#Spilled Stars' writing snippets

[spilledstars1234]

I have returned with more writing excerpts of my ocs !! Here are the first writing excerpt and the second writing excerpt for them! check those ones out first because reading this one would be confusing without knowing what happened previously! I’ll drop a bit of a lore explanation at the bottom, towards the end of the writing snippet.

For context, Shi and Sei are visiting an old temple (that is entirely dedicated to them) while on Earth.

In the temple stood two statues, tall and imposing. They were back-to-back, standing upright with an air of dignity and power emanating from them. I noticed the one at the front first. 

It was of a male angel, his white wings hugging the sides of his body as if it were a cloak. His hands were interlocked, and I spotted an ivory stone rose that had made its way through his fingers, peeking over at the top of his hands. His eyes were kind and full of affection, and he wore a gentle smile on his face as he gazed ahead of him.

It had been a long time since I had seen him smile like that.

I mean, sure, he did smile from time to time. Everyone does, after all. But nowadays, whenever he smiled, it never reached his eyes. His eyes always remained hard. It’s been ages since I’ve seen him smile a real, genuine smile.

I turned to him. I considered telling him that. But I decided it was better not to.

Sei’s eyes were on the offerings that were laid in front of his statue. There was plenty, of course. There always was. I don’t think a single day passed without hearing a plentiful amount of prayers rising up to Heaven. 

“It’s been a while, “ said Sei, “since we visited one of our temples. Hasn’t it, Shi?”

“Indeed,” I replied, “but it’s not like nothing’s changed. For me, at least,” I added in an undertone. Sei grabbed my arm, pulling me over to the stone statute that was behind his. I didn’t want to look at it, I had even adamantly told Sei before we entered the temple that I would not look at it, but try as I might, I could not draw my eyes away. 

It was of a young woman, her angular face framed by her straight hair. Two large, ugly devil horns protruded out from the top of her head, and instead of angel wings like the other statue, this one had large, leathery demon wings. Her eyes were stony underneath furrowed brows, and she had an expression of great distaste on her face as she looked down towards us. A skull rested on the palm of one of her hands, and a dagger in the other. I hoped it was just my imagination, but the point of the dagger seemed to be aimed directly at me.

In conclusion, she would have been much prettier if not for the scowl ruining her features.

I looked down at the small table where offerings were usually laid. Instead of the large amount of offerings like the ones in front of Sei’s statue, all I got was a single, lonely rotten apple that seemed to have been sitting there for decades, judging from the discoloration of it. Instead of a bright red sheen, the skin of the apple was dull grey with blotches of dark green, along with a spot of yellow to top it off. It was as shriveled and wrinkled as a century-old elderly’s face. 

I shrugged. A pity.

Picking it up, I took one big bite out of it, sinking my teeth into its skin. Surprisingly, it was soft, though it tasted odd in my mouth. Thank goodness I couldn’t properly taste it.

“Hey, you’re not supposed to eat that, those are offerings,” protested Sei as he watched me swallow it.

“Why not?” I asked. “This was an offerings to me, after all.” In an undertone I added, "and not to mention the only offering for me."

“Yes, but still…” He looked over at me and wrinkled his nose. “It’s still gross.”

“Well, it’s not like I can taste it,” I pointed out. Sei arched an eyebrow. “You can’t?” He asked.

“No. Didn’t I tell you?” I asked.

“No…”

“Ah. Well, it’s a funny story, really! You see, Luci was being rather stupid while he was messing with some energy the other day, and long story short, it backfired on me, causing me to lose my sense of tasting food. It’ll only last about 57 more hours though!” I reassured him.

His expression darkened when I mentioned Lucifer. “I don’t like… I don’t like that you’re spending time with him,” he said, crossing his arms.

Were his overprotective I-am-your-brother-and-therefore-I-have-to-protect-you-from-the-evil-one modes kicking in? I thought to myself. I tilted my head. “Huh? Why not? He’s a real sweetheart once you get to know him!” 

Sei mimicked my head tilt. “Because, well, doesn’t that technically give the humans more of a reason to think of you as a demon?”

“I don’t get what you mean.”

“You know.” He sounded frustrated now. He ran a hair through his hair, a habit he often did when he was annoyed, and continued. “You know… considering the fact that you spend so much time with Satan himself.”

I frowned, his words kicking in. “But they don't know that I do. The humans, I mean,” I replied. There were a few small daisies growing near the bottom of my statue. Using the edge of my shoe, I absentmindedly buried them in the gravel.

“I know. But still…” He didn’t continue. Something told me that he didn’t want to.

“Still... what?” I asked. His words were confusing me. But he didn’t respond. He fidgeted with the edges of his robe, seemingly lost in thought.

“Still what, Sei?”

He looked up at me. Something about him at that moment, even though he was my twin, he just looked so much older than me. So tired, just extremely weary.

And then it hit me. It was as if Sei had punched the answer right into my face (even though he hadn’t moved an inch). I stood there, frozen. 

“Sei," I managed finally, “do you… do you think I’m evil?”

He didn’t respond. I stepped closer to him, not sure if what I was feeling was anger that he could think that, or quiet disbelief.

“Please… just tell me the truth,” I said, turning to look at Sei. I was practically pleading at this point. His opinion on whether I was good or not was the most important out of everyone else's, after all. He was my brother, the person who has known me the longest out of everyone, out of the humans on earth, out of the beings in Heaven who mocked me every chance they got, out of the creatures in Hell. Even Lucifer hasn't known me as long as Sei has.

His hesitation is what frightened me. Sei wouldn’t look back at me, his face turned away. 

“Am I… evil?” I asked. I squinted my eyes, willing him to turn back and look at me.

And he did. He held my gaze for a brief moment, but then his shoulders slumped, and he cast his eyes downwards to look at his feet. “I don’t know anymore.”

“What?” Tension entered the temple like an unwanted guest, seeping through every crack and every doorway, settling around us. I couldn’t escape it. “What are you talking about?”

“I-I don’t know,” he repeated. “I don’t know anymore. I don’t know you anymore.” He shook his head, raising his eyes to look upwards at the heavens. He walked away from me, his shoulders shaking. I frowned. Was he… crying?

“Sei—” I began, but stopped when I saw him spreading his arms out wide. It was only when I stopped and listened that I realized he was laughing.

“I mean, you hardly come back to Heaven, you know! You’re always up to whatever antics with Lucifer in Hell! I hardly see you anymore, and nowadays you seem like a completely different person! So pray tell me, is it really that wrong for me to suspect you to be?” He turned to look at me, a hint of madness glinting in his eyes, his face pulled into a crazed grimace. 

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. My mind, my body, everything was completely frozen.

I didn’t know this man. This was not my brother. It couldn’t be! I refuse to believe it!

Sei was usually very calm and reserved, and even though I was a goddess of death, he had never, not even once, agreed to me being evil like this. He would always be supporting me whenever others in Heaven made fun of my horns and demon wings, and always told me that what’s on the outside didn’t matter, and that I had a good heart and that’s all that mattered to him. That he’d always stay by my side no matter what, no matter if I were a goddess of death.

But to hear him now made me wonder, were all the things he told me in the past just a lie? Is this what he truly thought and felt about me? Was he just too nice to say it before, not wanting to hurt my feelings, and now everything just came pouring out? 

“Well?? Is it??” Sei’s voice was gradually getting louder as he continued forcing words out through his hysterical laughter, but I couldn’t hear it. My ears were ringing too loudly.

I didn’t know this man. This was not my brother. 

I didn’t know this man. This was not my brother.

 I. Didn’t. Know him!

He had to be possessed. There was no other way. But even as I tried convincing myself of that, I knew deep down that it wasn’t true; I couldn’t sense any other demons in the area.

This was Sei, in the raw flesh.

This was Sei, bare of all the masks he had worn.

This was Sei, as his true self.

Expressing his true self, for the first time in front of me.

My brother.

“Is it—??”

“I don’t know!” I cut him off, anxiety quickly changing into rage. I reached out, moving without giving my actions any thought, and shoved him as far away from me as I could. Sei didn’t do anything to stop me, he just let himself be shoved as he slammed against the wall at the other side of the temple.

Sei didn’t seem affected by the impact when his back hit the wall, but he just scooted to the dark corner towards his right and crumpled to a heap on the floor, his head lowered in a sort of bow. He didn’t say anything, or even indicate that he noticed I had pushed him. But I noticed the strange light in his eyes was gone, replaced with regret. Had I snapped him out of it?

I turned on my heel and strode off to the opposite corner of the room. Flopping down on the ground, I turned so that I was facing the wall so I didn’t have to look at him.

If the situation weren’t so serious I would have laughed. I mean, it was like we were in time-out! Like human children!

notes:

I love the idea of people not being as they seem, so even though, outwardly, Shi appears as a devil, she is very kind and gentle-hearted, whereas even though Sei appears as an angel outwardly, he is more hard-hearted. Also, their appearances in Heaven change according to how the people on Earth view and depict them as. Even though Shi is technically not a bad being, the humans depicted her as a devil, and though the depiction is still beautiful, she still looks like an evil creature with horns, so her appearance in Heaven slowly changed to that, causing her to be outcasted in Heaven for appearing “evil.” Meanwhile, Sei’s appearance is very beautiful, the very definition of what a perfect angelic being appears like. In the past, before humans interpreted her wrong and twisted the entire meaning of her existence, Shi looked as soft and beautiful as Sei does currently.

(I'm so bad at explaining, my apologies if this doesn't make any sense T-T)

[vividiana]

tastes like she might be the one

pairing: Astarion x f!Dark Urge · word count: 5.3k

rating: E for shameless smut (MDNI)

tags: blood drinking, period sex, oral sex, face-sitting, vaginal fingering, masturbation, Astarion being a little feral, porn with (some) plot, idiots in love, post-canon, general Durge spoilers

“Well, all of that’s to say that if you would like to… indulge, this might be your one and only chance to do so.” “Oh. I see.” Astarion’s eyes light up at the idea and Eve’s breath hitches when he takes a couple steps closer, his face just inches away when he says: “Then I suppose we better make it count.”

a/n: I did it, I succumbed to the Urge and wrote a period kink oneshot. hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

tagging some of my lovely moots who were hyping me up as I shared snippets from this fic: @khywren @nerdallwritey @xxnashiraxx @obsessedwhyyes @verbenaa @bby-bel-art @hellethil @arzen9 (thank you so much for getting excited about this with me. tbh it would have still been sitting in my wip doc if it weren’t for you all ❤️)

the title is from "LUNCH" by Billie Eilish

read on ao3 · dividers

As Eve is leaving the market, she feels her lower abdomen clench painfully in a manner she doesn’t recognize. She winces, tightening her grip on the grocery bags and tries to figure out what mundane malady it could be this time as she hurries back to the apartment. 

Soon, she reaches the familiar facade, but as she goes for the handle, the door swings open. Eve startles when she sees Astarion, wide-eyed and visibly tense. 

“What are you doing?” she yelps when he pulls her inside, standing just inches away from the pool of sunlight spilling onto the hardwood floors. “Get away from the door!” 

She kicks it shut behind her, the room safely dim again. But Astarion seems to pay no mind to the obvious danger, as he grabs the bags from her and puts them on the ground, before turning her around and assessing her body as if looking for something.

“What happened? Where is it? Show me.”

“Where is what? Are you okay?”

“The wound!” he shrieks, voice high-pitched from nerves. “Hells, I can smell your blood, I could smell it from blocks away. Did someone attack you? Who do I have to kill?” 

Eve freezes as the pieces connect in her mind. The pain. The scent of blood that was imperceptible to her but obvious as alarm bells to Astarion’s senses. 

Eve laughs at the absurdity of it, Astarion’s eyes widening even further as he tries to fathom what in the Hells she’s on about. Bhaal hand-sculpted her for one purpose and one purpose only, designed her to carry out his gory vision most efficiently, and yet he still made her bleed like this…?

“Oh, that petty son of a bitch!” Eve says to no one in particular. After a deep breath, she reaches for Astarion’s hands and explains in a calmer tone: “I’m not hurt, Star. I think I just got my period. It’s as novel to me as it is to you, honestly.”

She watches as Astarion’s expression cycles through a series of emotions, so clear and unfiltered. First confusion, then relief, and finally a peculiar mix of glee and dread. 

