#and my expectations were set at the core of the earth itself like so far down it was burning in hellfire...

[defyingdipity]

i am insanely curious to know...

nuance in the tags!! 💚🩷

[zmediaoutlet]

This world without apocalypse—or demons, or angels, or magic of any kind, as far as Dean can tell—is… fine. It's a craphole for all the normal reasons, what with climate change and war and gas over three bunks a gallon. But—as far as Dean can tell, if he went down to the ghost highway in Nevada it'd really just be a dumb story kids tell each other at summer camp and not something that'd get his lungs torn out through his throat. If he went down to a crossroads and buried his face and name in the midnight dirt, he'd just be down a decent fake ID.

It's not like the dream he had all those years ago, when the djinn tried to give him a fantasy that was rotten through its core. This world is sterile. All the problems it has, problems of its own making, with no fate or angels or anyone trying to load the dice. You die here and—you die, and that's all. Your body rots into the earth and grass grows from the dirt above and there's no heaven or hell and no deals to be made and no responsibility to things beyond the concrete meat in front of you. Freedom, more bare and wild than anything he'd ever imagined.

He's gotten through about half the bottle, eyes dry and sore from reading, when Sam reappears, looking harried. "Hey there, People's Sexiest Man 2010," Dean says. At least there's Sam's face, when he hears it. "You think they send you a plaque or something for that?"

"If they do, this guy's probably got it in a trophy room," Sam says, revolted. His eyes drift down from the terrible gigantic version of himself behind Dean's back and to Dean's face, which for some reason makes him frown even if Dean's just—what, he's sitting here. "What?"

"How was—" Dean gestures vaguely at the ceiling. He wandered through the house while Sam was doing his own search, saw the master bedroom with its california king mattress and the his-and-hers bedside tables and the gallon-sized bottle of Wet in the drawer. Sue him, he investigates shit for a living. "You were gone a while."

Sam's mouth gets thin. Prissy bitch. "Don't laugh," he says, and ignores Dean immediately saying no promises. "Said I had a headache. She applied, like. Essential oils. Said we needed to re-align my chakras."

Dean sits back in his chair, something tense that had been wrapping itself around his spine slowly uncoiling. "Tell me she used a crystal," he says.

"Amethyst," Sam says, grim, and Dean whoops. "Dude, this world sucks."

"Oh, I dunno," Dean says, kicking his boots up onto the desk. He lifts the glass of stupid-expensive scotch he's nearly drained. "Got some perks, at least."

Sam comes around the edge of the desk, takes the glass out of his hand, and drains it. Dean would sock him one but, hey, he had some not-Ruby weirdo alpaca owner trying to align his chakras with a purple rock. Instead he leans over and pours Sam another inch or two of liquid gold. He expects him to knock it straight back but Sam only sighs, leans his hip against the desk next to Dean's boots. His thigh against Dean's calf, warm. Real, in a way all this strange day has hardly felt. Like he's been walking around a dumb Hollywood set, like if he threw a punch it'd crack through cheap painted cardboard, but then here was Sam and—there was the world, as it should be. More or less.

"People's Sexiest Man?" Sam says, after a few seconds.

Dean snorts. "People's Choice, too, for… something or other. Looks like we don't win real awards but the fans are into it. Probably for all those abs." Sam rolls his eyes, sitting back on the desk. He sets a boot on the chair next to Dean's ass so their legs press against each other, hip to ankle. "I don't know, man. It's… look, you're rich, you're a movie star or something, you're married. Demons are a crappy special effect. It doesn't one hundred percent suck."

"Genevieve says we had an affair," Sam says. Dean chokes on air, coughs, and Sam hands the glass of scotch back over. Smiling slightly, the bitch. "She wanted to use positive language about—healing with honest communication, or something. We had a huge fight but I guess they managed to cover it up and now you basically live in your trailer. Well, not you—Jason Ackles, or whatever. She thinks I've been trying to make up with you."

"Can't resist this even in an alternate universe," Dean says, when he's recovered his air. An affair. Jesus.

Sam sighs at him. "I hate this house," he says. He slides his hand under Dean's calf, pressing their knees together. "I don't care about alpacas. I don't want to be People's Choice for anything. I'll take all the crap that comes with it if I have to but I want to be home, where I've got my own name and you've got yours, and we're—who we are. Sound good?"

Dean bites the inside of his cheek. Sam raises his eyebrows, waiting. "Yeah, okay," Dean says, voice miraculously clear, and gets Sam to squeeze his calf, to lean forward. His hand sliding up Dean's thigh, his eyes steady on Dean's. Dean swallows, catches Sam's fingers. This free thing spreading wings under his breastbone. "Just—Sammy," he says, and Sam hums, eyes dropping to his mouth. "Maybe we can steal that bottle of Wet before we go?"

[xasha777]

In the verdant valleys of Syrillia, where the twin suns kissed the horizon with hues of golden orange and the sky was draped in an ever-present rainbow, there lived a peculiar being known only as the Fortune Master. His appearance was reminiscent of ancient Earth’s mythological leprechauns, but his essence was of another world entirely.

The Fortune Master, with his vibrant green suit and a hat as tall as the tales he'd spin, was no ordinary creature. He was an architect of chance, a cosmic gardener who sowed the seeds of luck throughout the galaxy. In his hand, he held not a simple playing card but a Quantum Clover, a device capable of bending probabilities and altering fates.

Atop a mound of glimmering coins that sang with the energy of a thousand suns, the Fortune Master would usher in adventurers from across the stars, all seeking the bounty of the fabled Syrillian treasure—a treasure that promised riches beyond imagination and, for the fortunate few, a sliver of the Master’s own boundless luck.

One day, a traveler from a distant, technologically advanced planet arrived in Syrillia. Her name was Elara, and she came seeking the Fortune Master’s aid to save her home world from an impending cosmic calamity. The engines of her world were failing, the very fabric of her reality unwinding, as if misfortune had seeped into the core of their existence.

The Fortune Master listened to her plea, his orange beard shimmering with a light of its own. With a knowing smile, he offered her a deal—a game of chance, played with the Quantum Clover. If she won, he would grant her the luck her people needed. If she lost, she would leave empty-handed, with only the memory of the rainbow skies of Syrillia.

The game was like no other, a match played on the canvas of potentiality. With each flip of the Quantum Clover, possibilities flickered in and out of existence; fortunes rose and fell in the blink of an eye. Elara, with her keen mind and unwavering spirit, embraced the chaos of the game, her heart synchronized with the pulsing rhythm of chance.

In the end, it was not just luck that won the game, but Elara’s indomitable will. The Fortune Master bowed his head in respect and touched the Quantum Clover to the heart of Elara's world engine design—a holographic blueprint that she had brought with her.

As the touch materialized, a cascade of emerald energy flowed through the hologram, weaving threads of fortune into the very core of her planet's engines. The Master had imbued them with a luck so profound that the engines sparked back to life, their power surpassing all expectations. Her world was saved, not only from the immediate danger but from any misfortune that might threaten its future.

Elara returned to her planet as a hero, her name etched in the annals of her people. The Fortune Master continued his enigmatic existence, a beacon of chance in a universe governed by the rigid laws of physics. And in the heart of Syrillia, the legend of the Quantum Clover and the day when luck itself was bent to save a world passed into legend, an inspiring tale for all who sought the Fortune Master in the hopes of changing their own destiny.

But the story did not end there. Whispers began to spread across the cosmos, stories of the miraculous turn of events that saved an entire planet. Soon, beings from every corner of the galaxy flocked to Syrillia, each with their own tale of woe, each hoping to be graced by the Fortune Master's touch.

The Master knew the power of the Quantum Clover should not be taken lightly. It was not merely a tool to be used at every whim. The balance of luck was delicate; where fortune smiled upon one, it often turned its back on another. Therefore, he decided to set out on a journey, leaving the verdant valleys of Syrillia behind to restore balance where the scales of luck had tipped too far.

With his Quantum Clover and an endless trail of coins that never seemed to diminish, the Fortune Master traversed the stars. On worlds plagued by unending misfortune, he would appear, his presence a sign of hope. With a flick of the card, barren lands sprouted lush greenery, and failing systems found new energy. Wherever he went, the rainbow that arched across Syrillia's skies followed, a celestial bridge connecting realms of possibility.

Yet, the Fortune Master was not alone in his quest. Elara, the engineer whose heart had resonated with the pulse of chance, joined him. Together, they formed an alliance between technology and luck, using her knowledge to guide his intuition, ensuring that the Quantum Clover's magic was dispensed with wisdom and foresight.

As they journeyed together, they uncovered a profound truth: the Quantum Clover did not create luck but revealed the hidden potentials within each world and being. True fortune, they learned, lay in the ability to see the promise in every moment, to choose paths with courage, and to believe in the potential for better outcomes.

And so, the legend of the Fortune Master and Elara spread across the galaxies, a legend not of a being and a card that could change fate, but of the belief that within every thread of the cosmos, there lay the chance for greatness, and that sometimes, all it took was a leap of faith and a little bit of luck to achieve the impossible.

[the-hopefulpenguin]

#every day i get closer to writing an essay about fire nation grand strategy#there are quite a few context clues!

So, about that...?

I’m so glad you asked! A caveat before we get going – ATLA is a children’s television show and is not designed for geopolitical analysis. That said, I do think it’s possible to do it with a bit of inference and squinting at maps. So, my argument is that the Fire Nation began the Hundred Year War (HYW) as a maritime campaign of colonial acquisition and geostrategic defence, but their war goals steadily totalized – especially in the late war.

To expand that out a bit, I’d identify three core phases to the HYW from the Fire Nation perspective:

1. A largely littoral effort in the early parts of the war to seize outlying Earth Kingdom territory.

2. A stalemate imposed by geography and distance.

3. Attempts to break that stalemate through various escalating means, culminating in the Sozin’s Comet attack.

To explore this, let’s go back to Sozin. Why did Sozin start the HYW? We see on screen that part of it is a ‘civilizing mission’ (quotation marks very much deserved) to share the riches and wealth of the Fire Nation with the rest of the world. Now, that’s him explaining his cause to Roku, so he’s certainly couching the effort in a particular rhetorical stance – but the idea of some sort of ‘Hotman’s Burden’ (to bastardise Kipling) would make sense from what we know about Fire Nation culture.

But it’s not just that, of course. Part of it is simply colonial expansion – the western coasts of the Earth Kingdom were up for the grabs, so Sozin took them. But I think, perversely, the war can be better understood as a pre-emptive forward defence. Why? Because a strong, united Earth Kingdom is the Fire Nation’s worst nightmare.

To take a brief trip into British history, one of the core tenets of British foreign policy from the 1500s onwards has been to avoid a single country dominating the coasts of western Europe. If this were to happen, invasion attempts against Britain would be in the offing – the Spanish tried this, Napoleon tried this, Hitler tried this.

I think Sozin thought similarly. We know from the Kyoshi books that the Fire Nation takes the threat of the Earth Kingdom very seriously – Rangi notes that the Fire Army plans and trains for a war with them, on the order of three centuries before the outbreak of the HYW. However, this was not a major concern because the Earth Kingdom was in frankly shambolic straits. It could not police itself, individual powerbrokers operated fairly independently, and the risk of some sort of invasion of the Fire Nation by the Earth Kingdom was very low.

However, then Kyoshi (who, incidentally, is awesome) comes along and starts fixing the Earth Kingdom. She scours daofei and defeats warlords like Chin. The Earth Kingdom, under her watch, starts to stabilise – and centralise, too (for example – refugees in the HYW were expected to run through a fairly complex bureaucratic system to get to Ba Sing Se. That points to quite an advanced level of governmental development).

If I’m a Fire Nation strategist at this point, I am starting to get seriously concerned. A centralised Earth Kingdom would have access to far more resources than I ever would. In addition, while the Fire Nation enjoys a technological advantage, it’s not out of the question to assume that the Earth Nation would begin to catch up – certainly we see in the post-HYW era that industrialisation is very swift in the western Earth Kingdom. I need to either attack now while I’ve got a chance or watch while my neighbour becomes a continental superpower able to impose demands or conquer me. Or try diplomacy but let’s be honest, the Fire Nation’s government wasn’t set up culturally or institutionally for that.

(Incidentally, this is almost to a tee German logic about the First World War – Russia was developing rapidly, and the German military felt that they were going to go to war at some point; and so the sooner, the better).

And so, Sozin decides to pull the trigger and invade. This also necessitates the removal of the Avatar as a precondition, hence the timing and scope of the – utterly barbaric – genocide of the Air Nomads. But this invasion appears limited in scope.

Our evidence base on this is exceptionally patchy, but when we look at maps of the Fire Nation’s advances, they are largely confined – even after a century of fighting – to the western edge of the main continent. They have a secondary front down south in Chameleon Bay and have at points lunged eastwards to positions like Pohaui, but their landwards expansion isn’t very big. Omashu is very close to the Fire Nation and didn’t fall; and General Fong’s fortress is similarly nearby, albeit to the north. Gaoling, too, is untouched by the war.

My thinking is that this is partly a matter of simple logistics – sustaining armies advancing deeper into the enemy heartland, away from sea lines of communication (SLOCs) is very difficult. But I also think this was strategic intent. The Fire Nation can’t govern huge swathes of the Earth Kingdom. Even their very limited footprint at the end of the HYW is unruly. Rather, Sozin hoped to bite and hold a small part of the coast, demonstrate the weakness of Ba Sing Se, and hence encourage other parts of the Earth Kingdom to splinter. This would end any threat to the Fire Nation and net some neat and prosperous colonies into the bargain.

But they didn’t. The Earth Kingdom stayed more or less coherent – see, for example, all their soldiers being equipped similarly which points to state-run arsenals – and fought back. So now the Fire Nation is left with a real problem. They can’t advance too far from the coast without facing major challenges, but they also can’t defeat the enemy without such an advance. They could retreat, but honour and national prestige means they can’t. So, they’re stuck in a stalemate through much of the war.

By the late-war period, and as Iroh’s generation – the second generation of military leaders born into the war – comes to prominence, patience is running out in the Fire Nation. Decades have passed and the Fire Nation is no closer to victory. Negotiation is unthinkable in a militaristic and honour-bound society. So, the obvious choice is to escalate and break the stalemate by main force.

Iroh’s first up to bat, waging a conventional campaign against Ba Sing Se. He does well – very well – clearing the path to the city and breaching the Outer Wall. But the tyranny of distance, logistics, attrition, and the loss of his son prevents a final push to victory. Zhao turns to spiritual means, hoping to kill the Moon and break the enemy will (or he’s just a bit insane, it’s not entirely clear). Azula and Ozai opt for technological solutions – a giant drill, and then a fleet of airships.

We are also seeing, increasingly, the barbarisation of the war. The Fire Nation clearly look down on the Earth Kingdom, and harbour supremacist sentiments going all the way back to the Age of Kyoshi. But Ozai brings this to the forefront, no doubt informed by decades of tit-for-tat atrocities and pointless, bloody stalemate; imperial powers and resistances to them both have quite lax rules of engagement around civilians. This is what allows Ozai and Azula to propose genocide as an ultimate war winning tool – and what turns a large enough coalition against the Fire Nation that they lose.

So…yeah. There you have it. Fire Nation grand strategy starts as quite sensible, but under the pressures of war and tyranny becomes an increasingly total and barbaric effort which culminates in the attempted extermination of the entire Earth Kingdom, vis a vis the mere countering thereof.

PS: From this perspective, the creation of the United Republic as a pro-Fire Nation power on the western coast of the Earth Kingdom represents a strategic victory for the Caldera. No wonder Hou-Ting and Kuvira are both so revanchist!

[falling-pages]

Okay how about first cuddles with Bakugou? Like he is almost feral about being held and having reader snuggle into them. And then....then he realizes the powers of a good cuddle. His body relaxes and accepts the cuddles. You know, just Bakugou leaning how to be a soft boy. 🥰🥰🥰 Hope this helps!! Happy Writing!!

This T_T my heart absolutely melted. This was absolutely self-indulgent on my end and I’m so happy you requested it!!!!

I decided to make it a part 2 of this one shot since so many people asked for a part 2 🥰🥰🥰 Lol also it’s long so I’m sorry

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Friday Night pt. 2:

Third-Year Bakugou Katsuki x Third-Year gender-neutral Reader

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Genre: Fluff, pining, cuddles, first kiss, just Bakugou going feral when he finally gets cuddles

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Bakugou didn’t sleep like you thought he would.

Even with the fever ripping through his body, he laid there so peacefully. On his back, eyes scrunched shut, mouth in a thin line, the first time you had ever seen him not scowling, actually. It was like sneaking back into school after hours and watching the teachers work silently, in their natural habitats.

You didn’t know what you were expecting him to look like unconscious. Snarling snores, maybe. Resting on his stomach, gripping the sheets in his fists hard enough to rip. Probably thrashing, screaming and cursing at his dreams. Imploding smokey holes into the mattress.

But not...this. Not so peaceful, not the way he turned and slightly smiled at whatever his brain came up with. Not the way he would gently breathe in and out of his nose. Not the way his right hand sat limply at his side, his left crossed protectively over his worst wound near his stomach. Not the way his hair stuck out on the pillow gently cushioning his bruised face.

Neither Bakugou nor Aizawa would tell you how he got hurt, raising your suspicions. With graduation looming and the hero license exam nearing, you had figured your teacher had taken some of the top third-year students out for extra training. Bakugou had garnered more control over his quirk, granted, but he still needed the extra training. He liked to push himself too hard, take too many missions. Your outburst earlier in the evening sunk that into his thick skull. 

Some part of watching him felt wrong, knowing he would blast you into outer space if he caught you looking. But this was your job tonight, to sit by his side and watch over him as he healed. 

He suddenly gasped in his sleep, eyebrows furrowing as he clutched his deepest wound. The air rushed out of his now-open mouth, accompanying the slightest whimper. You lurched forward and activated your quirk, falling to your knees to look within him. 

It staked your heart to see him in so much pain, but nothing was wrong, just some blood rushing to his wound. Not too heavy to come through the bandage, though, so you blinked and let it be. 

And then you took a calculated risk. Maybe it was foolish, maybe it was wrong, maybe you thought “to hell with it” about his malicious tendencies. You knew it wouldn’t cure him, and you knew he would probably disintegrate you into a pile of ash and smoke, but you wanted to try. That tugging feeling in your stomach wouldn’t leave you alone, so...

You kissed him.

Well, his forehead. It was hot and dripping with sweat, and you knew it was dangerous, you knew his power was stored in his sweat, but you did it anyway. You had to. You had to try something to ease his pain. 

He shifted beneath your touch, and you dove back into your chair and tried to act nonchalant. 

Like that would work. Nothing escaped Bakugou, even when he slept.

His eyes peeled open, eyebrows quirked as he took in his surroundings. A brief whiff of smoke aired from his palms until he realized where he was. In “some extra’s dorm.”

“Hey--” his voice crackled like his bombs as his eyes fully adjusted to the dim lamplight. His peaceful facade remained. 

“Hey,” you whispered back. Even injured and half-asleep, he still intimidated you. 

“What happened?”

You breathed, relief flooding your core. He hadn’t noticed. “The pain woke you up. But you’re alright. Go back to sleep.”

His eyes trailed lazily across the room, until they met yours. Those crimson red irises could strike fear into the hearts of friend and foe, but when they looked at you, they were soft, confused, trusting. Sleepy.

“That’s not all.”

You settled back in your chair, fiddling with the wicker arms. “That’s what happened.”

“You kissed me.”

You suddenly prayed to every god that you would die. Shiiiiiiiiit, he felt that? 

Panic covered your hands, making you lose feeling in your fingers. A buzzer sounded in your head, like an evacuation alarm. You cleared your throat. You wracked your brain for an excuse, but came up empty. Lying to him was a surefire way of getting blasted through the nearest wall. And, if the way he looked at you was any indication, you’d better tell the truth. “Only on the forehead.”

Bakugou studied you. Now his eyes were calculating, cunning. Now you couldn’t tell if he were looking at you as friend or foe. “You know my sweat could blast your face off.”

It would be a mercy compared to what you were about to go through. “You...just looked like you were in pain. I wanted to help.”

He stared at you for a few more painful seconds. His gaze pierced your sternum like a knife. Then, as if Heaven itself opened, he smiled.

He smiled. 

“I wouldn’t mind another,” he murmured, turning his head back to the ceiling. Try as he might, you saw that grin, joining the blush running across his cheeks. As much as your crush feelings were hyped, you couldn’t help but feel more relieved at the fact that you were still in one piece. 

You crept forward, hesitant to do as he suggested. He was a bucking horse, a wildfire that changed direction with the wind. It was all you could do to avoid getting burned. 

As you leaned over him again, your size dwarfed by him, that calculating sheen stayed put. Was he going to burn you as you were defenseless? Was he going to blast you? He wouldn’t. He had better instincts than to hurt the very person taking care of his injuries as he laid helpless in bed.

But if he was being vulnerable with you, then maybe you should be vulnerable with him.

When you were just a few inches away, Bakugou’s eyes still open, he suddenly reached up and yanked your head down, interlocking his lips with yours. You sputtered, jerking to pull off, but his hand kept you there, eyes fluttering shut as soon as you made contact. After a moment, when you felt your soul reenter your body, you shifted to support yourself better, kneeling half-way on the bed, crossing your chest just above his.

He was warm. You could feel his warmth even while you sat feet away. Unlike Deku, whose skin was always cool and clammy, he was warm. Either by his quirk or fever or just himself, he was burning up, fiery to touch, like a cast iron brand digging into your side. That’s how he made his way in this world, torching the earth and salting the fields if he didn’t get what he wanted, setting off explosions to mold and shift reality into what he desired. He was molten lava, desperate, eager, wanting, burning and terrifying to touch, a spark set ablaze to decimate anything in its path.

Pulsating, and beating, and alive.

But when you lowered your fingertips to his shoulder, and you flinched--breaking the kiss to softly gasp--he frowned, focusing on your face, the way your eyes looked at your hand and how your sensitive fingers rubbed together.

“You okay?” he whispered, gravel voice hushed in honor of the moment.

You heard the pain laced beneath his voice and turned to look at him. Your hand fell on the mattress beside his chest. As his eyes bore into your head, you watched him, the way his muscles rippled, the way his very soul seemed enchanted by your kiss. If you activated your quirk, you were sure you could see the way his blood danced beneath his skin, the rush of chemicals to his brain, the excitement flaring in his nostrils.

He was an inferno incarnate, breathing and wild and alive, letting you touch him with all the slow calmness of an ocean breeze.

You slowly blinked, losing yourself in the imprint of his lips on yours. You unconsciously reached up to your mouth, tracing the outline of it with your fingertips.

As you make a sound of satisfaction, he smirked, trailing a hand up your calf to rest placidly on your thigh. “I said, extra, you okay?”

