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thebigbiwolf · 1 year

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Starvin', Darlin' - Chapter 1

Pairing: Not quite friends to lovers Astarion x OC/F!Tav

Chapter Summary: Astarion knows his power is waning, and seducing their leader Evelyn has gone poorly at best. If he is to keep himself in the tiefling's good graces, he's left with no other options. He must drink from a thinking creature.

Everything goes according to plan... until it doesn't.

Fic Tags: Minor spoilers for Act 1, The Bite Scene, Emotional slow burn, Angst, Teasing, Frottage (god I'm sorry), Pining, This is my first ever fic so idk how to tag things appropriately but you get the gist.

Fic Warnings: Eventual Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubcon (I cannot stress this enough), Bloodlust/Loss of control, Mentions of blood, lmk if you need anything else tagged.

Word Count: 6.1k

Read on Ao3: Here

A/N: I started this as a way to get this fruity fuck out of my head but I think I just made the situation worse. If you know me, no you don't. If you've followed me for a long time, sorry in advance. I may make this a mini-series depending on time and reception, but we'll see! OC is a rogue who seduces men to gain their favor but we'll get to that in later chapters.

Astarion's trance did not come easily that night; his hunger manifesting as a throbbing headache that refused to subside. It had been hours of tossing and turning in his tent, willing his body to settle, forcing himself to ruminate on the past few weeks.

Before he joined this disgustingly merry little group of adventurers, hunting rabbits and the occasional boar had been enough to sustain him. In fact, dining on larger animals had been a significant upgrade from the meager flies and rats he’d become so accustomed to under his master’s rule, but that was before all of this incessant hard labor.

He could feel his strength waning over the last several days. His senses were dulling, his reflexes numbed. Just this morning, he had failed to gain the upper hand with a particularly nasty kobold. He paid for it dearly when the damned thing all but pummeled him into the ground.

Luckily, Lae’zel had been there, hammer at the ready to divorce its jaw from its head. Beautifully done, by the way, but his blunder did not go unnoticed. All this sneaking around for barely a nibble during his watch was beginning to take its toll.

Astarion knew he was on thin ice, considering his relationship with their fearless, incomparable leader began with him pulling a knife on her and grappling her to the ground - in front of the damn wizard, no less. Some friction was to be expected.

But things hadn’t progressed much between the two of them since then. The pair rarely saw eye to eye on anything, and she seemed to have an innate passion for berating him over his unwillingness to stop for every single injured bird or helpless child as they traveled - as if playing the part of a hero was a favorable distraction from the literal time bomb in both their party and their heads.

“The world is full of potential allies, Astarion,” she had told him, sprinkled with a hint of her usual irritation. “I’m simply expanding our network.” As if a group of starving refugees and mud-slinging tree huggers were going to find them a decent healer any sooner. At this point, he’d heavily considered taking his chances with the goblins. At least they knew how to have fun.

What made matters even more frustrating was that Evelyn was seemingly unaffected by his charms.

Just how exactly was he supposed to secure his place under her protection when the woman barely spared him a second glance? Surely he wasn’t losing his touch. He was a master of seduction. Thousands of others had thrown themselves at his feet for far less effort. He’s had centuries of practice. The mere notion would be ridiculous.

In fact, he couldn’t remember a single moment in the last two hundred years where his advances had been so callously brushed off. Every attempt to make her laugh with his (admittedly morbid) quips was met with her chastising him for being insensitive and making threats to send him back to camp. She dismissed every flirtation, even if her lovely little blush betrayed her. She seemed determined to make him play her little game. He just hasn’t quite figured out what the rules are, yet.

Astarion couldn’t afford to take any more chances. If sleeping his way into her good graces wasn't an option, he was left with little choice. He wanted to make himself indispensable, so he was going to have to take drastic measures to ensure that his strength and physical prowess would never come into question. At least, not again.

He would have to drink from a thinking creature.

The idea of it was as invigorating as it was terrifying. He had spent the last two centuries enduring unimaginable cruelty, starved in ways mortals couldn’t begin to imagine--for years--without any reprieve.

No, starving doesn’t even scratch the surface. No words could ever describe the tortuous, gnawing, ravenous hunger that consumed his every waking moment under the heavy weight of Cazador’s boot.

Though, Cazador wasn’t here now, was he?

Curious.

Astarion had spent some time ruminating on who to approach before settling on Evelyn, though his options were limited at best. The githyanki was entirely out of the question; gods forbid he get caught, she would make quick work of him without allowing him so much as a single word of explanation. Shadowheart was…tempting, but that mark on her hand frequently caused her pain, and who knows if that magic would have any affect on him or worse, her taste? And Gale, well, he would rather subsist on a diet of garlic sprinkled with holy water before he put his lips anywhere near that man.

So, Evelyn it was. The tiefling wasn't terrible to look at. She was a younger woman full of vitality, so surely she wouldn’t miss a bit of her blood. He would just have to mind the horns.

He would be in and out. A quick nibble, then he'd be right as rain. One bite, he tells himself, barely enough to leave a mark. Then, he’ll pass it off and say that they had been attacked by bats during his watch and, not wanting to wake everyone, he quietly dispatched them and saved the day. Unfortunately, not before one of those wretched little beasts managed to puncture their illustrious hero. It was the perfect plan. Infallible. They'll eat it right up.

He continues passing through camp undetected, catlike in his silence, but when he reaches the canvas entrance of her tent ready to pounce, he freezes at the sight of her.

