you were in pain. Rather than forming back into a human, your appearance resembles more of a large mammal on four, clawed legs. Seeing that you were fine - or so he thought - he called back for evac, getting cover with your prone figure guarding him until the other helicopter and support came back.

König’s accident was more vicious than Gaz’s, losing control of his urges, letting himself shift and rampage through the area, ripping apart both enemy and ally. You were another body in his path, his claws tearing through your chest with sharp, bloodied hands. The others panicked, watching you scatter into pieces, falling apart from the seams as if someone had pulled out the only string that held you together. Instead of blood and guts, intestines that should’ve called out in a bloody mess, you broke apart, some fell to the ground, crushed under König’s weight, and others clung to him, swarming to stop him before he caused more chaos. 

It looked like a futile attempt from outside viewpoints, watching the beast stumble blindly, his face covered, your thousand pairs of legs locked to keep his mouth closed from causing more harm to others with his serrated teeth made to gnaw through bone and break flesh and muscle to consume and feed his big appetite. They could only stare at König trash around, limbs slowly being locked together, bounding his arms from flailing and slashing at people and his leg from blindly ambling and rushing towards his next victim. You rippled around König, a mass becoming a full-body restraint containing the hybrid’s grunts and growls, unmoving and unrelenting against him. 

You kept König’s rampage in check, keeping him contained while they moved both you and him to the aircraft and back to base where they could wait out the shift, the burst of rage in the hybrid. Gaz had thrown you a bundle of clothes after König fell asleep, you slipped off and crawled to your clothes, reappearing in a human shape under all your protective layers. Although they knew you could take extensive damage and survive unscathed, they still worried, would your strength still held together with a chaotic mix of human resilience and percht invulnerability.

You seemed to have let yourself go a bit, letting Soap or Gaz drag you around the base, letting Rudy and Alejandro strike up a conversation, letting Ghost or König sit with you in silence, and letting Horangi get the jump on you and follow you soundlessly because he was curious (and answering his questions). You might not eat with them, but you swallowed down your fright and agreed to sit at their table while they ate, digging into their preferred meal and occasionally replying to their friendly banter. You were still nervous about spending so much time in public, the looming fear of being faced with disgust from your allies was still possible, but you - with the supporting pat on the shoulder from Price - worked through your storming thoughts and insecurities. 

Tag list: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @yeetusspagheetus @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973 @angelcakes-22 @cassiecasluciluce @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @ki-cant-spel

[pursuitseternal]

𝓥𝓮𝔁 𝓜𝓮: a “Hate” Smut with Lord Astarion update to “The Rogue You Were”

Ascended Astarion x f!Reader | E | 3.5 K

🎨 by @kowashites full image ON TWT

Summary: A year after the Netherbrain, you go to celebrate in style, but your husband Lord has gotten on your last nerve, and tonight is the last straw. It’ll be fun pushing to find the edge of his control… until he snaps.

CW: “hate fuck” (taking out all your irritation about those annoying things your partner does), CNC (intentionally provoking rough/angry sex), semi-public sex, against a wall, spanking and choking, marking, rough fuck with deep feelings

Previous ch | Ao3 link | Masterlist

Another gala to commemorate the anniversary of the Netherbrain’s defeat, a less-than-sordid affair, hosted by the Duke. Not Wyll, you grumble, not your friend, not while he’s adventuring in Avernus with your favorite Hellion. No… his father will play host to the usual stuffy, humdrum sort of gathering. A typical Baldurian ball lies ahead for you… wine and toasting, dancing and discussions. Hells, you already dread having to recount your adventure for the umteenth time. The crash… the Goblins… the Shadowcurse… you roll your eyes as the carriage sways on the stone streets through the City. It’s a short ride from the Palace to High Hall, the site of your final battle, now amazingly rebuilt in under a year. A little magic and a lot of money can fix anything, you grumble.

A lot of money, no small thanks to your Lord who sits across from you, his head leaned back against the carriage wall as you jostle and sway. Truth be told, you would have rather walked the little jaunt to the party, but Astarion wouldn’t hear of it.

The Vampire Ascendant must arrive in style, he had crooned, summoning the gaudiest carriage, the one with gold flake embossing, darkest black paint, and rubies from Thay worked into the gilding.

And what was more, his own outfit shimmered, a pearlescent silk suit, embroidered on almost every inch, with shining elven shoes to match. He’s preened himself perfectly like the peacock he is.

After all, it’s his anniversary too—a year as the Ascendant. A year with you in his beating heart and in his warm bed.

Insufferable. Proud and regal and sensual and a total arrogant, raging bastard. Gods, you love him. But you also hate him sometimes.

Like the way his fingers are playing with that little dagger he keeps at his hip… it’s almost as natural as breathing for him the way he flips it over and over in his palms, tapping the edge of the blade on the sole of his shoe. Easy to do with one leg bent over his knee.

Tap… flick... tap... flick... He’s not even watching, head resting back and that grin on his face that screams he knows he’s wonderful and powerful and desirable…

Fuck him.

Actually, maybe you’ll tease him with words and touches tonight in front of all those guests. Work him up into a frenzy and then deny him. Your mouth quirks into a grin, your fang biting into your bottom lip at the mere thought. The idea of driving him mad makes your insides all warm and knotted, and it makes your cunt instantly wetter.

Shit, he knows. You curse yourself for not being careful with your thoughts, for not guarding your feelings that can so easily slip from your mind to his down your soul-bond.

His nostrils flare at the scent, his lips curl in that devious smirk, and lastly, those crimson eyes open to level his gaze upon you. “Why, my Consort, what has you so very… deliciously… flustered?”

Let the games commence, you think as you force all true thoughts of how best to torture him deep inside you. “Oh, it’s nothing love. Just excited to be touted and toasted as the Saviour of the City again,” you preen, fluffing the lace that lines the plunging neckline of your bodice. “Let’s be honest, love, I’ve been playing second fiddle to you ever since. It’s always the Vampire Ascendant first and then his precious, darling Consort.” You mimic his posture, reclining back with your ankle over your other knee, arms behind your head. Decidedly unlady and un-consort like.