“Umm. Yeah.” Your eyes follow his hand, expecting it to burst like his grenades. “You’re just really hot.”

He scoffed, smacking your thigh--but gently, just feeling your skin. “Damn right I am.”

“No, not like that.” You rolled your eyes. “I mean, you are hot--attractive, I mean--but your skin...ummm, it burned me.”

“Oh,” he grunted. His eyebrows furrowed, losing that playful edge. He took away his hand, bunching around the sheets instead. 

You massaged your sore fingers as he contemplated. You nearly missed his hissed out, “Sorry.”

So it was a night of firsts--the first time he heard you curse, the first time you heard him apologize, your first kiss and his, too, as far as you knew.

“It’s okay.”

Bakugou moved, waving your helping hand away in case he burned you again. Once he sat up, he leveled his eyes to yours and very lightly, gingerly, took your hand and raised it to his pouty lips. You waited for the sting, but as he kissed your fingertips, all you felt was warmth, like molten chocolate, like a woolen scarf, like the sleepy feeling of an open oven door. 

He finished by rotating your hand in all angles and degrees, making sure to cover every inch of your palm, knuckles, and wrist in his love. The residual buzz traveled from your hand into your heart. 

“It’s my emotions,” he murmured against your skin. “My quirk acts up when I’m emotional.”

He kept his eyes nearly shut, only focusing on pressing more adoring kisses to your skin. When you returned your other hand to his chest, he shuddered, staring back at you with wide eyes. You saw what he was about to say--“Don’t touch me, I don’t want to hurt you”--and folded your finger against his lips.

“You won’t hurt me,” you whisper. “You’re powerful, but I’m not afraid of you.”

You moved your hand down and leaned forward, returning his kiss. The hand he once possessed smoothed under his jaw, outlining it with a finger to pull him close. You tasted the hesitancy in his lips, no longer masked under the bravado of his previous kiss, and smiled. You searched for his hand and found it, bringing it to your waist, giving permission to the boy who rarely waited for others’ approval. But he waited for you. He respected you.

I know you won’t hurt me. 

And that single move was when he realized he was so, so feral for your touch.

His long, powerful arms wrapped around your middle, hauling you completely onto the bed and scooting you into his lap, hugging you as close as he possibly could. There was no soft bone in his body--he devoured you, desperate for your love, your lips, you, you, you. A boy who had been scared to touch all of his life--knowing what it did to people, what he could do if he tried, the damage he even did on accident--was now clutching someone who wasn’t scared, someone who cared, whose hands knotted in his hair revealed just how desperately you needed him, as well. 

You filled him with your love, and he you, and you felt a tear escape, the kind that you cry when watching a sunset, or eating ice cream, or listening to your favorite song, when you’re so happy that smiling just isn’t enough.

Bakugou felt the wetness on your cheek and paused, cradling and dipping the back of your head so he could kiss it away. “What’s wrong, Firework?”

You veins ran hot at the pet name so naturally falling from his lips. “Nothing.” You smile, biting your lip. “I’m just happy.”

He nuzzled your forehead. “Good. Now, let’s lay down. You need to sleep.” 

You smoothed the bottom of your pajama shirt as he stretched to turn off the lamp. As you began to wriggle out of his grasp, he suddenly grabbed you tighter and held you as he shifted, lifting the blanket and dragging you both below. You began to protest on account of his injuries, but he squeezed you tighter against his chest. 

“I’m not letting you out of my arms again,” he whispered, with a kiss to the head.

Once you both were situated in the dark, you rested your head on his shoulder as he scratched your back. The long, slow strokes nearly lulled you into sleep, but one question filled your mind.

“Baku--”

“Katsuki.”

You couldn’t see him, but he moved his face nearer yours, catching your hand planted on his chest. “Call me Katsuki.”

“Okay.” The draw of his informal name sent a chill down your spine that you’re sure he felt. “Katsuki, why call me Firework?”

He smiled into your hair, shifting your weight onto him. Drowsiness choked his voice. “Because fireworks are beautiful, brilliant, and I like to look at them.” His knuckles found your cheek, and he brushed them against it. “And you are beautiful, brilliant, and I like to look at you.”

Satisfied, you closed your eyes, drinking in the feeling of his warm skin and arms cradling you, desperate, never willing to let you go, and you never wanting him to.

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[fanaticartisan]

He’d never slipped in a trial before.

He faced seemingly endless terrains, in the eternal darkness of The Entity’s realms. Snow and grass, concrete and stone, slick with rain or sticky with blood, none of them had ever made him so much as falter, in trails past. He paced over them all, his booted stride unstoppable, as steady as a wave cutting through an endless ocean.

But today it was mud, and as the survivor he’d been hounding flailed over the stone ledge and he followed, his boot hit something hidden in the sludge. His foot slipped, and between the weight of his metal head and the shiver of something spiteful in the air, he wasn’t able to keep himself from falling. He hit with a splat of hollow iron on wet earth, stars bursting before his vision as the wind left him in a gurgling rush. 

For a moment he lay there, stunned. Rain pattered down, cold against his iron face, cold against his blood-caked skin. And then, finally, he choked in a breath of moist, muddy air, and stirred, trying to rise. His body hurt. The mud was slick under his hands as he attempted to push himself up. Worst of all, his face was well and truly stuck - one of the large, planar sides sunk an inch or two into the muck.This was a punishment, he was sure. Small, petty, cruel - something more subtle than The Entity’s usual means, but frustrating enough nonetheless. Unless - and the thought chilled him more than the cold water seeping into his clothes - unless he was just losing his edge, like a blade hammed too many times against a hard, dull surface.

Impossible. He sank down again, a low growl rumbling from his throat. He’d never faltered in his duty. He was the Executioner - the punisher of the guilty, inflicting pain upon those who had caused pain, and torment upon those who had tormented. He’d pursued such foes long before The Entity had brought him here, and he’d performed with righteous determination, even to the degree of ignoring his new master’s will when necessary, to get the job done.

Maybe that was why...

Something flashed out of the corner of his eye. He stopped struggling, falling still as steps and whispers drew closer, just outside the field of his vision. A snarl of anger coiled in his chest: the wicked dared approach him! He needed to stand, to run them through with his blade and punish them for their countless days of wrongs and cruelty; pallets smashed against his face, blinding light shined into his eyes, sharp stones driven into his flesh. He wanted to hack them all to pieces, Entity and its hooks be rotted.

But he was still stuck - still aching and short of breath. It would take too much struggle to get up and after them, even assuming he could free himself on his own. Rather than hear their mocking laughter at his torment, he lay in silence, waiting for them to pass, hoping that his stillness and the filth that covered him would be enough to hide him from their prying eyes and shining lights.

He should have remembered that The Entity glutted itself on hope. And despair.

“Hey, guys! Look...”

A light shone against his back. 

“Is that..?”

“It is! But what’s he doing?”

“Is he alright?”

“Hey….” someone nudged his boot, and he growled in warning. If only his blade were in his hand….

“Don’t touch him!”

“Is he hurt? I’ve never seen him fall before.”

“Scary…”

“We should finish up the gens and get out of here.”

A silence as the rest of the group considered this. Yes, he thought bitterly, finish your tasks and be returned again. He would fell them like the rotten trees they were. He strained to reach his blade, but it was too far, several inches out of his reach.

“Careful, he’s moving!”

“I think if he could hurt us, he would have done it by now.”

“Maybe his back is broken.”

A thrill of fear went through him at that idea. He didn’t feel broken, but…

“The entity will take care of him. Just leave him be, and let’s get out of here.”

“You guys go.”

A silence. Out of the corner of his vision, The Executioner could see their forms, all as dirty and worn as himself, turn and look at the speaker.

The Executioner didn’t know their names. He didn’t know anything about them at all, he realized, not their faces nor connections, or even what crimes had brought them here. The visage of the speaker was dirty, scared, but determined, even when greeted with the accusing stares of their teammates.

“You’re crazy.”

“Always crazy.”

“You can use my medkit.”

The namecallers fell silent, staring at the forth survivor. A small, metallic clank of red metal hitting the ground filled the space between them. The crazy survivor smiled, a small, grateful thing, and for the first time, in years of violence in cold, The Executioner felt something new.

A seed of doubt, lodged deep in his core.

 What had the survivors done, to warrant the punishment he inflicted on them?

The others moved off, their feet sucking and splatting in the mud. He was left with the crazy one, who remained behind him, opening the medkit, presumably checking its contents.

“I’m going to touch your back, and look for damage” they said.

The Executioner rumbled a threat, but didn’t move, even as the survivor bent over him and he felt gentle, warm fingers probing his spine.

“All this blood,” the survivor murmured. “Is it yours?”

It was, for now. The corners of his face were iron and sharp, and every time a pallet slammed into him, they cut deeper into the flesh of his shoulders. He couldn’t explain this to the survivor, though, so he said nothing.

“I don’t know if spines should bend this way,” the survivor said, lingering somewhere at the small of his back. “I don’t feel anything broken or swollen, so I assume it’s just how you are. Or how you’ve become.” The survivor shifted a bit, looking at the blade lying just out of his reach in the muddy grass. “You wear that metal thing, and drag your sword around. I’ve seen you prop it up, when you think no-one is looking. Even one of them would be heavy, on their own, but you always have both…well. It’s enough to explain your back, anyway.”

He growled a little. Of course they were heavy - heavier with each death he caused. Just as he punished the damned, so too he was punished, in turn, for the pain he caused. But he wouldn’t expect a human to understand that.

The hands remained on his back a moment, warm against the chill of the weather and damp. “Are your legs hurt?” the survivor asked. “Your neck?”

The Executioner hesitated a moment. And then he sighed, the noise wet with mud and rainwater. He shifted his weight, slowly, so as not to startle the crazy one, and made a show of pushing against the ground, unable to budge his suctioned-down face.

“Oh, I understand. Okay, just...hold still a moment, and I’ll see what I can do.”

The survivor changed their position, working their hands - fingers worn and calloused from endless hours working on generators - into the muck, and under the edge of his triangular face. “On three,” the survivor said. “One...two…”

They both heaved on three, The Executioner groaning as he shoved with all his might. Slowly, with a great sound of squelching, his face came free, and eventually they both fell back, shaken but victorious. The Executioner was on his feet in an instant, his entire right side coated with muck, a grumble of relief escaping his chest.

The survivor had scrambled up too, and took a step back. “Forgot you’re so tall,” they said under their breath, casting him a furtive glance.

He gave them a look, and bent again, pulling his blade free with another squelch.

An echoing clang made them both jump. The forest blazed with light - three generators completed at once. The Executioner rumbled with displeasure - The Entity was going to punish him for this failure, he knew. But the trial was already lost, on his end. Even if he went after the survivors with full force, he doubted he’d finish them in time.

And anyway…

He looked at the crazy one - the one who still lingered near, knowing full well that he was put here to punish them. They looked back at him, clearly nervous, but hoping for...something.

“You can keep this,” they said, setting the red medical kit at his feet. “Maybe you can use it for your shoulders. I don’t know if it can help you, but-”

Another flash and clang, further away now. Four generators done.

The Executioner stared at the little red box. It didn’t make sense. He was supposed to punish the wicked, but this survivor clearly ...wasn’t wicked. Wicked people didn’t help fallen enemies.

If this survivor wasn’t wicked, how did he know if the others were?

Was everything he had done until now...a mistake?

Or perhaps it wasn’t a mistake. He looked at the survivor - dirty, but uninjured, and he looked at himself, his tunic soaked in his own blood. The Entity fed on hope and despair. Perhaps it was not only the survivors it was feeding off of. Perhaps the bulk of its nourishment came from himself, and the others like him - the ones who were eternally in pain, with no tools or allies to heal them. He thought of Evan’s hooks, and Spirit’s severed limbs. Sally’s ruined face,  Lisa’s...everything. The entity had broken them all - far, far more than it had broken the survivors.

The last generator clanged into light. The Executioner gave a rough sigh, and turned, marching towards the gate as the crazy survivor followed.

He didn’t look at them as he opened the gate. Didn’t look at any of them as they ran past, unharmed and unable to believe their good luck. He knew the crazy one lingered, wanting to meet his gaze, but he didn’t give them the satisfaction.

At last they were gone, and he strode through the grass with The Entity’s displeasure heavy on his bleeding shoulders and the trial-realm collapsing in sparks and ash behind him, taking the offered medical kit with it. Only once they were all back around their fire, and he lurked in the shadows, watching, did he look at their faces, and let himself wonder. Why had the crazy one helped him? Why had the other left their precious kit, to possibly aid in his recovery? Would they even remember, in the next trial, that they had done these things?

Would he remember?

Not once in past trials had he questioned the world he found himself in, in all the endless days of work and violence. But now, for the first time, he found himself wishing for more knowledge. Wishing for a way to escape this world, as killer or survivor.

Or, failing that, for a way to forget the questions that now hung over him like dark crows. The Entity fed on despair. Now more than ever, he didn’t want to give it what it wanted.

[limeinaltime]

Question If O was alive what would her place be in the story and How would she react to red Core N seeing as she was N first friend or How would N and V react too O being brought back. Next question how in the H.E double Hocky sticks did Jcjenson Find, capture and contain a sentient Void being. Also Can the void being leave X's Body for a short period of time like the Negative sprite from doom patrol if not what powers does the Void Give X besides immorality .

Also sorry about all the asks that aren't really asks. My A.D.H.D has been kicked into to over drive this week

It’s totally cool! Hoo boy, that’s a lot to cover. Let’s see here…

For your first question, O would remain the leader of J and V’s squad, while N remains with E and D. O is held to very high expectations by the two (but mostly J) while E and D don’t really care about N and just do their own thing, so the two meet up on the line between their turfs to hang out. It’s a kinda-sorta “forbidden” romance kind of thing because, surprise, N ends up developing a crush on O instead. Whoops.

E and D are still killed by R while out hunting, and O manages to flex some of her leader status to get J and V to let N join their squad. The two don’t like him and cannot fathom why O does, so J and O clash and O ends up being forced to pass her leadership status to J. The bunker invasion still happens, but O, who’s been questioning the company for a while but wisely didn’t show it, tries to get her squad to stop. N still gets injected with the virus and O stays behind with him, and the show of being more than just a mindless killer convinces Uzi to save N.

If O was brought back in our AU but still joined the Squad, she would be horrified upon seeing N while he’s under the red core’s influence. N would be very happy to have his friend back, while V would just be like “oh hey you’re back” since the two were never close during their training days. O would be happy to see them as well, and that her worries that the company didn’t actually have the disassembly drone’s best interests at heart weren’t just her going crazy.

****

As for the X-related questions, I still don’t have a solid idea as to how JC Jensen stumbled upon the void cube thing that would eventually lead to X’s conception, but my current working idea is that after creating, well, everything, the void compressed itself into a cube form and went dormant on one of the exoplanets once there were actually planets in space. It was still aware of everything happening around it, considering it makes up everything, but the company stumbled upon it when they set up mining operations on that exoplanet and decided to take it back to Earth for study. Since Murder Drones takes place pretty far into the future, the company had the tech to at least restrain the void (containment chambers, light, etc.) and stuffed it in a observation tank until they decided to shove it into X.

While X and the void have their complicated state of existence, it can leave her body for short periods of time if X allows it, and will make itself known via spooky void tendrils and leaking through the cracks in X’s body if she experiences certain emotions (hence why X has such a chokehold on hers). It doesn’t give X any special abilities, it does give her the ability to pull of some pretty creepy horror (a semi-demonic voice, body horror, etc.) and she can channel the people the cube consumed.

[senchoubutter]

Rook Hunt sPICY TIMES

None of you fuckers wanna write it so I will owo || French word translations/guide is at bottom of text

pairing : Rook Hunt x Fem, Shy reader

word count : 3.3k

contents : classroom sex, female receiving oral, over stimulation, vaginal sex, Rook being a confident lil teaser

 After the whole fiasco with Eliza, ______ found herself quite needy and even a bit jealous. Seeing her boyfriend go off to try his hand at being a possible option to the ghost bride, sparked a flame in her. That was her boyfriend. Not some ghost’s prospect.

As soon as Rook returned to the college, the rest of the boys that had been rejected in tow, ______ grabbed Rook by his hand. She promised herself that she wouldn’t overreact and that she’d be that perfect little angel that people always told her to be growing up. But as soon as she saw the playful smile Rook greeted her with, her whole face was bright red and she dragged him to open and empty classroom. The whole way Rook wouldn’t shut up, cooing and joking about how assertive she was. Very funny, but this only got to ______ more as he poked and prodded at her jealous. This was very uncharacteristic of his meek girlfriend all together. What on earth could’ve gotten into her, Rook thought.

As she pulled him into the classroom, she blurted out that ‘Rook, you’re my boyfriend! I don’t want to share,’ and a pout quickly placed itself onto her lips. Her blush flared up again and warmed her cheeks at her sudden confession. But while she was embarrassed she even got this jealous, Rook was grinning ear to ear. This was what got her so worked up? Precious. That’s his ______ for ya. Always so soft spoken and skittish. But now, she resembled the tomato Heartslabyul called a dorm leader, but only a little bit.

Without missing a beat, he slowly backed her up into a desk. It was almost like a tango in the way that each step Rook took forwards, _______’s soft foot steps repeated backwards. His hands rested on her hips, tugging the skirt hem ever so slightly up as he set her on the desk, sitting her on her bum rather than the skirt. Ah, much better to see now. Rook was able to examine her face much closer and he was living, getting a new dose of serotonin each second he saw that trademark flustered face.

He leaned in and placed a kiss against her ear as he felt her delicate hands find their way to his shoulders. “How cute,” he whispered. “I wouldn’t dream of leaving you.”

“Pr-Promise?” _____ whined. She curled back a bit as Rook’s hand tangled in her hair. Gently he gripped the back of her head, trapping her in place as he came up for a kiss

“Promis.” Rook leaned in to her lips, ghosting over them, his breath on hers. He waited, a smirk growing as his girlfriend gave another whine, closing the space impatiently. As expected of her, he thought as a throaty hum of a laugh buzzed in his throat. Rook always played these games, seeing how his love would squirm and whine at his teasing. The flustered expression and needy actions drove him up a wall, only egging on his ego and want to play with her. Each reaction fed the hunter instincts in him. And each time it was like the first.

With each needy kiss, the clicking of the pairs lips resounded throughout the empty room. Rook could feel the heat that radiated from his lover’s cheeks and gave a satisfied moan. In turn, the moan buzzed against _____’s lips, tickling. She moaned back but more so at the lack of air only to be granted with a dirty trick.

Rook slid his tongue along _____’s bottom lip as he he let go of her hair. His hands gently gripped her hips. In one swift motion, he yanked ______ to the edge of the desk, hips knocking with her core as her thighs parted to rest on either side of Rook’s torso. As ______ let out a gasp in both shock and need, Rook took the chance to delve his tongue into her mouth, emitting another dark chuckle.

Rook’s hands trailed down, grabbing the back of his girlfriend’s knees, forcing her even closer. As his tongue searched every inch of her mouth, he felt ______’s hands gently grabbing the black coat that he adorned. He smirked, pulling away from her seeing a bit of drool besides the corner of her mouth.

“Allow me.”

Rook shrugged off his jacket, setting it on the desk behind him. He removed the hat he wore, setting it right atop of the jacket and inhaled slowly. When he turned around, he had the most devious grin on his lips. “Minette,” he cooed as he bent down before ______.

 "R-Rook..“

 ”Ma cherie, you’ve been quite bold today, you know,“ the huntsman purred. His gloved hand slid up the skirt of his beloved girlfriend, sending a chill down her spine. She placed her hands behind her on the desk, trying to balance herself as Rook’s other hand pushed her right leg up over his shoulder, granting him easier access. “I wonder,” he trailed off.

He was quick to invite himself underneath the black skirt, grinning at the sight before him. “I see someone has decided to be quite bold, indeed.”

“Rook!” she hissed in embarrassment. She knew exactly what his cocky ass was talking about. ______ had chosen to not wear any underwear at all that day. She wasn’t entirely expecting to have sex in a classroom but she did figure that the confrontation when Rook returned to Night Raven College would go one way or the other.

It was either fight, which was very unlikely for the pair. ______ hardly got angry and if she had an issue, she approached Rook in a calm manner, typically in private.

The other was having sex - granted, she thought Rook would’ve at least taken her back to his dorm first. This was not their first time, not by far. Rook was a very passionate individual and ______ was happy to experience and receiving all of his passion. It wasn’t a constant thing since both were often busy but it was enough times for Rook to know exactly what excited ______ the most and got her going.

Rook waved off her embarrassed cry, slowly spreading the lips of her pussy. Dripping. She was dripping wet already. His gaze grew glazed over in a playful dark haze as he came out from under her skirt. Those emerald eyes gleamed up at his flustered partner.

“I see now,” he hummed. Taking his right glove in his teeth, he yanked the black material off in one swift movement. He proceeded to do the same with the left, setting them on the desk besides ______. “Tell me, minette. Did you plan for this all along? Hmhm.~”

“N-No- Well.. I-I mean,” ______ stammered. Rook nestled himself between her thighs as if it was his natural habitat, watching her grow more and more flustered. His fingernails ran along the underside of her thighs, making ______ jump and whimper. He knew that she was very sensitive to that. He’s playing more dirty than usual.

“Take your time.”

As soon as ______ went to open her mouth, Rook began to pepper kisses languidly up her thighs. Dammit! Both the sensations Rook administrated left _____’s head spinning, thoughts foggy.

“R-Roook,” she breathlessly whined. It was almost like a braindead call for help. The blonde knew exactly what he was doing as he grew closer and closer to the area his talents were currently being requested. But each time he’d get right to the sopping center, he’d b-line over to the other thigh. “Pl-Please.”

“Please, what? Use your words, ma cherie.”

The final blow. This asshole. First he makes her thighs incredibly sensitive, then goes placing kisses everywhere but her pussy. Now, he’s gunna force her to say it. She always understood why but it never made it easier. Rook wanted direct consent but ______ struggled with telling him directly what she wanted. Here and there, he’d be direct in asking if she wanted xyz, but when he wanted to really rile her up and throw her confidence out the window, he made her tell him.

Raising a hand to hide behind, ______ let out a mumbled.

“Hm?~”

“I-I hate you,” she groaned, biting into the back of her hand that she hid behind. “Pl-Please…pl-pl….” _______ took a second to recompose herself, gathering up the courage. “Please touch m-me. U-Use your tongue o-on me. I need you, Rook.”

“Of course, princesse.”

Dipping back under the pleated skirt, Rook’s positioned the right thigh back over his shoulder, giving a bit of leverage. Of course, he didn’t stop teasing her other thigh though. Non, non. He was gently tracing circles with his fingernails on the soft thigh’s back side as Rook’s tongue poked out, giving a short flick over ______’s clit.