“Oh. Oh. ALRIGHT.” He takes a step back, frantically looking up and down her body. When his mouth opens again, words spill out in a chaotic monologue punctuated by nervous giggles. “Fear not, I am so prepared for this. Well, truth be told, my only knowledge about half-elves and menstruation comes from Shadowheart and I don’t know how reliable that is, she tends to be a tad dramatic, don’t you think? But let’s think hmmm… A bath! Would you like me to draw you a bath? Wait, no, you must be hungry, let’s make you some food first.” 

He reaches for the grocery bags and darts upstairs.

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” Eve asks warily as she follows him up to the kitchenette. 

“Oh yes darling, I am doing quite SPLENDID myself, I am just concerned about your comfort!!” 

Rather unceremoniously, Astarion turns the grocery bags upside down, produce tumbling in all directions across the counter. He grabs a small knife and begins to peel some potatoes whilst aggressively humming Down by the River.

As Eve watches his frantic movements, her stomach drops in realization. 

“Star…” she starts, walking up to him.

“YES, my dearest?”

“Is the blood… distracting?”

Astarion’s nervous, high-pitched giggle is enough of a confirmation.

“OH YES! Incredibly so! But do not worry about me, the concern right now should be YOUR COMFORT.”

“Oh gods,” Eve sighs, massaging her temples. “Is this what the next tenday is going to look like?”

“TENDAY?” Astarion stabs the counter, the tip of the knife wedged into the wooden surface. There is sheer panic in his eyes when he turns around and asks: “You bleed for a tenday?”

“I don’t know, this is a first! But as far as I know, people can bleed for anywhere from three to ten days?”

“THAT’S FINE. We will get through this together!” He yanks the knife out and resumes his task. 

Eve stands there for a moment, watching him, unsure of what to do with herself.

“Are you hungry, is that the problem? Would feeding on me help?”

For a moment, Astarion freezes. He turns around, knife in hand, his gaze slipping down Eve’s body for a split second.

“What exactly are you offering?” he asks when he meets her eyes again, and Eve can feel her cheeks grow hotter in an instant.

“GODS, ASTARION.”

“I’M JUST SAYING–”

“YES, I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE SAYING–”

“IT COULD HELP WITH YOUR CRAMPS–”

“OKAY, I’M GOING TO TAKE A BATH NOW, BYE.”

“SOUNDS GOOD, I’LL KEEP PEELING–”

“YOU’VE ALREADY PEELED A DOZEN POTATOES, THAT’S TOO MANY POTATOES FOR ONE PERSON.”

“I’M STILL LEARNING, GIVE ME A BREAK.”

“OKAY I’M LEAVING NOW, I LOVE YOU.”

“I LOVE YOU TOO.”

Eve storms off to the bathroom. As she starts pouring water into the tub, she tries to push away the mental image of Astarion’s head between her thighs.

She adds some lavender oil into the water and gets inside, the hot temperature helping soothe her cramps. She leans her head against the edge of the tub, trying to make sense of all this.

Perhaps the reason she doesn’t remember this happening before is because her body put this particular function on hold while she was fighting for her life every day, sleeping on the ground, and eating irregularly. But now in the six months since the Netherbrain fell, she has been able to finally feel safe, giving her organism a chance to settle back into its natural rhythm. 

It still doesn’t explain why Bhaal didn’t just skip this part in the design process, but Eve does not even want to begin to understand his sick and twisted ways, so she pushes those thoughts away and tries to relax.

After fifteen minutes or so, there is a light knock on the door.

“Yes?”

The door creaks and Eve opens her eyes to see Astarion with a mug in his hand, looking a tad embarrassed.

“Hello,” he says as he continues to stand awkwardly in the doorway.

“You can come in, I won’t bite.”

He walks up and places the steaming mug on a stool by the tub. Eve can smell the mix of chamomile, ginger, and something else she doesn’t recognize. Astarion kneels beside her, arms propped on the edge of the tub.

“I brewed you some herbs that should help ease the pain. And there’s stew cooking, it will be done in an hour or so.”

“Thank you.” She reaches for his hand and places a kiss on his knuckles, eliciting a soft smile.

“I’m sorry about earlier. It was a lot to process all at once. I thought you might be bleeding out on the street somewhere and I couldn’t do anything about it, I was just stuck inside waiting for you to come back. And then you waltz in here as if nothing happened and once I knew you were safe, the smell of your blood was–” He trails off with an absentminded smile. “Well, let’s just say I’ve gotten somewhat accustomed to it now, but it is still quite distracting.”

“I’m sorry you were so worried, that must have been terrifying.”

“It was. But I also should have known that if anyone was foolish enough to attack you, you could handle it just fine. Anyways, you should drink your tea,” he says, passing her the mug. She takes a sip, the herbal mix blossoming on her tongue, and hands it back to him. “Are you enjoying the bath?”

“Yes, the hot water is helping a lot. But, I’m afraid there is something wrong with our tub.”

“Which is?” he asks, raising his eyebrow.

“It’s missing an elf.”

“Ah, an easy fix,” he says with a smile. 

Eve takes another sip of her tea as Astarion slips out of his clothes. She shuffles forward to make space for him, and he slowly lowers himself into the tub behind her, gasping as he touches the hot water. She leans back against his chest, nestling into his open arms.

After a moment of silence, Astarion asks:

“So, we don’t have to talk about him if you don’t want to… But, um… Doesn’t this seem like a design flaw?”

“No, we do have to talk about him, because what in the actual fuck was he thinking? As if my whole life wasn’t bloody enough. And I can’t even justify it in any pragmatic way, because it’s not like I needed to bear more Bhaalspawn. I was supposed to be the last one!” 

“Daddy’s special girl.”

“Do not ever say that again.” She elbows him and Astarion laughs behind her.

After her bath and dinner, Eve decides to head downstairs and visit Derryth while the apothecary is still open. She explains the situation and asks for some menstrual cloths and anything that could help ease her cramps. The woman watches her intently as she listens, brows furrowed.

“Okay, so personally this is none of my business of course,” Derryth says, raising her hands defensively. “But as an apothecary, I feel obligated to ask: are you aware that you do not need to bleed every month? There are ways you can stop it.”

“There are?”

“Yes. Well, but first: are you and Astarion trying to conceive?”

Eve just stares blankly ahead as her life flashes before her eyes. It’s not something she ever thought to consider, she just assumed… Well, he is undead, after all.

“Umm… is that even… possible?” she asks weakly. “Given our… situation?”

“Under regular circumstances, no,” Derryth rushes to answer and Eve sighs with barely concealed relief, “but I’ve heard of some rituals… I don’t know, Eve, stranger things have happened. But no, unless you go out of your way to achieve it, you’re safe.”

“Okay. Then no, we are absolutely not trying to conceive. Gods, could you imagine–”

“I’d rather not,” Derryth says curtly. “Now, if that’s the case, then there is absolutely no need for you to suffer every moon. There are different ways you can go about it, the one that seems most popular with my clients is this tonic,” she says as she pulls out a couple of bottles from the drawer behind her and places them on the counter. “It’s fairly easy to use, it comes in these little bottles and you drink one the first night of each tenday. And there you go, problem solved.”

“That sounds… awfully easy,” Eve says as she eyes the medicine before her.

“Well, yes, because it is.”

“Does it have any side effects?”

“Of course it doesn’t. It’s supposed to make your life easier, not harder,” Derryth says with the patience of a parent explaining the most obvious concept to their child. 

Eve gets a month’s supply to try out, along with some pain medicine to help carry her over before the tonic starts to work. When she gets back to the apartment, she shows Astarion the bottles and explains how it all works.

“That’s probably for the best,” he says. “I’m glad you won’t have to go through this pain again.”

“Yes, me too, but…” Eve hesitates for a moment, but the memory of Astarion’s frantic energy from this morning is enough to give her the confidence to suggest: “Well, all of that’s to say that if you would like to… indulge, this might be your one and only chance to do so.”

“Oh. I see.” Astarion’s eyes light up at the idea and Eve’s breath hitches when he takes a couple steps closer, his face just inches away when he says: “Then I suppose we better make it count.”

There is a moment of tense silence as they regard each other, Eve’s chest rising and falling heavily at his proximity. 

But then the final thread of self-control snaps and Astarion pulls her closer, capturing her mouth in a greedy kiss, swallowing up the gasp that slips past Eve’s lips as she opens up to him. Suddenly, the air around her is all citrus and spice, Astarion’s scent and taste mixing into an intoxicating combination. It could easily sweep her off her feet were it not for his hands digging into her hips, anchoring her against him.

With a firm tug to her lower lip, Astarion breaks away, an undeniable urgency to his movements as his mouth slips down to her neck and he inhales sharply, head nuzzled against her. His voice is low and breathy when he says:

“Hells, you smell divine.”

With bated breath, she awaits the sharp sting of his fangs, wanting nothing more than to give him everything he craves. But instead, Astarion’s hands slip down to the back of her thighs and Eve’s body instinctively follows, like it’s a routine they’ve been rehearsing. She jumps, legs wrapping around his waist as if that’s precisely where they belonged. 

Eve sinks her fingers into his soft curls, kissing him with a newfound ferocity. She barely registers the steps Astarion takes until with a loud clatter, he kicks a chair out of his way, and she realizes they’re at the dining table. He lets go of her with one hand to push his notes to the side, pieces of parchment flying to the floor as he seats her on the edge. 

Astarion breaks the kiss, pinning her in place under his watchful gaze, the room silent save for the heavy pounding of Eve’s heart.

“Indulge, you say? Don’t mind if I do.” 

Astarion sinks down to his knees before her, and the sight of it alone is enough to make Eve’s head spin with need, the overwhelming desire to feel his mouth against her skin, to hear the savory sounds that escape his throat every time he tastes her. 

He tugs at her waistband and Eve lifts herself off the table just enough to let him pull her pants down and toss them to the side. Astarion swallows hard when she parts her legs for him and it looks like it’s taking him every ounce of self-determination to not rip off the final barrier between them and devour her right there and then. 

His hands reach up to push her back, and she leans away, propped on her elbows, not daring to miss out on a single moment of this hypnotizing spectacle. A low, guttural sound rumbles out of his chest as he presses his lips to her plush thigh and starts kissing up, closer, and closer, and–

Eve winces at a sharp stab of pain that begins to radiate down her thighs and up her spine in a throbbing, dull shiver, the hard wooden surface beneath her doing nothing to soothe her discomfort.

Astarion pauses, leaning away to meet her eyes.

“Are you alright, love?”

“I, um–” she sighs, bemoaning the need to be rational at a moment like this. “I am loving this energy, I really am. But there is no way we’re doing this on a table, my back is killing me.” 

“I suppose we can make do with a bed, then.”

He wastes no time as he rises to his feet and scoops her up, and in that moment Eve is convinced that she could get used to being carried like this. Astarion rushes to the bedroom to find Scratch splayed out across the mattress, raising his head curiously as they enter.

“Out,” he orders with poorly concealed desperation.

The dog whines, but darts out of the room obediently, and Astarion kicks the door shut behind him. He lowers her onto the edge of the bed and retrieves some pillows to place under her back. 

“Are you comfortable?” 

“Yes, I feel quite spoiled, actually. Are you comfortable?” she asks, unconvinced, watching as he once again gets to his knees on the hardwood floor.

“Oh, trust me, I am exactly where I want to be,” he says in a tone that erases any lingering trace of doubt from her mind.

Eve falls silent as Astarion’s hands begin to snake up her thighs, lithe fingers reaching the hem of her underwear, eyes meeting hers for a final confirmation that feels superfluous given their current predicament, and yet he still seeks it. Eve nods slowly, her throat too tight with anticipation to utter a sound, and she watches as Astarion hooks his fingers in and begins to slide the garment off her body with nigh religious reverence.

Once it slips down to her knees, she can finally get a better view and gods damn it, she changed into clean clothes less than an hour ago and already the fabric is ruined, a dark, rust-colored stain blooming along the gusset.

Eve shuffles her legs, helping Astarion slide the underwear completely off her. She expects him to toss it on the floor, but instead she watches, transfixed, as he folds it meticulously before slipping it into his pant pocket.