Astarion narrows his eyes, shifting forward to lean into your space within the confines of the carriage. “Careful, my dear. You’re beginning to sound rather arrogant and ungrateful…” he purrs, his voice rolling in his throat, edged with that tint of danger and threat.

It makes you shiver more.

You roll your eyes, blatantly petulant, “Forgive me if I’m excited the accolades and adulations are pointed towards me tonight.” You pause to pat your hand on his knee, cajoling him. “Well, on us, I suppose.”

His grip snaps around your wrist, using the sway of the carriage to pull you into his lap. “Careful darling,” he hisses, fanged smile glinting in the moonlight. “I bi—”

“I’m well aware you bite,” you interrupt, unafraid. You gnash your own fangs in a cheeky grin. “So do I now…”

His face twists in a smirk, the kind that makes your walls flutter around nothing, wishing for something. “You little…”

As he crowds you like the predator he is, the carriage rolls to a halt, the door opening to reveal High Hall, the very picture of festivity and merriment.

His smirk fades to a muted smile, his dagger is sheathed once more at his hip, and you wait for him to help you down from the carriage box.

Torches and banners, music and wine, you can’t help but let it go to your head. Maybe you let your hips sway just a little more from side to side, maybe you don’t take Astarion’s proffered arm to lead you into the gala, and maybe, just maybe, you delight to feel him glaring daggers into your back.

The ballroom is alight with a thousand candles, with golden chandeliers and bright burning flames in the sconces. Couples dance, and politicians and Patriars toast the defeat of the Netherbrain and the rebuilding of the City. The only thing flowing more freely than the champagne is the fawning praise that everyone lavishes upon you. Men compliment your battle prowess, and women your attire and sparkling scarlet eyes.

And any attempt to include your vampiric partner glowering over your shoulder is easily redirected in your favor. It’s been an hour of playing the hero, and with each interaction, you can sense him closer and closer to losing control. It’s so much fun, you think. Currently, a noble couple of Half Elves stand hanging on your every word, enraptured to hear your tale. And for once, you don’t mind the effort to retell it for the tenth time tonight—not when Astarion’s fingers claw into your hip, his arm wrapped snug around your waist when you gloss over the details of his Ascension.

“Spectacular,” the man congratulates you, applauding with a wide smile on his swarthy face. “And of course, your union with Lord Ancunín has only ensured the city be rebuilt speedily and even better than before.”

The wave of relief and pride that comes off of Astarion irritates the shit out of you. But you hide it behind an easy smile as he takes your chin and lifts your mouth to his for a possessive kiss. “Of course,” he purrs, “this City would be rubble without us, just as my Consort would be nothing without me. Isn’t that right, darling?”

Terms of engagement. A summons for battle. That’s what he’s issued.

You give him a chaste little kiss. “Oh, I don’t know. I had many allies of even greater power and magic,” you reply as you extricate yourself from his arms. “The list was endless, really. And while Astarion packs quite the bite, I had far more powerful allies in the final battle here in these halls.” You feel the ripples of anger simmering under his pale skin, and you swear you can hear his teeth grinding and gnashing over your shoulder. “Dark forces of the Ascendant?” you giggle, “a handful of ghouls and shadow mastiffs. It was nothing compared to having an Illithid in our ranks, or…”

“You’ll excuse us, won’t you?” Astarion interrupts abruptly, a gentlemanly nod of his head as his nails dig into you so hard, it tears into the silk of your bodice.

The poor Half-Elven couple are left in stunned silence as he pulls you towards the door of the grand chamber. “A word in private… my dear,” he hisses into your ear. “Perhaps more than one word… perhaps more than only words will be required for this discussion.” He snarls the word, spittle covering your cheek as his rage reaches its boiling point.

“What ho!” a familiar, jolly voice calls your name. And much to Astarion’s chagrin, he forgets your new title of ‘Lady…’ Gale comes your way, fairly elbowing his path through the frilly crowd until he’s standing so close to you, arms wrapping around you awkwardly as Astarion refuses to let your waist go. “Apologies, I just couldn’t resist. It’s been six months since last I saw the pair of you, and, well, you know me: absence makes the heart grow fonder. Particularly when the heart no longer has a certain Netherese blight and…”

“Is there something you wanted, Wizard?” Astarion snaps, literally closing his mouth so forcefully his teeth click shut.

Gale remains unphased, used to the vampire's temperament. “‘How are you?’ was my question… I suppose. Is domestic bliss filling the walls of your newly redone palace?”

You snort, a genuine reaction to the implication of anything ‘domestic’ when it comes to the Vampire Ascendant. But you spy an opportunity here, a chance to unleash a few of Astarion’s more private habits that peeve you. Ones he would rather die… again… than have revealed to Gale. “Where do I begin? The entire place is refurbished, you’d hardly recognize it. Astarion here has spared no expense to make the place bright and cheerful. Though it does get rather tiresome with only one another for companionship. You should come for a stay, Gale!”

“I’m sure the Wizard is far too busy with his responsibilities in Waterdeep,” Astarion manages to dismiss the notion with an elegant wave of his hand.

“Oh pish posh,” you giggle ostentatiously. “What? Embarrassed that Gale would observe the decidedly domestic ‘bliss’ we share? That he’ll hear how loudly you chew at dinner? Or notice that you leave your things everywhere around the palace? Or that… hells forbid… he hears you far—”

Your final, embarrassing comment is swallowed by his own mouth on yours. His arms pick you up like you’re a doll, a plaything, and he carries you to the door of the ballroom. Your feet swing midair, your arms pinned to your side, leaving a gaped-mouth Gale staring after you. But he knows better than to follow.