Immediately it sent a shiver down ______’s spine as the warm wet tip of Rook’s tongue circled the bundle of nerves. The blonde teased at the bud, speeding up only to slow down a few seconds later, and back and forth. Rook drew back for a second, letting out a sigh. The warm cunt before him twitching at the cold sudden sensation. This in turn, made Rook smirk.

Flattening out his tongue, Rook gave a long slow lick along the folds, tasting his beloved’s slickness; the salty taste faintly invading his mouth with each pass of his tongue. He could hear ______ begin to pant softly as he licked up.

“Hah, R-Rook,” she whimpered. Her hands gripped the edge of the desk, holding on for dear life. It was almost as if it was the one thing grounding her and keeping her sane as Rook attempted to steal away each ounce of sanity. His tongue always felt amazing. Maybe it was the emotions and hormones, or the setting - maybe even both, but for some reason Rook’s tongue felt heavenly. ______ struggled to keep herself quiet, knowing that people were still around. Class wasn’t exactly over yet. Heck, Vil or Epel might be searching for Rook seeing as ______ took off with him as soon as he returned to campus.

As if on cue, Rook shoved his tongue into her vagina, wiggling it a bit. Immediately, ______ let out a yelp, walls clasping about his tongue. Her back tensed at the strong muscle inside her, wiggling.

“R-Rook!”

______’s hands grabbed at Rook’s hair as she whined loudly. She did her best to be gentle with her grip, but this cocky motherfucker, he only attempted to push his tongue in further. In turn, ______ let out another moan, too caught up to remember where she was.

“R-Rook, i-if you’re going t-to do that, u-use your hands..”

Rook pulled his tongue out and looked up with an evil grin. He licked at his lips, saying “Happily, princesse. Do remember we’re in a classroom, though. You wouldn’t want to get caught now, would you?”

Rook placed a kiss on _____’s clit before grinning devilishly.

“Or maybe,” he paused before practically slamming a finger into his girlfriend’s pussy. “you’re into that.”

It took every cell in ______’s body to hold in her yelps and moans as he fucked her with his pointer finger. Each time Rook’s finger slid in, ______ gasped, trying to silence herself.

“Y-You’re doing this….”

Before she could even finish, Rook’s mouth had returned along side of the finger now. He began to suck on her clit, tongue swirling the bud in his mouth occasionally. Rook heard _____ choke on her words and smirked against her clit. He could felt himself getting hard and his pants growing tight, but this wasn’t about him right now. It was about ______. He knows he can ignore his growing erection for longer than most, choosing to focus on his beloved instead at the time. It was clear she needed that today, maybe even a little more than typical.

The tug at his scalp became tighter as Rook continued to suck on the red pearl. He could hear just how wet ______’s cunt had become. Easing up a bit on the sucking, Rook slowed his finger’s pace, slipping a second into the rhythm. It was tight but that was to be expected ______ was getting close already. Maybe….Rook thought, just perhaps, he’d gone a tad over board.

“Ro- ok!”

He picked up his fingers pace, feeling ______’s walls clenching more and more at each thrust. She’d begun to buck her hips in time with them, like an animal in heat. Her left leg came up, ankles meeting, draped over and pretzelled around Rook’s shoulder. 

“I-I’m g-going to..!”

Rook gave a hum as a sign to go ahead and that was all it took to send _____ over the edge. The vibration from Rook’s lips on her sensitive clit was the last straw. She bit her hand trying to be quiet, grunting and gasping as she rode out her orgasm.

Her head was thrown back, strands of hair sticking to the sides of her face, and her chest heaving when she finally settled down. Rook felt the bud on his tongue pulsating from aftershocks but refused to let up just yet. He was far more gentle now but that along side the soft squelch of the cum that now coated the fingers he pumped in and out, were already sending ______ back on the rollercoaster. She whimpered and tried get Rook to let up, impatiently patting the desk almost as if to tap out.

Rook did eventually give up, standing up to look in his girlfriend’s eyes again. He licked at his lips before going in for a sloppy, brief kiss. ______ was quick to wrap her arms up around his shoulders in place of where her legs had just been.

He pulled away, resting his forehead on hers and chuckled. “Ma cherie, are you perhaps able to go again?“

“My…My legs are k-kinda shaky.”

“I will carry you back regardless.”

“I..O-Okay..”

Rook gave a soft smile, tucking away some of ______’s hair behind her ear. “Êtes-vous certain?“

A phrase Rook had taught her. The first time that they ever had sex he asked her that. Rook had even taught her both proper responses. Whenever he asks that in a soft tone, it reminds ______ of their first time. It fills her stomach with butterflies; this time was no different.

Looking into his eyes, ______ nodded, “Je suis.”

“Good girl. I’m so proud,” Rook whispered. He gave a gentle kiss to her forehead then.

As much as he loved the sweeter, softer moments, Rook did have a bit of a tight situation to take care of. With ______’s consent now, he began to unbuckle his pants. He unbuttoned and pushed down both slacks and boxers to his thighs. You know, just enough to let his cock spring out to say hello.

Rook was longer than he was thick, so ______ thankfully didn’t struggle too much taking it typically.  _______ held up her skirt for him and watched as he brought his dick to her folds. As soon as his head touched the wet lips, ______’s chest heaved a bit, shuddering. Everything was very sensitive still. Just Rook’s tip bumping up against her clit was a lot to handle at the moment.

Thankfully, Rook took note of how tense his girlfriend was. Granted she had begun to dig her nails into his shoulder, trying to cope with the sensitivity. After getting his cock slick with _____’s cum, he begun to slowly push himself into her cunt.

“R-Rook!” she practically screeched. Her nails dug into his shoulders,a far more piercing sensation this time. “J-Just get i-it in…D-DON’T STOP.”

Oh, goodness. He did his best to make it as painless and slow as possible but from the way his girlfriend barked that last bit at him, he could tell just how sensitive she really was. As soon as he had fully sheathed himself inside of _____, he brought her into a tight hug, arms wrapping about her waist.

_____ took a very shaky breath and her clawed grip switched to Rook’s back as he hugged her. Tears flooded her vision and threatened to fall, but ______ tried her best to blink them back. As she adjusted better to Rook’s cock, it became much easier to breath and relax.

“I can stop. Would you like to just return to my room, minette?”

“N-No. I’m okay. J-Just…s-sensitive.”

“Then I shall be gentle.”

And just as promised Rook began to rock his hips back and forth at a gentle pace. He leaned into ______’s neck and began to suck and pepper kisses all over. When he tugged down the collar of her shirt, he was able to hit a sensitive spot and began sucking. Rook felt ______’s nails ease up on his back and rather become a gentle grip on his vest and shirt.

“Ah,” _____ gasped. She let her head lean back and allowed herself to embrace all of the sensations and feelings. Aside from the sucking noise and faint panting, the wet smack of Rook’s cock grinding in and out of ______ filled them room. She took a moment to think about how taboo and dangerous this scenario is. Any of the students or teachers could walk in. She hadn’t exactly been the most quiet. And as she thought about it, she found herself reaching closer to another high already. Something about the risk made her adrenaline go off running and brought her closer and closer.

Rook on the other hand, was pretty close, and had abandoned making hickies. He panted, head in the crook of ______’s neck. He picked up his pace a bit, chasing after his own orgasm. He felt ______’s walls clenching down and he smirked a bit.

He reached down with one hand and began rubbing circles on ______’s clit again with his thumb. She immediately let out a moan and her breath hitched. Perfect, Rook thought. He kept his pacing not too fast but not too slow, trying not to hurt his girlfriend too much. But it was obvious that she was close with just the added touch again.

As the pair chased after their orgasms, ______’s nails returned, digging into Rook’s shoulders. Her pussy clamped down on Rook’s cock and her eyes practically rolled back as she reached her second orgasm.

Rook was so close though and abandoned rubbing ______’s clit, grabbing her hips. He began to ram into her faster, a tight grip on her hips that was sure to leave a bruise later on. But that was the last thing on his mind at the very moment. Rook’s breath hitched and he gave a final slam of his hips into _____’s, hot ropes of cum shooting inside of her.

The pair caught their breath, a mess of sweat, tangled limbs, and cum.

______ was the first to pipe up, letting go of Rook finally. “W-We…We should g-get out of here,” she advised. That shy soft voice had returned as she was no longer caught up in her own pleasure. The embarrassment of it all stained her face red to which Rook could only chuckle.

He slipped out of ______, causing her to let out a soft moan that was hidden behind her hand. Rook put himself back into his pants, quickly redressing himself as if nothing had happened at all. As he placed the hat he loved back on his head, he reached for his gloves besides _____’s waist. Slipping them on he offered his hand to his lady whose face once again resembled that of Heartslabyul dorm leader’s when he lost his temper.

She tried to hop down for the desk but lost her balance immediately. Her legs were shaking and she could barely stand as Rook’s arms wrapped about her for support.

“Je suis désolée. I said I’d carry you,” Rook said with a tinge regret for not acting quick enough. He swiftly picked up his girlfriend and gave her that charming smile she loved. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Th-Thank you..”

—–

I feel like a few of these are easy but i put them here in case:

Promis - I promise/ Promise

Ma cherie - my darling

Minette - kitten

Princesse - Princess

Non - no

Êtes-vous certain? - Are you certain?

Je suis - I’m sure/I am

Je suis désolée - I’m sorry

[what-the--curtains]

Alliance

Chapter 1 – The Bounty

Summary: The child has fallen into the arms of the infamous Black Sun crime organization. In order to get him back they offer the Mandalorian a trade, one life for another.

Authors notes/warning: Heres the first part hope you all enjoy it! Let me know if you want to be tagged! Also there one weirdly large space inbetween two paragraphs I blame the app. TW: blood, swearing, humans being sold

Tagged list: @crazycookiecrumbles

Word count: 4.0K

Galactic Core, Coruscant

Mandos POV

The Mandalorian walks quickly along the pavement of the galaxy’s capital planet moving between the diverse cast of races skirting in and out the doors of the skyscrapers lining the streets. He’s in a hurry, he’s not here for business or pleasure. He is here for the only thing that matters, the child. He had been taken by the Black Sun crime syndicate. If he wasn’t so concerned for the child’s well-being, he’d be embarrassed at having lost him to a band of mercenaries and gangsters. He enters into the underground bunker pushing open the doors, knocking out a guard in the process.

“Where is he?” the modulated voice reverberates through the empty hall.

“Petulance will get you nowhere Mando.” A sharp voice fills the air as a woman appears from a nearby hallway, she’s tall, slender, green, almost reptilian in appearance . Her dark black hair was fashioned into a high ponytail. It was Savan, the niece of the recently deceased Prince Xizor and the leader of the Black Sun crime organization.

“Where is he” the Mandalorian asks again, this time hovering his hand over his blaster.

“Let’s try this again,” the voice says “keeping in mind you hold no cards here.”

“What do you want Savan?” He asks.

“ A simple favour really and knowing your reputation I believe an agreement between the two of us can be reached.” She walks down towards him, black nails gently dragging along his armour as she circles behind him. “In layman’s terms, you do something for me and I will do something for you.” Her hand stops on his chest plate.

“Armours not for sale” He states flatly. She tuts.

“I would never ask a Mandalorian to break his creed. No I speak of your ability as a bounty hunter. I know you do not work for free, but I believe you will make an exception for such precious cargo” she says summoning the egg, revealing the child “I assume we have a deal.”

“Let me speak with him then yes.”

“Any move out of line, even one step, the child dies. You understand?” He nods and heads over to the bassinette.

“Hey kid, I’ll be back for you soon, don’t give them too much trouble” he says, lovingly stroking the kids head ”What do you need?” he asks standing up.

“Money, unfortunately credits are far and few between since Xizor's death. I have heard whispers of an asset that I believe will sell for a high price on the black market, putting the Black Sun back on top. A witch of Vryssa. I am assuming you can link her location from the name. The planet is located in the outer rim territories, Dalicron sector, the coordinates are K-19. If you are not back within five days I will assume you have failed.”

“I won’t” he deadpans.

“Many have said the same thing yet here we are. Whoever this so called witch is, she is dangerous”

“Must be a valuable asset, to expend so many men.”

“You have no idea,” Savan says. “Now go, five days Mandalorian, or the child’s future will fall into my hands.”

He exits the Black Suns headquarters. If this witch was as dangerous as Savan was to have him believe then he’d be grateful for another set of hands.

Landing on Navarro, he makes his way over to the bar, hoping to find who he’s looking for. He enters into a crowd cheering on what appears to be a drinking contest, placing a gold bar on the counter and pushing it towards the two contestants, “Moneys on the soldier.” Slamming down an empty glass, Cara Dune wipes her mouth and exclaims “Mando! What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?”

“Looking for some help on a job.” He retorts.

“Well you came to the right place. How can I be of assistance.” He explains the situation and the two make their way to the Razor Crest. “You know the bounty hunter Fett, heard he went to Vryssa, took out a whole city to get someone. Heard him talk about buldobeasts, some kind of invisible creature that could rip you limb from limb” she says with a wicked smile.

“This your way of asking me how much the job pays?”

“Maybe” she says sitting down in the seat next to him.

“Nothing, not for me, got some credits with your name on them though, if we're successful.”

“Please Mando, when have we ever failed?” She laughs “You think it’s really a witch” she ponders.

“I don’t even know what a witch is.” he says, landing the ship.

Outer rim, Vryssa

“Well must be nice” Cara says, exiting the ship and looking around.

“What?” He asks, dropping down from the ship's belly.

“Not having the worst ship in the lot.” She laughs, the visor turns to her offering an undeniable look of annoyance. She’s right, but he’d never admit it. The ship stands out amongst the low brow technology of the planet. An outcrop, barely touched by the hand of the empire or the republic, nothing more than a refueling station. A good place to hide he thinks. They enter a run-down inn, Cara taps on the front desk getting the keeper's attention “We're looking for a girl.”

“Not that kind of establishment. Try down the road.” The Mandalorian grabs the guy by the collar, usually he’d be more diplomatic, but this was a time sensitive job.

“He doesn’t like to ask twice,” Cara says, “a woman, a so-called witch, ring any bells.”

“Ay she’s a myth nothing more than a rumour to scare children away from the woods. There’s no magic here.” Dropping the guy on his feet and brushing him off the Mandalorian exits the bar with Cara behind him in search of the woods.

“It’s a whole forested planet, you should have asked the guy which woods he meant.” Cara exclaims in frustration. Before the Mandalorian can respond a small figure belonging to a Gree woman appears.

“I know of whom you seek. My name’s Miwa and I'll tell ya where to find your witch, for a price.”

“The price is your life” He says, hand reaching to his blaster.

“Fair enough,” she says, slightly disappointed, but seemingly unsurprised, “Old woman landed, maybe 25 years ago, didn’t say a word. She had a baby, wandered off into the forest, never seen again. Some people claim to hear her in the woods messing with their heads, least they get too close. Others say she turned into a buldobeast preying on any who enter the woods without her permission. I’ve heard claims that she sacrificed the child in order to gain eternal youth, think that’s why we keep seeing you lot show up. They think her blood can elongate life.”

“Where’s the last place she was seen?” Mando asks, not interested in fables and myths. The Gree gesture for them to follow her, she leads them to a small pathway. “This is where they go in, she must be worth a fortune, for the trouble she’s worth.” Miwa says as Cara and Mando enter the woods. With each step the path seems to shrink and the trees seemingly get taller, the two moons offering little in ways of light.

“You believe in folk tales Mando?” Cara ask, he gives her a look of disbelief

“Hey don’t judge I didn’t until we got in here” she says. He pauses, pulling out his scope, in the distance he sees a small stone cabin, seemingly empty. The perimeters littered with armour, and what he can only assume are the remains of the bounty hunters it once belonged to. He offers it to Cara and she looks through it. “Shit” she mutters

“Hopefully, she won’t be expecting two of us” he replies.

Your POV

You stride through the forest weaving between the large conifers. They stretch high, blocking out the light emitted from the twin moons, they’re old, as old as the planet itself. You’re in pursuit of your next meal, a juvenile Acalay that you’ve been tracking for miles. The large crustaceans were introduced to the forests when an incompetent smuggler forgot to lock their gate while refueling in a time before the empire. They have roamed the forests ever since, but they have become far and few between in recent years, due in part to their popularity in gladiatorial battles. For an untrained hunter their size would be intimidating, but your grandmother had taught you the way long ago, so for you its size indicated months worth of food. Silence was key, one wrong move, one misstep, one branch cracking, and one of its six claws would snap you in half like the twig that gave you away. You had taken out larger ones at a younger age. Yes, your grandmother had taught you how to hunt, how to track, how to feel the earth around you

She had also taught you about your mother, who died saving you and your father executed for not revealing your whereabouts. As a child she would tell you that you were one of the galaxy's best kept secrets. Quickly, you realized you were not like the other children and as you continued to grow the puzzle of your past was slowly pieced together. She would tell you stories of the old war, and how it came to be. How your mother fought against a cult in order to maintain a balance in the universe. With each new revelation you became increasingly aware that your existence was to be kept hidden. On your eightieth birthday your grandmother explained how your mother was a jedi and that you shared her gift, an ability to use the force. That’s why you were here on this planet, for safekeeping. She told you she had been training you in the ways of the jedi, as she had trained your mother, and that she would continue to do so until her time came. So you lived alone, here amongst the trees. Well, not completely alone, a small vulptice kept you company. It was adapted to a forest environment with a body of roots, a belly covered in deep green moss and grass growing over top. Every spring it would bloom flowers of brilliant colours. You had named it Anya and it had been your companion, and closest friend over the years. The mysticism of your grandmother's arrival had sparked rumors, ones that stretched far and wide. The locals had labelled her a witch, and you had become a legend of sorts. These rumors brought outsiders, with their flashy weapons and armour hard as steel. Since your grandmother's passing it had only gotten worse. Fortunately, you were an able fighter, primed to win even when up against advanced weaponry. Those who had doubted your abilities now littered the path to your house. A warning to those who would come sooner or later. You remember her words as you spot your target, “Breath child, put your focus on the tip of the arrow, listen to the breeze and it will guide you.” you lift the arrow stretching the sinew chord back until your thumb brushes against your nose. You're about to loose the arrow when the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Someone’s here. You rush back leaping through the branches, silently moving towards your home. You stop above the stone cottage, staring down you see a tall figure approaching. It moves towards the door, avoiding the helmets and bones of those who came before. Silently you float to the ground, taking aim you make your presence known “drop the blaster”. Your voice cuts through the silence and the figure turns around. A Mandalorian. Your grandmother had told you of the Mandalorian race, this would not be an easy task. Mandos POV Placing the blaster on the floor, he slowly turns around, where had she come from? He hadn’t heard anyone approaching, normally he was more in tune with his surroundings. He must be distracted. Slowly he turns around, prepared to face whatever awaits him, but as his gaze sets on you he’s taken aback. You weren't an old lady or a wicked creature, but a young woman. The light of the two moons revealed the features of your face unobscured by the brown cloak that was loosely wrapped around you. The light’s enough to make out a glimmer of purple in the eyes, a strand of white hair and faint purple markings etched along your cheek and brow bones. “Why are you here” you ask, voice level, emotionless. “Don’t even think about it.” you interject before he can answer your first question, or make a grab for a concealed weapon. “I see 15 points of entry for this arrow 4 of which will hit vital organs. The closest hospital worth any salt is a planet away. I don’t know what brought you here but you should leave. Now.” “I cant” he responds

“Then I’m sorry” you respond. Before you have time to loose the arrow, Cara appears from behind you knocking you in the back of the head with her blaster. You hit the floor, as you do Cara pulls back your hood revealing the rest of your face making sure you’re knocked out.

“Maybe she did sacrifice a kid for eternal life” Cara remarks, cuffing your hands and feet taking note of the ruin symbols tattooed on your wrists.

“ Probably the kid the old woman had with her when she landed.” He says lifting your body and throwing it over his shoulder with ease.

“Can probably get some credits for this, as well” she says, picking up the small fox-like creature that's appeared from behind a nearby bush. Placing it into a cage before heading back to the Razor Crest.

“She floated down from that tree, that’s how she snuck up on you. I’m not crazy Mando, it’s not the woods I know what I saw.” Cara says as he dials up the ship.

“Didn’t say anything.” he says as he jumps the ship into hyperspace.

“The look was enough. What do you think will happen to her if her blood isn’t actually life elongating?” she asks.

“Not our problem.” He says

Your POV

You open your eyes blinking slowly so as to adjust to the fluorescent lighting coming from what you can only assume is the ship belonging to the bounty hunters who had nabbed you. Your first thought goes to Anya, and when you see her asleep in a nearby cage you breathe a sigh of relief. You shake your head, unable to believe after years of dodging bounty hunters one had caught you. It was your own fault, should have expected two.

“Bastards” you mutter, using the force you slip your cuffs you reach over and hack open the restraints of your feet. You reach into the cage and pet Anya, best she stays asleep for now, until you could figure a way out of this mess. You open up the armoury, seeing that your weapons had also been taken in the ambush “Assholes” you say. You’re about to reach in when you feel a presence behind you. Turing around you clang into the Mandalorians heavily armoured chest.

“You’re making this harder than it has to be.” the modulated voice coming from the helmet says, as he somehow manages to re-bind your hands and close the armoury all at once. You offer him a swift kick to the shin, but end up hurting yourself instead.

“Fucking beskar” you murmur. “At least tell me who you're taking me to, it’d be nice to know who's putting this much effort into meeting me.” No response. He decides to bring you up to the cockpit to keep an eye on you.

”You must be the muscle that hit me on the head” you say to the statuesque woman sitting in the front seat shining a weapon.

“Sorry about that, just part of the job, Cara Dune.” She says offering you her hand and a smile. You lift up your arms motioning to the cuffs constraining you. Slowly she retracts her hands offering you a nod instead.

“How long do we have?” He asks.

“Just over two days, we'll have the kid back soon enough.” Cara says.

“Look please you don’t have to do this, I haven’t committed any crimes.” you say causing Cara to laugh

“What about the bodies in your yard.” She says.

“They were offered a choice to leave. Anything I did, I did to defend myself” You respond defensively.

Cara smiles, “Well I’m going to rest. Good luck with this.” She says gesturing to you before exiting the cockpit. You shuffle into her seat trying to get the guy in the armour to talk to you.

“Hey, ya Hi. What are they paying you? I'll double it. I’m good for it. Promise”

“Not paying me, it’s a trade.” He says

“For your kid, I can help you get him back”

“This isn’t a negotiation, now stop talking or I’ll bring you in cold.”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time,” you say leaning back defeatedly into the chair. “At least tell me what I’m getting myself into who found out?” you ask, nervous that someone had figured out that you were force sensitive. This gets a reaction, the T of the helmet finally turning to face you.