“Excuse you–”

But her objection dies in her throat at the sight of Astarion parting her thighs with unmatched focus. For a moment he just kneels there completely still, pupils blown wide, watching her like a predator poised to strike. It would be unnerving if it wasn’t him.

He hooks his arms under her thighs and pulls her closer, resting her legs on his shoulders.

Under his scrutinous gaze she becomes utterly aware of the wetness between her thighs, blood and arousal mixing into one. Suddenly, her mind drifts away from her kneeling lover to the softness of the silk bed sheets beneath her, the sheets that they got as a housewarming gift from Shadowheart, the ones that Astarion was so excited about, and however weakly, she whispers:

“Wait– We’re going to ruin the sheets–” 

Her words seem to snap Astarion out of his trance and he looks up from the sanguine scene before him to meet her gaze. 

“I can live with that.”

And as if to prove his point, he lunges forward, their moans mixing in unison the moment his tongue drags a firm line along her center. His grip on her tightens, surely enough to bruise, but Eve is way past the point of caring. Damn the bruises, damn the sheets, all that matters right now is the inferno raging within her, the ungodly sounds erupting from the depth of Astarion’s chest as he feasts on her like a man starved. 

Eve’s elbows give in beneath her and she falls back on the pillows, losing sight of his efforts. Instead she reaches for him, nails scraping against his scalp, legs crossed behind his head and urging him closer. Astarion’s nose presses deliciously against her clit as his tongue enters her time and time again, his groans vibrating through her core. 

One of his hands wanders to the hem of her shirt, lifting it up past the soft curve of her stomach. He leans away ever so lightly, lips brushing against her as he pleads:

“I need to see all of you.”

Eve complies, the tempo of Astarion’s tongue hastening the moment the linen slips past her the stiff peaks of her nipples. As she tosses her blouse to the side, she is struck by how completely bare she is before him, all the while Astarion looks as if he might have just come home from work, every button accounted for, every thread in place. A perfect picture of composure, were it not for the state of his curls, dampened with sweat and flattened against the grip of her thighs, nor the blood smeared against every inch of his exposed skin.

His tongue leaves her, but before she can protest this newfound emptiness, his mouth shifts up, lips closing around her clit with a firm suck as a single finger teases her entrance. Astarion slips inside with no resistance, one knuckle deep, tormenting her with how it’s simultaneously overwhelming and not nearly enough.

“Please, Star–”

But before the words fully leave her lips, they blossom into a wanton moan as he sheathes his finger, and beckons her, brushing against the spot that makes her feel weightless, like she is not of this world.

She bucks her hips into him and he moans against her cunt, encouraged by her reaction, and soon enough a second finger follows. He slides in slowly, the stretch combined with the suction of his lips pushing any previous aches and discomfort from her mind, leaving naught but an all-encompassing surrender, delicious pressure rising within her.

Through the haze, she reaches down, fingers teasing the points of his ears, and she knows exactly what she is doing, knows the effect it has on him, how it coaxes the sweetest sounds from his lips she is sure she will never get enough of. 

She recalls the first time she did it, over a year ago, back when neither of them knew how to define the curious companionship that has grown between them. It elicited the most unrestrained noise she ever heard from him and Astarion must have been taken aback by it, too, because he tore her hands away from him, pinning them above her head. He told her then that she was playing with fire but she couldn’t help it, couldn’t tear her eyes away from the blaze. 

It consumes them both now, eliciting the most obscene sounds from her love, his fingers picking up speed as they dart in and out of her, brushing deep inside with every stroke. 

She knows she won’t last long, cannot last long, not with the way he has become fluent in the language of her body, knowing exactly which strings to pull to make her sing. 

And sing she does, mouth falling open with praises that get increasingly terser, until the only word she can remember is his name. 

She cries it out as she grasps the sheets, the moment the pleasure becomes uncontainable, when it lights up every nerve, every inch of her skin. It’s a trust fall and he is right there to catch her, just as he always is. Just as he always will be.

Astarion’s grip doesn’t soften as she rides out this crest, his mouth and fingers relentless in drawing every last one of her moans, her eyes shut in pure bliss.

But then eventually all of her energy evaporates, her thighs growing slack around him, and Astarion retracts slowly, placing the softest kiss on her clit before getting to his feet. 

Eve feels the mattress dip as he crawls towards her and she somehow wills her eyelids to open, only to witness Astarion’s bloodied fingers slip into his mouth, his eyes fluttering shut as he begins to suck. The display is enough to make her throat go dry, skin flaring up with want that never got the chance to subside. 

Finally when he salvages every single drop, he lets go, eyes meeting hers as his fingers leave his mouth. Eve takes in the gory state of him: there is blood on his lips and chin of course, but also some on his nose, and is that…? Yes, somehow a bit of it found its way to his brow line. She can’t help but laugh as she tucks a flattened curl behind his ear.

“You look…”

“Happy?” Astarion offers, making a show of licking his lips in a manner that is surely against some moral law.

“I was going to say insatiable.”

“You would be correct,” he admits as he cups her cheek. 

He kisses her deeply, his taste a heady mixture of them both, laced with the metallic tinge of her blood. And suddenly their bodies are flush against one another once more, hands wandering, the unmistakable evidence of his arousal pressed against her thigh. Eve’s hand slithers down between them, Astarion’s jaw going slack the moment she palms his still-clothed cock. 

Her breath hitches at the feel of him in her hand, but Astarion seems to have a plan of his own because he manages to compose himself, leaning away to ask:

“Can you take more?” 

“Try me,” she dares, the attempted edge of her words dulled by how breathless she is. 

A wide grin blooms on Astarion’s face, the tips of his fangs glinting in the moonlight when he asks: 

“How is your back?”

It takes her a second to register the meaning of his question. Truth be told, she completely forgot about it, the pain pushed out into the far corners of her mind by the overwhelming pleasure.

“It’s better.”

“Excellent. Do you think you can sit up?”

“Yes?” she says, unsure of where he is going with this.

Astarion leans away enough to pull his shirt over his head, and then rests on his back, tapping his shoulders as he says:

“Then sit.”

“What?” she asks, swallowing hard.

“You heard me.”

Slowly, Eve gets to her knees, trying to ignore the way the wetness pooled between her thighs seems to shift with the movement. But the shameless anticipation painted on Astarion’s face is enough to weed out any sprouting insecurities, and so she moves up, caging his head between her thighs and gripping the carved headboard for support. 

There is a moment of stillness when she hovers over him, and then Astarion’s gaze travels from her face down to her core and he licks his lips at the sight because of course he does.

Eve rolls her eyes and says:

“You’re ridicul–” 

But before she can finish the thought, Astarion grabs her waist and pulls her down, forcing an ungodly gasp out of her and suddenly all she can think about is how overwhelming the feeling of his mouth is in that position. Astarion gives her a slight, encouraging shove, and Eve starts rocking against him, chasing the friction that feeds the tempest brewing within her.

Astarion seems to be completely lost in the feeling, clawing at her thighs and moaning against her cunt in a way that vibrates deliciously up her spine. Eve wants to hear more of those sweet sounds, so she looks back, witnessing the erection straining against his pants and she reaches out to stroke him through the fabric. He groans, the movements of his tongue growing sloppier by the second, as she’s trying to unlace his pants with one hand without losing her balance.

“Need a little– Ah– Help,” she gasps when the task quickly proves beyond her current capabilities.

Astarion lets go of her thighs, nimble fingers moving to unfasten the garment in no time. He pulls his pants and underwear down just enough to free his untouched cock and Eve’s mouth waters as she catches a glimpse of how hard and flushed it is.

She leans back, propping herself with one hand as the other reaches out to spread the bead of precum over the head. As much as she can muster from that position, she starts to stroke him, encouraged by the truly obscene sounds that start erupting from his throat. 

But then she feels her side cramp up, her arm giving in beneath her. Astarion’s hands dart to grasp at her waist to keep her from collapsing.

“Bad idea,” she admits as she regains her balance, clutching at the headboard.

Astarion hums a noncommittal ‘mhm’ against her center as he settles back into a rhythm. His tongue is relentless in forcing ragged gasps out of her, but Eve wants to give him more, so in a flash of lust-laced genius, she offers:

“Bite me.”

Astarion’s eyes widen, his pupils dilated to the point where she can barely see the scarlet encircling them. He turns his head to the side and Eve would mourn the loss of his touch, were it not immediately compensated by the deep guttural moan that escapes his mouth the moment his teeth sink into her thigh.

Somehow, in all this time together, they have never done this. The initial sting is much sharper than usual, but as Astarion starts to drink, blood leaving Eve’s body in greedy pulls, she feels the familiar throbbing sensation begin to radiate from the wound, her cunt pulsating with every sip he takes and oh gods–

She watches mesmerized as Astarion reaches down and starts to pump himself and the image alone is enough to push her towards the edge. Her fingers slip down to her center to gather some of her slick before gliding up, tracing circles around her clit, her movements matching the rhythmic groans that Astarion makes with every mouthful of her blood. 

Eve knows that he’s close, recognizes it in the timbre of his voice, the furrowed line between his brows, the tension in his muscles as his strokes pick up pace. She swallows hard, wishing for nothing more than to watch him unravel beneath her, to witness–

It sneaks up on her this time, the electrifying shudder that tears through her body. Her mouth falls agape, knuckles white as they grip desperately at the headboard as if it’s the only thing keeping her tethered to reality. Through the bliss, she barely registers the final guttural moan coming from somewhere below, the thick, hot rivulets painting her back.

Astarion’s mouth reluctantly leaves her thigh, his tongue cleaning up any remains of blood off her skin. Eve can feel his hands come up to her waist to steady her, but for now all she can do is just sit there, breathing heavily, head spinning with blood loss and afterglow.

After a couple moments she wills her muscles to move, her legs shaky as she shuffles down Astarion’s body before collapsing on top of him. His arms drape softly around her and they lie there in silence, utterly spent.

Eventually, Astarion slips out from underneath her, and Eve would reach out to stop him if she had any energy left. Instead, she burrows her face into the pillow and listens to the soft clicks of Astarion’s heels against the floor (how did he keep his shoes on all this time?) as he rustles through some drawers. 

When he returns, she feels his palm nestle in between her shoulder blades, his voice soft and steady when he utters the incantation:

“Te absolvo.” 

Healing magic begins to radiate across her body, lifting the heaviness from her muscles and dissipating the fog clouding her mind. And then there is another sensation as what she assumes to be a warm wet cloth runs gently along her back before slipping between her thighs, erasing the evidence of whatever the Hells it was they just experienced.

Suddenly, Eve feels a pang of disappointment and she voices it by mumbling incomprehensibly into the pillow.

“I don’t speak Ghukliak, love,” Astarion says.

Eve groans before turning her face to the side. She meets his amused gaze, spotting the Amulet of Silvanus that adorns his bare chest.

“I said: ‘are you done already?’ You don’t want more blood?”

Astarion laughs heartily as he grabs another cloth to clean his stomach and chest.

“Oh, and I’m the insatiable one? I always want more blood, dear, but you look like you could use a break, you know.”

“Excuse you, I feel excellent.” 

And as if to prove it, she props herself up and sits on the edge of the mattress. She takes a sip from the water cup he left for her on the bedside table before getting to her feet. 

Astarion watches her intensely as she approaches. Usually, he’s much more relaxed after he feeds, but Eve can see that there is still some tension in his features, his nostrils flaring ever so slightly as she steps into his space. 

She knows he’s holding himself back. 

And that just won’t do.

Her arms drape around his neck, and she leans in, lips brushing against his ear as she whispers:

“Take as much as you want, Star. It’s a rare treat, after all.”

Eve delights in the strained gasp that leaves his lips, in the caress of his hands that trail down to her waist before pulling her flush against him.