She looked…different while she slept. Softer, gentler, almost; surrounded by a nest of fur blankets, snoozing away instead of attacking his ego. Her hair was puddled beneath her head and horns like dark, red wine; rich and unrestrained by her usual loose bun.

Another realization hits him: this is the first time Astarion has ever seen her in her sleep clothes, a simple basic black wrapping across her breasts. Practical. Of course.

Her skin is pale enough to rival his own, even with the warmth of the firelight. She’s lying on her side, her uncovered shoulder lightly dusted in freckles, much like her cheeks. Her lips are slightly parted, and in the silence of the night air, he can hear her light, even breaths.

Cute, he thinks to himself. He could almost forgive her for being so maddeningly aloof with a face like that. Almost.

Astarion leans over to brush her hair away from her neck; the strands softer than he had anticipated. The thrum of her pulse underneath is magnetic. It pulls at his very being, beckoning him closer.

Settling on his knees beside her, his arms form a cage around her body.

He takes in the image of her form one last time and allows himself a moment to savor it. She is toned and lithe, much like himself, but smaller. Perfect. Delectable.

He bends closer, feeling her gentle puffs of breath on his shoulder; the warmth of her body. His ears ring with anticipation; manicured nails clench the sheets by her head.

She’s going to be so-

Something brushes his leg, hidden beneath the furs.

Her tail. He forgot about her bloody tail.

Evelyn stirs, and fully awakens right as his teeth are at her throat, eyes meeting his.

Shit.

“Shit.”

With incredible speed, she reflexively reaches for the dagger closest to her pillow, lunging at him. He just barely seizes her arm in time to save himself from being skewered.

“What in the hells are you-” he clasps his palm over her mouth to silence her.

The girl’s eyes are wild with panic, their golden hues burning a hole in his skull. He notices them flit down to where his body hovers over hers before she begins to struggle against him. “No, no, shh,” he whispers. “It’s not what it looks like, I swear.”

Her expression shifts from panicked to confused. She ceases her squirming. Good. Well, not good, but better. He can work with this.

“When I take my hand away, you have to promise not to scream and wake the whole camp,” he continues, hushed, “unless you’d like for them to find us tangled up in your bedroll. You wouldn’t want to give them the wrong impression now, would you, darling?”

Her eyes widen. Her face flushes deep red, warming his palm against her skin.

There, he thinks, that should-

Her body turns, and suddenly he feels the hard edge of Evelyn’s knee make contact with the corner of his ribs. A direct hit. Pain shoots up his chest as he rolls off of her and onto his side, clutching himself and coughing, heaving air back into his lungs.

She hurriedly covers herself with her sheets, glaring at him as he struggles to collect his breath. He can see her fuming through the tears forming in the corner of his vision. If looks could kill, he’s sure she would have him skinned alive. Maybe use what's left of him to scare away the crows.

She’s still holding the knife out toward him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? What do you think you’re doing in here?”

A fair question, one he was not prepared to answer. Perfect. He’s just going to have to wing this. Possibly with two broken ribs. He can’t believe he expected this to go any smoother.

“I-I wasn’t going to hurt you.” He raises a hand and falls back on his thighs with a grunt, grimacing in pain. His other clutches his side, a bit of sweat forming at his brow. “I just…”

Okay, this is it. He’s got this.

“I just needed, well,”

Aaaaand,

“Blood.”

There. Excellent form, Astarion. Good show.

“I - You needed what?”

She blinks at him, whether in disbelief or shock, he cannot say.

It takes a moment before his words start to sink in. She takes that time to scan over his body, purposefully.

He couldn’t quite tell if she was looking for something or if she was deciding whether or not to believe him, but then again, what other explanation could he give?

He works over his options in his head, considering just how difficult it would be to pass this all off as a terrible joke, but just as he’s about to open his mouth to start on damage control, he hears Evelyn heave a deep sigh. She lowers her weapon, then tosses it to the side, massaging her eyes in frustration.

Oh. Well, alright.

After some time, he watches her expression soften into understanding as a few notable things dawn on her. He’s never really eaten any meals with them, has he? Then there was the drained boar, which he so carelessly left out by the road. The damned beast hadn’t even taken the edge off that night, and he was so desperate to quell the nagging ache in his stomach that it lay there forgotten until she found it the next morning. He admitted to her himself that it had been drained by a vampire, after all…

A bit of silence follows.

Astarion doesn’t say a word, doesn’t dare move a muscle. He just allows her the time to process whatever she’s feeling. What’s important is that he’s still alive, she hasn't run him out of camp, and she hasn’t screamed for help.

He may be able to salvage this, yet.

She scratches the back of her head, carding her fingers through her hair to ease her irritation before finally meeting his gaze.

“Astarion.” The sound of his name leaving her lips pulls him from his thoughts. He can see the disappointment on her soft features just as plainly as he can feel it humming through their psionic link.

He didn’t think himself capable of guilt, but there was an emotion akin to it brewing within his chest. Ugh. He breaks eye contact, searching for anything to pull his attention away from his discomfort. The miscellaneous bags of clothing and trinkets she had scattered about her tent were just oh so fascinating. And was that a new hairbrush? Hm.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He’s taken aback by her question. He expected a more offensive reaction. A few insults, maybe ones pertaining to his sharp teeth or bloodlust, but an olive branch?

After all the lies, the invasion of privacy, and the failed attempt at assault?

She really is just full of surprises.

“Well, we aren’t exactly close, you and I. Though, you must admit, I’ve made several attempts to…” He waves a hand between them for emphasis, “mend the gap, so to speak.”