“You don’t know do you?” you say relieved, maybe you’d be fine after all.

“Don’t know what.” Now it was your turn to be silent.

Core Galaxy, Coruscant

You arrive on Coruscant, the noise of the city, and metallic buildings have you completely out of your element, there’s no using the force here, not in such public domain. Under the circumstances you weren’t even sure if you could. You’re led into a building by the Mandalorian, with Cara walking behind holding Anya in her cage. They stop in front of an oblong table and a tall, elegant woman appears from a nearby hallway, the likes of which you’ve never seen. She smiles as she approaches you with a knife. “and with a few hours to spare, excellent job.” She says.

“ The child” he says, you can feel the stress coming off of him, you’re sure she can as well.

“All things come...” she pauses “to those who wait” she finishes, as she cuts into your arm with the knife catching the light purple liquid in a small vial before handing it over to a Klatooinian, dressed all in black.

“Who are you?” you ask

“I hear your blood extends life is that true” She says, blatantly ignoring your question.

“You’re a woman of high intelligence, why don’t you tell me yourself.”

She smiles, “I figured as much.” The Klatooinian re-enters with the blood shaking his head no before exiting the room again

“Unfortunate, I had hoped you would be of use to us.” The stress of the Mandalorian has now changed to panic. “Do not worry Mandalorian the child will be returned to you. You have completed your task”

“Am I free to go then?” you ask hopefully, she pauses for a while staring at you.

“No, just because we know the truth does not mean the rest of the galaxy needs to” she approaches you again taking your cheeks in her hand moving your head around “with a confirmation of authenticity from myself you could sell for thousands of credits. Maybe even more considering your appearance, I suggest the two of you stay for the auction once she is sold then I will return the child to you. As a gesture of good faith, I will not separate you from your pet.” She pauses.

“You waiting for a thank you or something?” you ask as the Klatooinian takes your restraints from the Mandalorian and leads you away.

Mandos POV

The next morning he and Cara make their way into a large auction room packed full of buyers and sellers from around the galaxy, looking to deal in illegal goods.

“Good to know the black market is still thriving” Cara mutters. They spot Savan and make their way towards her, stopping just below the stage she's standing on.

“Thank you all for joining us today, the doors are now closed and will remain as such until the auction is completed. As the hosts, we will have the last billed item. Thank you and good luck.” She steps down towards the duo, as the auctioneer begins the bidding. She opens up the egg returning the small green child to the Mandalorian. Upon seeing his adoptive parent the child begins to coo happily. The Mandalorian picks the kid up cradling him in his left arm as they watch the auction play out. After a few hours, the call for the last item arrives and Savan makes her way up onto the stage once again.

“On behalf of the Black Sun we bring to you a rare and beautiful specimen from the outer rim. Her blood is said to elongate life, a fact which we have found to be true. A strong fighter and a great beauty she would do well anywhere from the gladiator rings to the halls of any prestigious bath house. Her blood will sell for thousands a jar. She is a gift from us to you all. Shall we start the bidding at 5 thousand credits.” After a heated bidding war you sell for the count of 200 thousand credits, to a trainer from a gladiatorial sect. He takes the chains from Savan “you’re going to be good for business.” he says smiling at you, much to your disgust. He begins to lead you away when Anya makes her appearance out from behind your cloak. You try to coax her back into hiding, but she's too curious for her own good.

“I have no need for this.” he says, kicking at her, she dodges the foot and bites down on his shin. In retaliation the trainer pulls out his blasters and shoots her dead causing you to drop to your knees. The child who had been watching you intently lets out a cry looking up to the Mandalorian. He passes the child to Cara and begins to make his way towards you. “Get up” he hears the trainer say through gritted teeth. The crack of a whip echoes throughout the hall and he sees you fall to the ground before being forced back up, walking you over to the ship. He makes it to you managing to grab one of your wrists. Using all your remaining strength you turn around and spit in his face, what he saw in your eyes wasn’t fear, but rage. “Hey buddy, keep your hands off the merchandise” the trainer says and with one last tug he pulls you away. The bleeding wounds on your calves are the last thing he sees as you disappear into the hangar. He wipes the spit off his helmet as Cara catches up to him, placing the child back into his arms. “Well that went well”. She says

The child begins to fuss, “What?” He asks it gently. The child’s tiny green hand points over to the carcass of the vulptice on the floor. “No,” he says, wagging his finger, not wanting a dead carcass stinking up his ship. The child keeps fussing and unable to deny him he places him on the floor and the kid runs over to the thing. His eyes close “No, don’t” the Mandalorian starts, but it’s too late the child falls over batting his eyelids sleepily as the fox slowly stands up. It makes its way over to the child

“Get away from him” He shouts protectively, but to his surprise the fox licks the child's face, making it giggle. “Great, now they’ve bonded” He says knowing he’d never be able to get rid of it now.

“Congrats on your ever growing family Mando” Cara responds slapping him on the back.

[clevercxs]

Believer - Sigefrid Thurgilson [Ch 2]

[MORE CHAPTERS]

Pairing: Sigefrid Thurgilson x female oc

Word Count: 6.8k

_______________________________________________

With dawn came an uneasy feeling of dread within the Saxon warrior. Her face, distorted with worry, belied her ethereal youthfulness. She seemed to have aged an entire decade in the day it took them to reach the fortress of Beamfleot.

Beads of cold sweat glistened upon her furrowed brows. Lady Blædswith found herself anxiously gnawing at the insides of her cheeks like some famished barn rodent - though it wasn’t out of hunger. She’d bitten her chapped lips until they were stained red like fresh blood upon newly fallen snow. Her fair skin was drained of all color except for the rosy hue beneath her windblown cheeks.

Dark rings had formed beneath her pale eyes causing her to look all the more ghostly. Once filled with such vigor and spirit, her irises were now dull; lifeless even, and heavy with exhaustion. Her body, bruised and broken from the trauma she’d endured, swayed achingly with the rhythm of Sigefrid’s steed beneath her. It was by the strength of Sigefrid’s arm alone that she managed to sit upright for the duration of their travels.

She was a lamb being led to the slaughter, or frankly something far worse for a woman to endure than death itself - the wrath of men.

Unlike a lamb, or cow for that matter, Lady Blædswith didn’t have the luxury of being blissfully unaware of what lied ahead.

For the first time in a long while she was completely and utterly defenseless. Above all else, she believed it to be the scariest, most unusual feeling she’d ever known.

And she hated every second of it.

A light mist began to fall from the sky awash with ominous shades of grey. The air was humid and smelled of a storm brewing in the near distance. Thick clouds of fog encompassed each horse and rider though they began to dissipate over time. An unmistakable roll of thunder rumbled through the damp earth causing the horses to feel uneasy once more.

Lady Blædswith firmly grasped handfuls of mane between her fingers and took as deep of a breath as her ribs would allow.

For the love of God, or gods, please don’t throw me off.

Barren trees shivered in the wind, their naked limbs often snapping beneath the weight of fleeing crows and squirrels alike. Eerie branches, gnarled and twisted, extended towards the band of Danes and their princess like the very hands of Skaði herself - the Pagan goddess of winter.

The shivering princess found herself retreating into the fur pelt draped over her shoulders for warmth. Sigefrid decided she’d suffered enough from the cold, though found himself growing fond of the way his grey fur looked beneath her dark, unruly curls.

Although Lady Blædswith was born and raised in Wessex, Sigefrid could see there was something different within her; something worth saving. He could sense a feral presence bound by chains that could never be tamed - not even by him.

Odin had dealt her a great hand, and she spat it back at him by defying all odds.

____________________ ➴  ____________________

The infamous fortress of Beamfleot was a rather grim sight to behold.

The surrounding field was brown with decay. Remnants of battles past lie scattered in the weeds; broken swords, cracked shields, dented helmets, and the occasional skull or two left inside said helmets.

Its cold, uninviting walls of aged wooden planks loomed high above the approaching Danes and stretched towards the gods. Stone watch towers encompassed by cages of sharpened wooden pikes protected archers keeping watch over the land; Sigefrid and Erik’s land.

Sigefrid led his fellow Danes along a narrow path and towards the main gates. “Lady Blædswith of Wessex. Welcome, to Beamfleot. Your new home... should you want it.” His dark eyes gleamed with mischief, the corners of his lips perking into a rather menacing smile.

Lady Blædswith shook her head with confusion. “I-I do not understand. I thought you intended to sell me for ransom? T-to my father?”

Sigefrid chuckled haughtily, “Oh, for a while I did.” He tightened his arm around her waist and pressed the entirety of her back against his firm chest causing her breath to hitch. “But then I grew to like your company.” She could feel every muscle in his core flex and constrict against her frame as he held her in place. Every part of her yearned to resist his warm touch yet she couldn’t bring herself to do so… and she couldn’t understand why.

“How could I join you?” Lady Blædswith scoffed and craned her neck to face the Dane whose arm encompassed her being. “I have experienced quite enough to know better.” She pressed the palm of her hand against her dried arrow wound as if recalling the incident all over again. “You must think me a fool!“ She twisted back around and purposely bumped her back into his chest.

“I do not-“ Sigefrid growled lowly.

“Then how can you possibly expect me to trust you so soon?”

Sigefrid’s nostrils flared and his lips pursed out of bitterness; his narrowed eyes seemed to burn with a newfound frustration despite the truth behind her words. “Very well.” He huffed. “Warriors join us by the day. With word of your... capture… there will be more; all waiting for war.”

“Against who?” She urged. “Mercia? Wessex? My father?” Both kingdoms, as far as she knew, had large armies of noble and courageous men… but the average Saxon warrior was no match for a Dane like Sigefrid Thurgilson. “Tell me.”

Sigefrid smiled wickedly from ear to ear and simply responded, “You have my thanks, Lady.”

As they grew nearer, a set of heavy gates were drawn open revealing the inside of Beamfleot. Lady Blædswith could hear Danes of all walks of life applauding their Lord’s fruitful return. Once through the gates and inside, Hæsten rode up beside them and nudged her boot with his own. She kicked him back, harder, causing him to curse beneath his breath.

With the sound of the gates closing behind her and locking in place, all hopes she had of escaping fell into a pit of despair; of defeat.

The two Danes proceeded to ride through the village, passing by mothers joyfully embracing their children and drunken men clinking horns of ale together.

“Lord.”

“Yes?” Sigefrid drew slowly out of exasperation. “Speak.”

“How does she feel? Warm?” Hæsten’s serpent tongue grazed over the bottom of his busted lip. His eyes dilated at the mere thought of his hands ravishing Lady Blædswith’s womanhood. He believed it to be what she deserved for not only being a Saxon, but publicly humiliating him and nearly taking his life in front of everyone.

“Rich, as she should.” Sigefrid leaned forward and firmly pressed his lips to the back of her hair, exchanging a sly grin with Hæsten before leaning back. “She is priceless.”

Lady Blædswith felt completely numb; frozen in time as the world around her faded to a blur. Danes began clawing at her legs once more and tugged at her clothes. No one knew of her identity thus far but some had their suspicions. It was clear she was of grave importance to their Lord, therefore she had a great value.

She remained stoic; her attention fixated on the large building up ahead with pits of seductive flames dancing in front of frostbitten Danes.

Hot tears streamed down her flushed cheeks yet she kept quiet; there was nothing she could say that would matter to anyone - assuming she could even get them to listen in the first place.

Lady Blædswith could feel each tear dripping from her chin and falling onto the dense fur around her neck, one she wished could shield her face from the dirty looks she received as Sigefrid paraded her around.

“I bring you King Alfred’s eldest daughter! I swear to the gods… that this prize will not be sold cheaply. There will be wealth and glory for every man here!” An uproar of cheering and laughter rang out from children of all ages, the elderly, returning warriors and even slaves who’d taken a break from their chores to gape in awe.

They hoped they would have an easier week ahead of them now that a new woman had been introduced, so they celebrated her capture without drawing too much attention to themselves.

Sigefrid marveled triumphantly at the celebration that had begun in his honor. He could hear his name being praised and chanted loud enough to be heard for miles, a sound he would never tire of.

After the crowd simmered down he was the first to dismount. His boots, upon doing so, struck the earth like the mighty hammer of Thor. He reached up and grabbed Lady Blædswith by her waist as best as he could without harming her with his hand-blade nor disrupting her broken ribs. It was a rather tedious task.

The Lord of Beamfleot decided it was worth the risk of impaling King Alfred’s daughter if it meant no other man would lie a hand on her.

By the hour he found himself increasingly selfish and greedy; hungry with lust and a burning desire of having a princess all to himself in the interim of negotiating a price for her release.

She carefully dismounted and found herself clinging to Sigefrid’s armor for support. The warmth of her hands seeped through his leather attire causing his breathing to hitch for a moment. His hand remained a constant upon her waist until she found her balance. They held each other’s gaze a moment too long before she cleared her throat. “I’m fine. You can let go, now.”

With a sigh, Sigefrid rolled his eyes and stepped back just in time for a friendlier face to arrive by his side. Whoever he was, he seemed to have missed the big announcement.

“Sigefrid? Who is this woman?”

“Erik!” Sigefrid clapped a hand to his brothers shoulder and brought him closer to see her. “This is King Alfred’s daughter.”

Erik’s lips formed an ‘o’ before he stepped even closer out of sheer curiosity.

When Lady Blædswith looked up she met a pair of gentle blue eyes underlined with kohl. He had a small, rounder face than Sigefrid decorated in thick scars and smudges of dirt. It seemed Erik had been kept rather busy in his brother’s absence. Below his button nose was a short, dirty-blonde beard bound by a single ring of silver. Similar to Sigefrid, his head was shaved at the sides and his hair was knotted into a short braid down his neck.

“How did you come across her?” Erik asked over his shoulder though quickly turned back when she answered for his brother.

“My men and I were ambushed on our way to Mercia. They were all slaughtered in cold blood and I was taken as a hostage.”

Erik’s brows furrowed as he gently caressed the side of her bruised cheek with the tops of his knuckles, retracting his hand after she winced in pain.

“She is unwell, brother. Who did this to her?”

Lady Blædswith looked around to see if anyone would try to stop her from confessing. When she looked to Sigefrid he averted his gaze and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Hæsten.” She croaked, “But Sigefrid stopped him before it was too late.” The mere mention of his name through her lips caused Sigefrid’s chest to constrict.

“Lady,” Erik took a step closer with his hands raised to show her he meant well, “I would like to see what Hæsten did to you.”

She scoffed. “You want me to undress, here, in front of everyone? In the cold?”

Erik nodded with a sigh, acknowledging the extent of his request.

“Are you mad?” She then turned to face Sigefrid. “Sigefrid you can’t let him-“

“I can, and I will. Take off your fur, Lady. Now. We want to see such a woman in all her beauty!” The eldest Thurgilson pressed firmly, asserting himself to the Saxon woman who so boldly spoke out against him.

Exhaling slowly, she allowed the fur to drape down her arms and pool at her wrists before falling to the ground. The back of her neck was scorching hot as hundreds of eyes watched her every move.

“I’d like that back.” The princess wore a long sleeved shirt beneath a leather vest tied in the back like a corset. Her chainmail armor had been torn to pieces and left in the clearing where she was ambushed.

“Now, your vest.” Sigefrid motioned with his blade.

Lady Blædswith slowly reached behind her to untie the laces of her vest but stopped halfway, wincing as pain coursed through her body. “Damn!” She hissed, “I can not.” Her hand tightly clutched her right shoulder as she cried out in pain. “I can not lift my arms high enough to do so.”

Erik’s brows furrowed with confusion. “Why is that?”

“Well,” She gulped dryly, “it would appear that I’ve been struck by a bloody arrow! So I will not be taking it off.”

“Then I will. Allow me to be of... assistance.” Hæsten cooed as he slithered past the Thurgilson brothers.

“No!” Sigefrid and Lady Blædswith shouted in unison, leaving Erik unable to determine who’d taken greater offense to Hæsten’s offer. It struck Erik that perhaps Lady Blædswith meant more to his brother than he’d let on.

“Leave us, Hæsten. Now.” Sigefrid dismissed.

Hæsten swore to himself once more and passed by Lady Blædswith, though stopped dead in his tracks after she grabbed his wrist. “You should have killed me when you had the chance.” She whispered by his ear. “One day I shall make you beg for mercy as I did. Only your Lord won’t be there to save you like he did with me.”

“Sigefrid needed you alive. He knew he couldn’t hump a corpse.” Hæsten sneered, only to be knocked off balance by her forehead slamming into his nose - causing it to break and ooze blood down his lips. Before he could raise his fist Erik grabbed him by the forearm and redirected the hostile Dane elsewhere. Hæsten brushed shoulders with the younger Thurgilson before searching for a slave to take his aggressions out on.

Lady Blædswith caught sight of Sigefrid with his bottom lip between his teeth, concealing a coy smirk of amusement as his chest shook with laughter. He ran a hand over his devilish beard before strolling towards her.

“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

The Dane shrugged. “Mmm….Maybe I did? Though Hæsten was right. I needed you alive.”

“So you could hump me, is that it?” She yanked him down to her eye level by the collar of his leather armor and narrowed her eyes. “You couldn’t handle me.” The princess hissed through gritted teeth and released him with a shove.

Sigefrid chuckled to himself after regaining his stance. “Oh? Is that right?” He’d caught onto the game she dared to play without realizing she’d awoken the beast within him. It was risky of her to challenge such a man of Sigefrid’s reputation, but she couldn’t help it. It was simply in her nature. After all, what had she to lose?

“It is. Besides, I would slit my own throat before bedding a Dane, especially you.”

Sigefrid laughed heartily, evoking Erik and the surrounding Danes to harmonize with him as they mocked the injured woman.

“I mean it. Lord or not, I don’t give a damn.”

“That is enough, Lady. Turn around.” She sighed and did as she was told, now facing Erik who passed her a subtle grin. Sigefrid began working the laces out of their knots until her vest fell open in his hands. Once it was discarded he tore the sleeve from her shirt to reveal the main source of her discomfort.

Sigefrid and Erik visibly cringed at the sight - and smell - of her wound seeing fresh air for the first time. She handled the pain better than Sigefrid expected she would, and by a long shot, her strong will to live had exceeded his expectations.

Lady Blædswith had the face of a beautiful Saxon woman... but the heart of a Dane.

“Sigefrid, if you value Hæsten’s life you will keep him away from me. I will not hesitate to defend myself against him. He still wishes me dead.”

Sigefrid narrowed his intimidating gaze into her eyes. He knew she was right; Hæsten, almost as much as himself, couldn’t keep away from the Saxon princess.

“I do not take orders from you, princess!” The dark haired Thurgilson growled. “You should be glad to still have your tongue.”

The sound of gravel crunching beneath the steady rhythm of boots caused them both to look up as Erik approached.

Heavier droplets of rain began to fall upon their heads as forbidding clouds lurked overhead causing some to retreat indoors for warmth.

“Enough, Sigefrid. We need to get her inside before she freezes to death.”

“Very well, Erik. She is coming with me.” Sigefrid roughly grasped onto the princess’s forearm.

“Wait!” Lady Blædswith shouted, tugging her arm free of Sigefrid’s calloused grip before pulling her torn shirt up and beneath her bra line for all to see. Dark, unpleasant blotches of purple and green had appeared overnight as the pain worsened. It looked - and felt - as if she had been kicked by a horse when both brothers knew the truth.

“You have broken ribs... Hæsten did this as well?” Erik frowned solemnly, receiving a nod from the princess as she covered herself up once more. Sigefrid took a rather possessive hold of her hand in his and squeezed it tightly to ensure she wouldn’t slip away.

“It will not happen again, Lady. You have my word.” The sincerity of Erik’s words was as refreshing as a cold drink on a hot summer day. However, she had to remind herself that he was no saint.

Erik Thurgilson was the lesser of two evils. Lady Blædswith couldn’t help but feel safer around him despite the fact that he was Sigefrid’s younger brother.

The princess mouthed a quiet thank you and passed the blonde Dane a frail smile before Sigefrid pulled her towards the Mead Hall.

“Sigefrid, you will not hurt her.” Erik demanded of his hot-headed brother whose mind was already made up. Lady Blædswith stumbled behind him in an attempt to keep up with his long stride to avoid being dragged through the mud.

“I will do as I please.” Sigefrid laughed with a smirk. Erik couldn’t help but shake his head in disapproval, now trailing behind to ensure no further harm came to King Alfred’s daughter.

“Try, and see what happens!” With a loud huff Lady Blædswith dug the heels of her boots into the dirt causing him to stop and face her. “Your hand won’t be the only thing missing from your body when I am through with you.” As their faces drew closer a single white cloud was formed from their sharp breaths intertwining. Suddenly she felt the pad of his thumb flicking over her bottom lip and resting upon her chin as he held her gaze.

“You have a sharp tongue, Lady.” Sigefrid snarled, his nose scrunching with vexation. She could feel the warmth of his breath upon her lips. “That will get you in trouble.”

“How fitting.” The princess muttered and swatted his hand away before he snatched it back it in his own. “That seems to be all I am good for lately.”

____________________ ➴  ____________________

A frigid breeze nipped away at her face and had crept beneath the tattered remains of her clothes, spreading across her skin as if she were trapped in the frozen realm of Nifelheim.

Her hands, tucked away in the cavities of her armpits, were painfully numb to the touch. Her pale lips had turned a bluish hue and her teeth chattered with the unsteady rhythm of her breathing. The nearest fire pit was just out of reach no matter how far she stretched her arm; it was close enough to tempt her like the Forbidden Fruit to Eve, yet remained unattainable despite her efforts.

Lady Blædswith fell heavy with exhaustion after frantically searching for a way out; a weak plank of wood, a loose nail… nothing. She had repeatedly thrown herself at the locked gate, crying out in frustration each time whilst doing more harm to herself than the filthy cage that confined her. Its rusty bars remained stationary yet they closed in on her all the same, and she couldn’t help but feel a sense of claustrophobia curdling within her.

A shroud of darkness had enveloped her broken wings, for Lady Blædswith was a flightless bird.

Occasionally she found peace by slipping into an unconscious state, only to be startled awake by ungodly booms of thunder or Danes clinking horns of ale along the metal bars. Even a brood of clucking chickens strutted past her, showing off their boundless freedom before Danish children chased them outside. Curious hounds sniffed around the princess from time to time, trying to determine whether or not she was to become their next meal, or perhaps just something to urinate on.

And by the smell of it, they chose the latter.

An overwhelming series of events had occurred in the mere day or so she’d been in the Thurgilson brothers’ possession. Evidently, the Saxon princess began to lose track of time.

How long had she been trapped here? For a few hours? Days? And how long had Sigefrid allowed his men to tease and taunt her whilst she lay curled in a ball, weeping as a small child would? Praying to her God who seemed to have turned a blind eye once and for all?