“How awfully selfless of you,” he drawls, leaning in to kiss her.

a/n: aaaaaand with that, I have officially passed 100k words on ao3. what a glorious way to reach that milestone 😅 I would love to hear your thoughts on this one, especially since I rarely write smut so any feedback is super helpful ❤️

[xxnashiraxx]

Self-Care Someday

Rules: You flip through your work (published or WIP, doesn't matter) and share whatever little section you're genuinely proud of. Something that makes you smile or swoon or that tugs at your heartstrings just the way you want it to. Let's give ourselves a little pat on the back and normalize being proud of our work ❤

Thank you so much for the tags, @pinkberrytea, @vividiana, @andromedaancunin!!! Your snippets were all so fucking beautiful, and I love so much how you tell your stories and how you write. It's a privlidge to know you, my friends 🖤🫂 I'm going to use this little bit from Chapter 19 of With Stars to Fill My Dream! I was so excited to write the spectator scene and waited months- one of my favorite chapters overall. 😊

His eyes rove over her, breath caught in every glistening piece of skin he can see. Allowing himself to really look, for the first time since the party, he lingers on the old set of bite scars on her neck. The demand to delve and savor the delicacy pumping beneath her skin fresh in his singed throat as he tears his mind back into focus. “This place is so beautiful…” She murmurs, dark eyes speckled like the night sky as they reflect every point of light around them. It’s enough for even him to appreciate- and suffer the loss of when she looks at him again. Nothing brightens her gaze once they meet- back to the emptiness he’d seen in the windmill, under the dawning sun, after the Gur… Mere seconds pass between them, enough to remember every retort, every jab, every look… He watches her relive it all in an instant, eyes soft and round, timid tremor in her lips. Ofelia… ever so bold… brought down by a frozen silence spanning between them. Vast and barren, save for a single tendril of green against the wastes- his duty to nurture and coax back to life. A million words pool on his tongue, ready to spill like the teardrop hanging at the corner of her eye. Glittering, an opal in the dark, he goes to speak- to pluck one adequate entreaty from a list of pretty lines, waiting to be read. Not a single one genuine. “Ofelia…” And then he’s got it- real and true, her hand still in his as he looks away, hoping for some semblance of support from the scenery around him. “I want…” Her grip slides to his wrist, tightening, and his eyes track over a strange stone formation, its vague shape shaded yet haunting as the fine hairs on the back of his neck raise. He shakes his head to clear it, purging the distraction- she deserves his full attention. “I want to start over-” He winces when her grip squeezes the delicate bones inside to the point of pain, about to tell her to let go when he finally looks back up at her and stills violently. Words fail to push past his lips as he tracks over her in speechless horror, watching skin turn to stone before his eyes. Pallor drained, devoid of life, gray to match the muted formations around them- ones he should have recognized before leading them into the veritable lion’s den.  He tries to wrench his hand free, but it won't budge- he’s too late. She’s looking at him, mouth parted in a plea for help, and he feels his body shake in vibrant fury- fury for having not realized where they are. Too late to save her from the fate that befell all the unfortunate souls frozen around them as he squints his eyes shut and lashes out with his tadpole to sound the alarm.

No pressure tags, sorry if I double tag! I just want to see you guys hype yourselves up!! 💗 @khywren @bby-bel @arzen9 @nerdallwritey @bum-dragon @anacdoce @bludazey @lanafofana @aldisobey @emmg @heylittleriotact @by-ilmater @hellethil @deadly-diminuendo @bhaal-battle-beer-bard @verbenaa @inkymoonbunny @roguishcat @alliskit @irondeficienttav @marlowethebard @ladyofcrowsandcoffee @elinorbard @preciouslittlebhaalbae @justabiteofspite @badbloodwitch

[jollyhunter]

. ☆.´☽¸.Tell me about the Stars.¸☽´.☆ .

⋆ ˚｡⋆ Heavy Angst Warning!

[Season5] Dean x ForeignHunter!Reader

Re: The WIP Folder Game - Thank you @bettystonewell and @the-potato-is-lonely for asking me about this one shot (? Maybe I’ll continue this, let me know if you’d be interested <3) I decided to post a bigger snippet / extract of it since it’s been sitting in my drafts for some days now and you just motivated me to write on it some more! 💙

“So, Dean, how’s your mornin’ been so far?” You try to make small talk. The thought of falling asleep to some stranger blabbing about their ordinary life without ever seeing them – yeah, that sounds like a good thing to clock out to.

Much better than the screams of the woman that’s still ringing in your ears. Or the snarling that had clawed at the back of your throat while the sound of shattering bones had filled your mouth.

“It’s in the middle of the night.” He states, his tone confused. “Tell me again, how the hell did my number end up in your contacts?” His voice sounds gravely and thick with exasperation.

You huff. As if you knew? It was just… there. No name, no notes, no nothing. Just a blank number. Last time you’d saved a number must’ve been years ago, way before you-

You stop that thought right there.

“I told you, I don’t know.” You repeat, your energy draining with each word, “I just wanted to know who’s behind the number. Have a little chat. That’s all.”

You spilled a half truth.

“Look, it’s late here and I really don’t know why I’m talking to you but what do you want exactly?” He sounds exhausted. Almost as much as you. And it makes you wonder what life must have thrown at this man to make him sound like he was two breaths away from a breakdown.

Little did you know that Dean was way past the two breaths.

You couldn’t see how his free hand’s rubbing his stinging, red eyes. Couldn’t know the reason for his raspy sound was a voice hoarse from desperate begging into the nightsky. For someone, anyone for help.

“Can you see the stars from where you are?” You suddenly ask in a strained whisper. And your question must have taken him off guard because his side falls awfully silent at that.

Your eyes travel down your limp legs until you witness the first light of the day kiss the forest floor, just out of your reach.

You sigh, shakily. The back of your head thuds against the side of your van in resignation. Head tilted slightly, you lift your gaze to meet the soft painting in the sky. Pink colors frame the endless rows of mountain peaks. A pair of birds sing above you, welcoming the sun to the horizon. So peaceful.

The corner of your lips melt into a smile at the sight. A weary one, at best, but it did manage to redirect the red streak dripping down your cheeks.

There’s a long pause on the other side of the line and for a moment you fear he might have hung up.

But then he responds in a low, husky voice, “Yeah, I see ‘em.”

You hum, eyes briefly fluttering close. Thank God, he's still there.

After a moment of sinking into the silence that's between you, he adds in a softer voice now, “What ‘bout you, what can you see?”

“The sun’s rising here,” you murmur, your voice sounding heavy, but he can pick up on the hint of a smile to it. Albeit a sad one. “It’s a beautiful morning.”

It was true. But you also wished you could have seen the night sky one last time. Watch the stars twinkle and bath in the moon light. Instead your eyes linger on the tree tops, filled with bitter envy. How the God rays caress the leaves with a gentleness you could only dream of. And its shadows dance across your sprawled out form while the fresh morning breeze weaves through your blood soaked tangled hair.

You shudder. The sound of your lungs grow heavier as every raise of your chest fills the distance between you.

The realization has your trembling fingers curl around the phone like it’s your only lifeline.

Dean must have noticed how your breath comes out a little too ragged and a little too weak for someone just calling a random stranger for a chipper small talk.

“Hey uh, you all right? You sound like you’ve been through the wringer.”

“‘M fine.” Your lips press together, swallowing back a hiss at natures cold touch against your exposed skin. The smell of earth and pine trees flood your senses.

Thankfully the sharp inhale through your nose instantly dampens the taste of metal in your mouth.

“Tell me about the stars.” You prompt softly.

𓃦 A/N: I started writing this after I rewatched the "My Bloody Valentine" episode with Dean's breakdown in the end. 🥺 [The entire setting is inspired by an original story of mine, about a female solo-hunter in Scandinavia who lives off the grid with her dogs. 🤭] Dean Tags:

@aylacavebear @jc-winchester @ambiguous-avery @bettystonewell @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @v1v1-3

[pinenutpbj]

Several Sentences Friday

I was tagged by @irregularcollapse and @avonne-writes, thank you so much 💕

I couldn't decide which WIP I should share, so I created a poll—and I was surprised by the winner! As a result, here's a snippet from the Austin/Callum RPF I'm putting together:

The story is about them having a thing while filming MotA together, with both assuming it would end with their professional collaboration. But of course things change when, a year later, Callum comes to New York for another film shoot.

Callum nurses his second whiskey, the ice long melted, diluting both the spirit and his resolve. The corner booth where Austin has deposited him feels miles away from the bar's center, where Austin himself now holds court among his friends—people whose names Callum has already forgotten despite Austin's enthusiastic introductions.

"This is my old friend Callum," Austin said to each of them, his hand on the back of Callum's neck like a collar that needs to be tightened, his words a leash too long.

Callum is checking his phone—barely nine o'clock, too early to make a polite escape back to Austin's apartment—when Austin slides back into the booth. "Hey there," his voice cuts through RAYE's south London chanting in the strong beats of Escapism. His presence carries the scent of the outdoors—crisp December clinging to his denim jacket in spite of the humid stale air down here. "Not feeling it tonight?"

And what good will it do him? To feel things right here, right now. Callum looks to the bar. Jordan's talking to her friends, the kind of small talk meant only to make her waiting less obvious.

"Nah," Callum says, raising his glass in salute. "Go ahead. I'll guard the booth."

Austin casts him a look, his eyelashes catching too much overhead light to let his eyes spill anything. Callum watches as he and Jordan move to the small area near the band. Austin dances gracefully, his body intuitively finding the rhythm. They aren't touching, not really dancing together so much as near each other. Callum tears his gaze away, focusing instead on the condensation sliding down his glass.

That's not how Callum remembers Austin dancing. Not with him, anyway. Austin should be moving with the carefree abandonment of someone secure enough to not care how he looks. Callum should be putting his hands on Austin's hips, blocking him away from the whole world. They should be so close that Austin's lips would be grazing against his neck. He should be able to smell Austin's sweat. His pomade. The drink he just had. Sex.

Tagging @shipstorms, @joeyalohadream, @stars-remain2 and @prevalent-masters because I'm so excited about what you're cooking 🫶

[griseldabanks]

WIP tag game

Tagged by @dairogo - I, uh...think I understand how this works???

Rules: You will be given a word. Share a snippet from a WIP for [that contains every letter in] that word, then tag some friends and give them a new word.

My Word: AGONY

WIP: Gonna share something from a scene I wrote for my FMA Foster Family AU because it may never see the light of day (because I started writing it and then realized it didn't include one of the characters it was supposed to a;ldkfj;dsljf;lskf)

“Nina?” she asked softly, moving slowly around the table into Nina's field of vision. “Hi there,” she said, setting her bag down on the floor. “My name is Gracia. I have something for you.” She pulled out a stuffed dog, white and fluffy with floppy ears. It was one of the toys they'd bought for the baby, but there were plenty more waiting in the crib, and this one was needed more here. Nina's big blue eyes followed Gracia's movements carefully as she held out the dog to her. After a moment's hesitation, she reached out and slowly accepted the stuffed dog, holding him close. Her little fingers sank deeply into the soft fur and squishy belly of the toy. “I also brought you something else.” Gracia sank into the chair next to Nina, watching to make sure she wasn't making the poor girl uncomfortable. But though Nina continued to stare at her, she didn't shrink back. So Gracia reached into her bag again and pulled out a little Tupperware container and set it on the table, pulling off the lid to reveal the chocolate chip cookies within. “Would you like one?” she asked, sliding it over. This time, Nina's hand darted out quickly, furtively, as if afraid she would miss her chance. She began cramming the cookies into her mouth, spilling crumbs all over the stuffed dog clutched in the crook of one arm.

Tagging: @bunnyscar, @stars-stories-songs-and-sehnsuch, @authortobenamedlater, @katarena, and @catkin-morgs-kookaburralover if you'd like to do this!

Your Word: TANGLED

[fieldofdaisiies]

WIP Wednesday

I'm super excited that I can finally tell you that I found my motivation for writing again, and also my inspiration and that I'm working on a new Azris story. It will have several chapters, and will be canon-compliant. Find a short snippet below.

Embers in the Shadows, Ch. 1 (unedited)

“My heart is filled with pride.” The smile on Beron’s face is sinister and doesn’t reach his eyes. Bile rises in Eris’ throat, the content of his stomach souring. Once the High Lord’s words were like balm to Eris’ soul. He made his father proud. Once he craved Beron’s approval as desperately as a leech craves blood. 

Not any more. Now every word only makes him loathe his father more. 

Eris’ gaze falls to the lifeless male by his feet, throat slit open, dead eyes staring up at him. Blood is leaking from his mouth, and despite hating this part about himself, Eris is untouched by the scene. 