“Well, have you ever considered maybe not being such an asshole?”

Ouch.

But in fairness, no.

“I…” He thinks carefully about what to say next. The buzzing behind his eye socket acts as a threat, reminding him of the very fragile barrier between their minds. Should she choose to dig her claws in and pry the information out of him, she may find more than he's comfortable sharing, so Astarion makes a decision that surprises even himself.

He chooses to be genuine.

“At best, I was sure you’d say no. More likely, you’d ram a stake through my ribs.” He gestures towards the dagger at her side. “But believe me, I’m not some monster. I’ve never killed another person.”

Evelyn raises an eyebrow at him.

“Well, not for food,” he quickly corrects. “I’ve been subsisting on animals. Boars—like the one you found the other day—deer, kobolds, whatever I can get my hands on.”

“And what exactly was the plan here? You were just going to kill me and expect the others not to notice?”

He recoils at the accusation but fights to keep his expression neutral. “I had no intention of killing you. I would never do such a thing.” He leans in closer to her and lowers his voice, as if letting her in on a secret. “We need each other.”

Evelyn shifts to lean her weight on her arm as she listens, dark hair falling to the side of her shoulder. With the new level of exposure, he can hear her pulse settling into a more comfortable rhythm.

He swallows. Hard. His hunger is rearing its ugly head again, just at the sound of her.

Oh well, might as well lay all the cards out on the table while we’re at it.

He takes a deep breath, steeling himself, and continues, “As it stands right now, I’m too slow. Too weak. If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer. Fight better.” There is a question hidden in his words, a favor to be asked.

She seems pensive as she considers him, mulling over everything he’s said in her mind. She lifts a thumb to her mouth and starts nibbling on her nail, no longer looking at him. Nervous too, no doubt. How could she not be with what he’s asking of her, as if he had any right to ask in the first place?

“I understand you detest me, but-”

Evelyn appears to snap to some conclusion, sitting up straighter and placing her arms to her sides before she responds.

“No, I should detest you, Astarion, but I don’t. You just don’t impress me.”

Wow.

It feels as though he’s been slapped. He barks out a laugh that’s a bit too loud for the intimate setting, trying to mitigate the damage to his ego. “Excuse me?”

She has the nerve to shrug at him. “I’ve seen every trick you’ve used to fill your little black book, probably a thousand items over. I’ve used them all myself. So, frankly, I'm uninspired.”

For the first time in his undead life, he’s totally speechless. His face contorts in indignation, disbelief. This devil.

There is something dangerous in her expression as she leans further forward, neck tilted, exposing herself to him. Her eyes are hooded, with long lashes casting shadows over her cheeks. Her shoulders relax as she lifts her chin to stare down her nose at him, sneering.

He works his jaw, clenching the muscles unconsciously.

“Astarion, men are idiots. I’ve spent my entire adult life toying with them and robbing them blind. I’ve heard and seen it all. You really believed a few empty praises and mediocre jokes would have me jumping into bed with you?

Wha- Mediocre?

He opens his mouth with every intention of retaliating, but Evelyn’s palm unexpectedly rests itself on his calf, and the action stuns him into silence. She begins leisurely dragging her nails up towards his thigh.

His body responds involuntarily; eagerly, frustratingly, the delicate little motion leaving his skin prickling with excitement.

She regards his chest, admiring the hard planes of muscle. Then, her attention slowly inches down the toned curve of his abs until, finally, they stop at where his cock hardens disobediently beneath his pants.

“Your pretty face doesn’t detract from the fact that you’re still just a man.”

It finally clicks.

She’s baiting him, attempting to get a rise out of him.

Hm. Impressive.

Normally, at this point in her little game, he assumes most men would take her flirtations at face value. They would likely mistake this performance as an enthusiastic plea to bed her, but Astarion is not like most men. He sees her little game for what it is and recognizes it with ease because he has spent lifetimes playing it himself.

She leans back, satisfied with her little show, and smirks at him.

“So, you admit I have a pretty face?” He teases, his own smile twisting, becoming more mischievous.

She rolls her eyes, but this time she laughs. It’s a soft sound, genuine.

A pinkish hue crawls up her face and paints the tips of her pointed ears, but he can’t discern if that's supposed to be part of the act or, more likely, an unfortunate side-effect of the living experience. He’s finding it hard not to admire her dedication, regardless.

Well, that’s quite enough of that. Back to business, then.

“It’s settled,” Astarion clasps his hands together, “I’ll just need to impress you with my more eclectic talents if I am to earn your favor. We can start by gracefully slaughtering a few goblins, depending on how the rest of tonight goes. Which is entirely up to you, of course.”

The tiefling squints at him. “Oh no, if you want something from me, darling, you’re going to have to ask politely. With manners. You have those, don’t you? Familiar with them, at least?”

Under normal circumstances, he would find this amusing; nothing like a little role reversal to spice up the evening. But this feels different, heavier, as if her feigning indifference will alleviate the weight of what he's asking of her.

Fine. He supposes relinquishing a little bit of his pride is a fair price to pay.

He takes a deep breath. "Please."

"Please, what?" She lifts an eyebrow at him expectantly. "Come on, Astarion. Use your words. I know you’re quite fond of them."

He scoffs at her shamelessness, and for a moment, he honestly considers whether this is worth it, but he can't back out now. He'll make it through this, surely. He's been through worse.

Through gritted teeth, he barely spits out, "Please, may I drink from you?"

Gods. He's going to be sick.

"Good boy. That wasn't so hard, was it?"