From beyond the shadowy gloom of the dimly lit hall came a tall silhouette carrying something. Lady Blædswith found herself scrambling to the furthest corner from the gate out of fear of her approacher’s intentions. When they stepped closer to the cage their face became visible beneath the chandelier hanging overhead, revealing it to be Erik Thurgilson with a fur pelt in his arms.

She had ill-heartedly anticipated it to be Hæsten returning for a helping of spiteful revenge.

“Are you ready to talk, Lady? I brought you something warm.” Erik gestured the fur towards her, receiving a frantic nod as she rose to her bare feet. Sigefrid had ushered everyone out of the hall and into the cold, barring the doors behind them. He then found himself drawn to her cage like a moth to candlelight, watching wearily as Erik retrieved a key from his pocket and opened the gate. He carefully set the fur down for Lady Blædswith before locking her in once more.

Collapsing to her knees with a gasping sigh of relief, the trembling princess wrapped the thick pelt over her body and curled into a ball, now teetering back and forth on her tailbone. Sigefrid and Erik pulled up a carved bench and made themselves comfortable for what they anticipated to take some time: interrogating the rogue daughter of King Alfred of Wessex.

“I shall t-tell you everything you wish to know,” She shivered, “b-but only if you release me from this wretched cage where I am to remain under your protection. I am not a damned chicken… This cage is rather small for a princess.” Lady Blædswith quirked a dark brow. She smirked ever so slightly and allowed her gaze to fall deep into Sigefrid’s lap, “I expected it to be… bigger.” She so crudely joked, catching both brothers by surprise at her sudden vulgarity.

Humor, of all things, seemed to keep her sane even through the worst of days.

Sigefrid’s eyes glimmered as he chuckled into the palm of his hand as he stroked the length of his sleek, raven beard.

“I like her.” Sigefrid cooed, turning to face his better half though his eyes remained glued to his Saxon prisoner.

“Perhaps too much.” Erik grinned teasingly, “Shall I leave, brother?”

Sigefrid shook his head and sighed. “No, stay.” He then directed his full attention to the princess. “I accept your terms, Lady. It is done.” He muttered, “You will be freed... And, you may be surprised how well such a cage would… suit your needs.” Sigefrid smirked devilishly at the witty Saxon, displaying teeth as sharp and frightening as knives. Her heart seemed to beat faster in a dizzying manner that her breathing could not keep up with.

How was he menacing yet alluring at the same time? How could she loathe such a man yet want nothing more than to be in his presence? To hear the low growl of his voice sent shivers down her spine in the most pleasant of ways. She craved the danger; the unpredictability of his Pagan nature. It was all so new and enticing to the Saxon woman whose recurring thoughts have been far from Holy. He was her enemy; her kidnapper. Sigefrid Thurgilson was a deviously charming Dane with an edge of mystery to his every whim. She believed if he had intended to do her harm, he would have done so already.

Her only dilemma was that she couldn’t bring herself to forgive him for Lunden… not now, anyways.

Sigefrid Thurgilson held the power to decide her fate; whether or not she lived or died — and how. He had chosen wisely thus far, and appeared to see Lady Blædswith in all her grandeur.

Erik Thurgilson spoke uncomfortably,, “I must be going-”

“No! Stay.” Lady Blædswith chirped. “I am ready to talk… But only to you, Erik. You have shown me a great kindness.” She directed at the blonde Thurgilson. “As for your brother… not so much. He is the reason I almost died at Hæsten’s hand.” She spat at him through the cage. “I will never forget that, Heathen.”

A loud stomp echoed throughout the hall as the floorboard beneath Sigefrid’s boot nearly cracked. “I am the reason you are still alive. Do not forget that.” Sigefrid leaned forward, pressing his elbow into his knees. He slowly unsheathed his hand-blade and sneered mockingly, “Christian.”

“Perhaps what my brother is trying to say is… we would greatly appreciate your... cooperation.” Erik grinned sheepishly as a low growl rumbled within his brother’s throat. “Where were you headed, Lady, with the king’s men? You said you were headed for Mercia when Sigefrid… found… you. Is this true?”

Lady Blædswith nodded with a troubled sigh. “Yes, it is true. I was headed North to visit my sister, Lady Æthelflæd. I traveled with my men; they were loyal to me, and to me only. And in return I led them to their deaths.” A light shudder rippled through her body as she fought the urge to dispel the meat they fed her earlier.

“To see the Queen of Mercia — yes. But why?” Sigefrid’s brows furrowed tightly together in uncertainty.

Lady Blædswith inhaled sharply. “I thought... we could be of use to each other. I sought her protection, and Mercia needs warriors with my skillset.” She feared she had already revealed too much, but there was no turning back now.

“You do not have King Alfred’s protection?” Erik frowned and rose to his feet, taking firm hold of a metal rod in each hand. He was unsure of what to make of her words.

Lady Blædswith chuckled and shook her head, wet strands of hair falling over her eyes, “No, no. Of course I do not. He is the one I sought protection from! For years I have drowned in my father’s politics but I have had enough!” She shouted angrily, causing both brothers to flinch ever so slightly. “I met suitor after suitor... they never stopped asking for my hand in marriage. Strange men; always foreign and often old enough to be my father…. or grandfather.” She could feel herself fighting back a sob brewing within her throat.

The Thurgilson brothers exchanged sour looks of disgust.

“I can not imagine what you have been through, Lady.” Erik soothed and leaned closer to her cage. “No father should force his daughter to wed, not even a King.”

Lady Blædswith smiled softly at Erik, though noticed the way Sigefrid had began glaring down at her. She felt almost obligated to explain herself, “I-I never loved any of my suitors — I couldn’t. I was always able to scare them away, and Alfred resented me for it. I humiliated him, time and time again, in front of numerous princes and lords… until one day he found a man most unafraid of my strong will…”

“What do you mean?” Sigefrid snapped resentfully. Erik could see a blazing pain of jealousy ignite within his brother. “Who is this man you speak of?”

“I am engaged to a Frenchman whose name I can hardly pronounce nor remember. He has…” She motioned to the top of her head, “...thinning, grey hair like a corpse! I have heard the servants’ whispers, and they say he is a cruel man. He hates women, especially women like me.” Lady Blædswith rose to her knees and crawled a few feet closer to the brothers, no longer apprehensive of their presence. “He remains in Wessex with my father but I doubt they will send scouts to find me. I may not be worth the trouble... But if they did, they will not succeed.”

“Your fiancé fears a woman so strong; so unafraid to will her own destiny.” Erik smiled and took a seat. “He sounds a cowardly prick. You deserve far better, Lady. A man who is your equal-”

“Silence your flattery, brother.” Sigefrid snapped with a harsh jab of his elbow into Erik’s arm. “Continue.”

She nodded and did as commanded,

“I told King Alfred of the rumors I heard but he did not believe me…. and God forbid I seek proof for myself - I knew better than that. The moment my own mother, Lady Aelswith, decided to support the marriage I knew there was no longer a life for me in Wessex. I no longer had allies; no loyal family left but in Mercia. One night, on a whim, I simply gathered my things and left with the few men I could gather…” She sighed heavily and allowed her shoulders to droop. “We later passed through Lunden and, well, you both know what happened next.”

The Mead Hall fell silent, only to be disturbed by the frantic pounding of fists upon the main doors and a voice asking for Lord Erik. “If you will excuse me,” He rose to his feet and slipped the key into his pocket instead of trusting it with Sigefrid; this did not go unnoticed by his brother nor the princess.

Although Lady Blædswith asked to be freed, and Sigefrid agreed to uphold her request, Erik knew she was safer behind bars where no Dane could harm her - not even Sigefrid or Hæsten.

Erik made his way through the doors and was virtually out of sight. Alone, in the wet darkness of the Mead hall sat a Saxon beauty and her beast.

“Why did you kill the man who shot me?” Lady Blædswith wasted no time in bluntly asking her most burning question. “You did not know who I was. I was but a Saxon woman, y-you’re enemy.” Crawling towards the gate, she rested the palms of her hands against a wooden plank.

“He acted on Hæsten’s orders, not mine nor Erik’s. It did not matter... whether or not I knew you were Alfred’s daughter.” Sigefrid looked up from his lap and appeared unusually calm; sympathetic, almost. “I have never seen a woman fight as you do, Lady Blædswith of Wessex. Not even a Danish shieldmaiden could compare. Sparing you... went against everything I stand for… everything!” He slammed his hand down on the bench beside him. “But you were worth saving.”

He then paused, glancing over his shoulder to ensure they were truly alone. “And I would do it again... without hesitation.” Sigefrid sighed in defeat, not wanting to accept the fact of the matter but it was true.

She was taken aback by his confession, unsure of what to say or do. Ever so carefully she reached above her head and took hold of metal bars, helping herself to her feet. The cage was barely tall enough for her to stand upright but she managed. “You still believe me to be worth saving even though I am in ruins?” She asked in disbelief and Sigefrid nodded.

She couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you for sparing my life, Lord. All day I have feared Beamfleot; you, Hæsten, Erik… and everyone else. But now I fear returning home, how foolish is that? Despite the unbearable conditions I have been kept in, here…. I would gladly choose it over the life my father has planned for me.”

With a grunt Sigefrid suddenly rose to his feet, turning away whilst repeatedly running a calloused hand over his face.

“You do not wish to sell me for ransom… do you?”

“I am… conflicted, Lady.” He turned around on the heels of his boots to face her, “As you are. I promised my men wealth and glory, but they do not see you are priceless.” Frustrated by the decision at hand, Sigefrid neared a long table set with platters of food and cups of ale, and with one big sweep of his arm sent dishes crashing to the floor with a loud yell. “Damnit!”

Now seething with sudden rage, Sigefrid abandoned the princess and strode towards the doors to find his brother, only to be stopped by her shouting, “Stop!”

As if compelled by the gods Sigefrid found himself immobilized a mere foot from the door. The princess sniffled beneath the pelt now draped over her head and wiped away tears from her cheeks. “Sigefrid you will not receive what you desire from King Alfred.” She confessed, knowingly signing her own death sentence.

She heard his loud boot steps approaching as he breathlessly snapped, “What? What do you mean, woman?”

“I mean you have the wrong daughter!” She sobbed, watching as the Dane before her grew increasingly hostile and agitated by her words. “I was never his favorite child, never! He cared for me once but my constant defiance has shamed him beyond repair. Why would a king pay a fortune for a disobedient princess whom he no longer loves? He does not value me as a skilled warrior like you do, I am simply a pawn. If and when he negotiates a price… you will not be satisfied with it.”

“Are you saying I should have killed you in the woods?”

“No! And I am grateful you did not. I thank… I thank the gods that you see some greater value in me than my own father, b-because at least I-I know I matter to someone.” The princess choked on her own tears and displayed her aching heart on her chest. “For better or for worse, I matter to you.”

“You speak often of my gods.” Sigefrid folded his arms over his chest and began walking in a circle around her cage. “Have you lost faith in your God?”

She squeezed her ocean eyes shut and nodded, fishing down the collar of her shirt for the wooden cross hung around her neck. She took it in her hand and yanked the necklace from her person. “He has ignored my prayers for longer than I can remember. He turned my own family against me… my own kingdom. I prayed to Him before I fought Hæsten… and I lost miserably.” She gently laid the broken necklace on the floor before spitting on it. “I could never bring myself to denounce Him, but I feel I may soon. Meeting you has been the ultimate test of my faith, Lord.”

Heaven lost an angel the day Princess Blædswith met Sigefrid Thurgilson.

When she opened her eyes she saw that Sigefrid had reclaimed his place on the bench, nursing his hand-blade, slowly working the buckles to relieve his discomfort.

“Who did that to you?”

Sigefrid glared up at her for daring to ask when he assumed she knew. “Your Lord, Uhtred.” Sigefrid groaned, struggling to free his stump from the gnarly contraption.

“I am… sorry he did that to you. I hope it brings you peace knowing I no longer serve Uhtred Ragnarsson.”

“Oh?” He disregarded the buckles on his hand and allowed it to rest upon his knee. “Who do you serve, Lady?”

She scoffed with a smile and leaned her back against the bars, “I serve myself, as hard as it may be to believe. All men who have tried before have failed. For a short while I was sworn to Uhtred of Bebbanburg. I fought by his side and loved every moment of it.”

“Why did you stop?”

“Well, it was not up to me. King Alfred welcomed the idea of his daughters learning to protect themselves. Growing up, Æthelflæd and I trained with the captain of my family’s guards, a man named Steapa. Unlike my sister who was married off to a pig’s ass named Æthelred-”

“-A pig’s ass!” Sigefrid shouted with amusement. “How fitting.”

“He is but a shit stain upon my boot as I have come to know. I fear no man, but he… he is no man.”

“Will you tell me about him?”

“I shall, another time.” She grinned and continued her story, “I pursued my skills in fighting, and once I was good enough Uhtred gladly took me under his wing despite my father’s wishes. Uhtred taught me that not all Danes are cruel and merciless. I am hoping that to be true of yourself and Erik. He seems a kind man.”

Sigefrid nodded in response to her compliment. “He is a good man. I would be lost without his head.”

“I have no doubt.” She teased with a mournful grin. “I wish I could say the same for my father - that he is a good man. It was not easy for Uhtred to let me go but he was ordered by King Alfred to do so. He took away everything I had; my freedom, my happiness. I lost not only my own blood, but Uhtred and his men. I was suddenly… alone.” She glanced at Sigefrid through eyes blurred with tears. “My sister is all I have left. God forbid she turns on me, too. I am not sure what I would do.”

“What are you prepared to do?” Sigefrid cocked his head to the side and attempted to decipher her words. “Are you prepared to kill your own sister? A queen?”

“Is that what you would like me to do?” She scoffed. “Would you kill Erik? Your brother? Surely not.” Lady Blædswith challenged, not able to help herself from feeling defensive over Lady Æthelflæd’s life. The entire hall fell silent except for the sound of rain falling in sheets upon the roof. Sigefrid shifted uneasily in his seat and allowed for his head to hang below his shoulders.

“I… would be lost without Erik.” He repeated quietly, craning his neck to nod at her before returning his undivided attention to the screwy buckles on his hand-blade.

Fascinated by Sigefrid’s troubling efforts the princess blurted, “May I see it? Your hand?”

Sigefrid’s face hardened with shame and distrust. “No.” He hissed and turned away from her like a stubborn child refusing his vegetable dinner. “You may not.”

She took a calming breath and knelt before the gate. “I can take it off and help soothe your pain-”

“Why would you want to help me, woman?” He continued to fumble with the buckles though frustration clouded his focus.

“Well… I’m sure Uhtred had his reasons but no man deserves that. Not a Dane, not even my father.” She rolled her eyes. “Well, maybe my father.”

Sigefrid paused with a grin, and looked up though his gaze refused to find the Saxon woman kneeling before him. “Not even a Dane holding you hostage?”

She gulped dryly and shook her head. “No, not even him.” Her eyes met his longing gaze and the world seemed to stop spinning; the heavy downpour even ceased to fall. “I will not hurt you, Sigefrid. I could not bring myself to.”

Sigefrid contemplated whether or not to expose to her his blessèd curse of an arm; his most loathsome insecurity that had only damned the eyes of his dearest brother. Would she see him as less of a man? Weak; vulnerable, even? The Lord of Chaos decided he was willing to let his guard down as she had done. Perhaps the gentle touch of a woman was all he needed. Though it may not ease his pain entirely, it would surely lift his spirits and remind him why he initially spared her life. He took great pleasure in her company, though not without dreading what was to come of her and his decisions left unmade. With a definitive nod he agreed,

“Very well.”

_______________________________________________

Author’s Note: This was more of a filler/informational chapter regarding *some* of Lady Blædswith’s background. I promise chapters 3+ will be more action packed. I hope this chapter was worth the wait! ;)

(FYI, reading all of Sigefrid’s lines in his voice makes it 10x better)

TAGS: @finantheagile​ @inforapound​ @cheapcakeripper​ @wildwren​ @metall-and-dust​ @onesaltyhunter​ @wessexcrown​ @destinysall​ @lauwrite1225​ @lumxnously​  Feel free to ask to be added to the tag list xx

[duraxxor]

Tales of Solanthos: Shadows Chapter 1 - The Cursed Child

" Darkness has a way of permeating within every single entity. It's existence is unlimited, unlike the other five original elements. And that is why it is widely feared. Because you never know what may be lurking in the Dark. " -- ???

Solanthos. A world filled to the brim with magics that have long evolved in the passing years since it's elemental cataclysm. And with the reformation of the very earth we stand upon, the planet itself as taken on a variety of layers. Some may even argue that the deeper you go to the seething core, the more hellish it becomes. I can attest to that theory. My name is Alphus Daevara, and what I am about to explain to you is more than just my story. No, it is a revolution in a new age amongst the world as we know it.

Amongst the many races of Solanthos, there were the Wyverians. The Wyverians are said to be pointed-eared, magically-attuned mortals that had evolved over time from the blessing of the creator Sylvirra, the matron deity that is said to have rivaled Solexstras, whom the Strassian people revered as their patron. That, however, is a story for another time. Anyways, there were four divinities that split depending on what it was the Wyverians chose to worship. The Goldenthorn, for example, are widely known for their belief in nature and all it provides, exalted in the ways of Life. The Sky Nomads are another group that chose to live amongst the skies in their floating city, believing that the Air they breath is the key to living a prosperous life. Then, we have the more sects that believe themselves to be more sophisticated amongst their kin. The Houses of Radiance, noble bloods that worships the light of the day stars and it's eternal flame. This house of nobility is often lost in it's own arrogance at times and unlike the earlier two, they do not extend their hand to other races so eagerly. Unironically, however, there was one final house whom believes themselves to be even more powerful than the House of Radiance. The Duskhaven choose to live in their underground city that stands on the borders between the first layer of the planet and the darkness that lies deep within the earth. However, their light is in the form of the moon phasing. Another notable trait that defines Duskhaven from the rest is their darker pigmentation as opposed to the lighter tones from their kin amongst the surface.

You're probably expecting me to tell you which one I fall into, aren't you? A Goldenthorn that values all life? A Sky Nomad that strives for adventure? A noble among the Houses of Radiance or perhaps one of the nocturnal Duskhaven? Well, if you guessed the latter of the four, you would be right to a degree but it gets more complicated from here. For you see... My father was of Duskhaven while mother, on the other hand, was of Radiance. Their marriage was highly frowned upon, going as far as even receiving death threats as well as the guardians paying close attention to their every movement. Eventually, they earned their right to love but not without consequence...

6.16.9100 - sixth cycle, sixteenth day, nine-thousand and one hundred years after the reformation. With life comes pain, and with pain comes life. A familiar that my mother experienced and accepted well. She screamed and writhed from the contractions. My birth was nigh but alas, my father was nowhere to be seen. " Where is he?... Where is my husband?! " The Goldenthorn that were requested for her birth outside of the territories answered naught once but instead gave her advice. " Continue to breath in and push, Apolla. Your husband will be here soon. As will your child... " My mother rebuffed herself, lost in the pain from both my arrival and the separation of her beloved. Alas, the only one awaiting her outside was her brother, one who had clung to a hope that his sisters choices would not cost the house their reputation. He, who was also responsible for my father, Sephirrion, from being present as he had guards assembled to prevent what my uncle declared to be an interference. With each scream, I drew closer to existence until finally one high pitching shriek followed with the sound of a babe crying out it's first breath.

" It's a boy, Apolla! Rejoice! You have birthed a son! " The Goldenthorn practitioners cheered with the success until they looked upon the crying child's form upon the initial clean up. Neither sun-touched nor midnight complexion existed. Instead, it was as if my flesh had been touched by storm clouds or the greys of stone. A tuft of white hair sprouted from my cranium. And to some, it was a sickly sight. Specifically my uncle who had immediately rushed into the room to his displeasure. " Sister... What. Have. You... Done?! You have soiled our family name with the existence of a cursed child! " My mother was even given a chance to process what he had said in her tired state before the Goldenthorn found themselves scrambling to stop an enraged Radiance from hurdling a ball of flame at the child. It all happened so fast. Even to this day, I'm haunted by the heat that had struck my flesh. However, as the child was engulfed in flames, the hue of radiant fire twisted, discoloring into an insidious purple blaze until the scream of a babe sent the flames outward in a burst, striking almost every single person within the room. My uncle along with a few of the Goldenthorn were burned but no one was killed in the incident. House of Radiance guards came swarming in and the injured Uncle gave her command. " Take the child to his father... and tell him that he is NOT to set foot close to our territories ever again! As for my sister... Take her and have her locked in a cell! I will not allow this event to destroy my family's way! "

So from that point, the last memory I can recall was the voice of my mother shouting my name despite my birth having been but a mere moments before she was torn away from her child. The guards did as they were commanded and eventually, my father learned of what had transpired. At this point, not only was Sephirrion overwhelmed with guilt and heartache, but he was mortified by the idea that his son possessed such a destructive power. From then on, he chose to raise me under his thumb amongst the Duskhaven. While they weren't as resentful of my existence, they still held prejudice against my father's love interest and the end result. To some, I was nothing more than a motherless child and an embarrassment. While others, believe me to be a white-haired demon. The latter was personified once my eyes had opened to the cruel world around me. An iris divided into two rings of color, the outer being a crimson river of blood while the inner ring illuminated with a blend of orange and yellow. Some described it to remind them of a feral beast before they took note of the dark pupils that possessed no shine to them.

My father would carry this burden on his shoulder for as long as he would live. No one would ever learn or could explain what had transpired that day. Why a child did not burn in fire and reflected such power in such a destructive manner. It was uncommon and hadn't be displayed in any infant. My father tried to give me the most normal life any Duskhaven could offer a halfblood. Food, water, clothing, and shelter. But most importantly, enough love despite the hole that was always within his heart. And with the cycles of life would come public education so I could learn how to live amongst the other's. I still remember my first day of school how everyone stared at me. Even the teacher introduced my name and it was as if I were a criminal. Children whispered obscene things about me that they had heard from their parents.

Freak. Blasphemy. Demon. He should be dead.

I chose to ignore it the best I could and stayed in my corner. That was, until I was confronted by an unexpected occurrence. A Duskhaven girl whose hair was a golden blonde, unlike most and her eyes were as blue as the oceans that were described in geographical lessons. " Hey you, why do the other kids make fun of you? " She asked in such a sweet but prodding voice as we sat outside the academy underneath a glowtree. Incase you were wondering, a glowtree is said to be related to an type of cypress on the surface world but it adapted to the darkness and stores the light that beams from the sun and moon phasing through cavities above. Anyhow, I didn't know what to say or think, I simply stared at her a moment. " Huh? I know you can talk.. I don't understand why they make fun of you? You have pretty eyes. So what if you're different? " I remember something in my tiny, little heart clenching on my strings and I just couldn't contain myself as I began to cry at how kind and warm this girl was to me. " Hey... it'll be alright. You're name's Alphus, right? I'm Felyna. " That's a name I would remember forever. She was the second person to extend a kindness to me aside from my father who raised me. I would meet her during recess and sometimes even after school amongst the City of Undershire.