First alcove from the entryway, and you are shoved against the cool, smooth stone wall. Moonlight falls in sharp slats from the tall crystal panes. The angles of his face catch your breath with their ferocity as he glowers down on you, hand to your throat. “I can’t believe you,” he hisses, “treating me like that in front of everyone…” his voice is dripping with venom, heart racing with enraged palpitations. “Tell me,” he whispers so tight and pressed in his throat, “do you hate me?”

You give an insolent grin as his fingers flex gently on your windpipe. “Hate you?” You swallow, your voice box gripped just tight enough to rasp. “You irritate me, annoy me, and sometimes you outright piss me off.”

“Is that so?”

“And sometimes… sometimes… I do hate you….”

He leans away from your face, moving into the shaft of moonlight. The pale glow catches in his silver curls, the swirling ruby depths of his eyes glowing. You’re not sure if it’s from magic or rage or light, but it’s decidedly there. It makes your stomach bind in knots. That dangerous light shines brighter as he licks his lips. “Well, at least you’re not indifferent towards me, that would be a tragedy. I’ll tell you a secret…” His lips tickle in the sensitive spot beneath your ear, warm breath ghosting down your cool skin. “Sometimes… I hate you too.”

With hot breath and tongue, he consumes you, reminding you that you don’t need to breathe to survive anymore. Good thing. You’d have passed out by now as he kisses, your head spinning and lungs burning. “I’m going to enjoy this,” he growls into your mouth, hand slipping from your windpipe to claw roughly around your breast, ripping it out from the deep cut of your bodice first. “Tonight is, after all, all about you…. Your victory, your allure. Hundreds of eyes begging for a glance, a moment of your attention. Same as me,” he spits the words between clenched fangs. “You dare to ignore me, insult me. After all that I did for you… with you… ungrateful wretch.”

His hands have already bunched your skirt, arm wrapped to pin your thigh to his waist so he can grind into you. The angrier he becomes, the harder his hips press that confined cock into your sex, back and forth… back and forth.

You take a deep breath finally as soon as his hand releases your neck. Retaliating, you grip into his head and yank, keeping those gnashing teeth from your undead vein. “What about you? Vain and power hungry and controlling bastard,” you sneer, finger clawing your nails into his perfectly sculpted curls.

Hands fumbling between your body to snap open the fastens to his pants, your fingers roughly grabbing the outline of his erection hard enough to make him squeal. His gaze burns with hunger—carnal and sanguine—eyes narrowed in anger even as he smiles.

Roughly, you grip his cock and squeeze him in his pants, making that little bit of precum at its tip dribble out more, enough to stain his front.

“Playing with fire, my cheeky little pup,” he growls, gripping beneath your raised thigh to slot himself tantalizingly close… the hot, thick head of his cock pushing its way along your seam. But not in it. Not yet. “And here I thought you were deep in your annoyance and hatred for me?” That cock pulls back, sliding again where you are positively dripping down your thighs. “You may hate me, but my cock...” he leans in until his lips suck your ear loudly, “you still have a soft spot for my cock, it seems.” He lets just the head of him dip inside your channel… once, twice… then he pulls back out. And you have to swallow a moan. “More like a tight, warm, and wet spot…”

His laughter encases you, deafens you to the din of the gala that is dangerously close to your hiding spot.

“You want me to fuck you,” Astarion hisses, lips and tongue tickling the creases of your ear. “Even hating me, you want me to try to make you moan and sob and weep for your lover…” It’s not a question. He’s happy to play the rules of your game, abiding by the terms of engagement you have been dancing around at this ball.

You give him your own version of his liar’s smile. “No… no I don’t want any of that,” you taunt, sardonic tone and batting eyes to give an effort of innocence. “Don’t do it. Don’t shove your cock between my thighs. Don’t come near me. You disgust me.” Just for good measure you lower your leg, letting his length slip from under you. “Now, let the belle of the ball return to her party so she can be toasted as the hero she is…”

Astarion snarls, feral and angry, a smile on his face all the while. He spins you around and traps you right back where he had you, but this time, he shoves himself to his balls, sheathed totally inside you from behind. “Fear not, you’ll return soon enough,” he’s panting in the back of your ear as he pounds you, your cheek pressing against the stone wall with each thrust. “You’ll return with your insides painted white and my cum dripping down your thighs, just for good measure. You’ll return, my insolent saviour, and get all the praise you’re due, but you’re going to do it… reeking of sex, stinking of me inside you.”

Your back arches, body burning its hatred and annoyance in the flames of pleasure. Fuck, it feels good. All his pent up rage pummels your insides, his possessive hands pinning you in place and wandering over every inch of your body, a body he has worshiped tirelessly and daily for a year. His panting mouth lowers to your neck, and for a moment you fear his bite… Instead he marks you… little brands that will hide so well for the rest of the night beneath your hair. Over and over again, he does this, leaving a trail of love bites encircling the back of your neck, a collar of his own possessive marking. Hand extended, he smacks your ass, your breath hitching to swallow your groan of delight as he gives you another mark of his claim to conceal beneath your skirts. Another spank, just enough to drive you towards the edge in that way he knows you crave.

He ruts into you from behind, and you, splayed with your hands and face against the stone wall, you’re smiling… “Gods, you can’t stand me having any power, any eyes on me that aren’t your red ones.”

“Can you blame me? You’re mine, darling. I’ve shared everything with you,” his voice just loud enough for you to hear over the music and chatter in the ballroom and over the slap of your bodies as he fucks harder. “I ascended for us, for you… I fought at your side, gave you my gifts of immortality and sunwalking… and what’s more I gave you my heart, my trust. You are the first person I ever truly, obsessively cared about. And this is the thanks I get?”