He’s going to fucking kill her.

There is an uncomfortable silence that follows. So many unspoken questions and a rising suspense that makes Evelyn adjust herself uncomfortably where she sits. Astarion is also musing to himself, still wondering how it's all come to this. Why did he choose her, again? Something about her not killing him right away? Death may have been preferable to this, actually, but he is pulled back to reality when she finally speaks up.

“So," she's picking lint off one of her pillows, avoiding his gaze as she asks, "how exactly should we do this?”

Well, it occurs to him that he doesn’t actually know. He understands the mechanics behind it, of course, but how exactly were they supposed to go about this?

Should he tell her that he’s never actually fed from a person before? Would it make her more or less comfortable to know that he’s just as clueless about this as she is?

No. He decides against it. Astarion has always done best when he’s playing the role of the confident seductor. This should be no different. He’ll just treat this as if he’s bedding a virgin: guide her, take things slow, and she’ll no doubt be begging him for more soon enough. It’ll be easy. All she has to do is behave.

“Lie back and get comfortable.”

He moves himself closer to her, settling at her side as she does what she’s told. The flap of the tent remains open, letting in the faintest amount of warmth and illuminating Evelyn’s features. With such close proximity, he can see the gold flames within her irises flickering and dancing, a genetic trait attributed to some luckier members of her race, and a feature of her’s that Astarion would have never otherwise noticed.

He can hear her pulse quickening as he closes the space between them, lifting himself a bit to settle above her, once again caging her between his arms. One of his knees parts her legs, and he can tell in the quietness of her tent that she’s struggling to hide her uneven breaths. Her stare is intense, but he can’t read the meaning behind it.

He decides to give her another out, just in case. Better safe than sorry.

“We don't have to do this, you know,” his voice is composed, as if his body wasn't currently screaming with anticipation. “I appreciate the consideration, regardless.”

“I’m fine.” Her response is clipped, dismissive. Her face remains stoic though her fingers fidget with the blankets at her sides. She had moved the furs to give him better access to her body. The darkness inside him preens at the concept.

Best get on with it, then.

He leans down and, unable to help himself, takes in the scent of her: woodsmoke and the faintest hint of vanilla, which he had watched her pick up from a merchant in the grove just the other day. “For Gale’s cooking,” she amended, when he gave her a questioning look.

He gives her one more moment to stop him.

She doesn’t.

A bit of pressure on the skin before it snaps and gives way, his fangs finally sinking into her. He can feel Evelyn’s body tense at the sudden intrusion. She hisses through gritted teeth, her arms involuntarily raising at her sides, reaching for him, but she stops herself before she touches him. He wants to tell her it's fine, expected, even, the need to ground herself, but all of his higher thoughts are plunged into complete chaos when he finally registers her taste.

Every cell in his body awakens.

The iron flavor of her floods his throat and sets his nerves ablaze. Its heat fills, expands, and splits every crack in his self control into deep, cavernous fissures.

A groan escapes Astarions throat before he has the chance to quell it. Of course it would be like this - drinking from a thinking creature. Drinking from her. He understands now why Cazador forbade this. Before, he had assumed it was a matter of keeping his spawn weak and compliant, but this was entirely different. This was far more than a method of control. The bastard had been withholding ecstasy greater than he’d ever known.

A feeling swells in him, crashing like waves through his veins. Warmth. It invades him and fills every fiber of his being. He wasn’t naive enough to believe his first time wouldn't have some sort of great, emotional impact, but this?

This was everything. How was he ever supposed to come back from this?

"Agh - Astarion," he barely registers her pathetic little whine through the haze. She finally allows herself to grab onto him, the loose sleeve of his nightshirt tightening in her fist. For purchase, he tells himself with what little is left of his consciousness, practical. That is until he lowers himself fully onto her in an attempt to relieve the strain on his biceps.

With no space left between their bodies, he doesn’t anticipate the blazing heat of her core on his thigh, even through the several layers of clothing. She gasps at the sudden pressure, fingers twitching, nails digging little crescent shapes into his skin. What surprises him most, though, is when the taste in his mouth melts into a flavor so much sweeter.

Something primal within him recognizes it instantly; it twists in his gut and sits there heavily, as if the emotion were his own: arousal.

Oh.

She is burning for him.

Good.

After all of that teasing, the woman he’s spent weeks enduring endless lectures from actually does desire him, or at the very least desires his body. Which is just as favorable, in his opinion. It’s just nice to know all his hard work hasn’t gone to waste.

If she lets him live, he's going to spend every waking moment tormenting her over this. His lips vibrate against her skin as he chuckles to himself, causing some of her blood to run down his chin in hot rivulets, blooming new stains onto her sheets.

He knows he’s had enough. He means to let go, he truly does, lest he end up draining their groups' only hope of survival. Surely that wouldn't go over well with their companions. Pitchforks, and all that.

But her whimpering, her heat, coupled with the ferocity of his hunger, all provoke a feeling that has been building beneath the surface which he’s unable to name; it's desperate and possessive, a predator guarding its kill from hungry scavengers. The monster in him casts a dark shadow over his mind as he feeds. His body no longer feels as though it is his own, betraying him; a slave to the demands of his appetite.

He needs her, needs all of her, and he cannot will himself to stop, too lost in sensation and the sound of her mewling to bow to his higher thinking.

He mindlessly rocks his weight into her and grunts—a slow, unintentional grind against her mound. The motion comes easy to him, like breathing - instinctual. The blunt edge of his clothed cock drags deliciously through her parted thighs. Evelyn’s breath hitches at the feeling, her squirming beneath him giving him the sickest form of satisfaction, but the animal within him demands her compliance.