But, as years passed and I approached the age of ten cycles, her father began to take notice of how close we were. One might say he was much like my uncle and didn't take too kindly to a halfblood mingling with his noble child. I remember when day this tall, powerful man dressed in magus attire approach the two of us outside of school. " Felyna.. " His voice was deep with age and possessed a wicked octave to it. "... why are you fraternizing with this abomination? " As the question plunged my heart like a blade, his daughter protested by reflecting his own question with denial. I can remember how much his voice raised when he demanded his daughter return home at once, forcing her to respect his wishes with the threat behind his voice. But I made one more error at that moment as he told the father how mean he was being and glared at him. " Do not question my ways of parenting you ignorant, little gremli- " As I half expected my face to be lobbed off my shoulder by the strike of a hand, Felyna's father found his arm caught by my own father's. " Leave the children out of this matter... I'm the problem, not my son... " His azure gaze was locked upon my father's yellow orbs in the heat of the moment as they both retracted their arms and the opposing entity said the following words. " You have made a grave mistake, Sephirrion, and I will see to it that you both regret it... I will not have my daughter sullied by your... thing. "

At that point, my father had finally told me that night that I wasn't allowed to go back to the academy and that he would be homeschooling me in his spare time. It was peaceful for the most part but my heart ached as I feared I had gotten Felyna into more trouble that I expected. I never saw her again after that event and not long after, the quiet peace would be broken by the sound of our door being shattered to pieces. It seemed her father held true to his words as my father and I found ourselves confronted by several magi. " Run, Alphus! Run and don't look back! " Those were the last words I heard of my father ever again as I managed to escape through the window of my room and made a run for the city gates. Once again, I had made another miscalculation in my youth as there were guardsman waiting for my arrival as they caught me, the wild, unruly child and I found myself face to face with the same father who had nearly struck me for even glancing in his presence. " Take him to the Pits of Ab'bothi. Make sure that I never see his abominable presence near my daughter again.. "

During my childhood I had heard of whispers amongst the children about these pits. Ab'bothi was an unfamiliar term from a race known as the Arakne, which were apparently spider-like people. In their tongue it translated to Strong Jaws apparently or so the Duskhaven children claimed. It was said that these deep caverns were a living creature that swallowed anyone whole that plunged them for knowledge, never to return. And here I was about to be taken to these pits for only the elements knew what? Always fighting, always flailing, I tried as I might to escape but my energy reserves eventually ran out until found myself tossed onto the hard, stone floor far from the City's light. What little light graced this deepening cavern was nearly snuffed by an smoggy darkness. The entrance paying homage to the name as the ceiling and floors were decorated with jagged spikes that reminded someone of the Strong Jaws. There were even a few that had bones stuck between them, fermenting with the scent of age and death.

" Walk, halfblood. " I felt a dagger pointed directly at my back at the very tip, giving me no choice but to walk forward on their command. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six steps taken before I was told to stop and turn around. Despite my cooperation, my face was struck by the dagger, leaving a jagged scar on the bridge of my nose which was met with a harsh cry of pain as I fell backwards onto my bum, holding my bleeding face. I remember asking, even pleading with them in my painful confusion. " Why? Why are you doing this?! What did I do to deserve this treatment?! " To which, the lead of the group of hired henchmen covered in their shrouds answered. " We do not question our Lords, we only carry out their commands. But know this... that as you snuffed from the life that it is because you were born that you deserved this... " Harsh words were something that I had become familiar with, but to hear a grown man tell me that it is my life which condemns me to such treatment. It struck like a harsh chord along the strings of what remained of my heart. Even when they raised their weapons and the magi began to channeling destructive fire, it was as if I had already given up hope that I even deserved to live. My mother was gone, my father was likely dead, and my closest friend was banished from ever seeing me again. And here I was, about to die, for being a halfblood thing. And in that moment, my gaze stared blankly as I accepted the jaws of death.

" Kshhhhhh...kkkkk... How very curioussss...kkkk.... "

A series of clicking followed such words that were breathed down my spine as I felt something much more threatening approach from behind. The magics of the magi were suddenly nullified and the light was snuffed by a clouded smog. Even as the Duskhaven themselves looked around in a disturbed confusion, I dared not move a muscle as my own vision saw through the darkness at what was staring at me from above. I didn't quite know how to describe it either. A mouthful of needles wrapped in a series of bandages? How could such a beast or monster see in this darkness? Wait, how could I see in this darkness? " You sssssee me boy, don't you? " Saliva dripped from his that maw of potential murder, or at the very least, that's what I was hoping it was. It wasn't until I hesitated that I saw the elongated limbs beside me that looked at though the forearms on their own were as tall as a Duskhaven on their own. How big was this thing? I remember one of those limbs lifted to point those spiny fingers towards the men that were in a commotion. A single finger could completely gouge my eye out if it so desired. " Well? Can you sssspeak? Kkkkkk... or has the ssserpent got your tongue? " There it was, that incessant clicking that brought shivers to the bone.

A nodded to the best of my abilities, gritting my teeth as I steeled myself for whatever else may await me in these dark times. " Do you wish to live, child? It would be a wasssste to see such youth be sssnuffed by the ignorant. " In that moment, I remember my eyes cutting towards the men who were preparing themselves as they found a means to illuminate a short range, the leader calling out to find me and finish this job quickly. " Y-yes. I want to live! Please, help me! Spare me! Don't harm me, please! No more! " To most, it was a pitiful sight and it was the last time I truly had a moment of weakness as I covered my face.

" Ahhhh.... Excellent... kkkkkk.... " The insideous clicking followed with a rush of air as whatever this anomaly was, it had took flight in some way, shape, or form. And as I thought it had left me to the wolves who had spotlighted me in the distance, I began to notice that the magus were once again placed in a panic as one by one, each one was being pulled into the inky blackness that surrounded the area. Screams and cries of terror followed by the sound of tearing flesh and duskblood puddling upon the floor below. Even so, the leader of the assailants didn't give up as he set his sights upon me. " I knew you were a miserable halfblood... but to be cursed with such monstrous demons that follow you in your wake... I will end you! " I couldn't catch a break. It seemed as though one thing after another, my heart was always on some form of edge. I could do nothing but throw up my arms and hope that it softened the blade that was about to be plunged into my small body. Yet the pain did not come. Why?

" What is this?! " The leader cried out just before I pulled my arms down to look beyond the truth. The image of a familiar hand with elongated claws had wrapped completely around the Duskhaven's left arm. " Let me go! I was sent here to do my job! I won't go back empty handed! " The protestation of the assassin was met with not a glimmer of mercy. In fact, he found that this putrid substance was expelled from between the fingers of this creature. Dark magic that ate away at his arm, severing it as the flesh and bone fell completely off. Never in my life had a heard a man scream so loudly in such torment. I was shaking, perhaps even terrified from the possibility that I may be next yet... something about it seemed correct in nature.

" Tsk tsk tsk... You mortal beingss always have an excusssse for mucking around my territory. A job? More like ssssome petty squabble... " The thud of two feet as they landed from above. Much like the face and the arms of the beast, so two were these elongated legs that bent and contorted in a sharp manner. This would explain his acrobatic skills of likely being able to climb the ceilings perhaps rather than flight? Leaping perhaps. "... all thisss trouble for one whelpling? " A clicking laugh followed as the light illuminated the creatures form more than expected. The majority of the body was shrouded by a cloak that seemed to blend with the darkness, as if it were a part of it. Such enchanted relics weren't unheard of but were quite rare of the Wyverian breed.

" I'm not sure w-what you are, demon... but that child is a blight upon our kind... and if left unchecked, he could very well be a.... " The pained man suddenly felt his own bones start to contort and snap from the inside, as if he were being manipulated by an unseen hand. " Threat? Thisss... gifted child? Oh nononono... not a threat so as long as you continue to berate and abuse him... however... Ra'shi'sek... " The utterance of such a word was hissed from the needled mouth and right before my eyes, my troubles were engulfed in a violet wildfire brought a vivid light to the entrance of these cavern, revealing the true size of the being before me as he stood slightly hunched over. He was bigger than any man I had ever met in my lifetime, almost two average Duskhaven in this current state. All that remained was the wailing agony as the assassin and his desecrated underlings were sent to some malevolent hell, vanishing as if there wasn't a single trace.

" And then... kkkk... there was one... " A soft chittering followed across my eardrums as the being began to step towards my right side, which just so happened to be the entrance to the Pits of Ab'bothi. Unlike combat, the giant humanoid possessed no loud thud in his steps as they proved to be silent in nature. Calculated, perhaps. I remember pulling myself up rather carefully and slowly before the stranger came to a stop. " If I were you... I would not try returning to the City... you will likely be held resssponsible for their deaths... but... kkkkk... if you wish to give it a tr- " Not a single pause was required before the next words fell right out of my mouth. " I have nothing left there... I would be better off not returning if there was a chance my parents were still alive... I want to go with you.. sir... "

The towering shroud stood there silently for the longest moments before another series of clicks followed, tilting his covered head to the side before. "... Why? " Another faint silence was shared between the small child and the being that had saved me from death. I swallowed, despite having serpent's mouth from the lack of hydration. " You said I was gifted. I want you to teach me how to use that gift to live. I know not why you have been so kind to me but, I would not wish to waste the chance you have given me. " The being heard my case, tilting his head to the opposing direction before he chittered with his reply. " There will be rulesss. I will teach you but to pass beyond the veil, you may never return to  your people without my permission. For if you do... kkkkk... I will abandon you. And if you pursssue me, I will treat you as I had the othersss. " The deadly claws fidgeting in the dark as he allowed the speech to permeate in my mind. The brief hesitation was due to a lack of trust and just before I could answer, he continued. " You are stepping into the Abyssal Wilds, child. My path will not be an easy one to walk, no matter if you are a whelpling or a mighty beast. You will be pushed to your limits ssooo that you may surpasss them. KKkkk... Are we in agreement? "

What sort of horrors may await me in the unknown? Were they more terrifying than him? To push me passed my limits? Would I be broken? Mangled? Shattered? I had already been through many turmoil. Beaten and reaped from any equality amongst my kin. I remember this red-hot fire burning within my heart as anger against my kind began to manifest in my form. And rather than answer verbally, I stood as tall as I could and followed this entity's steps until I finally stood beside him. " Tell me child... what do they call you? " He asked as we began to move in unison, despite the major height difference. " Alphus... Alphus Daevara. What are you called? " The light of the upper crevice that cascaded down onto the city soon dimmed as we stepped into the unknown abyss that lies beyond the pits.

" A name that translates in the tongue of your kin as... The Huntsman. "

[sokkathebluewolf]

I am chickened out from gladiator because it is this long and it keeps getting longer is it worth my time to read it ??

... Uh, well. I can’t help but wonder if you’re aware this blog is run by the actual author of the story in question? I don’t know if you expect me to give you a non-biased answer when I’ve considered the story was worth 8 years of my life xD as far as I’m concerned, it absolutely has been worth it, but I can’t speak for the whole wide world when it comes to that. If you want the opinions of readers, there’s probably other blogs run by people who have read the story and who might have critical opinions about it... that may be what you were looking for. If, however, you were deliberately hoping to get my opinion on my own story... well, yes, for me it’s clearly worth it xD Otherwise, I would’ve quit ages ago.

The story is indeed very long and it keeps getting longer, and it will keep getting longer because we’re not done yet and won’t be for a while :’D if you’re the type of reader who can’t stand it when they catch up to stories and have to wait for updates, well, feel free to give it a shot when I’m done writing it, I guess? It’ll be a while until then, but it’s up to you. If you don’t like reading really long stories, then it’s probably better for you if you don’t force yourself to read this one, I know not everyone is ready to dedicate that much time to reading something, especially if they have lots of things to do. Hence, if the length daunts you, that’s alright, it daunts me too and I’m responsible for it xD it’s fine if that deters you from reading it.

But as the way you phrased your question almost sounded like you’re challenging me to give you some sort of sales pitch to catch your attention, let’s see if I can pull it off:

Gladiator is a massive ATLA AU, not only in terms of story length but also scope: it’s a complete rewrite of the entirety of ATLA in a more mature setting, starting chapter 1 with the characters 5 years older than they were in canon. Aang’s adventures in saving the world did not take place here because of a simple enough reason: Katara didn’t accompany Sokka on his boat on the fateful day when they were meant to find Aang, which means the story as we’ve known it simply doesn’t take place. I’ve taken liberties here and there, added some changes from canon when I needed to do so, in order to ensure the story works, but the gist of the story is to set a stage where the Fire Nation marched onwards, practically unopposed, and conquered the Earth Kingdom with the power of Sozin’s Comet (just in case it needs to be clarified, without certain technological developments, Ozai’s wild plan to incinerate the whole world wouldn’t happen, and if Team Avatar isn’t assembled before the Comet shows up, said technological developments simply wouldn’t exist... :’D). I’ve had to figure out how many details would change, how much of the original story would or wouldn’t happen without Team Avatar’s involvement, I think most my choices have been solid, but it’ll be up to you to decide if you think they are or not if you read the story.

The worldbuilding of Gladiator, then, is preeeetty huge and complicated because of that starting point. There’s a lot of elements that are completely new (such as the Gladiator League and all its derivates), some OCs, some lore expansion, so you can definitely say it’s an ambitious project. In a sense, I’ve reset canon to zero, and at the same time I haven’t, which makes things complicated but, for me, really fun to develop. If you’re interested in seeing more of the Avatarverse explored, characters repurposed, with new dynamics and relationships, Gladiator may just be what you’ve been looking for :D

In my experience, the main reason why most people stumble into this fic (other than by sorting FF.net’s ATLA stories by review count and drawing blanks upon glimpsing a Sokkla story on the first page xD) is because they’ve been drawn into Sokkla, or they’re looking for stories centered around Azula or Sokka. Gladiator, evidently, features all three such elements because, obviously, those two are the protagonists and their relationship is the beating heart of the whole tale. I’ve been asked in the past who’s the real protagonist and I honestly still have no idea xD but anyways, if you’re interested in reading a story with a toooooon of Azula character development, even if it takes place across a long, long time, this story may just do the trick. I’ve done the best I could to keep her character as true to what I believed a young adult Azula might become, within the circumstances of this story. She has grown a LOT in 200 chapters, goes without saying (if she hadn’t, I’d be one heck of a failure of an author x’D), so if you’re interested in seeing a slow but effective growth arc for Azula, you’ll certainly find that in Gladiator. Same is true for Sokka, but I think most people who come to this fic for Sokka are interested in seeing him being a badass, which we have plenty of as well xD still, it’s also a long and slow process for Sokka to grow into a powerful warrior, neither him nor Azula start out in the story with all the answers, and they both bump into many hurdles as they navigate their complicated lives.

There’s a lot of humor in Gladiator, perhaps more than expected with a story that has that sort of dark premise, but it’s, on great measure, because Sokka and Azula are inevitably given to banter xD if you want to read a lot of banter between those two, well, you may not be bored in 200 chapters because, while the nature of their exchanges does vary as they both develop, their conversations are usually pretty spirited and they love trying to outsmart each other all the time.

If you are already a Sokkla shipper and the main reason you’re here is because you want more Sokkla goodness in your life... I’ll just say Gladiator has become a bit of a dream come true for me as a Sokkla shipper as well, because it’s the perfect space for me to work with virtually every idea I’ve ever had for these two. Yes, there’s drama and conflict here and there, if you’re not too given to angst there’s a few parts of the story that won’t sit so well with you, though if you love angst you’ll probably enjoy them plenty... yet what I’m most proud of, with this story, is having developed their relationship not only as best I could, but I’ve also attempted to defy typical storytelling structures for romance stories, where the lead couple can’t seem to have a stable relationship because “that would be boring”. Screw that, man: these two have been in a serious relationship together in-story by now for well over half the published chapters, and I’ve had the time of my life writing their dynamics as a couple while the plot continues to develop around them. This, however, is not everyone’s cup of tea, so if you aren’t all that given to seeing such traditional romance storytelling structures dismissed because I wanted to write my favorite ship dealing with all their external struggles while finding strength in the bond they share, Gladiator may not hold your attention long enough for you to devote yourself to reading it beyond chapter 100-ish. On the other hand, if this subversion of romance structure is what you’ve been looking for all your life, or if it’s what you always wanted and never knew you wanted it, or if you’re simply curious as to whether it works or not, Gladiator may suit your interests fairly well. Again, Sokkla is the absolute center of this story, both together and independently, so if you want to see a rewrite of ATLA with them at the core of just... everything? xD that’s absolutely what you’ll find here.

That being said, there’s things I guess you should mind about Gladiator: I have some relatively controversial takes about certain things, including interpretations of fan-favorite characters that some people have been known to take offense over. I, personally, believe my interpretations of those characters don’t deviate that much from canon or that, when they do, the setting itself explains why the deviation works as it does, but due to the fact that I work with a protagonist who was in a villainous role back in ATLA, her relationships with some characters can be more complicated than a lot of people seem to believe they should be. Hence, if you’re not particularly adverse to reading content that brings up big questions about the motivations of certain characters, or how they’d react if the story from ATLA hadn’t happened exactly as it did, you’ll have enough fun in Gladiator. If, however, you don’t particularly care to see anything that shows beloved characters in a not-so-flattering light, this story may not be for you (though, if you’re willing to humor me and allow my story to question your perception of those characters, feel free to try the story as well). 

There’s also a variety of dark themes and situations in Gladiator, something that any reader should be warned about in this day and age: I am 100% against violence for the sake of violence, to name one such subject, and I generally try to portray it with as much nuance as possible, but even if I feature my own characters criticizing their violent world and wanting to put an end to the strife caused by the Fire Nation, some of the violence in Gladiator may be a little too much for the readers who prefer the tone of the original ATLA. Hence, if that’s how it is for you, it’s another reason to approach the story with caution. I won’t pretend I’ve handled every theme and subject perfectly, but I’ve never wanted the darker moments to feel gratuitous in any way, so if you’re open to reading a darker take on the Avatarverse, this may work for you after all.

Alas! If you want to see Azula growing out of the toxic Fire Nation indoctrination, if you want to see Sokka gaining confidence and strength as a man and warrior, if you want to see a fleshed-out but still very much villainous Ozai, if you want to see Toph fulfilling her dreams of joining an all-out fighting league where she can beat people up for a living, if you want to see a myriad of secondary ATLA characters (like Song, or Shoji!) given new lives and even genuine protagonism, if you want to see Zuko discovering he’s allowed to just... be happy? xD Gladiator may prove interesting enough for you.

Furthermore, if you want to see Azula being true friends with Mai and Ty Lee, discovering a dragon, developing new firebending styles, confronting her misplaced beliefs about herself, rebelling subtly (and lately, not so subtly) against her father, growing into a great leader who could change the Fire Nation’s nefarious direction...  aaand if you want to see Sokka fighting creatively (sometimes with TWO swords!), navigating the dangerous waters of interacting with Fire Lord Ozai, staying true to his beliefs while also learning that the world is not as black-and-white as he was raised to think it was, understanding himself better and making the most of his potential as a quick learner, writing embarrassing haiku and being an unapologetic rebel who goes toe-to-toe with Heads of State just because he can... yep. Probably read it? xD

Lastly... if you want to see Sokka and Azula grow through their mistakes, learning to understand each other, fighting side by side, training together, dancing to no music, learning the underrated pleasure of proper communication in a relationship, sassing each other left and right, flirting in ridiculous ways, taunting each other in many regards, laughing at each other’s terrible jokes, protecting each other fiercely, challenging each other to a spicy ramen eating contest, discovering indirect bending, being highly inappropriate at times and places where they shouldn’t be, making long, dangerous yet fun journeys together, sneaking around to meet up when they’re not supposed to, standing by each other in their darkest moments, watching over the other when they’re sick/injured, being ready to sacrifice virtually anything for each other, and even defying and defeating even death to save each other...? Well, I don’t know if there’s any other stories where you might find all of this, but I can guarantee you’ll find it in Gladiator :)

If none of this is convincing enough... that’s a shame, but I understand. If it convinced you to give it a shot, however... I guess I’ll just hope you enjoy it enough to stick around! :) thanks for taking my story into consideration regardless of whatever you decide. Have a nice day!

[thealiaamir]

Lilith

History:

Lilith was the original Eve, created from the same soil as Adam. Her name comes from the Babylonian “Lilitu” meaning “female demon” or “wind spirit”. When Adam insisted that he should be dominant, Lilith dared to question him. After all, they were crafted from the same Earth. She wished only to be equal, but was demonized for this. She was, thus, cast out of Eden. Allegedly, she created thousands of demon spawn and devoured infants by the bucketful. These accusations are falsehoods, crafted by those fearful of her righteous autonomy. Any havoc Lilith wrought was only out of woundedness, like the actions of a feral animal. She was shunned for speaking truth.

The “me too” movement is an expression of Lilith, where women show solidarity for the abuses they’ve suffered in silence. It is Lilith who exposes patriarchal corruption. Women become likened to banshees when they dare show rage. However, it would be limited to interpret Lilith only from the perspective of gender-based conflict. She is pure gut-instinct and extends far beyond sexual independence.

Lilith represents one’s ability to say “no” to what doesn’t feel right. She is pure root-chakra wisdom. The knowledge of the earth, muddy and messy. In one’s chart, she shows where you can become in-touch with your own body-wisdom. It’s this feeling in your stomach that says “heck yes!!!” or “this person makes my skin crawl.” Such intuition doesn’t align with left-brained, scientific modes of analysis.

The Signs/Houses:

Much like the asteroid chiron, Lilith represents a rejection wound in one’s chart. It’s where you speak your truth and no one wants to hear it. You put your heart on the line, but your desire for connection made someone cringe. You state your needs, and people ask “why do you have to be so difficult???” All you want is for someone to see the ferocious warmth beneath your intensity.

*if you have Lilith aspecting a planet, read the description for the sign it rules. Ex: sun would be Leo, Mercury would be Virgo or Gemini*

Aries/1st house: Daring to express oneself. The human embodiment of Lilith. Carnal. Someone who is known for butting heads with others. Notorious warrior. Fighting for the underdog is a part of one’s identity. Poster-boy of rejection wounds. Someone who feels like they’re “too much”, either bottling themselves up or living up to the expectation. Starting fights and then running to lick your wounds. Riling people up to get the negative attention you’re accustomed to. Truthfully, desiring authentic love that’s not based on filtering your personality into something more palatable.