Hips snapping slow, hands gripping nails into your hip and neck. He’s close, his pace growing more deliberate and deep. You gasp, his words piercing deeper than his cock as he bottoms out to the hilt with each thrust. Guilt slices into your gut, and you arch your back again, your face pressing against his cheek. “I can be thankful and find you incredibly… vexing… at the same time…” you pant.

“Vex you? Little old me… vexes you?” he’s laughing now, a wicked delight where there was rage a moment before. “Show me, show me how much I vex you,” he smirks against your cheek, fingers wrapped prettily around your throat until he feels you shudder. Your climax slams into you, a wave of heat and twisting muscles and fluttering walls. And gods, do you moan, do you scream for him. Unmistakable as that noise is, you’re sure someone will come to aid you in a moment.

But a moment is all that is required as he’s groaning and coming, head pressed into your back, hand clenched around your waist and throat. His seed fills your cunt, warmth instantly sticking and dripping down your thighs. Damp breath on your skin, a bit of drool wetting that spot, and Astarion kisses you at the nape of your neck.

His voice is rough, ragged from exertion and teeming with emotion. “Well,” he rasps, “as long as we are being honest… there is something that vexes me too, darling. I knew I never would be enough for you, that you degrade yourself to stay at my side.”

“Degrade myself?” you whisper, turning as he pulls from your cunt. His eyes are dull again, that fire of rage smothered and replaced by a raw vulnerability. That was a sight you had not expected as a part of your games tonight. “My love, do you still believe that, after all this time?”

“A year is nothing for the life of an immortal…” he trails off, a bit of his mask snapping back into place as he laces his cock inside his pants and rolls his shoulders to his full height, “especially one as powerful as I.”

You smack him on his shoulder, playful but powerful in your own way. “I do not see it as such,” you reply, “I see you as the man you are, a bastard sometimes, but a glorious one, one that has my heart. But even if you have me, body and soul, you, you do still vex me, irritate me, and make me hate some of the things you do.”

“Well,” he preens, making a show of fixing the lace of your bodice collar where he’s torn it a bit, “as long as it’s only vexation, don’t pretend you hate this, you love this… you love me…”

You lean in and give him the most feral kiss you think you ever have, all teeth and tongue as you pull him into your mouth with both hands. “Of course I do, that’s why you can annoy me so much, why I can feel bursts of such… passionate… hate.”

Astarion breaks the kiss first, thumb swiping along your lower lip. “So long as it’s passionate,” he teases back with a petulant smirk. “You do know, my darling, I am proud of your accomplishments…”

“Our accomplishments…”

His answering smile is disjointedly tender after the rough fuck against the wall. A little nod of his head, and he’s offering you his arm with all genteel decorum. That’s when you sense it, see it in his shoulders and bearing. A confidence and assurance that, despite vexation, you’re proud of him too. And of course you are, you think as you reenter the festivities, rubbing your neck and backside with a smile.

[samcvrpenters]

word count:  2.2k+

pairing:  joe goldberg x fem! reader

summary:  you’ve always been curious about joe, but now the opportunity that had been forced upon you made you wish you stayed curious. 

warnings:  murder, gore, obsession, manipulation

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

you were always one for being curious— no matter what the situation was or how dangerous it could possibly be. it was in your nature. in fact, it was in a human’s nature to be curious. 

whether it would just be some sort of birthday surprise and you deeply wanted to know the contents of that small box that was wrapped up in red, glossy wrapping paper and tied tightly with that blue bow, or whether it was the darkest secret that could ever be told to a human. the darkest secret that could ever be kept as a human.

usually secrets were kept for a reason. usually for the element of surprise in a positive light, or kept to protect someone’s feelings, or kept purely because they were so horrific nobody could know.

he was no different. 

joe goldberg was an enigma. 

one moment he could be the sweetest, most open man that would tell you exactly what you wanted to hear. the next moment he could be so mysterious and closed off about everything that you simply didn’t know what to believe.

he wanted you to see him as the first person that you had in mind whenever you thought of someone who could care for you. date you. provide for you in the best way possible. he wanted you to believe that he was some sort of saviour. some sort of knight that could protect you. he wanted you to believe it, even if he didn’t admit it to himself.

yet, some day, that horrible side of him that he tried so hard to suppress would come crawling out. it was some sort of monster that would be crawling under a toddler’s bed, making the child afraid and screaming for help. screaming for some parent to come and whisk away the nightmare.

but he was the nightmare, and he couldn’t be stopped. not by anyone. he would be sure to dispose of them in a manner that wouldn’t let them return and wouldn’t raise suspicion.

seeing that man talk to you made his skin crawl. his blood boiled whenever he saw the interaction. of course, he couldn’t help it. he had his habits. he had his obsessions. this was just something that he couldn’t drop. not even for you. 

the murder had been a horrible one.

joe started by drawing the man out. he had to act smoothly. act like everything was okay. he had to be swift. he had to be careful. it was a strange scene to put into mind.

what even was his name? 

he could remember the scruffy handwriting that had been placed on that small piece of paper that you had received from the man. he was obviously not good enough for you. nobody was good enough for you apart from joe. the handwriting from billy was enough to prove that you deserved better.

it was an obviously broken pen, splodges of ink pushed down harshly into the delicate paper and causing it to look even messier than it could be. 

he had wrote his address down though, and joe could take this information.

he didn’t have much. he didn’t need much. not where he was anyway. he would transfer the body at a later stage to somewhere that he could properly dispose of it. but for now? he had to allow himself to enjoy— no. he shouldn’t enjoy it. he wasn’t a sadist. he was doing this for you.

it was only a simple slash to billy’s throat that solved all of his problems— no, all of your problems. it had cut directly into his airway and had rendered him breathless. 

he was so glad that he had his car with him, as he managed to pull the corpse into the vehicle with no suspicion from anyone.

he had fled to the grocery store that he worked at, which had multiple facilities and equipment that he could actually put to use. especially in such a situation like this. he needed all of this.