His hand gathers her loose hair and pulls, growling, warning her to keep still. She whines at the force, back arching. The other grabs her arm, pinning it down, and tightens, thumb gently stroking against her wrist.

"Astarion,"

She’s no doubt making a mess in her smallclothes as she quivers beneath him, all flushed cheeks and furrowed brows. She may deny it later, but her taste tells him everything he needs to know.

Her body is burning against his cool skin, and her gasps are only spurring him on. He laps at the wound, dragging his tongue up the length of her throat, indulging himself in her. It's too much.

He feels her pulse weakening, her rhythm slowing.

It isn't enough.

He's about to latch on to her again, teeth at the ready and blinded by his eagerness, when he suddenly feels a piercing sensation behind his eye - the tadpole, he assumes, writhing in panic. Screeching at him to open himself to it. The discomfort is just enough to pull him back into his body. Then Evelyn's voice invades his mind.

‘Astarion, enough!’

He disentangles his limbs from hers, practically jumping off of the poor woman. He’s gasping for breath as he comes to his senses, the mix of her blood and his saliva staining his lips pink. It dribbles down his chin. He wipes his face with the back of his knuckles and licks them clean.

But then, the cold realization of what he’s done is thrust upon him like a bucket of iced water, shocking him back to the present. He’s going to need to come up with one hell of an apology to get himself out of this one. Or maybe he should just run? Baldur’s Gate is really only a few weeks travel at most.

“Shit,” he whispers, more to himself than to her. "Are you alright, dear?"

Evelyn's eyes meet his. Her pupils are blown, almost entirely overtaking the gold of her irises when she glances away from him to assess the damage.

"Gods damn it," she quietly groans and applies pressure to the wound, thankfully finding that it isn't too deep or particularly painful. She tends to it, wiping the thin sheen of sweat from her brow. She searches for a rag as she avoids his concerned stare

A deep purple bruise spreads across her pale skin. Small red droplets trickle down the length of her nape, dampening her black breast band before soaking into it and disappearing entirely. He collects himself, willing his mind to cease its incessant urge to lick the damned liquid from her neck. She is flushed and sweating, unbalanced, panting from exertion as much as her own embarrassment. Her dark hair is a tangled mess from his attention. She looks ravaged.

It… suits her.

Astarion clears his throat, trying his best not to get caught admiring his handiwork.

She was right about one thing. He was, at least in some respects, just a man...

“Here,” he insists, grabbing one of the smaller furs and holding it up to her. She takes it from him without acknowledgement.

“I -” He begins, but he’s at a loss for words. What does one say in this situation? ‘My sincerest apologies. I don’t know what came over me! I must have gotten swept up in the moment!’ as if that pitiful excuse would overshadow the fact that he manhandled and almost devoured her.

He wants to laugh, but the sound dies in his throat.

He begins to worry that she really may not forgive him. He fears she'll wake the whole camp, or maybe finally cast him out like the monster he is. He wouldn't blame her. She took a great leap of faith in trusting him with this, and he rutted against her like some horny bugbear. Or worse, a teenager, he sneers.

Evelyn pulls the rabbit skin away from her neck, examining it. The brown hairs are matted and crimson, but the bleeding has stopped. She runs her fingers over the puncture marks, feeling the skin dip slightly where his fangs pierced her. She sighs with resignation, surely thinking about how the others will approach her with a plethora of questions tomorrow morning, face reddening at the idea.

“You could have warned me, you know.” She rolls her eyes at him. “I didn’t realize I was agreeing to…all of that.”

His heart sinks.

Of course she thinks it was on purpose. I mean, look at him. He’s all but thrown himself at her since the moment they met. He’s spent this entire time playing the part of the rake. It's only natural she assumes the worst.

“Evelyn, darling,” speaking her name aloud brings her focus back onto him.

The gravity of it is suffocating, condensing the already small space they shared. The tension pulls at something undefinable within him that he thought was long dead—a sincerity that betrays the character he’s been crafting for as long as he can remember.

It sways him.

More truths to forgive more transgressions, then. A fair transaction.

“I’ve had this condition for over two centuries, but, truth be told,” he clears his throat again, because ugh this is awful. And why does she have to stare at him like that, with her earnest, wet eyes? “You were my first. I’ve only ever fed on beasts.”

The implication is there: how could he have known?

His confession takes her by surprise. “You don’t…” she pauses, taking everything that transpired tonight into consideration. He must be giving her a look akin to pleading, because she takes mercy on him and disregards whatever question she was about to ask.

“Please tell me you didn’t do that to the boar.”

Seriously, a joke?

He barks out a laugh before he can stifle it. Whether it's from the sheer ridiculousness of the question or the disbelief towards her acceptance of it all, he truly doesn’t know.

“No, my dear. Just you, and you were delectable.”

Her expression is difficult to read. She’s not looking at him; refuses to, when she replies, “So then, did it work?”

Astarion moves to stand, peering down at her form. He exhales in relief, feeling as though he is a century younger. His muscles are lax; all the stress has been drained from his body. A novel experience. “Yes, I would say so. I feel stronger. My mind is clear. I feel…happy.”

He adds the last word in an effort to appease her, but it does ring true. His main source of joy since he contracted this affliction has been causing others pain, ripping out throats and such. This feels distinctly different, less exhilarating, but pleasant all the same.

“Well, I look forward to seeing you fight.”