He may not like his father, but the male at his feet was a traitor to the Autumn Court and consequently also to him, to the heir of this court.

"Will we inform the family?" Eris wipes his knife on his coat, smearing the blood onto the brown fabric. "Send a letter?“

"Of course not." Beron clicks his tongue. "The wife will find out when he doesn’t return."

Eris hums lowly, his jaw set tight. This is something that does not leave him untouched. The wife’s pain, the tears she will shed when her husband — traitor or not— won’t come home and she will slowly realise what happened to him. 

He sheathes his dagger, the one made by Nesta Archeron, and steps back. 

"I’m always surprised about their idiocy, aren’t you?" Beron tilts his head to the side, observing the male. "How they truly believe we won’t catch them. How they believe that my intelligent and fierce son is not always a step ahead of them."

Manipulation through words … Eris once cherished his father's praises, falling for them completely. Now, he sees through the lie in them but keeps his realisation hidden. The mask of the perfect, cruel son will stay on his face for as long as Beron is alive. He can’t risk it. 

Eris dips his chin in agreement and as a form of thanking his father for the praise, then wipes his hands down his breeches, ready to leave.

But he makes the bill without his father.

"I've been busy as well these past weeks," Beron declares with a haughty tone in his voice, turning on his heels, after poking the lifeless male’s head with his boot once more. 

"Ah," Eris mumbles, already halfway to the door. His job is done here, and he can't wait to wash his hands clean of all the blood that has been spilled. The mere thought of the amount of it churns his stomach.

"You don't want to know why, son?" Beron calls after him, his voice dripping with irritation as Eris turns back to him. Beron returns to his desk, grinding his teeth as he braces his large, bony hands on its surface.

.......

tags: @azrielsbabyg @lady-riel @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt (no smut) @brekkershadowsinger @ladyelain @banasheefan56 @a-frog-with-a-laptop @ofduskanddreams @acourtofladydeath @secret-third-thing @born-to-riot @chunkypossum @jules-writes-stories @the-darkestminds @unanswered-stars @christeareads @mistandmemories @bookishbroadwaybish @c-starstuff-man0 @talibunny30 @nestasgoodside @baileybird71

[iolypse]

hi hi is anyone interested in potentially beta-ing for a drv3 chapter 5 fic? it's a hanahaki au in which kokichi kidnaps shuichi instead of kaito, and it makes all the difference

snippet of the first chapter below

"Hey," Ouma calls, dragging Shuichi from the memory. "I won't ask a third time. Strawberry or lemon?"

Shuichi's thoughts snag on the idea of open cuts and lemon juice. "... Strawberry?"

Ouma clicks his silver tongue. "That's too bad! I actually only have lemon."

The door swings open with such a force that it hits the wall and bounces closed behind Ouma, who skips inside clutching a colorful bag. He unceremoniously drops onto the ground, sitting criss-cross, and spills the bag's contents all over the floor. Wrapped pieces of candy scatter across the tiles— one with a cute pink design bumps Shuichi's foot. A lie. Of course it was a lie, but why lie about that?

Ouma promptly begins to sort the candy into piles; grape, strawberry, and lemon, judging by the colors. Shuichi takes him in while he works.

He's sectioning them in groups of five like pills, though his hands shake almost imperceptibly— he only notices because Ouma misses one and only gathers four, and the brief furrowing of his brow makes Shuichi certain it's a mistake. The sides of his pinkies— both pinkies, Shuichi notes, what has he been writing so much of that he has to switch hands when one begins to cramp?— are stained with ink, and his nails are practically bitten down to their beds. The bags weighing at his eyes are dark and heavy. Ouma is pale, paler than he normally is, and it's not the poor lighting of the bathroom diluting him, either. Shuichi can't help but think he looks sickly.

"Poisoning these was so annoying, you know," Ouma drawls, not looking up from his task. His voice holds a harsher rasp than usual, like he's hiding blades in his throat. "I had to unwrap and then rewrap every single piece! Do you know how time-consuming that was? It took forever. You better be grateful. I'd make you get down on your knees and lick my shoes if I weren't feeling so generous right now."

Shuichi takes the piece at his foot. The packaging crinkles as he rolls it between his fingers. As far as he can tell, it was never opened— there's no signs that the wrapper was resealed, and he can't find any holes Ouma might've poked with a syringe, either. Satisfied, he peels open the taffy and pops it into his mouth. Strawberry, as promised. Artificial.

"So, Saihara-chan!" Before Ouma are three piles, and Shuichi can't help but notice that the grape pile has half of either of the other piles. He sweeps the grape pile towards himself with an arm, then rolls the strawberry and lemon piles to Shuichi. "What's it like being my prisoner? Five stars? Eleven out of ten? Tell me! I wanna know!"

Shuichi blinks. "Uh. Two stars, I guess?" He tugs at his bangs. Conversing with Ouma is always a challenge— he's volatile, and when his eyes begin to fill with tears, Shuichi is quick to add, "I mean— I'm not exactly here willingly, Ouma-kun. You, ah, you did kidnap me. But you haven't hurt me, so it's not too bad? Maybe three stars?" He winces. Nice save.

"Oh?" Ouma tilts his head, tears gone in a blink. The action casts a shadow across his face, and the narrowing of his eyes, the constricting of his pupils, tells Shuichi he means business. "Does Saihara-chan want me to hurt him? Would that make the experience better?"

"No! Ah, no, that's— not what I meant. I'd really prefer if you didn't, actually." He swallows, heart jackrabbiting in his chest, and it's almost painful. "Thank you for the candy." Shuichi tries his chances with one of the lemon pieces and immediately regrets it. Ouma giggles at the puckered expression he makes, happily chewing his own grape taffy. There's a growing pile of empty purple wrappers in his lap.

The following silence is neither comfortable nor suffocating. There's no conversation, just the crinkling of candy packaging and Ouma obnoxiously smacking his lips every time he eats a new piece. Shuichi should be acting right now. Although Ouma's sitting right in front of the door, his back pressed against it, Shuichi's fairly certain he could get up fast enough to dive past him, but what then? He doesn't know what Ouma has done to the rest of the hangar, and he definitely couldn't reach an exit before Ouma sicced the exisals on him— even Momota's training couldn't prepare him for that. Maybe he could fight him for the remote, but Ouma's slippery, and between the assortment of items he holds on his person, Shuichi isn't sure which pocket he's keeping it in.

It's an ultimately useless endeavor. Shuichi resolves to choke down more strawberry taffy in lieu of hatching an escape plan. He'll have to bide his time, wait for more information, an opportunity. He wonders, casting a sideways glance towards the small window casting light into the bathroom, when Momota will visit him again.

[whiskeythefishski]

ok, tag game questions:

1) DEATH GOD AU??? SPILL SPILL SPILL

2) spommy meet up in trevrasha au

i think i know what ch 7? is and i've been annoying enough about that already but i am 👀 looking

���

HEY HEY HEY!!! OKAY I'M ACTUALLY GOING TO TAKE THESE IN REVERSE ORDER!!

First off you FOR SURE know what chapter seven is. It's the next chapter in my college theater au :) It's coming along slowly, but it's coming along!!!

Second: SPOMMY MEETUP! Okay so in the chapter of my trevrasha au I posted, Tommy tells the very condensed version of the story, but I always have to have seventeen irons in the fire so I started writing it out lol.

AND THE DEATH GOD AU. FUCK I'M SO EXCITED ABOUT IT. This would be another Spommy story (because I'm predictable lol), kind of a low-fantasy world in which death isn't quite working properly. Here's the pitch:

Spencer and Angela are twins, but she died when they were twelve or thirteen. Witnessing this made both Spencer and Chanse "Death-Touched," people who have witnessed death and have mild supernatural abilities because of it. Death-Touched people are societally shunned. Now years later, he's experiencing weird periodic blackouts where it seems like Angela's spirit is momentarily taking over his body, and the story starts with Spencer seeking out Amanda, a renowned medium, for help.

Also starring Anthony as the God of Death, The Ravenkeeper, and his four Heralds: The Cypress, the Herald of Violent Death (Arasha), the Constellation, the Herald of Environmental Death (Jackie), the Scythe, the Herald of Mechanical Death (Damien), and The Will, the Herald of Natural Death (Tommy.) And the rest of the Smosh gang in various roles :)

SNIPPETS OF BOTH PIECES UNDER THE CUT!!!

Spommy Meet Cute:

The pair of them are almost cartoonishly suited to each other; her willowy frame compliments his bulk, like a vine winding itself around the trunk of a tree. Tommy takes another sip of his drink, trying to wash the taste of jealousy out of his mouth. He can’t remember the last time someone looked at him the way Emily and Ify look at each other, like the sun shines a little brighter on their faces when they're together. He can’t remember if anyone ever looked at him that way.

Grant, overeager as ever, is all too happy to take his empty cup, and Tommy pointedly ignores how his fingers linger on Tommy’s a touch longer than is professional. Not that Grant has ever really tried to be professional. He’s not-so-subtly scrawled his phone number on the napkin he slides over with the refill, and Tommy politely tucks it into his back pocket, idly wondering if Grant has a stack of such napkins behind the bar.

He scans the room again, and finds his prospects are still slim. The sweet-looking guy in the corner is still there, but Tommy counts him out as soon as he sees Ify gather him into his arms in a familiar embrace. Tommy knows that signal: this one’s off-limits, Ify’s saying. And Tommy listens. Even if it means he’s likely going home alone.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. It’s his sister. He finds himself smiling despite his sour attitude.

>> court: how’s the party? :)

>> tomey: pretty incredible so far

>> court: you know you can go home if you aren’t having fun, right?

>> tomey: isn’t Shayne the one earning the psych degree?

>> court: I don’t need to be a psychologist to know you aren’t enjoying yourself, dumbass. I’ve known you for half your life.

>> tomey: for your information, I’m having an amazing time

>> court: that bad, huh?

He smiles despite himself, and starts typing up a response that he never gets to finish.

Tommy doesn’t see the person who slams spectacularly into him, sending his phone careening across the sticky concrete floor until it’s out of sight.

“Fuck!” he yells, barely able to hear his own voice over the music.

Death God AU:

“Madame Paradise, I’ve travelled so far—”

She holds up a manicured hand, shushing him. “I’m sure you have, darling, but I’m afraid I’m simply not the woman for you.”

“Madame Paradise, please, if you’d only listen—”

“You listen, boy.”

She hisses under her breath, brows creased not with anger, but concern. 

“Lychgate is a haven,” she near-whispers, taking a step closer to him with every word. “We are safe because we are quiet. We are safe because we keep our profiles low. The last thing I need—the last thing this town needs—is for some blabbermouth fool to spread around that we practice witchcraft here.”

She’s reached him, her fingernail practically poking him in the nose. 

“The last thing we need—”

His eyes roll back, and he feels himself falling.

There is darkness, endless and inky black. He feels cold, he feels numb, he feels nothing at all. He sinks into the void, not knowing if his eyes are closed or not.

Then, slowly, green light begins to trickle into his vision.

He blinks awake again, unsteady on his feet. He’s still in Madame Paradise’s parlor. The woman herself stands slack-jawed, hands trembling. The candles have all gone out.

“Am I back?” he asks, reaching to feel his arms, his hands, to check that he’s solid.

Madame Paradise nods. 

“Did she talk to you?” he asks.

She nods again.

They stand in strained silence for a moment, the howling of the wind the only sound. Eventually, Madame Paradise turns and fumbles for her discarded pipe. Still shaking, she snaps her fingers, and a small flame appears; she lights the pipe and inhales deeply.

“Spencer, was it?” she asks, and he nods. “I don’t know if I can help you. But it seems you may be in need of my… ethereal proclivities after all.”

[spilledstars1234]

Here’s a writing excerpt of my ocs! For context, there are two characters named Shi and Sei, the former a goddess of death, the latter the god of life. They are both twins, and reside in Heaven, until circumstances led them to go down to Earth, a place they have never really gone down to. While on Earth, they pretend that they're humans/school students. (and... ahem, Lucifer is in this, and has also decided to go down to Earth, purely just to mess with Shi because he has nothing better to do <3. As for his connection with the twins, well he is a long time acquaintance of Shi. This is written in Shi's pov.)