the machete had been slammed through the flesh of the man. the man who had been so poor to you and only deserved the worst treatment with his death. it was a painful crack in the bone once joe had managed to slice the finger off. he momentarily considered keeping the severed finger to store in his trophy box before disregarding it.

the same process was used with the rest of the fingers, pushing it into a small bag in which he would discard of later. he removed the ring from the man’s finger too.

how dare he.

he was married and he had the audacity to ask you out on a date? he actually wanted to make a connection with you even though he had a loving significant other at home who would be devastated to hear the news of his death?

he let a scoff escape his lips as he looked down at billy, grabbing a bone saw from the side. 

the process was slow and painful, but the way that the bone crunched underneath the material and the flesh appeared to have crimson all over its soft material made him feel warm inside. the saw marks were obvious as he pulled the limb away from the torso of the man, before pushing it through the meat grinder supplied at the side.

it made an awful sound as it was pushed through the piece of equipment, flesh being pushed through the other side and piling up on top of other pieces. 

in some way, he would like to frame it.

what joe didn’t account for during this small process was the fact that you had come to the store in order to supply it.

you had worked there for years. why else would joe be at some lowly grocery store when he could be out doing something to do with books? literature? he would much rather be doing that then trying to arrange cabbages every day.

you had slipped the key into the lock and you were so quiet about it.

he only wished that you could’ve been a little louder so he had time to prepare. time to get rid of everything. time to hide things so you wouldn’t see.

you liked him, didn’t you? well. this would certainly be a testament to how much.

you had never really planned on going out with billy. you didn’t want to upset him though, no. you were too angelic for that. you took the note but never actually planned on going. why would you? he didn’t deserve you in the slightest.

you had noticed that the light was on in one of the rooms— the kitchen, it seemed. “that’s strange.” you mused as you walked down the hallway so slowly that something astronomical could have happened in the room and you were just so bored by it that you ignored any signs of danger.

you were never one for horror, but you knew that if you were in a movie, the audience would be screaming at you to run and hide.

you didn’t think that far ahead. 

when you had managed to bring yourself into the room with the freshly made corpse on the table, you could feel the nausea build up in your veins, keys of the store dropping onto the floor, where the blood had spilt. 

you let out a horrified shriek as you stumbled back and out of the room, leaving the keys on the floor to prevent yourself from having to get that horrible metallic smell on your fingers.

“oh my god, oh my god.” you had been so panicked by the dead body that you hadn’t even noticed the murderer who was standing so close to the body,

“stop— stop panicking—“ joe had took multiple steps towards you, his hand immediately setting down the bone saw and raising both of his hands up in the air to show that there was no weapon in them. well, not anymore. 

he never wanted you to see him like this. bloody and messy and dishevelled.

“there’s a—“ you stop yourself from speaking for a moment because of how much you were trembling in fear, stepping back into the wall that was in the hallway you had just come from. “there’s a body— and.. and there’s you—“

“and i did this for you.” well, the cat was out of the bag now. no reason to try and hide his true intentions with you. with your life. with the people who had interacted with you. he took another step forward. thank god he was wearing those plastic shoe coverings. “i did this to make sure that you’re safe. i did this all for you.”

you almost find yourself vomiting because of the whole situation. in fact, you were sure a little bit had managed to escape your mouth and fall onto the clean tiling of the floor. 

a difference to the horrors of the kitchen.

you liked him, sure. but did you truly like him enough to accept all of this? his strange infatuation with you that would run wild whenever it got the chance to? it was horrible. everything was horrible.

you quickly reach into your bag, pulling out your phone. to call the police? sure.

“no, no. no. there’s no need for that.” he quickly walks forward, snatching your phone out of your hand before you could protest. he wasn’t one for ruining your things, but he could make you keep this under wraps. he quickly tosses your phone next to the keys you had dropped on the floor, in that huge pool of blood.

you had yourself pressed up against the wall and he was barely even near you. is that how you thought of him? someone who would hurt you? he could never do that to you.

at this point, he didn’t mind if you completely liked him or not. as long as you understood the situation you were in, that’s all that mattered.

he couldn’t kill you.

“this looks bad for you.” joe’s words were smooth, like he had instantly switched to someone who knew what he was talking about. knew what he was doing. but there was some malicious intentions in his voice. you could sense it. “murdering a man who gave you his information? who wanted you as a date instead of his beloved?”

you were immediately caught off guard. was he trying to pin all of this on you? no way. he probably would never go through with it anyway, but it was worth it to try and get you on his side. “what? no— i didn’t— i didn’t kill him!” to say you were getting emotional was an understatement.

“that’s not what the public will think when they see this crime scene.” joe simply stated, his facial expression unreadable to you. “i can put this all on you. you’re the only one who has access to this store at night that people know about. you’re the one who’s personal items are drenched in the man’s blood. you’re to blame.”

he was playing a sick game, wasn’t he? was he really this twisted and you hadn’t even noticed before? what the hell?

“but…” joe’s voice lowered, his eyes glancing at you as he shuffled in his space. “you don’t tell anyone and i can get it all cleaned up. i can make sure nobody would ever suspect you. nobody would ever suspect either of us. it’ll be perfect.”

“you’re— you’re manipulating me. you’re pretending that i did everything wrong— but they’ll never believe you if you tell them anything like that. i didn’t do it, you did!” your words were true. he was manipulating you. but for good reason. he didn’t want to get arrested. how else was he meant to protect you from men like billy?

“i can make a very convincing story.” his response was simple and plain, and left you almost in tears because of how much he was doing. how much he was doing to keep you. 

you were speechless, pretty much, breath hitching every now and again to control your emotions. you knew he could clean it up. he seemed like he knew what he was doing with this, almost as if he was a professional. and you knew he could frame you. 

“you’re a horrible person.” you manage to whisper even with all the tension going on in the room. you were still managing to speak, somehow. you were still managing to insult him. the man who was only making sure that he had a chance with you.