He acknowledges her, then stretches his back out, extending his arms to the sky with his hands clasping behind his head. The motion pulls the rest of his nightshirt out of his trousers and tugs it upward, exposing the hard edges of his hips. He can’t confirm it, but he swears he sees her eyes flit quickly towards them before making an expeditious retreat.

“Shouldn’t take long. So many people need killing.” He lifts the flap of her tent to peek outside. No sign of anyone stirring, and the night is still young. Knowing the wildlife in this area, he may still have a chance to sate himself. With his newfound strength, he may even be able to wrangle up a bear. What a feast that would make.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, you’re invigorating, but I need something more filling.” He bows his head to her in thanks.

He’s about to step outside, one foot exits the canvas before the rest of him, when it hits him that he feels…odd, uncomfortable leaving her like this. He can’t place his finger on why. He’s ridden atop many women and left without saying a word.

But, he supposes this is dissimilar.

Evelyn listened to him tonight, heard him out when anyone else would have carved him into pieces without second thought. She let him drink from her, forgave him for getting…carried away.

The most shocking part of it all is that regardless of her dismissiveness, he now undeniably knows that she’s attracted to him. Yet, she didn’t capitalize on the opportunity when it arose to take advantage of his altered state; of his needs. With that, she’s shown him more kindness in the last hour than he’s experienced in his entire undead life.

He likely owes her for this, of course, but there are worse fates he could endure.

The elf looks over his shoulder at her and catches her watching him intently, as if she wants to continue this conversation but can’t quite figure out what she wants to say. The intensity of her gaze almost forces him to turn back towards her, drawn to her by an unfamiliar ache; a thrill in his spine, the compulsion pulling at his chest like some sort of spell.

“This is a gift, you know.” The words escape him, hanging in the air between them with raw authenticity. He means to make himself sound more frivolous, but before he can edit them in his head, more truth spills from his lips, “I won’t forget it.”

His throat tightens. He considers her for a moment, wondering what he might find if he does turn to meet her eyes.

But, Astarion resists.

She must be exhausted. He shouldn’t take up any more of her time.

He leaves before she can respond. There wasn’t anything left for them to discuss, and he’s desperate to break free from the uneasy weight of her presence.

The second he steps fully outside, he feels as though he can breathe again, not that he needs to, being undead and all.

What a strange feeling, that was.

One he decides he’d rather forget. Best to not burden himself too much with it.

The taste of her lingers on his teeth. He finds himself savoring it for a moment too long before stalking towards the forest, confident. Ready to hunt.

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion fic #astarion x tav #fanfic #bg3 #bg3 tav #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate 3 oc #im muting every bit of social media i have after posting this lmfao #evelyn

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shrimp-buffet · 4 months

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LARRY & LAWRIE HEADCANONS #3

(Headcanons after the cut, I ramble for a bit)

*head pops out of grave* I'M ALIVEEE

Yeah I know I say this in practically every post but I finally got something again! school and other stuff kicked my ass and honestly i wasn't sure how interested really was in making these until I missed them! So while I can't guarantee any consistent posting knowing me, I can at least say that I do plan to keep doing these and I'm hoping to branch out into other fandoms so that me making these doesn't fully depend on me having a Brawl Stars hyperfixation.

Anyways as a sort of apology for the lack of content, I bring you the follow up I know many have been waiting for: LARRY AND LAWRIE PART 3 BABY!

Hope you enjoy!

Fair warning: this one may be a small bit angsty in some spots. Nothing that would need an actual warning but didn't want to jumpscare y'all with surprise sadness.

Larry based, Lawrie based, both

•Larry's most rebellious action would be putting a soda can in the non-recycling bin... Then feeling extremely guilty and fishing it back out to put it in the correct bin when no one is looking.

•Lawrie has an apocalypse bunker hidden somewhere in the park. It's only for them, Larry, and RT.

•Lawrie likes Bob Ross! They don't like to paint all that much though. Larry does like painting but he's really bad at it.

•They've never been outside the park before. Lawrie is pretty content with that fact and doesn't want to leave, but Larry wants to see what's out there and occasionally asks parkgoers about it.

•Larry gets along well with animals (add this and the last one and Larry is a fricking Disney princess- /j)

•Lawrie is the exact opposite, all animals hate them and they hate all animals in return.

•As somewhat implied already, Lawrie is kind of leaning towards a "hate all biological life" mindset. They don't actually full-on hate lifeforms entirely, but people don't really like them so they don't like people, that kind of deal. This leads Lawrie to sometimes say stuff teetering on the "kill all humans" line but Larry calls it out and Lawrie would always agree they're going a bit too far.

•Larry as usual is the opposite. He finds life and people to be so interesting and envies their experiences. They even somewhat avoid hanging out with other robots because it reminds him that he's also just a robot, though he doesn't even realize this thought process. He would never admit it, but he kind of wishes he was human. Lawrie can sense this so it causes some arguments between the two.

•On a more light-hearted note, Larry has a bit of a crush on Melodie! She's very pretty, sings beautifully, and does whatever she wants and says anything on her mind, all of which Larry loves and admires.

•Out of all the people in the park, Lawrie gets along with Draco and Hank the best. Draco is more of a frien-emy that can get on their nerves a lot but they have a lot of similar interests like music taste. And Hank is a semi-friendly rival.

•Larry, Lawrie, and R-T were all made on the same day. When it comes to the birthday though they celebrate it as R-T's day cause they just love their "baby" sibling. (Plus in Lawrie's case they just don't like the idea of having their own birthday)

•Larry is scared of Cordelius. He just gives them the creeps and somehow always manages to accidentally sneak up on Larry. (Same goes for Lily)

•Larry has a notebook they carry around to do made up math problems in when they're bored.