This probably won't make any sense, but eh, I felt like leaving it on this blog anyway!

“Shiiiiii!” Sei’s voice called out. I turned, and saw him racing towards me out of the school building as the school bell rang, waving. Before I could say anything, he grabbed me into an embrace. “I missed you. Sitting in the school all alone makes me sad, since you skip often.”

“You could try to make an effort to make friends, you know,” I pointed out. I placed my arms around him. Wait, that’s how hugs work, right? I wondered. I wouldn’t admit it aloud, but it had been so long since I’d received one for me to remember. 

“Yeah, well I do try,” he says, pouting. I smirked at the expression; he looked so much like a child. Once I figure out how phones work, I’ll snap a photo. 

“But nobody even comes near me,” he continued. “I’d so much as approach them and they’d go red in the face— regardless if it’s a boy or girl— saying that they had something to do, and then they’d run off. I don’t get it. Am I doing something wrong?”

I snorted. For such a tall and good-looking man like himself, it’s a surprise that he wasn’t making a lot of friends. But I couldn’t tell him that they’d all run away because of his looks.

“Surely the girls would be all over you?” I inquired, patting his hair absentmindedly.

“See that’s what I thought, too. But no! They all just run away.” He lets me go and shoves his hands in his pockets, hunching over.

“If you just talk to them casually, maybe throw in a few shiny smiles—ones that show your teeth, people love pretty smiles like that— then maybe you’ll be able to achieve the feat of ‘making friends.’” I made air quotes. 

“Oh, and continue slouching like that and I’ll be able to reach your height,” I teased. “Plus, girls like a guy who doesn’t slouch. I read somewhere that standing straighter makes you look—and feel!—more confident!” No, no I didn’t. That was all a lie. I made all that up literally right now. But oh well, he doesn’t need to know that.

He made a hmph! expression and straightened his back so he was back to being a skyscraper that reached above the clouds. Sei kicked at a nonexistent pebble and asked, “Am I intimidating? Maybe that’s it?”

This startled a laugh out of me. “Intimidating? You??? You’re as intimidating as a, what, a puppy!”

“Shiiii,” he whined, with an expression that further contributed to my comparison, “maybe I’m just not approachable?”

“Don’t be silly! You’re as approachable as a—” Before I could make another stupid simile, a voice called out, “Heyy, over here!” Me and Sei both turned, and spotted a few boys entering the school, waving. The one they had called out to was obviously Sei. 

Sei turned to me, his eyes sparkling like he just won the lottery. Again I wished I knew how phones worked. I added that to the top of my mental to-do-list for the day. 

“This is it, Shi! This is my moment!” He says, sounding like he was the main character pulled straight out of a coming-of-age novel. (Which was a lie, considering that I’m the main character, of course.)

“Well, I’m off! Wish me luck!” He exclaimed, looking as though he might burst into happy tears from excitement. He leaned over, gave me a quick peck on the cheek, and dashed off after the group of boys.

“Don’t get too excited, or you might make a complete fool of yourself!” I called after him, to which he replied with a few choice words that I might chide him about later.

I stood there staring for a while. If I was willing to admit it aloud, I would say that I was happy for him. 

“And he’s off,” I said to myself.

“Indeed he is,” says a voice behind me. 

I don’t have to turn to know who it is. “Luci, you’re always appearing at the most random times,” I said, crossing my arms. 

Without even looking, I could immediately tell he rolled his eyes upon hearing that nickname. It was funny, though. While in Hell, he would always snap at people who referred to him by other names or nicknames, saying he should only be called “Lucifer” by every individual in Hell, but he never once corrected me whenever I used my little nickname for him. “Ah, but that makes it all the more fun. Creates an air of surprise, don’t you agree?” 

I turned to face him. He used a human form while on Earth, which was drastically different from his demon form that he had in Hell. He had long dark hair that went down his back, and wore a white, long sleeved, ruffled shirt with loose, billowing sleeves, the outfit complete with a pair of matching gloves.

I circled around him, scanning his clothes for bloodstains, and found none. I slow-clapped and let out a low whistle, my voice dripping with sarcasm as I said, “Congratulations Luci, you’ve gone a full week without killing anyone! This must be a new record!” Or if he did, he was more careful about not getting it on his clothes… I don’t voice my thoughts, though.

He nods, like he’s proud of himself for accomplishing such a feat. “It’s incredible, really.” He then frowned. “So, when are you going to start using the advice you provided to your brother on yourself?”

I blinked. “Uh, never?”

Lucifer scoffed. “Well, you should. You’re always alone and you haven’t bothered to even try to make any friends. You’re just walking around at that school all by yourself, with your head down, always fiddling with your hands to make it seem like you’re busy, talking to no one.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Luci, you noticed all those little, insignificant things about me? All those small little mannerisms and behaviors I do without even me realizing it? Could it be that… are you…worried about me?” I asked gleefully.

“No,” he snaps, “I just think that you’re a loner, and that’s kind of sad.”

Ouch! That hit like an arrow straight to the heart! This jerk, he’s never been anything but cruel to me ever since we first met!

I frowned, then smirked. Even if he is a jerk, well, he’s my jerk! I linked my arm through his, secretly glad that he didn’t pull away. “Well, at least I have you, right Luci?”

He rolled his eyes. “If you say so.”

I began walking, with him reluctantly following. “Say, Luci, we should go celebrate. How about we buy a cake with the words ‘The Loners,’ on it??”

 I waved my hands airily, painting a picture in me and Lucifer’s minds: a romantic setting, perhaps at sunset, where me and Lucifer would sit together at the docks by the seaside, sharing a cake that we ordered from the store. He would joke about how we were both loners, to which I’d agree, considering that was the truth. Then, maybe if I was lucky, I could somehow use my smooth talking to make him feed me spoonfuls of the cake, like how couples did in movies. Then, maybe if I was even more lucky, I would manage to make Lucifer fall head over heels for me— even though that could hardly be possible at all in reality, since he always acted like he hated me and was the most stoic person ever. And maybe, if I was extremely lucky, there might even be a kiss, just as the sun dipped beyond the horizon, its last remaining rays of light glistening over the surface of the ocean…

“But I’m not the loner, you are. I have plenty of friends in Hell.”

Damn. There goes my daydream, shattered. “You mean associates. Or henchmen. Or even minions,” I replied coldly.

“Yeah, they’re the same thing as friends.”

“Yeah…I beg to differ.”

He sighed and gave up, letting me drag him to wherever we were heading to.

“So, are we still getting that cake?” I asked.

“You were serious about that?” He glanced at my grinning face, which gave him the answer to his question, and raised an eyebrow. “No, I don’t—”

“But I’ll ask them to make it black-colored, just for you! Oh, annnnd I’ll request red icing, Your Evilness! What do you think?” I wiggled my eyebrows, grinning.

He makes a sound that almost, almost sounds like a laugh. I feel my smile widening. Was it possible that I, a person he always acted like he hated, managed to make him laugh, even when nobody else ever could? Even when he’s never laughed ever since he got cast down from Heaven? Sounds like some character development! Maybe I should use stupid nicknames more often, it seemed to have caught him off guard… Mentally, I took note of that.

“You’re insufferable,” he says finally.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

“Well—”

“Oh, and also! I’ve got the best idea! I’ll ask the employees to circle around you and sing in front of everyone. They’ll come parading in a line, marching from the kitchen, single file, and then when they reach you they’ll burst into song, ‘Hooray, hooray, today is a special day for the looooonerrrs!’”

“If you tell them to do that I’ll bury you alive,” he says calmly, “ And I’ll have you know that you’re a terrible singer.”

“You’re too kind, Luci!”

“Don’t you have class?” He asked, in an attempt to change the subject. I waved my hand dismissively. “It’s not for another three hours, and it’s not like I really have to attend those useless school classes, ‘cause, you know, I’m not exactly a human. Don’t try to get away from the original topic, Luci! We’re getting that cake, and you’re gonna like it!”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll shove it down your throat until you do!”

“Ah. I’m even more excited.” I didn’t think it was possible for a voice to sound this monotone.

I unlinked my arm from his to reach over. I brought the corners of his mouth up with my fingers, so it looked like he was smiling. I let go of him, linked my arm back through his, and said, “You should smile more, Luci. You might look more approachable that way.”

“Like this?” He forced a smile that made me wish so badly that I knew how to use a phone. I howled with laughter, giggling so hard that my eyes teared up. 

“What’s so funny?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a phone Sei had given me a few weeks ago. “Luci”— I could barely speak through my laughter— “do you know how to take photos with this?” I tried to sound as casual as I could.

“What? You really are an idiot. I thought you at least knew the basics of human technology, yet it seems like you don’t,” he says with a look that reads you’re hopeless. “Give it here.”

“Nope, I’m still using ink and letters,” I said truthfully. I handed the phone to him, and he explained how it worked.

“Look see, you press this… and then this… and then that, and there you go!” There was a snapping sound like a camera click. 

“Okay, thanks!” I took the phone back, held it up, and said, “Do that smile again!”

“Huh? Why?” His voice was suspicious.

“Just do it!”

“You’re going to take a photo of me, aren’t you?”

“No, I swear!” I said earnestly, crossing my heart.

“Oh, all right. Since you promised.” He smiled again.

Click!

Uh-oh! Forgot to turn off the flash! I think to myself.

Lucifer stared at me for several long seconds. He looked betrayed, like he couldn’t believe I would do that after promising I wouldn’t. He stood there, unmoving—

Until he made a dive for the phone!

I spun out of the way, cackling as I dashed away, Lucifer running after me.

Quick as a flash, I sent the picture to Sei, with a message that read,

Don’t question the photo. Just send it to all the extra phones you have lying around the house. This is the perfect blackmail material for a certain someone.

There. That way if Luci did try to delete it, Sei would still have it. 

Lucifer caught up to me. I turned to him and said, “I’ll delete it if you agree to get that cake with me.”

He rolled his eyes. After several minutes of contemplating, he finally said, “Fine.”

I pumped my fist into the air, almost dropping my phone in the process. I noticed the screen light up with a notification. I pressed on it, and saw that it was a message from Sei, which read,

Blackmail material for who exactly? 

To which I replied,

Don’t worry about it.

Which actually meant, ‘keep asking and I’ll pound your face in when I see you next.’ I know, I’m a loving sister!

I wondered why he asked who it was. Didn’t he recognize him from seeing him at God’s council meetings back in Heaven? 

Oh wait. I forgot he was using another form at the moment, and didn’t currently look like how he looked in Hell. That’s probably why.

Okay…don’t kill anyone pls, Sei replied, interrupting me from my thoughts. I was just about to reply when he added another message underneath it,

and if u do…well just don’t get any blood on your clothes. 

You’re too kind for enabling me! I replied. I hear breathing somewhere next to my ear and turn my head, barely noticing Lucifer peering over my shoulder, his eyes moving left to right as he reads my messages.

I switched off my phone, eyeing him. He didn’t bother lying and said, “I thought you were just the nutcase, but your brother is exactly like you!”

“Thank you for the compliments, Luci. I’ll be sure to let Sei know that next time I talk to him~” 

He shakes his head. “You’re hopeless.”

(Let me know what you think of it or if you’d like to see more <3.)

[mothwingwritings]

Apologies

Reader X Welt Yang

I want to preface this little story snippet by saying I don’t really plan on regularly writing for Honkai Star Rail (this may be the only thing I write for HSR tbh) and I’ve not gotten super far into it (I only just recently got to Luofo) but I love Welt Yang with all my little beating heart and I get sad that he doesn’t seem to be as popular as the other dudes when it comes to fic content, so I wrote him a little something. :3

I really want to try and push myself out of my comfort zone and get more acclimated with writing nice characters through the yandere/dark fic lens. Mr. Yang has become one of my guinea pigs so bless him.

WARNINGS: Possessive behavior, mentions of physical and mental abuse, yandere, dubcon kissing/touching.

Your first kiss with Welt was full of desperation.

His iron grip held you taut against his body, while ravenous lips pressed down firmly upon your own. It felt more like an attempt at suffocation than a kiss, and you couldn’t help but be taken aback by the ferocity at which he came for you. Was such unbridled desire always lying dormant in this reserved, kind, gentle man this whole time? The interaction happened so fast it was hard to process what was going on, let alone decipher the true intentions of the man who was perpetrating the act.