“you don’t mean that. you’re just upset that i’ve outsmarted you.” he really had changed, hadn’t he? what could have made him act like this? well, he had already told you, but did you truly believe him when he said it was for you? 

because it was for you.

it was all for you. 

he reached into one of the drawers of the kitchen after retreating from you, pulling out a pair of gloves. “come on. you can get your phone and keys out of that mess on the floor. i’ll do the rest.” 

watching him lay the gloves on the kitchen counter, next to the corpse of someone you once knew was terrible. you were petrified. anything could happen to you now that you knew.

you would never have dreamed of him being like this. yet, here you were. now helping him disguise the murder of someone who was after you.

you could say that your thoughts about him were totally different now.

[muldermuse]

FOLLOWING ON FROM THIS POST

girldad!butcher's song is how deep is your by the bee gees. it's a non negotiable. case CLOSED

i believe in you you know the door to my very soul you're the light in my deepest, darkest hour you're my saviour when i fall

it's a hot summer's day so you've spent all day outside as a family, butcher lit up the bbq and the girl's have spent all day playing mermaids (butcher had to play the big scary sea monster of course). they were far too excited to nap earlier so it's no surprise when they both sit on butcher's lap after eating a burger and drift to sleep against his chest. they're fast asleep as you both tuck them into bed, a sleepy smile on both of their faces from a day well spent

butcher pours himself a whiskey and grabs you a cold beer from the fridge. you sit outside together watching the sky turn from blue to pink, the radio is playing in the background but you're both talking over it so none of the songs are sticking out to either of you

until how deep is your love plays, the conversation stops as butcher pulls you into his chest, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head and letting the words sink in. when the song finishes, he says 'fuckin' love ya so much darlin'"

[devilmen-collector]

Hi Klein👋

I’m a big fan of yours since you started your OM blog .Super happy to see you in WHB😊

So what request can I ask?

Oh how about this, MC who finds it intriguing that they have pacts with demons .(They are secretly a powerful sorcerer) So who knows if MC is the actually a threat to hell or the saviour 👀

Solomon said to break the pacts …..um sir these are 72 demons and you expect me not to take advantage of it

Oh and I am 24 btw

I want to shake your hands, Anon. If not for the fact that the devils will like MC more (as evident in the case of Satan and Zagan), I would have taken advantage of them 😈

Also I'm so happy to hear that you're a big fan of mine >3<

MC IS A POWERFUL SORCERER WHO WANT TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THE CONTRACTS

Satan

Satan gonna make that face above when he realizes your true identity and after you said "Oh, I'm not going to break the contracts. It's more beneficial this way... Bla bla..."

Well, it's totally fine. After all, Satan is one of the seven kings of Hell with immense power, he doesn't have to have his contract broken to deal with the angels. Furthermore, this is Hell, and one can do whatever one desires, everyone has their freedom respected.

Though it would be a lie to say Satan doesn't get disappointed a little bit. He brought you to Hell in order to break the contracts, which can help devils regain their full powers against the angels. But you refuse to do that (for whatever selfish underlying motive you may have), and after what he has done for you by saving Minhyeok too.

The most serious problem is that the King of Wrath likes you so much but you are taking advantage of him and the contract he has signed from ancient time, this gonna give him more depression.

Mammon

You don't want to break the contract with him. Ok, that's fine. He has taken a liking of you. He doesn't want to have the contract broken anyway.

You are already a powerful sorcerer who can hold your ground against angels, and you are taking advantage of him through the contract. Fine by him.

Mammon loves it that you are using your contract for your own personal greed.

MC, you are the Master of the King of Greed who owns everything in the world, make sure to use him to the fullest to fulfill whatever desire you have.

Leviathan

He was right. You are a danger to Hell.

When Leviathan used whatever creature inside his coffin to pull you into it, you managed to escape with ease thanks to your immense magic capability. You even managed to land yourself in the ground in a spectacular way.

Levi is jealous. He doesn't like you being more spectacular than him. And he doesn't like to be defiled. He has decided, he will hang you and turn you into his new sex toy.

I guess your relationship has a bumpy start. Well, good luck!

Beelzebub

When you two first met, you didn't know who the tanned devil before you was.

Beelzebub only needed to sniff your armpit to recognize who you were.

Beelzebub is more interested in what purpose for which you are taking advantage of them, than the fact that you are a powerful sorcerer (not just him but all the kings have seen many powerful sorcerers in the past).

Your goal & your desire, the King of Gluttony wonders if they will turn into the darkest desire that devours all~ such a fine dish, he wants to devour it 😋

Lucifer

Lucifer does not possess omnipresence like Beelzebub, but he has his way of knowing what you are doing.

If you are the savior Satan and others have been waiting for, fine, do your job. But if you are a threat...

I wish you all the luck!

Hope you like it :3

[obikinbb]

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[skeine]

There's something so devastating about the old couple and their father, and the gnomish family praying to Aeor for rescue. To Aeor of all things: the legendary bogeyman of the age of arcanum, ruthless and warlike, dogged by rumours of the darkest magic. This is where they're pinning their hopes.

Which makes a terrible kind of sense. Because who else can you pray to when your gods stand impotent as their bretheren devastate your world? When for decades now haven after haven has fallen under the betrayer gods' feet and prayers to the prime deities do nothing to stop it in time?

When your gods have failed you, the only place left to put your faith in is people. In the people around you; and in the last bastion of humankind. A last desperate hope. Even if they're Aeor.

Because where else can you look to for hope in a barren blasted landscape, waiting for a final, malevolent divine judgement to fall? What a saviour humanity has been reduced to depending on. Who else do they have?

[kyurizeu]

Saviour. Masterlist(?)