Taurus/2nd house: someone who was told their desires are wrong. Being told you’re gluttonous for taking care of basic needs. Primal, all-consuming hunger. Eating disorders and shameful indulgence. A desire to consume one thing until you get sick of it. Ferociously guarding personal belongings and beliefs. Hoarding. A strong need to listing to one’s body, even if what it asks for doesn’t match conventional wisdom. Bullied for one’s weight. Earthly intuition. An unadulterated love for oneself that makes others uncomfortable. Intoxicatingly stubborn. Harsh & deep-set standards of morality.

Gemini/3rd house: saying things about people that hit a little too close to home. The thought process is primal. Knowing why people say the things they say. Reading people like a book. Ruthlessly pointing out falsehoods. Lilith is the trickster here, wearing many masks. Infamous for being inconsistent. Obsession with social dynamics, due to past rejection by “the tribe”. An outcast during school years. Extreme fear of missing out. Hiding taboo thoughts for fear of rejection. Unable to learn in a conventional fashion. Reading about the occult, depth psychology, myths, and anything else focusing on the core of human nature.

Cancer/4th house: the mother as an untamable Lilith figure. Standing up for one’s relatives. Someone with a dubious past. Mother was deemed insane or illogical. Black sheep. Feral obsession with comfort. Finding comfort in brutal honesty and ruthless emotional depth. Being deemed “impossible to live with”. High standard of living. Needing to set boundaries with one’s family and living situation. Controversial self-care. Knowing what truly matters. Fierce protector of the young and helpless. Savage goddess of the hearth. Periodic seclusion within one’s cave. Emotions take on a life of their own, going in bestial rampages.

Leo/5th house: Being ruthless becomes a game. The sin of unfiltered selfhood, becoming demonized for having fun. Toying with people’s hearts. Love/hate relationships. Compulsive validation needs. Hobbies may be taboo or the parents could’ve encouraged them to keep to themselves. Flames of desire emanate, pulsing like pyrotechnics. Rejected during childhood games. If they have kids, they’re likely the brutally honest sort. Children provide surprising bits of wisdom. This is someone who feels guilt for wanting to live a little. Unfiltered emotional expression can be too much for others. Heart swells at the slightest provocation. Needs to do what is simply in their nature, as those who matter will honor their authenticity.

Virgo/6th house: Compulsive organizational systems that seem illogical to others. Angry cleaning. Power of the gut-brain connection. Nature’s way of healing itself, clashing with the business of modern medicine. Disagreeable coworkers, or disagreeing with them yourself. Infamous at your place of work. The intestines strongly reject certain foods, so that you have to listen carefully. The diet may fluctuate daily. Acquired knowledge about nutrition and health may be of the controversial variety (carnivore diet, intuitive medicine, low oxalates, etc). Routines which may appear feral, but ground one in their body. People may take your high strandards personally, as they don’t know how to set boundaries themselves. A knot in your stomach tells you if something isn’t good for you.

Libra/7th house: Others are a mirror for the part of you that possesses unabated self-knowledge. Attracted to people ruled by irrational instinct. Must be careful to set clear boundaries in interactions with others. Compulsive need to interact and form partnerships, which may overwhelm others. Wild charm. Demonizing others. Wanting someone to teach you how to think for yourself. Partner helps you return to & nourish your body. Guttural wisdom exchanged in daily interactions. Best friend is someone incredibly grounded, who lives authentically. You demonize or idolize those who think for themselves.

Scorpio/8th house: psychoanalyzing others before they can do they same to you. A lifestyle that allows for a great deal of secrecy. Obscure & impenetrable. Unreavealing of cavernous depths of feeling, because they fear no one is brave enough to explore these shadows. Making people uncomfortable by purging every secret at once. Being abandoned once you reveal your true self. People offering “gifts” with treacherous strings attached. Unhealthy relationship dynamics- one person is running while the other is chasing. Being stalked or doing the stalking. Unearthing other’s rejection wounds. Shamanic. Concealed impulses. Instinctual need for closeness, where everything is shared. Their “soul mate” is someone ruthless.

Sagittarius/9th house: Too much to handle. Cycles of binging and purging. Living a life of excess. May attract questionable travel companions. Worldview is based on sharing hard truths to all who will listen. This is not someone who minces their words, though they’ve been told time and time again to keep their mouths shut. Their opinions are of the controversial variety, though they are rarely wrong. Arguments are a playground. Saying “no” to the religious doctrine pushed upon you as a child. A skeptic, because they know better in their gut. Higher education brings out compulsive tendencies. May confront teachers & all traditional knowledge. Tearing self-proclaimed gurus down with sharp wit.

Capricorn/10th house: Social pariah. Sex symbol. Businesses that involve female empowerment. Glitzy. Destined to become infamous. Dense and frenzied energy remains when you leave the room. Man-eater. Insatiable need for recognition, tearing one’s way through the corporate ladder. Symbol of truth. Breaking out of the box society has placed you in. The father/dominant parent may have been a “difficult” person. Lack of respect for false or corrupt authority. Innate power. “Bad cop”. Sticking it to the man. Fear of subordination. Intimidating competence and confidence. Cimmerian. Public symbol of authenticity. Honest evaluation of societal structures. Organized chaos.

Aquarius/11th house: Friendship isn’t taken lightly. May associate with controversial people. Freaks. Love/hate relationship towards humanity. Scaring aqaintances. Inundating society with knowledge they’re not yet ready for. Untethered. Jealousy towards those who meld into groups, causing them to further isolate. A reject, estranged from reality. Diabolical. Deep desire to be included. Obsession with what everyone else is doing. Violent subcultures. Strangers invading the native’s personal space, or vice versa. Electric compulsions, jolting the native out of old ways of being. These sudden consciousness shifts perturb others. Radical awareness of the body. They’ve been told to keep their visions of the future to themselves. The divine feminine is crowned in a fluorescent blue halo, lifted above the earth by undulating nimbus clouds.

Pisces/12th house: Beastial dreamscape. The Feminine Wild is both feared and revered. Fantasies of standing up for yourself. Trouble accessing your instinctive and earthy side. Conduit for collective delirium. Dissolution. Substance abuse. Ignoring instinct is your self-undoing. Surrendering autonomy. Deemed too hysterical, sensitive, and irresponsible. Freedom comes from claiming spiritual dominion. Knowing what your dreams and subconscious yearnings mean, becoming defensive when people dismiss your interpretations. Crawling out of your skin. Arcane knowledge via escapism. Odd methods of psychological mending.

[the--highlanders]

Repair

Jamie recovers from being injured while saving the Doctor's life. The Doctor takes the opportunity to get used to Jamie's new scar. 

on ao3.

Something – or someone – was opening his hand.

Slowly, and gently, but opening it nonetheless, prising his fingers apart one by one. Maybe they thought he was holding onto something valuable. Or maybe he was still dreaming. Exactly what he had been dreaming about – or was dreaming about – he could not remember. Maybe he had been holding something valuable, in his imagination.

It took his foggy brain far longer than it should have to be sure that it was a hand, this thing he was feeling. What else could it have been? Some kind of hand-opening robot? There was no warmth to it, nothing to tell him that its owner was alive. He must be dreaming, he decided. Only in dreams would you get something like that. Squeezing his eyes shut more tightly, he rolled over, half-burying his face in his pillow and drawing his arm back in towards himself laboriously. Away from whatever force had been keeping it open, his hand closed again, springing back of its own accord like an animal trap. His palm stung as it folded in on itself, but there was no blood, nothing hot and sticky dripping onto the sheets, no metallic smell.

And then that gentle force was back, pulling his arm away from his chest and going back to opening his hand. It was another hand, not a robot, even if it was cold. No robot could have the firm softness of a living thing’s skin and muscle.

Blinking himself into some semblance of consciousness, he forced his eyes open. They only wanted to stay open for a few seconds at a time, but it was enough for him to recognise who was so engrossed in his hand. The Doctor was sitting beside him, still wearing his coat and perched on top of the bedsheets. But his feet were bare, his legs tucked underneath him so he could bury his toes beneath the side of the blanket. That explained how cold the touch had been, he supposed. And the Doctor was opening his hand again, now. He had expected it to hurt, given that he could not seem to get it open himself, but the Doctor was gentle enough about it that he felt nothing.

Rolling over, he stretched his free arm out. “What’re ye doin’?” he mumbled. “’m tryin’ tae sleep here.”

“And I’ve no wish to wake you,” the Doctor replied, quiet in the pre-dawn hush. The sun was still buried behind the mountains, leaving their little room bathed in darkness. “But you’re not supposed to be applying undue stress to the injury while it’s still healing.”

“Och.” He struggled to push himself upright enough to sit face-to-face with the Doctor. “I’m sleepin’. How am I meant tae know what I’m doin’ with my hands while I’m sleepin’?” Sitting up one-handed was too hard, he decided a moment later. Better just to flop back down again and let the Doctor fuss, if he really wanted to. “An’ anyway, I cannae even move it when I’m awake yet. I dinnae know how I’m meant tae keep it open.”

“Well, that’s what I’m here for.” The Doctor was holding Jamie’s hand up to his face now, turning it this way and that as he inspected the silvery line that now ran alongside the lines on his palm. One of his fingers brushed down the middle of it, so lightly that Jamie almost squirmed away. “Helping to keep your hand open.”

“Mm.” Why couldn’t the Doctor help keep his eyes open, too? It really was terribly hard – especially when the Doctor had just wrapped his hand over Jamie’s own and was stroking his thumb over the edge of it, just where his thumb met his wrist. How on earth was he supposed to concentrate enough to stay awake? “What are ye doin’?” he mumbled.

“Keeping your hand open,” the Doctor said, his voice halfway towards a chuckle. “Don’t you remember?”

“Aye, aye, I remember fine -” Sitting up was still far too much bother, especially if he didn’t want to disturb the Doctor’s grip on his hand. Which he didn’t. But he wanted to talk to the Doctor more than he wanted to go back to sleep, and he managed it somehow, levering himself up just a little further. “But you’ve got a funny way of goin’ about it.”

“Oh, well.” The Doctor’s thumb had moved onto the scar, rubbing over it. Back and forth, back and forth. Right on the spot that was still stinging. But somehow the sting vanished, replaced only by a funny sort of tingling, the sort that echoed in the roof of Jamie’s mouth and behind his eyes. “I’m, ah, helping to reduce the pain by stimulating other touch receptors. You don’t mind, do you?”

Whatever that meant. “’Course I don’t.”

“Good.” Back and forth, back and forth. Like the ticking of a clock, counting out the seconds. He could set his watch to the way the Doctor did things like this, he was sure of it. Always so precise, even when he was being as gentle as this. Which was funny, really, given how imprecise he could be about time when it really mattered. Like when they were trying to land somewhere in particular. “You seem to have responded remarkably well to the treatment.”

That was something he could remember all too well, even in his half-waking state. His palm burning, the deep cut struck across it oozing blood through its bandage, as determinedly as the tears forced their way through his screwed-up eyes. Someone had grabbed hold of his arm with none of the Doctor’s slowness or gentleness. It had been a bit more of an emergency, he supposed. But the shock of it had still jarred him all the way up to his shoulder. His hand had been shoved into a funny wee tank – and then the pain had stopped. He had peered through the glass, watching little bubbles pick away the blood like fish picking at a corpse. Only he was alive, and the bubbles very much weren’t.

When someone had returned to pull his hand out again, it had been numb and motionless, and the skin on his fingers was reddened and puckered, like he had been in the bath for too long. But the cut across his hand was nothing but a scar.

“I ‘spose you’re going tae tell me I shouldn’t have done it,” he said. “Even if I did save your life.”

“Well, ah -” The Doctor paused in his inspection, his finger frozen in the middle of Jamie’s palm. “I won’t say I’m not grateful.” He bent his head over again, going back to tracing out the line. His finger wobbled back and forth, always in the same places, and Jamie wondered if his hand was really so unsteady, or if he was just following some minute curve in the scar. “But I do wish you wouldn’t be so -”

“Reckless?”

“Self-sacrificing.”

“Oh.” A part of him was glad that the Doctor had been so gentle about it. He was not scolding him, after all. But another part of him felt almost worse. The Doctor had said it so lightly, but there was something steely at the core of it, something far more serious. Serious wasn’t something Jamie particularly felt like being, not with his brain still so addled from – well, from everything.

But the Doctor didn’t seem particularly keen on being serious either, because he said no more, just bent his head over to plant a kiss right in the middle of Jamie’s palm. He drew back a moment later, tilting his head from side to side as if inspecting his work, then leaned in for another kiss. His breath was ticklish against Jamie’s skin, his lips leaving even more of a tingling ghost than his fingers had, but Jamie’s hand remained still, more of its own accord than out of determination. The Doctor kissed the very top of the scar, and the very bottom of it, and the whole distance in between, as methodically as if he was measuring it out. Surely, Jamie thought, it was almost too thin for him to see, let alone to feel against his mouth. But he certainly seemed to have the measure of the thing, much more than Jamie did himself.

Letting his head loll back against the pillow, he inched a little way down the bed. “What are ye doin’?” he murmured.

“I told you.” Another kiss, this one more lingering. “I’m keeping your hand open.”

‘Funny way of doin’ it.”

“And,” the Doctor carried on, “I’m – well, I’m getting used to it.”

“To my hand?”

“To the scar.”

“Oh.” Jamie levered his arm up, pulling his hand out of the Doctor’s grasp just enough that he could see the scar for himself. It was barely visible from some angles, bright silver from others. But it would fade, he supposed. They usually did. “Do ye not like it?”

“Well, I do wish you didn’t have to have it, if that’s what you mean.” The Doctor had grabbed hold of his hand again, pulling it back down gently. A few of his fingers had started to drift closed, and he set to work on them again, pressing them open. “But – it’s here now.”

“Aye, I ‘spose it is.”

“And, ah – I don’t dislike it. I simply have to get used to it, you see. Know where it is.”

“Mm.” Rolling his head to one side, Jamie rubbed his cheek against the pillow. It was so terribly tempting to close his eyes again. The Doctor had been begging him to keep his eyes open, when he had been bleeding. Telling him not to go to sleep, to wait until help arrived. But he was not bleeding anymore, and the help had come, and the Doctor did not seem particularly worried about whether or not he fell asleep. Even as he thought that, the Doctor reached over to brush his hand over Jamie’s hair, like he was giving him some sort of blessing.

“Go on, then,” he said, a touch of a smile in his voice. If he was smiling – well, then everything would be alright, surely. “You need your rest.”

“Are ye sure I can?”

The Doctor’s eyes were twinkling now. “You know,” he said, “I wish you were this compliant when you were actually hurt. It would make my life rather easier.” Jamie scoffed. “But you’re quite welcome to sleep, now. In fact – I think it would do you good. Your body needs to rest and recover. Healing acceleration processes sap rather a lot of energy, I’m afraid, it’s – ah – one of their more persistent downsides.”

He had not really listened to much of that beyond you’re welcome to sleep. “Good.” Half-rolling over, he tucked his free hand between his chest and the sheets. But he did not attempt to pull his other hand out of the Doctor’s grasp, even if his arm was twisted awkwardly beneath him. “Goodnight, Doctor.”

Just as he closed his eyes, he felt the Doctor press another kiss to his palm. “Goodnight, Jamie.”

[canvasofthecosmos]

Lilith- Truth Coming out of Her Well to Shame Mankind

(Painting by Jean-Léon Gérôme)

History:

Lilith was the original Eve, created from the same soil as Adam. Her name comes from the Babylonian “Lilitu” meaning “female demon” or “wind spirit”. When Adam insisted that he should be dominant, Lilith dared to question him. After all, they were crafted from the same Earth. She wished only to be equal, but was demonized for this. She was, thus, cast out of Eden. Allegedly, she created thousands of demon spawn and devoured infants by the bucketful. These accusations are falsehoods, crafted by those fearful of her righteous autonomy. Any havoc Lilith wrought was only out of woundedness, like the actions of a feral animal. She was shunned for speaking truth.

The “me too” movement is an expression of Lilith, where women show solidarity for the abuses they’ve suffered in silence. It is Lilith who exposes patriarchal corruption. Women become likened to banshees when they dare show rage. However, it would be limited to interpret Lilith only from the perspective of gender-based conflict. She is pure gut-instinct and extends far beyond sexual independence.

Lilith represents one’s ability to say “no” to what doesn’t feel right. She is pure root-chakra wisdom. The knowledge of the earth, muddy and messy. In one’s chart, she shows where you can become in-touch with your own body-wisdom. It’s this feeling in your stomach that says “heck yes!!!” or “this person makes my skin crawl.” Such intuition doesn’t align with left-brained, scientific modes of analysis.

The Signs/Houses:

Much like the asteroid chiron, Lilith represents a rejection wound in one’s chart. It’s where you speak your truth and no one wants to hear it. You put your heart on the line, but your desire for connection made someone cringe. You state your needs, and people ask “why do you have to be so difficult???” All you want is for someone to see the ferocious warmth beneath your intensity.

*if you have Lilith aspecting a planet, read the description for the sign it rules. Ex: sun would be Leo, Mercury would be Virgo or Gemini*

Aries/1st house: Daring to express oneself. The human embodiment of Lilith. Carnal. Someone who is known for butting heads with others. Notorious warrior. Fighting for the underdog is a part of one’s identity. Poster-boy of rejection wounds. Someone who feels like they’re “too much”, either bottling themselves up or living up to the expectation. Starting fights and then running to lick your wounds. Riling people up to get the negative attention you’re accustomed to. Truthfully, desiring authentic love that’s not based on filtering your personality into something more palatable.

Taurus/2nd house: someone who was told their desires are wrong. Being told you’re gluttonous for taking care of basic needs. Primal, all-consuming hunger. Eating disorders and shameful indulgence. A desire to consume one thing until you get sick of it. Ferociously guarding personal belongings and beliefs. Hoarding. A strong need to listing to one’s body, even if what it asks for doesn’t match conventional wisdom. Bullied for one’s weight. Earthly intuition. An unadulterated love for oneself that makes others uncomfortable. Intoxicatingly stubborn. Harsh & deep-set standards of morality.

Gemini/3rd house: saying things about people that hit a little too close to home. The thought process is primal. Knowing why people say the things they say. Reading people like a book. Ruthlessly pointing out falsehoods. Lilith is the trickster here, wearing many masks. Infamous for being inconsistent. Obsession with social dynamics, due to past rejection by “the tribe”. An outcast during school years. Extreme fear of missing out. Hiding taboo thoughts for fear of rejection. Unable to learn in a conventional fashion. Reading about the occult, depth psychology, myths, and anything else focusing on the core of human nature.

Cancer/4th house: the mother as an untamable Lilith figure. Standing up for one’s relatives. Someone with a dubious past. Mother was deemed insane or illogical. Black sheep. Feral obsession with comfort. Finding comfort in brutal honesty and ruthless emotional depth. Being deemed “impossible to live with”. High standard of living. Needing to set boundaries with one’s family and living situation. Controversial self-care. Knowing what truly matters. Fierce protector of the young and helpless. Savage goddess of the hearth. Periodic seclusion within one’s cave. Emotions take on a life of their own, going in bestial rampages.

Leo/5th house: Being ruthless becomes a game. The sin of unfiltered selfhood, becoming demonized for having fun. Toying with people’s hearts. Love/hate relationships. Compulsive validation needs. Hobbies may be taboo or the parents could’ve encouraged them to keep to themselves. Flames of desire emanate, pulsing like pyrotechnics. Rejected during childhood games. If they have kids, they’re likely the brutally honest sort. Children provide surprising bits of wisdom. This is someone who feels guilt for wanting to live a little. Unfiltered emotional expression can be too much for others. Heart swells at the slightest provocation. Needs to do what is simply in their nature, as those who matter will honor their authenticity.

Virgo/6th house: Compulsive organizational systems that seem illogical to others. Angry cleaning. Power of the gut-brain connection. Nature’s way of healing itself, clashing with the business of modern medicine. Disagreeable coworkers, or disagreeing with them yourself. Infamous at your place of work. The intestines strongly reject certain foods, so that you have to listen carefully. The diet may fluctuate daily. Acquired knowledge about nutrition and health may be of the controversial variety (carnivore diet, intuitive medicine, low oxalates, etc). Routines which may appear feral, but ground one in their body. People may take your high strandards personally, as they don’t know how to set boundaries themselves. A knot in your stomach tells you if something isn’t good for you.

Libra/7th house: Others are a mirror for the part of you that possesses unabated self-knowledge. Attracted to people ruled by irrational instinct. Must be careful to set clear boundaries in interactions with others. Compulsive need to interact and form partnerships, which may overwhelm others. Wild charm. Demonizing others. Wanting someone to teach you how to think for yourself. Partner helps you return to & nourish your body. Guttural wisdom exchanged in daily interactions. Best friend is someone incredibly grounded, who lives authentically. You demonize or idolize those who think for themselves.

Scorpio/8th house: psychoanalyzing others before they can do they same to you. A lifestyle that allows for a great deal of secrecy. Obscure & impenetrable. Unreavealing of cavernous depths of feeling, because they fear no one is brave enough to explore these shadows. Making people uncomfortable by purging every secret at once. Being abandoned once you reveal your true self. People offering “gifts” with treacherous strings attached. Unhealthy relationship dynamics- one person is running while the other is chasing. Being stalked or doing the stalking. Unearthing other’s rejection wounds. Shamanic. Concealed impulses. Instinctual need for closeness, where everything is shared. Their “soul mate” is someone ruthless.

Sagittarius/9th house: Too much to handle. Cycles of binging and purging. Living a life of excess. May attract questionable travel companions. Worldview is based on sharing hard truths to all who will listen. This is not someone who minces their words, though they’ve been told time and time again to keep their mouths shut. Their opinions are of the controversial variety, though they are rarely wrong. Arguments are a playground. Saying “no” to the religious doctrine pushed upon you as a child. A skeptic, because they know better in their gut. Higher education brings out compulsive tendencies. May confront teachers & all traditional knowledge. Tearing self-proclaimed gurus down with sharp wit.

Capricorn/10th house: Social pariah. Sex symbol. Businesses that involve female empowerment. Glitzy. Destined to become infamous. Dense and frenzied energy remains when you leave the room. Man-eater. Insatiable need for recognition, tearing one’s way through the corporate ladder. Symbol of truth. Breaking out of the box society has placed you in. The father/dominant parent may have been a “difficult” person. Lack of respect for false or corrupt authority. Innate power. “Bad cop”. Sticking it to the man. Fear of subordination. Intimidating competence and confidence. Cimmerian. Public symbol of authenticity. Honest evaluation of societal structures. Organized chaos.