Discomfort bordering on pain-this was how you would remember his initial show of affection.

“I’m sorry.”

Those words followed his first tense love confession and succeeded each one thereafter. Every hold that lasted a beat too long, every kiss the was a tad too invasive, every moment he lost control of himself and ended up hurting you as a result of his unchecked passion, a fervent apology would follow shortly after. They would tumble from his lips in breathy whispers, spoken as if they were a prayer, peppered in with the delicate kisses he would litter over the wounds that he had inflicted upon you.

It didn’t matter how gingerly he’d treat you after, you’d wince at each unwanted kiss. The sear of his lips causing you more pain than any other touch ever could.

“I’m sorry.”

He said it so much it was becoming like a catch phrase. When he caught you crying alone in your room or when he felt you struggle against his overbearing affection, the words would spill from within him. His regrets would be relayed to you in hushed tones, mumbled against your skin, chanted to you over and over and over again, begging to be absolved of the sins he was committing against you.

“I’m sorry.”

Those words no longer held any meaning.

“I’m sorry.”

They were only spoken to make himself feel better.

“I’m sorry.”

He wasn’t apologizing. He was tricking himself into thinking he wasn’t hurting you, that by saying them he was making something right.

“I’m sorry.”

If he was really sorry, he wouldn’t be doing this in the first place.

“I’M SORRY!”

You were, too.  Sorry that you believed he was a good man, sorry that you trusted him, and sorry that you were once naïve enough to ever have given your heart to him.

[velvetwyrms]

Nygmobblepot fanfic snippet: ‘The Palace At The End Of The World’

Who’s ready for some of my Gotham Umora AU? The first chapter is nearly done, so here’s something to hype you all up about it!

For context: here’s rundown of the characters featured in the AU.

Final note: This AU is a partial retelling of World’s Beyond Number’s: The Wizard The Witch and The Wild One. Go check it out, it’s genuinely the best story I’ve heard in my entire adulthood! That being said ⚠️major spoilers ahead!⚠️

Reblog to let others enjoy this fic too, and have fun! Come chat at me about it if you want as well! 💖

_*_*_*_*_*_

The Wizard Slack is infuriating. He is lazy, and uncaring, and infuriating.

As always, he stays true to the namecloak that erases his birthname from the minds and writings of the world. Well, apart from his own mind of course, or as a sacred secret kept for truly the closest people in his life. Edward doubts Slack has anyone he holds dear enough to spill — well, maybe Seek but he wouldn’t bet his life on it, even if they are like brothers — because he has never met anyone who can get under his skin quite so quickly.

Seek and Slack are currently huddled in two plush, ornate armchairs, hunched over an equally intricately-carved, gold-inlaid table with a shoddy, dog-eared pack of cards that Slack had pulled out of his coat. His boots (muddy! Somehow! They haven’t been on land in two days and everyone knows the grass quads in The Citadel don’t require dirt!) are on Edward’s chair. Edward’s chair! And his tattered hat is hanging off the high back of it. Slack never takes it off!

Ed had passed the time, along with the rest of their small crew of wizards (most are asleep at this hour), by identifying the magic of a hand-carved, wooden fishing hook that he had been given as a token of thanks from a sharp, imposing woman — Fish Mooney, if he recalls — for saving her city of Port Talon with Seek and Slack, during an excursion against the Citadel’s orders with Lee a couple of months ago. He had only been out of the messroom for five minutes to search for some notes in his precious grimoire. It’s like Slack was waiting for him to leave specifically so that he could desecrate his favourite spot. Ed can’t wait to get off of this ship, which luckily for him, should only be a short ride away now.

Ed hovers awkwardly, reaches out, pauses, reels his hand back before reaching out again with the intent to scold Slack, when sweet, melodic tones start resonating throughout the ship, signalling their imminent arrival.

The Spindrift slowly pulls to a stop. Without a word, the two men put down their game, grab their staffs, and start making their way over to the main door, and Ed rushes to follow. He hears similar scrambling from the sleeping quarters as he quickly deposits his grimoire into and fastens his bag. He forgoes his goggles, grabs his polished emerald staff — the Parabola of The Citadel, cold and unyielding, snaking in the shape of a question mark, it spills swirls of bright, luminescent green and deep black like ink beneath its surface where Ed’s hand grabs it — then reopens the door as its closing to a glare of light, so brilliant that it burns his eyes and leaves spots in his vision before he can process what he’s seeing.

The Palace, once a speck in the distance, imposes itself before them at a size so vast that Edward cannot see any ending point on the horizon. Dizziness is outshone by awe at the perfectly geometric walls of ice that rise so high above them. Countless towers and bridges and staircases gleam with the light of stars, ten-no-twenty keeps ending in wicked-looking spires that pierce the sky, so regal that it outshines any castle from any storybook he had read as a child. In the shifting of the sky and the gently biting breeze around them, this palace sitting at the edge of the world, has stood headless of the passing of ages beyond counting. More wizards file out behind them and gasp loudly at the beauty of the palace and the view of Umora far below, cut only by a pier made entirely of snow. Were they already expected here? Or was it common for visitors to seek council here? Unlikely.

The aurora borealis surrounding them is so bright and close that it paints the mountainside and the snow around them in splashes of colour, and catches in the orchard below the palace. Trees made of what can only be ice, look like snowflakes from above in a marvel of geometry that go against the laws of nature, with their branches grown in impossible symmetry.

Edward feels unexpected tears prick at the corners of his eyes, because he has not slept in 36 hours, bottling up any and all emotion that has been roiling inside of him (at Slack, at Seek, at Lee’s abrupt departure from and distrust of their home’s offered assistance) since before they left The Citadel. And he is certain that in spite of all the grandeur of his home, that he has never seen a place of such raw, majestic beauty on any grand adventure, or in all of his life.

He’s suddenly overcome with it, and the world tilts with vertigo, of the sharp drop, the looming walls of the palace, the effort of having to put his back into breathing. He closes his eyes, drags in as deep a breath as he can manage in order to focus on steadying himself.

It is seconds before the shield of his eyelids are flooded with warmth and golden light through his glasses, and Ed looks to see a great set of doors cracking open, pushed effortlessly by the largest penguin Ed has ever seen. He can’t tell if it’s a Wild One from the world of Spirits, or the Familiar of their host due to its sheer size: easily twice the height of the person who steps out of the palace. A cursory glance at Seek sees his expression twist with first relief, then anger and frustration, as Lee, Witch of the World’s Heart, comes into focus through the snow, the face of her Red Ruffed Lemur Familiar peaking curiously out of her coat.

She smiles sheepishly, then looks behind her, and Ed feels the world around him dull as a figure…more beautiful than words, in a robe of silk, and fur, and spun metal, and precious jewels, and a tall and silvery, spiked crown, with ice white skin and eyes as piercing as the northern star above, beholds him.

Ed feels the cold in his chest begin thaw as an emotion, so unexpected, stirs within it, and he wills his mind to desperately try grasping and reaching for a grip on it, lest he fall in love.

Oswald, Witch of the Wind and Stars.

Thats for now folks, reblog if you liked this, and keep an eye out on both my blog and ao3 for the full, extended first chapter! 💖💚💜

[tellmegoodbye]

Hi Harley <33 I'm still in awe over how much you brought to the fandom! You know I want to ask about a certain fic but I will spare you my impatience and instead ask: What is your favorite song on the show? :D

Thank you so much Michelle 🥺💖 You're a gift to this fandom too!!!

Just for you, I have a snippet from The Fic that I think you'll love. I guess you could say this particular fic has me in the mood for some poetic smut myself.

A second shushing sound spills from Carlos’ lips, softer this time, and TK finally falls still as the wordless instruction slowly envelops him. Whistling exhales wrap around his body, reminding him of the push and pull of the ocean and mirroring the movement of Carlos’ hands – splayed, steady, sinking into that familiar pattern and holding him close. With every wave that comes in, he conducts it skillfully with a trace of his finger and a shared breath, waiting for TK to settle down and follow his lead before he gently pushes it back out to sea.

The ocean metaphor is my favorite and I will write it to death. I apologize for nothing! 🌊🌊🌊

I'm also so happy that you asked about my favorite song from the show, because one of the first memories I have from watching Lone Star for the first time was when I got to 1x02 and they played my favorite Shinedown song.

Sidenote: is the acoustic version, which is the version you hear on the show, but I'm partial to the original track!

I wrote more about this song and why I love it for the show for a Music Monday a while back, but yes, this is definitely an easy favorite for me. Lone Star has some fantastic soundtrack moments, but this song was special to me years before I found this show. Shinedown just has such a special way of evoking emotion in their music, and I highly recommend checking them out if you're looking for more rock music to listen to.

[abcd-em]

22 please!

- @folk-melody

Down Bad - Taylor Swift Interwebs

Ned Leeds can't remember his first kiss.

He is laying out by the side of Flash Thompson's pool. A half-empty solo cup at his side and the music of a raging party thumping echoing through the glass a few yards away from his head, his eyes fixed up on the black sky above, squinting at individual stars until they bleed and blur together.

In the grand scheme of things, it is insignificant. He can't remember his first kiss. So what? There is so much more going on for him to care about. He doesn't remember any of the constellations above him or the name of the stars, that didn't matter. They were still there. They still existed. He could go back inside and kiss someone now. He could wipe away the lack of memory and create something new, something better due to his age and experience.

Yet in his drunken malaise, he can't stop thinking about it.

He can't remember his first kiss.

Or rather. He can't remember who it was with.

He can remember where and when it happened. It was in his bedroom. He was in middle school. He'd just gotten a new loft bed with space for a computer and desk underneath - a gift from his parents now that his homework was increasing and their dreams for him going to a magnet school were looking more viable. Huddling up on his mattress, so close to the ceiling and shrouded by the shadows in the corner had him feeling giddy. Ned didn't have any secrets, but this bed would be the perfect place to spill them to his best friend.

Except-- He didn't meet MJ until they were in High School. And Flash had never been to his house. And all the friends he brought home for school projects or clubs only ever sat at his dining table. They never saw his room, but-- He remembers someone being there.

He remembers giggling in those shadows and he remembers whispers of uncertainty; kids in their class talking about romance and valentines day and dates. He remembers clammy hands holding his and invitations.

He remembers being someone's valentine in that bed because being friends was a type of love too, and if they were best friends then they could definitely be each other's valentines. He remembers hesitation before he had his first kiss.

Ned Leeds remembers warm, sweaty hands and flushed cheeks. He remembers wiping his lip of saliva and laughing about it. He remembers a second and third kiss happening that same day. He remembers his heart in his throat and thinking that having his best friend beside him like this must be what perfection is like. He remembers thinking that corny hallmark movies had it right when they said you 'had to marry your best friend' because he could picture a life like that.

He just can't remember who was in that bed with him. He can't remember who's lips had pressed against his. He can't remember in vivid detail his first kiss-- a simple thhing that everyone experienced, time simply fading the edges of the memory until there was barely anything left.

Yet, Ned felt he was a little hollow without that memory. He felt like something had been carved from inside of him and thrown away. He felt-- like maybe he'd had half a cup more beer than he should have.

Give me a number 1 -100 and I'll write a snippet based on my spotify wrapped playlist

[starqueensthings]

Surprise self-rec time! Pick 3 of your favorite things you’ve written and share them here, then put this in the inbox (anonymously or not) of your fellow writers to spread the positivity and help celebrate already written fics 💞

First of all, when the heck did my anon function turn on 😆 I genuinely thought I’d had that shit turned off! Apparently not!

Second, I heckin love when these self rec chains go around. There is little more beautiful in this world than watching a creator gush about their work when given the platform to do so… something they’re so proud of… something that brought them so much joy, all they want to do is share it with the people they love.

In true Holly fashion, I am going to be long winded about this, so please accept a read more as to not clutter up your feed.

1. Colder Weather - A 3-part post-stasis/Pirate Kix x fem!reader ficlet that promises to punch you right in the heart. This is probably the most emotional thing I’ve ever written, and while I know it’s not for everyone… boy am I ever proud of it.