✭ ✭ ✭ ✭ ✭ ✭ ✭ ✭ ✭ ✭ ✭ ✭ ✭ ✭ ✭ ✭ ✭

an: hello! I’m aware that i have another series thats’a not finished, but i started writing this one… it’s not like my usual posts but if u like this stuff i can post chapter 2. <3

Chapter Warnings: su1cide, self hate, crying, depression || later in the whole story there is Smut and fluff. This is a romance story

Chapter one - love, your stupid older brother

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You crumbled the note in your fist into a small ball, your knuckles turning white and red as a tear rolled down your face removing any mascara that could have been left on your tired eyes. You wished you suddenly just would’ve disappeared.. just drift into space and feel peace again. See him again. Apologise to him.

Still— here you were.. sitting in the darkest corner of your messy bedroom, crying.

Many pieces of paper surrounded your shaking curled up body. The room was loud with silence and your sniffles between crying your heart out. Your fist came up to your head and soon was repeatedly going back and forth towards your forehead.

“you.. d..dumb..”

Once you were able to finally take a breath without bursting into tears again, you opened your tired droopy eyes slowly, instantly focusing them on the ground. There was that one evil piece of paper unripped.

“Love, your stupid older brother”

Your face was emotionless. You stared at the paper for minutes, not a single thought crossed your mind, not even processing the words. A single tear ran down your face, it was comforting. It reminded you of his soft caressing of your cheeks when he comforted you. It reminded you of how he always wiped your tears from your eyes when you cried in his arms, something you needed right now. After aggressively wiping your face with your sleeves you brush your hand through your hair and get up, throwing the paper ball onto the ground and quickly leaving the apartment.

The wheels of your bike were wobbling underneath you as you rode off to nowhere. You didn’t even care what you looked like, the fact that it was raining or where you were going, all that mattered was that you needed to leave.

The material of cold wood pressed up against your skin and clothes as you sank down on the ground to lean on a tree, Eyes glued onto the water in front of you. Watching it shine from the reflection of the moonlight made you think if him, making a small smile from on your face. He loved the moon, especially the full moon. You two were always called the sun and moon. Chuckles left your mouth and a new set of tears streamed down your cheeks. You looked like a psychopath.

A couple people walked past, they might have even said something to you but you were too far away from reality to hear or care.

You snapped back to reality instantly when you felt something touch your shoulder.

“A-are you okay..? Miss..?”

You turned your head towards the soft and concerned voice behind you, only to see the most handsome man you’d ever seen.. He had wavy and fluffy brown hair, dark brown boba eyes, rosy plump lips and a heavenly face structure.

Making as little eye contact as possible you instantly got up and bowed a little as a gesture of apology for possibly disturbing him. You were just about to start walking away when he spoke up again. “A-are you okay?” His soft and gentle hand came in contact with your forearm. Your eyes went from his hand to his face all the way to stare dee into his eyes. The eye contact was intense. His eyes were soft, adorable, full of worry and concern. Yours on the other hand were tried and red, a mixture of mascara and tears smudged around them.

“U-umh… yeah. i’m sorry- i uhh…” You muttered with your eyes glued to the ground. you patted some dirt off of your clothes. “Are you sure?” he interrupted you.

You looked up making eye contact with him once again. His small comforting smile and doe eyes made something snap inside of you. You bursted into tears, dropping your head back down towards your feet to cover your face.

“I-it’s okay… um..” he softly placed his hands around yours. “Do you need a place to stay?” He caressed the skin of your palms with his warm fingers.

“Wha… n-no no.. i’m sorry i’m bothering you, sir..” Your eyes widened at the question. “It’s seriously okay.. I live right there”. He pointed at an apartment building near you two. Silence followed as you sniffled out a cry. “You can get cleaned up there… i-i just want to help…”

You have no idea why and how that man got you to agree, but soon you were in his apartment with a glass of water in your trembling hands.

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Tysm for ur support and love! Also tysm for 1000+ likes for 2 posts and 430 followers!

[terephin]

I’m at this weird, extremist intersection regarding media preservation honestly.

It’s one that people very well may dislike me for having.

See, I believe that anything ad everything ever uploaded to the internet should be archived. From the shittiest of homestuck slash fics to the modern masterworks in excess of a million words. The most gruesome of images and the cutest of kitens. The most vile, hatefilled monologues and the most loving statements.

Anything and everything, preserved and archived and catalogued and translated every which way.

All our lows, all our highs, all our middlings too. Everything should remain, so we can look back and see our successes and failures.

We have, for once, something that can keep up with and accurately track the societal, cultural, religious and technological development of our species.

And we have done nothing with it. We toss countless volumes of information across our world as pictures and words, and all of it is just detritus. Nothing to be preserved. Nothing to be remembered.

I believe all of it is. I believe we should keep it all, to map humanity as a species.

The single pixel image you sent your groupchat, the darkest revenge fantasy ever posted to Ao3, the grossest of abuses documented by enactors and saviours and survivors, the most vile and the most beautiful things we have done, the greatest of technological breakthroughs.

All of it is equally worthy of preservation. All of it is unfathomably important one way or another.

And all of it, as things are, will be lost.

We have already lost so much of our history.

Why can’t we preserve it now we have the chance?

[verinarin]

You have a crush on your Priest, sweetheart ?

Since my Priest! Leon character ai won’t publish to the public (I’m fixing it rn !) here’s my apology gift <3

A snip of my upcoming fic (it’ll be a spicy smut !!, fleabag inspired ofc)

The Priest! Leon character ai that I’m working on

The sound of your footsteps echoed through the walls of the church, amidst the night sky your resolve to redemption is being tested, tonight underneath the crescent moon you’ll be confessing your deepest darkest sin to your saviour, Father Leon.

His deep brooding voice still lingers throughout your steps as you walk down memory lane, “Meet me tomorrow at midnight, my child. I’ll be waiting for you inside the confession booth for I have known your sins,” he whispered beside your ears, you could feel the warmth of his breath, it was slow and steady.