•Lawrie usually never wishes they could eat food, but he does wish he could try chocolate.

•They tend to play "road trip" games when they're bored on a patrol together. Things like Eye Spy, 20 Questions, Alphabet Game, etc. They both really enjoy it!

•They also listen to true crime podcast together.

And that's all I got for now! Thank you for reading this far!! As always if you'd like more let me know!!!

#brawl stars #brawl stars headcanons #headcannons #brawl stars larry #brawl stars lawrie #larry and lawrie

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bloodofgrapes · 2 years

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AA thoughts time

I’m the last person to ever “criticize” Ace Attorney for being unrealistic, because a) it’s a story, and thus designed for entertainment purposes, but b) I believe its wild premise allows it to explore real issues, emotions, etc in a way that winds up being beautifully authentic because reality is often stranger than fiction

However, if there’s any one thing that I could change in AA, it's that nearly everyone would be just a tad older. Don’t get me wrong, I think AA does great with what it has--Phoenix being a rookie attorney fresh out of law school, young and headstrong and still kind of naive while being an accidental genius at what he does, contrasting with the fact the Edgeworth burnt out this hard after only four years of practice. But it has this anime problem, where everyone is clearly written to be established professionals in their field (including characters like Gumshoe) while acting like 30 is old somehow.

I could, and possibly will, make an entirely separate rant about all the “prodigy” characters AA has, and my firm belief that Edgeworth is the only one that should have ever been allowed, but I digress

To get personal with things for a moment, I first played AA when I was a teenager, and I remember how it felt then--Phoenix and Edgeworth did feel so old and mature at the ripe age of 24, worldly with education and experience that seemed far beyond my grasp. However, revisiting the series as a man in his mid thirties has been interesting. They do still retain that feeling of being older and mature, but now I can’t help but feel that their ages ought to reflect that.

@themumblingmouse turned me on to the idea that Phoenix likely worked as Mia’s paralegal through law school, and I could see him sticking with it for some time as he worked as her junior partner, doing all the behind the scenes work outside of the courtroom while she took the lead. More specifically though, I think about Edgeworth’s downward trajectory. As I said earlier, I do think it fits him well enough that it was only four years for him to go from a relatively bright eyed and bushy tailed bratty little asshole to, well... this

But time goes by fast the older you get. Four years is practically nothing. And to be fair to Edgeworth, we could even lend him some leniency and say that his life under Von Karma likely extended that, and we could consider basically all of his time as a teenager to be part of the spiral downward, but again, he was upbeat when he was twenty. It seems far more likely that it didn’t begin until he was working in earnest, slowly forking over little bits and pieces of his soul with every case, racking up that bad (and well deserved) reputation. To my mind, that sort of thing takes time, because you often don’t realize you’ve slipped into a hole until you’ve been in it for some time, especially if you’re the sort of person that’s used to brute forcing your way through life, finding justifications and rationalizations for your actions.

Phoenix was obviously the turning point, but that turning point would hit a lot harder for me if they were both older, I think. This entire post is a little inspired by that request I got about them hugging it out in Trials and Tribulations--the observations in the tags about how desperately Edgeworth needed to just let go are absolutely spot on, and at this point I basically HC that he had at least a decade to spiral down down down until finally hitting rock bottom, with Phoenix to raise both of them from the ashes. Ace Attorney has sincerely brilliant symbolism around death and rebirth, so why not allow them a little time between their lives, so that spiral meant something, instead of being a brief and regrettable footnote from one’s early twenties?

#Ace Attorney #grapes thoughts

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r0-boat · 5 months

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Beauty and the Red Beast

OC Pecha x Holt

Pecha belongs to @peachypede! Thank you so much for commissioning this writing :)

I hope you like it!

Sfw

Wc: 1.3k

Holt's farm was unique. Usually, farmers had their property spanning for miles on a flat plane. But Holt's property is still very large. His property only extends outward into a densely wooded area.

Pecha has only seen Holt go beyond its trees when he tells her he is going for a smoke late in the evening every day since the hybrids and animals stay clear of that part of the farm: the wrestling trees and vastness of the wilderness entrenched the women.

Her duties were finished, and her boss left the property for groceries and farming supplies.

With boredom stirring within, she makes her way to the edge of the property. A fence separated the forest from familiarity.

Her heart skips a beat, remembering her childhood years, looking for wild edible berries, mushrooms, nuts, and veggies!

Having never been to this place before, who knows what she could find?

With that, the brown-haired girl hopped the fence.

Walking into the forest without a second thought.

She felt the cool autumn breeze in her hair. She danced underneath the tree canopies, feeling the soft, fertile soil beneath her boots along with gentle crunches of the fallen leaves. It was around the perfect time to find mushrooms, as the soil was ripe with nutrients and dead plant matter. Pecha journeyed far enough before she started to look, her eyes wide with wonder, looking at the bark under leaves in logs. She had heard that even the residents stay clear of the forest. It was out of season for game hunting.

Mushrooms and wild berries she'd only seen in books growing wildly, abundantly, and beautifully. From thorny blackberries to ripened blueberries, tiny puffball mushrooms. She should have brought her basket! When she turned around, she saw a vast puffball mushroom. Her mouth hung open in awe before smiling wide. Despite not having a basket, she was sure that she could bring it all home.

"I could make dinner with this!"