2. Dork Love - A 4-part Tech x GN!reader ficlet that was supposed to only be one, but pulled a Miley Cyrus and couldn’t be tamed. It’s a mostly lighthearted little story about hard work, altruism, navigating a sudden and unexpected crush, and how one’s perception is not always reality. Because the fandom is extremely protective about Tech and his characterization in fanon extensions of canon, I’m sure this won’t be for everyone either… but writing something that read ND!Tech x ND!Reader was important to me.

3. The Only Exception - A fem!OC x Captain Howzer Longfic. I started writing it what feels like a lifetime ago, and I swore to my distant ancestors that it would never see anyone’s eyes but my own… That plan changed when I met some very supportive, OC-loving friends that encouraged me to share it with the world, and I’ve since been slowly tweaking it chapter by chapter to ensure my passive verbs and run-on sentences are brought to a level that’s readable for others hahaha it’s a very slow work in progress, but it’s the most throughout, detailed work I’ve ever funnelled energy into, and I’ll forever cherish June and her experiences learning and growing. (Not a self insert, though I wish it was. June is more bad ass than I could ever hope to be, though she has no clue.)

**snippets below the cut**

1. Colder Weather - Part One

Those optimistic moments often saw you rambling, thoughts slipping easily from mind to mouth in a desperate attempt to keep him connected to you; resolute in keeping him both physically and mentally present; urgently trying to protect him from the monster on his shoulders long enough for him to realize that everything he could ever want was lying peacefully beside him. Periodically, if your chosen topic was one he found particularly amusing, his eyes would crinkle under the embrace of a smile, and — if the universe deemed you worthy that night — a hoarse chuckle would pour from his lips. Despite your continued pleas to the stars, it was a sound that graced your ears with a tragic infrequence, yet the way its radiance illuminated your soul had you shamelessly begging the universe that it continue to spill from his lips for all eternity.

But despite the prophetic bond that kept him returning to your side, only once had the bliss of your union softened his guard enough to let something… slip. Only once had he mentioned a brother: Jesse, a man spoken of thoughtlessly as Kix snickered his way through the recollection of a frantic speeder ride across the plains of Saleucami. But the music of his laughter utterly vanished upon voicing the name that he never meant to speak, the silence that filled its wake so polluted in unexpressed grief, that even the hushed sounds of your breath felt inappropriate, and despite having watched the light leave his eyes so often in the past, you’d never seen it replaced with a darkness as deep and as sorrowful as then.

“Tell me about him,” you probed instantly, hopeful that the delicate touch of your hand on his shoulder would be enough to ground him there in the bed with you; hopeful that the soft caress of your fingers would prevent him from conceding to his anguish, tossing the sheet aside and leaving you with nothing but the familiar sight of his retreating back and the bittersweet smell of him lingering on your pillow.

2. Dork Love - Part Four.

“An apology is not required,” Tech spoke instead. “It would appear that I jumped to an inaccurate conclusion upon arriving here to find you missing. It was a most uncharacteristic overreaction, and one from which I now-suffer a great compunction.”

“Compunction?” you repeated, brows furrowing at the implications of his confession as you reached to pull the coils from his shoulder. “Why?”

Tech hesitated for only a breath, watching your nimble fingers blanch under the weight of the wire as you took it from him. “Well… several years of advanced training and exposure therapy have rendered me effectively inured to a multitude of scenarios that others may deem distressing,” he divulged as something near concern wiped the smile from your lips. “Yet, I failed to maintain control of my emotions in the face of your disappearance. I became largely inexorable, making objectively impetuous and questionable decisions.”

“Tech,” you uttered in little more than a consoling whisper, his stomach lurching as your free hand collected his from somewhere near his hip, those slightly chilled fingers weaving their way in between his before the soft, consoling brush of your thumb nearly weakened his knees. “There is nothing to regret. Worrying about someone is nothing to be ashamed of, and arguably even less so if that person is someone you care greatly about. In fact, an initial surge of panic followed by attempts to verify their safety is likely the expected psychological response to such concerns. You walked into what looked like a very foreboding situation and had no data to disprove your suspected theory.”

“I suppose that is correct,” Tech shrugged, dropping his gaze to the toe of his oily boot, “Though it has been several years since I last studied the sympathetic subsection of the autonomic nervous system in response to traumatic stimuli.”

“Sounds like an interesting read,” you mumbled through a sarcastic smile that prompted the return of his gaze. “Tell me– if the same situation presented itself again, would you not react similarly? Would you not do everything within your power to make sure that someone was okay while everything around you was telling you they’re not?”

“Of course I would.”

“Then that’s that,” you answered simply. “There’s no reason to regret your actions, just like I don't suffer any contempt for getting myself stuck on Ryloth. Making the trip there was the best and potentially only solution based on the information available to me at the time. Things went awry… and that’s okay, because we should always do what our gut is telling us to do when it comes to things and people that we care greatly about.”

And there it was: that intemerate benevolence that he wholly adored about you, reemerging to knock him over the head with a validation that he’d never experienced before… and the subsequent moment, as his eyes locked on yours and his grip on your hand tightened, he felt truly seen as himself. Not Tech the highly-skilled soldier… not Tech the ingenious mechanic responsible for keeping the GAR’s most elite squad in the air… not Tech the pilot who loved his datapad above all else and never slept. You saw Tech… accepting and welcoming him as he is; validating his infrequent displays of vulnerability as if humanity was something he could and should experience first hand without fear of persecution or judgement.

“Oh, and don’t think I didn’t catch that,” you added, brow shifting into a devious arch as a playful smirk tugged at your lips.

“Catch what, exactly?”

“The oxymoron you dropped in there: ‘found you missing’. Someone can’t be found and missing, hun. But keep dropping them– I’ll catch ‘em every time.”

3. The Only Exception - Chapter Two.

‘He’s just a soldier,’ she reminded herself with a snort of self-directed derision, desperately trying to extract her password from the depths of her distracted brain.

And he was. There was nothing overtly different or unusual about CT–5863 in relation to the hundred-or-so other clones that had passed in and out of her care since the war began. Quite frankly, there couldn’t be anything different about him, it was genetically impossible. So why had one look from this set of honeyed eyes seen her stomach careening into the next dimension and her nerves prickling as if every shift of his gaze left a trail atop her skin?

Thrice she tried and failed to enter her secure information into that software, yet its repeated beeps toward the inevitable system lock-out fell on entirely deaf ears, and it wasn’t until the screen strobed that she’d near-reached the maximum login attempts did some glimmer of awareness surge back to her.

“I’m Dr. Kiore,” June told him, attempting to banish that myriad of improper thoughts by corralling every cooperating neuron into entering her password, and the breath she’d unintentionally held in her lungs was granted their escape atop a sigh of relief as that familiar landing screen emerged in front of her. “What’s your name?”

“CT–58—”

“No, Captain, your name.”

“My name?” A puzzled pause preceded his answer, that brief second of hesitation having failed to lessen any of the obvious confusion behind those two words, and the notion that she may have to formally explain such a simple concept was the first to pull a smile to June’s lips.

But, “Howzer.” He recovered quickly, offering his name in the same tone he’d used upon hearing her tap on the door, and the small creases now wreathing those twinkling eyes as they narrowed in something close to suspicion entirely laid bare his continued bewilderment at her behaviour.

“Howzer,” she repeated, offering him a casual smile as she swiped her finger across the monitor and entered the information next to his designation number. “It’s nice to meet you.”

A moment’s innocent silence fell between them as she typed, masterfully toggling between different pages of his medical chart and familiarizing herself with the details of his treatment history. For an active soldier, particularly one that appeared as if he’d spent several respite-free rotations laying in the foreign dirt of a distant planet, his chart was remarkably vacant, the only few noted injuries being quickly treated in the field and recorded somewhat haphazardly by the trio of different medics who had seen him.

“I– I think that might be the first time a civilian’s asked me that,” he contemplated under his breath, eyes unfocussing as he rubbed that dirty palm across the stubble on his chin

“Yeah, well… they were supposed to ask downstairs,” June scoffed, the grumble swaddling her tone readily exposing the disdain for the repeated shortcomings of her colleagues. “I’ve asked them four billion times to try and remember, but of course no one listens to the youngest.”

While his lungs expanded to utter what was undoubtedly going to be another humorous quip, the sentiment was stolen off his tongue by a sudden and salient cringe of discomfort. In that otherwise banal motion of sitting up straight, hand reaching upward to thoughtlessly push those dark waves further back from his forehead, a spasm of pain quickly froze his actions, that sharp jaw quickly clenching behind olive cheeks as a muted grunt rumbled in his chest.

[blackkatskauldron]

Self Care Sunday

Thank you for the tag, @annova !!!

Rules: You flip through your work (published or WIP, doesn't matter) and share whatever little section you're genuinely proud of. Something that makes you smile or swoon or that tugs at your heartstrings just the way you want it to. Let's give ourselves a little pat on the back and normalize being proud of our work ❤

This is a snippet from my fic, “The Cinder and the Star”. I'm honestly really proud of how I captured Astarion's voice here and I really want to write more of him. He's a complex character with even more complicated motivations, and it's fun to explore. Ascentionism is a song that encapsulates his relationship with Calithil during this portion of the story.

Astarion had watched with silent interest as Calithil beat the mind flayer into nothing but pulp. The attack was so brutal, so violent, that she had been coated from head to toe in its blood. The timid little thing he had met days prior was much less timid than he had initially believed. Perhaps it was for the best that he had been unable to lure her into his master’s mansion that night. She might have snapped and turned that quarterstaff on him instead. Cazador had not said why he wanted the sorceress, just that he did, and that he would have her before that farce of a wedding that was to take place. Astarion knew better than to question his master in anything, especially when it came to his demands. Two hundred years of torment would destroy that drive in anyone. It seemed as though this pretty little morsel would bear watching, however. While her weapons handling was clumsy, her magic was anything but. Astarion watched as she threw spell after spell at the goblins attacking the gate and the small band of adventurers they had happened upon after their rescue of Lae’zel. Normally he would have protested and suggested they hide until the battle blew over, but then an arrow whizzed past his head, nearly nicking his ear and he changed his tune. How dare those ugly little creatures attempt to mar his flesh? They should know better than to mess with a vampire, spawn or no. The only thing he could be considered weak next to was Cazador and other true vampires. A burst of magic exploded mere feet in front of his face – a burst of flame that would have rendered his undead body to nothing but ash – but what shocked him more was the blue-stained quarterstaff held up defensively in front of him. A radiant wave of silvery magic surrounded Calithil and himself in a dome. “Are you alright?” she asked, more than a little breathless. Something in Astarion’s mind clicked into place then, watching the sweet face of his savior turn back over her shoulder, concern gleaming in her unusual eyes. Something that felt slimy and cold in his gut. She was the leader, but also the weakest in physicality of their little band – even that temptress of a bard had thrown herself into the fray, gold tooth gleaming as she sang a song of war and death. Calithil would afford him the best sort of protection should the other’s turn on him. Shadowheart had already bowed to the sorceress’ judgement with Lae’zel. If he were to be discovered, the rest would surely comply. Astarion grinned, bringing up his longbow. “As rain, darling!” Then he loosed an arrow into the eye socket of a goblin, one that was mere feet from burying its axe in Calithil’s guts. The arrow’s impact shattered the creature’s skull, sending the goblin hurtling toward the ground and pinning it there, spilling its blood into the dirt. The thirst nearly overtook him again, burning up his throat like acid and pulling at his teeth. He couldn’t, not in front of all these people. Thou shalt not drink of thinking creatures. Astarion’s dead heart lurched in his chest at the memory of Cazador’s command, eyes flickering to Calithil’s back. She was stiff, staring at the dead creature in front of them, before turning to look over her shoulder. “That was… That was an excellent shot,” she said, readying a spell in her hand. “Eyes on the battle now, darling,” Astarion teased, the words flowing from his tongue as easily as if he had practiced them for a mark. “Can’t have that pretty head of yours getting bashed in. We need you.” I need you. Alive that is. A laugh like silver bells pealed from her and the next goblin that came too close to the pair of them melted into a puddle of acid. Oh, yes. This pretty little thing would do just nicely for what he needed. Astarion just needed to play his pieces just right and she would be putty in his hands.

I tag: @akamikazae, and @strawberrystepmom but no pressure ✨✌🏻

Anyone can participate if they want!