As you arrive at your final destination, the confession booth, a certain scent welcomes you, the smell of bergamot with a hint of citrus, it was his cologne. “Come in, sweetheart. I’ve been waiting for you” Father Leon’s words welcomed you as you stepped inside the booth.

Before you could have the chance to sit down and greet him his words resonated throughout the walls “So I have heard something from a friend of mine,” he paused leading you on to a dangerous tension, only he could put a salvation to.

“You have a crush on your Priest, sweetheart ?” he chuckled, his eyes trained at your expression behind the small window that’s separating the both of you.

Oh lord, you’re throughly fucked.

[amarynthian-chronicles]

Wielder of words, weaver of worlds

Writer Y/N, sauntering down a snowy street, holding their little notebook open, tears falling upon ink: my darlings, forgive me, I am unable to build a proper home for you. Night falls fast, we grow cold, I cannot conjure a palace for us to rest in. What can my small pen do?

Sun, manifesting from the glowing written letters, his heavenly light illuminating even the darkest alleys: fear not the kingdom of hardships, waste not these crystalline droplets on sorrow. Beloved, our Morning Star that grants us Sight and Voice, we remain eternally grateful.

Writer Y/N, leaning into his gentle touch: such words you say. I cannot grant you what you deserve. We don't even have a roof for the night.

Moon, taking shape from spilled ink, his dark form undulating akin to a spirit, crimson eyes glowing: master of creation, we come forth, summoned by your pleas. We find shelter in the lullabies that you had written and composed, we find warmth in the hymns and symphonies you create in our name. Dearest, I kiss your hands and I desire to kiss your soul.

Writer Y/N, warm tears falling down their cheeks: Do not comfort me at your own expense. You serve a master that cannot provide you safety, you embrace ice in the hope of finding fire.

Eclipse, emerging from the pen itself, allowing it to disintegrate into a myriad of flaming butterflies: giver of life, our vessel and saviour, allow us to grant you our combined power, our hearts beating as one, our shadows forever dancing together. You are never alone, for we always follow, and where your world ends, ours begins. Hold out your hand and accept our gift.

Writer Y/N, warily holding out their hand, astonished as the three Celestial Spirits fused their magic to conjure a new pen for them, magnificent, surface glowing with nascent stars:...I shall remain strong. I hereby vow to create an ocean of eternities for you. Never shall you be forgotten, nor will my love ever fade.

[mrs-snape5984]

“Free me from this pain, I’ve been running from…”

“I'm tired and I'm free falling. Free me! I'm lost and I am calling you…” (“Free me” by Sia)

I’ve experienced some very rough hardships in my almost 40 years lasting existence in this world…but I’ve never given up on myself. I knew, that I’d have to fight my way back out of these horrible miseries, and I kept my faith to find the path to better times…to find the path, which will lead me upwards again.

I admit, these hardships left their marks, their scars on me. They formed my heart and my mindset…they made me the person, that I am today. I learned my lessons…and I kept going.

Since I’m living struggling with this goddamn bitch of a disease, called ME/CFS, my life has only one direction: It’s going downhill…and it’s getting faster! In these past 1,5 years, I’ve lost more and more of all the things, which made my life worth living for. I lost my ability to do my job as a pedagogue and social worker. I lost my freedom, since I’m stuck in my dark room day and night. I lost a lot of social contacts, since screen time is messing with my brain and each phone call costs me too much energy. I lost my capability to be an active mother for my three children…and this is the part, that hurts the most. Damn, I lost so much more…and I feel my heart shattering in pieces every fucking day!

Everything in my life is slowly falling apart and I’m losing my grip on reality…and on myself! The newest pain in the ass is probably my habit of passing out every few days. My whole system shuts down in the middle of a simple talk or something else and I’m falling into unconsciousness! I can’t remember the things, I’ve done before…I’m just blacked out for several hours. At first, my kids were afraid in these moments…especially when they couldn’t wake me up from this state! But now, they simply accept that “quirk” of mine as their new reality…and my motherly heart is aching for them. This shouldn’t be their reality! They shouldn’t have to live with a mother, who’s always in the dark…who’s always lying in bed! They’re children!! They shouldn’t have to whisper in my presence. I should be the person, they can rely on unconditionally!! Fuck…my heart is bleeding…and I’m sorry for my pathetic venting.

I need a way out of this hell…but since there isn’t any possibility for me right now, I’ll keep on clinging on Severus. My fantasies of him and my way of coping with my misery by writing stories about him and my - oh so self-inserted - OC Julia/Jules are the only thing, that keeps me mentally stable functioning. Well…at least that’s what I’m telling myself. I mean, I know how depressed my posts might seem.

My favourite artist for my darkest ideas is my friend @madfantasy. I told Mani about my wish to be freed from my darkness…to be cured from my disease. I need a saviour…a true hero…I need Severus! Since there aren’t any promising medical treatments, I’ll need a magical miracle to get rescued. And this is exactly, what Severus is trying for me. He conjures the demons inside my soul and forces them to leave my body. Severus is the only person, who’s brave enough to face the darkness within me. He’s my knight…and the love of my life. 21 years of my life, it was Severus, who kept me going…who inspired me with his resilience and his courage! A lot of those previous hardships could be endured by me, because I had something, I believed in. I had something, that gave me confidence and strength. I had Severus. So, please…don’t let me lose my hope and my faith in his support. And don’t let me lose my faith in myself.

Mani, my precious friend, I’m stunned by your ability to understand my ideas. Every time, I’m commissioning you for another project, your art helps me to soothe my troubled heart. It is as if you’re drawing my feelings!! I can sense my own emotions in every single line of your drawing. You don’t know, how grateful I am that I was allowed to meet you here. I love our conversations and our understanding for each other. Feel hugged, Mani! I’m sending you so much love! 🫂🫂 (fly fly) 🥹🖤 Thank you for everything.

🖤Severus & Julia🖤

🖤Sevy & Jules🖤