Aquarius/11th house: Friendship isn’t taken lightly. May associate with controversial people. Freaks. Love/hate relationship towards humanity. Scaring aqaintances. Inundating society with knowledge they’re not yet ready for. Untethered. Jealousy towards those who meld into groups, causing them to further isolate. A reject, estranged from reality. Diabolical. Deep desire to be included. Obsession with what everyone else is doing. Violent subcultures. Strangers invading the native’s personal space, or vice versa. Electric compulsions, jolting the native out of old ways of being. These sudden consciousness shifts perturb others. Radical awareness of the body. They’ve been told to keep their visions of the future to themselves. The divine feminine is crowned in a fluorescent blue halo, lifted above the earth by undulating nimbus clouds.

Pisces/12th house: Beastial dreamscape. The Feminine Wild is both feared and revered. Fantasies of standing up for yourself. Trouble accessing your instinctive and earthy side. Conduit for collective delirium. Dissolution. Substance abuse. Ignoring instinct is your self-undoing. Surrendering autonomy. Deemed too hysterical, sensitive, and irresponsible. Freedom comes from claiming spiritual dominion. Knowing what your dreams and subconscious yearnings mean, becoming defensive when people dismiss your interpretations. Crawling out of your skin. Arcane knowledge via escapism. Odd methods of psychological mending.

[illyrian-lover-flower]

My little mischivous partner ~ Part 3

Mild Elriel smut ahead (really mild, don’t know if you can still call it smut😅)

Time seemed to have slown down as the shadowsinger shadow walked Elain into his bathroom. 

Nothing seemed normal about this evening as his lips continued chasing the seers soft red ones. A taste of cherry bloosoming on the taste cells of his tongue. 

The only thing this evening he had a problem with, was how they both looked. It was fun to pull that joke on his brothers, but now as he did not even spared a thought of parting with the seer, he whished to see her. 

Her doe eyes that swam in lust as they saw him, her honey curles that would get tangled between his scarred fingers. 

And so he groweled, as his own long white hair fell into his view - his contact lenses long forgoten on the floor beneith them, as he only parted with her lips for a brief moment.

Her delicate arms thightly wound around his neck as the Spymaster pressed her back further into the cold tiles of his bathroom wall. 

Ringing for air, did they both look at each other with hunger in their eyes. The moment they needed to catch for air too long for the taste of the two of them. 

But Elains rosy cheeks were a sight he would find for the rest of eternity more endearing than any priced rose. Not even if the mother demanded it from him would he give away this memory. This picture he had of her. 

Rosy cheeks and panting breathes as she looked up at him, with those silver eyes. He wanted to remove them, but he was afraid - that in his haze, his anticapption -he would hurt her. 

The sight still endearing and making him fall harder for her with every rise of her chest. Her delicate breasts pressing into his bulky chest as her lungs heaved for air. The cloth between them straining on their feverish skin.

He hated it. He wanted to get rid of his clothes - as well as hers.

But Elains cheery innocent smile was once again intoxicating, as her thightly shut lips almost touched his as she nuzzeled her nose with his. So many emotions laying in the sweet gesture of hers that his heart swelled.

The raging desire of feeling her naked skin on  his - of her body colliding with his, cooling down as the innocent whish of his heart, to cuddle her and breath in her flowery scent for the rest of the night, came to the surface. 

For his life even.

But his arms did something entirly different than his heart wanted. His heart wanted to cuddle her, but somehow his arms loosened around her. 

The thought in the back of his mind seemingly stronger than he expected it to be. The always suffocating thought that he would only pull her down, that if they were to become something more than friends - he would only pull her down in the dark abbys of this world, together with him.

He would only be a brick wall attatched to her ankle. Bruising it and hurting it until she would take a hammer and get him off of her. 

And he realized that this would be exactly what she would be in the need to do, if she ever wanted him gone. His skin that fared itself from hers singing with need as he nuzzeled her nose back.

A giggle escaping her, as he too, pressed his smiling lips against hers. 

And as he closed his eyes, he would have not been in the need to be a seer - did not whish to be one, as a view unfolded itself behind his closed eyelids he wished to never forget. 

The vision of a bright smiling seer, dancing infront of Azriel through a field full of wildflowers. A morning robe everything that hid her naked skin from prying eyes, but next to him - there was no one. 

No one that disturbed them as he placed mark for mark on her in the fields. 

And she in return. 

Shadows, Daisys, red poppys, corn flowers, dandelions, the sun above and the earth below them - the only witnessers to their claiming. 

Elains giggle always a repeating tingle in his ears. 

Never in his life would he feel that joyes from anything, but her laugh. The warm sound vibraiting through his veins as he kept her steady in his arms, that closed around her once again. 

But he wanted to see her. His hazel eyes wanting to find her doe ones, but they were silver. His hands searching for liquid honey but found nothing but cold black coal. 

Not able to take it anymore, he ripped the wig off of Elains head. The little black net everything that stood between her hair and his scarred hands, that wanted to get lost in those soft curles of hers. 

A sigh, but also a giggle escaping her as he slowly pryed that thing off of her. The preasure of the bond around her head gone in an instant. 

And finally did liquid honey ran down the white tiles. Shadows and his hands imideatly weaving black strands of mist in her hair. Messing around with it quiet alot.  

Still with their noses nuzzeled together, a chuckle and a giggle escaping both of their lips with a blinding smile. 

But Azriel knew that perhaps Elain would not remember this tomrrow, he knew he should probably stopp at this point, but his body was souring. His skin alight where she touched him. 

She was like a tornado that had him pulling towards her and yet, he never quiet reached her center as he circeled around in the wind like a leafe. The innerest part of her mind, seeable but, still far away from him. Informations, memorys and more, what he wanted to find there, good and bad ones. And if there was a trauma - he would try to help her the best he could.

But he didn’t reach her deepest dephts . Which was why he had no real clue how well she handeled alcohol. All he knew was, that she had been out drinking with the Inner Circle a couple of times already, but never did she get that tipsy - or drunk, he didn’t know- as that she would turn that mischievous. 

But from the plan she had told him - he did not quiet believe that she only planed it this evening, let alone tipsy. Her plan was well organized and it seemed like as if she had been waiting for the right time to ask her friend for help with it - the costumes already organised and the exact go of the plan already predicted. 

It was like as if she knew of his help in her wicked plan.

But something had him wondering. And in his tipsy state he was not able to hide the little jealousy in his voice as he asked, his mental walls not even able to hold the question back.

“Would you have went with your plan like this if anyone else, than me, would have helped you?”

At first Elains eyes widened at the silly question. He already draded that she would say yes, but as she pulled her head back, her warm embrace slowly leaving him as she rested herself against the cold wall. 

His body missing the lost warmth of her in an instant, but even though she pulled back - it was only for a few inches. Her arms still wound around his neck as their breathes mixed in the air between them.  

The seers puzzeled look turning soft, as she saw the anxiety written on his face.

Azriel knew that she could point out which emotion was displayed on his face so clearly. Most would have mistaken his grimmace as disgust maybe even anger, but Elain saw the fear in his eyes. 

And their eyes were most often the only way how they communicated.

And so she let one arm around his neck lose. Using the index finger of her hand to plop his nose - the soft smile on her lips never leaving her face, as her warm eyes, even in silver, made his heart warm.

“My sweet Shadowsinger. I thought you were the clever one of our family.” 

Azriel did not know how to react to this, but his breathed words, slipped past his plush lips faster than the leash he kept thight on himself, were definetly not his entire first choice.

“Not when it comes to you.” 

The seer hadn’t thought of it as possible, but her smile grew. 

More and more even, as she closed the distance between them again. An hurting centemeter all that was between their reddened lips meeting again. The honesty in Azriels hazel eyes still written all around in his irisis, as he glanced down on her and their still parted lips.

“Why do you think did I envolve a plan that contained so much help from the shadows?” 

And as soon as those sweet words left her mouth, was his on hers again. 

A wild chase of lips and togues erupting again. 

The heat between them rising as they moved closer with every brush of their tongues. Their lust filled eyes, both, closed as they enjoyed the sensation of the other. 

Not daring to show the burning lust  to the other one.

The undenying need of being close with the other one was strong. Too strong

Elain didn’t know why she did it, or when or even how exactly - all she knew was that it was easy. 

The little embarressment she felt from before, as she grinded against him, all gone. It felt all too natural to rub her throbbing core on his rising length. 

A lust filled moan escaping her as his plush lips bruised the right cornor of hers. Moving all too slowly down to the nape of her neck. A wet trail of kisses marking his way there, as he set her skin on fire.

Her legs rising to wrap around his middle imedeatly, as the need to feel him even closer, even more, rose and washed over her like a hot wave. 

And Azriel - oh sweet caring Azriel- read her like a book. Like always paying close attention to her needs - to her whishes and pressed her even more into the wall one of his scarred hands grabbing her behind. A growl escaping her as she wished to feel his rough skin on hers. But their clothes was still between them.

A dark chuckle against her skin was all she got from him, as his own prove of lust and desire pressed further into her. A loud gasp escaping her as she threw her head back, his length felt  sharp against her. Lust fogging both of their visions as they grinded against each other. 

The spymaster only had eyes for the skin of the seer. His eyes roaming around it to find the next part of her flesh he would set on fire with a wet lick of his tongue, while Elain slowly saw stars as she gripped his head and pressed his wicked tongue closer to her skin.

Her hands getting lost in the tangled mass of white hair, the pull on them making the wig slightly slip from his head. Dark curles peaking out from underneith it. 

Azriels strong body against her and his warm arms around her were everything that held her together as fire threatened to burst from her skin. 

The feeling she had before - as they acted it- paled in comprassion to this. 

The feeling of his sharp canine teeth on the soft skin at the nap of her neck, had her pressing herself closer into the wall. Stretching her throat, as to offer him and his wild lips better acces to her flaming skin.  

A lust filled scream threatening to burts from her lungs as her pores were full of it - to the point of bursting. 

She had to remind herself a dozen times that this was no dream as Azriel continued his wicked play on her skin. This sinful tongue of his liking her flesh like an ice cream, setting her on fire with each strand of his salvia that was left on her skin. Slowly melting her away.

It was no use. Elain was completly lost to his touch and soft minustrations. Her body one hot inferno against his as she feeled like as if the wall on her back was going to flame up any moment. 

Everything felt too much as her breathing came in pants, crimson rose color covering her cheeks as she heared her own noises. 

Azriel only smiled wickedly against her pale skin as he slowly duged deeper into her skin with his canine teeth. Elains eyes widened, it was still only a light scratch to her skin - but it had her screaming out his name.

Her trembling, lust filled body moved on its own accord. Her own teeth raming into his, still brown, painted skin as she thought of it the only way to muffle her scream.

As much as she wanted to scream her roared lust out loud for him - and let all of Velaris know of the feelings the Shadowsinger had caused her, as much did she wanted to avoid Cassian and Rhys suddenly standing in the middle of something they both sure had enough seen of today.

And she would also rather keep this moment to herself. 

This moment were she was wrapped against him, this moment were her hands weaved through the white wig and finally pulled it off - dark fluffy curles underneith a soft cloud, which her fingers found imideatly purchase in. Their lusted heat pooling between them as her tongue tasted the sweet taste of his blood.

The taste of it burning itself trough her entire body and into her brain. 

A shiver wrecking both of their bodys as her teeth dug deeper into his flesh. A deep moan escaping him as he let his own teeth graze down to her collar. Burrying his nose deep in the nap of her neck as he took heaving breathes.

An elecrefying feeling cruising through his veins as he tried to keep standing,the heavy wings on his back sinking more and more, with every breath, down on the cold floor.

His legs wanting to give in to the overwhelming feeling of her lips on his skin, of her teeth in his skin, to the smell of her against him - to the arrousel that coated her scent just like his.

Azriel could not contain himself. 

Moan after moan escaping him as Elains sweet tongue licked up every drop of blood that escaped from his wound. Her hands pulling and caressing his soft hair.

Mother damn him! This was not how it should have went. He should have stopped while it was possible, but now since his body knew how her teeth felt like in his skin, it was hard to not give in and just bite her in return. 

His every instinkt screaming at him to just return her favour. 

“Do you even know what you just did, little wicked flower?”

The seer did not know what the shadowsinger ment and could only lean back against the wall as her, still in silver covered, eyes searched his. Uneven pants escaping her as she saw his hazel eyes looking into hers.

Fire burning within them as they brimmed with emotions. The hazel burning like a warm flame as it set the specks of pine green on fire. A forest of pine trees swallowed up by the lick of flames.

A pure wildfire raging in his eyes.

Elain only shook her head at the question of her friend. A dry laugh escaping him as he bend his head down again.

Breathing in her flowery, lust coated scent as he nuzzeled his straight nose into the nap of her neck, rubbing it against her feverishly as he tried to calm himself down.

Which he found out, was not possible while he was like that. Her scent a toxic smell in his nosethrils as he breathed - driving him crazy. His voice already feeling like a rasp in his throat. 

His voice not utering a word until he knew it was at least abit steady and strong. 

“You marked me.”

His words were a mere whisper against her skin, a whisper that send vibrations through her entire body, lust washing through her, like a wave. One after one hitting the shore. Her pointed ears were not able to make out the few words he whispered. 

Elains breathes a wild gasp - of someone who was drowning. Her lust threatening to swallow her up entirly as it grew, pulling her far under the surface of her selfrestrained. 

“What?” 

She could only breath out the question. Her eyes pressing thightly shut at the warm sensation of his soft nose against her smooth neck. 

Brown painted skin meetin her white one. 

The picture a stark contrast all in all. 

The withe skin on brown one. Pale, cold and yet still lust burning silver eyes hidden behind her eyelids while his warm, burning gaze roamed all around the skin on her throat. Wild pants against his steady breathing. 

Her gold curles spilling all over the wall while his black silky mass of hair was tangeled between her fingers. 

Azriel almost did not dare to speak as she bared her throat to him. His breath a cloud against the pale skin, his words a vibration through her entire body.

“You marked me.”

“And what does it mean?”

Was all she could breath as his lips closed around her bobbing adams apple - leaving her gaping with a shiver and a burning heat in her core. A smirk sensible against her flesh. His eyes not able to meet hers, afraid of the emotions he could find there if he spilled the truth.

His own throat bobbing at words that were stuck there.

“It means that I belong to you now. It means that from now on, as long as you life, any male and female is going to smell you on me. Is going to see that you have already chosen me.” 

Elain could only smile at Azriels words. It made a great wave of pride wash over her as she got the meaning of his words.

No one was going to take him away from her. No one was able to claim him without getting past her.

And it might have been selfish, but she very much loved that. 

“I like that.” 

At that Azriel drew back from her skin, his entire body still pressed against hers as she felt his tall frame shift. His back strightening as he looked down into her eyes - that were still closed. Lust swimming behind her eyelids, but as she opened them Azriels face was turned to the side. 

The soft hue of moonlight illuminating his gods crafted face, but sadness lined his features. His thick furrowed eyebrows as he looked onto the bathroom tiles, were his contact lenses and the black and the white wigs of them layed. 

A presure making his shoulders sagg. His mighty wings were put up in defence.

Something was horribly wrong as Elain took him in. This stance of him she knew all too well. 

It was the side of him he wanted everyone to believe him to be. But that long didn’t work on her anymore. 

For the first week he had this stance, she was frightened. It looked for her like her friend was gone, crushed under some words of a female.

The seer was afraid she had lost her friend to a stranger that was him, but she saw past his exterior. Saw the sadness that lined his eyes whenever he thought no one was looking. 

The fact that Lucien had visited her durning the week of his downfall and Feyre practically shoved her every morning towards him - didn’t make it better. 

Instead it had all become worse. Mor as well as Azriel not attending their dinners. 

Elain dosen’t really remember how she survived this week, with her heart still beating. The time she spend with Lucien was draining not so say tiring. Her body fought against her mind and heart each hour that past. A sore feeling an unwanted company throughout the week.

But it faded. As soon as she saw Azriel again. 

Azriel that didn’t quiet seem to be the one she knew. He wasn’t cold to her and if she remembered correctly he did not even wish to see her nor was it intended for her to see him. 

Feyre had thrown Lucien and her out in the morning - planning for them to make them stroll through Velaris the entire day, but that tiring feeling had Elains feet moving home just after lunch. Lucien finally having to go back to the mortal lands as well.

She just wanted to go to bed, but as she saw him standing in his fighting leathers in the door frame to the living room - she saw him. 

His proud lifted wings and the preasure that put his shoulders down. The cloud of shadows enveloping him in a black blanket. 

Just like now. And Elain hated to see him like that. 

“What is wrong, my dear?” was all she could ask as her hot hand touched his cold cheek. His jaw thigtened at the sensation and he already wanted to turn away from her, her and her knowing eyes - but the preasure on her hand kept him still.

Elain was rarely stubborn, but if he intended to leave her just like this -she would gladly be stubborn. Knowing that if she would let him go now, nothing would be the same between them anymore the next time they met. 

But Azriel did not seem to have the intention of answering her anytime soon. 

A sigh escaping her lips as she smiled sheepishly at him, the lust from before now somewhere burried in her thight core. 

“Lets get that color off of you. Shall we?” 

He only nodded and retreated from her, only able to make three steps away from her as Elain had taken his calloused hand and kissed it, a whisper of her words against the red skin “Don’t hide from me.” 

Again, all he could do was nod. It was not what his mind wanted to do. It was what his heart wanted him to do. 

He never wished to hide from her, but how could he not? Shadows always hid away from sunlight. How was he not able to hide frome her if she was sunshine incarnate? 

But worst of this scenario was the guilt inside of him as he bathed in her radiant sunshine. 

Most males - especially Illyrians - were mad at a female that claimed them without permission, but Azriel could have never been happier- if he wouldn’t have been in the shadows again. In the shadow of a radiant male. His whole appearance the opposite of his. 

Azriels bulky frame hidden in the shadow of Luciens slightly musceled body, the son of Autumn and day. The fire of the son his mother while his father was the light itself. Everything of him screaming to be the match to Elains beautiful sunshine. 

The spymaster knew that his thought of happines - that she claimed him- would only be the high before the fall. He knew it was wrong to think of it as right that she had claimed him - but he loved it. 

With every fiber of his being did he love the sound of being called hers. 

But that would always be a fantasy of his, just like it was with Mor. 

The only way to tune out his raging thoughts was the running water. The burning running water. 

A distant, almost cold look on his face, as he watched how the level of the water rose in the large white tube. Centemeter for centemeter. A cloud of steam erupting from the almost cooking water. 

There had been a time were he was afraid of such hot water. Of flames in general, that was a time were Elain wasn’t even a whisper in the world -not even her parents.

That would have almost been his death durning the blood rite - if he wouldn’t have found his brothers. The fear of seeing the orange flame licking at the wood reminded him too much of the one that tasted his skin.

It was still sometimes hard to light a fire, but today he would welcome the pain the water would cause. 

Already stripping down to nothing, but the white pants, he did ot notice how Elain returned to his bathing chamber. Not even realizing that she was gone. 

It felt like as if she was with him the entire time. The marking of her already burning when he looked at her. He didn’t know if it was because it was fresh, or if it already reacted to her presence. 

In the fae world it was rare to find a mate - that everyone knew. And for those who never found their mate, they could mark their partner. With a biting scar. 

Azriel never really knew how the marking worked, since always hoped for a mating bond - he did not get into the subject of marking that deep. All he knew was what he told Elain and the the biting mark would only stay if the one that bit cleaned it with their salvia. Which Elain had done. 

But as he looked at her, still in similar clothes to Amrens clad, he noticed the tug in his shoulder. The sting that dragged him towards her, but he resistet as he looked at her with this cold far distance. 

Elain smiled at him, before she realized with shock the fogging clouds of steam. The white fog covering up the black one of his shadows. He could not look Elain in the eyes as she jelped a bit in surprise.

The hand she had held in the water slightly reddened, as she turned the tempreture down. 

Azriel barely glanced at her as he fully undressed. Not caring that Elain would see him. Raised and in full naked glory as he sat down in the water.

A soothing warmth enveloping him as he braced his arms on his knees. 

Everything in him screamed to drage Elain into the water with him. To pollute it together with her as darkness and sunshine united. 

A wild picture running around in his mind as his shadows turned just as wild as his thoughts. Black little snakes weaving through the water as no picture wanted to leave his mind and just kept on replaying.

His body, a mother damned traitor as his member twitched in anticaption - wanting to let those fantasys become reality.  Making the water spill over the thick rimm of the tube as he took her. A moan escaping her with every thrust of his, the water a splashing waterfall over the rimm as scream after scream would erupt from her pleasured body. 

Her touch tender on his heated skin. 

And he would bite her - he would mark her. His name stumbling from her lips as he would do so. 

A grunt escaped him as he burried his face in his scarred hands. 

He was not allowed to have such fantasys! 

She marked him by accident! Who knew, if she even wanted him like that, if it had been the alcohol that made her react like this. 

Elain needed to watch with furrowed eyebrows how Azriel fought his inner tumult, not able to help him solve it. If she would touch him now, only a whisper of her skin on his - she knew he would break. He would crumble under thei weight of his feelings, of his thoughts and never return to her.

Azriel always thought of himself as unworthy for everything and everyone. But he wasn’t. 

In all her life - fae and mortal- did she never meet someone with a heart as great as his. The love he felt for his family drowning him as he tried his best to make them happy, to protect them. 

Elain knew of his unspoken wish. Of the wish for his family to finally be happy. The wounds of the war healed and scarred. She knew that a mental wound could not heal without a little leftover of it. A scar on the heart the result. 

But if they simply vanished - they were one day to return. 

But with Azriel the only wounds that have ever scarred, were those on his bulky body. His, in black ink covered, chest decorated with dozens of thin markings. 

The thin stripes plastered all around on his chest some even going below the surface of the water. 

Heat enveloped Elains cheeks as she did not dare to look further into the water. Seeing things below the sureface that would invade his privacy. 

With a shake of her head and a crimson blush on her cheeks did she grab the bottle next to her kneeling form. A water Nuala and Cerridwen had gifted her last solestice. It was used to remove make up and just right for her task. 

With a steady arm she reached to pour the water over a soft pad and whiped at the brown skin of his arm. 

Azriel flinched and looked up into her eyes as she did so. A whirlwind flowing around in them. The dark fire of lust still licking at the specks of green. 

His eyes drawing hers into a sirens song. 

Her breath hitched at his next whispered words, seemingly just like his. 

“I love the color of your eyes.”

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Hey everyone, so to be honest I actually planned to make this a one-shot. Well whoops looks like I am already writing on part 4. 

You have hit my creativ vein with your idea @tomtenadia​, thank you for that. Hope you and everyone have enjoyed it so far. 

I think the next part is really going to be the last one, but we’ll see about that ;)

Thanks for reading💚

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@heirofthrnightcourt004​