She murmured. She could use the leftover meat and vegetables they've kept from the farm to make a mushroom stew.

She touched the puffball mushroom, preparing to pull it until She heard the wrestling of the trees, then the flapping of feathers.

Pecha stopped dead in her tracks as she felt a presence. A shadowy silhouette casted on the ground before her, showing a figure with giant wings, a sight that made her hair stand on end.

"Hello, human girl. What are you doing in the forest all by yourself?" A voice melodic yet sinister.

Pecha slowly turned her head; her heart stopped.

A hybrid. Brown and white feathers covering its masculine body. His piercing eyes glow a faint gold in the setting sun are that of an owl as he stares Pecha down like prey. Its skin is porcelain white, decorated with brown feathers. With a grin full of sharp teeth.

Pecha was frozen, her hands shaking. The owl's heartbeat, which towered over the cowering woman, expanded his brown wings, blocking out any light as he inspected the human girl beneath him.

"Where is your mate dear?"

He purred. He reaches out to touch her. His human hands looked more like talons, his claws sharp and monstrous, coming closer to her face. Pecha, stricken with fear to even speak, could only muster a whimper as she tilted her head away, her eyes screwed shut, tears forming in her eyes when she felt the gentle caress of the creature.

"Do you not have one?" The creature speaks again; his smile widens. His talons scratch into the tree bark as he practically pins her to the ground; his other hand on Pecha's cheek moves to her quivering lip and chin.

"Then I shall be a good-"

He rotates his head, and a red blur tackles him to the ground. A giant red wolf pins his wings, holding the harpy to the ground.

The owl harpy screeches in pain, feeling the wolf's cause to dig into its delicate wings. Before He could bear its teeth at the hybrid's throat. The harpy swings its talons into the Red Wolf, cutting deep. Holt held in pain, his grip loosening for the heartbeat to escape. Its wing hurt, bleeding but not broken, as he took off to the sky, flying as fast as he could away from the human girl and the werewolf.

Pecha was covering her ears, burying her head in between her legs as she curled herself against the tree.

Holt nudges his nose against the poor girl. He rolls his tongue across her forehead to get her attention. Pecha's eyes, red from crying, looked up into his eyes; when she looked up at him, she was no longer scared, looking at the beast in awe. Looking deep into his eyes, she knew who it was. She wasn't afraid. How could she be? After he had just saved her life.

Holt licks her tears away before wincing in pain, his brown, red fur stained with more red on his belly, his fur soaked with blood. Pecha's eyes widen, looking at the gash wound across his stomach.

"Oh no, that looks bad." She says.

Holt was confused…

She didn't look scared, or terrified, or even disgusted. Instead, Pecha patted his head, caressed his cheek, and even played with his ears with a little smile.

Taking a handful of her clothing and ripping it, using it as cloth, She presses it against the wound. Holt grumbled, his tail thumping on the ground. It's stung, but he's been through worse. Holt wasn't even sure why he was letting Pecha touch him. But he knew that he didn't want her to stop.

"Thank you for saving my life, Holt." Pecha smiled. She wanted to wrap his arms around him, but that would only hurt him.

The wolf's eyes widened.

How did she-?!

And why wasn't she scared??

Holt spent all of his life hiding and being a monster. Now, here is this girl that he hired for cheap work, booping his nose, petting him like he were a dog. Her clothing is now ruined as she tries to stop the bleeding on his stomach as she tries to look for other wounds on his big body.

The clothes on her back were all she had, but it was enough to get the wound at least somewhat wrapped up or for it to stop bleeding enough for her to bring him back to the farm.

#oc:holt #werewolf boyfriend #werewolf oc #oc x oc #ro.commission

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reasoningdaily · 7 months

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15 African Gods and Goddesses You Should Know - Myth Nerd

Africa is easily one of the most diverse and beautiful places on our planet, but it’s not exactly as popular as other tourist destinations around the world.

Whenever you think of “Africa”, you most likely think of lions, elephants, and the endless stretches of jungles, filled to the brim with venomous creatures that can’t be found anywhere else on this planet.

But while Africa does have an abundance of those elements, it also has a ton of beautifully diverse people and cultures that have lived amongst each other for thousands of years now.

As such, the more you look at it, the more interesting these African cultures get, as their religious beliefs are very different from ours. While ours are more so based around a unified belief in a supreme deity, theirs are a lot more closely related to the human life and their daily treads.

There are thousands upon thousands of cultures to explore here, to the point where you could actually spend your whole life researching everything that Africa has in store for you and you’d still fail to capture it in its entirety.

So, for today’s article we decided to bring you a quick rundown of 15 African Gods and Goddesses that are going to show you just how interesting this part of the world can really be.

But before we do that how about we give you a little introduction to African Mythology, starting off with:

How Many African Gods Are There?

The Pantheon of Orishas, a belief system that is mostly followed by the Yoruba people, is a group of divine spirits that was created by the supreme god Olodumare.

While there is no actual official number of gods that can be found in this pantheon though, there is an interesting notion around it which states that there are 400+1 Orishas around.

This is because that number is an incomprehensible number for the Yoruba people, which in turn implies that there are an infinite number of gods in this pantheon.

Some recollections tell us that there are as many as 700, 900 or even 1,440 Orishas around. The reason as to why there is a +1 Orisha in that list is because the +1 is meant to represent the extra one you didn’t account for, or the one that you never even considered in the first place.

As such, it is meant to represent that there will always be more Orishas than you think, and while you can try to count them one by one you will always fall short before reaching the final number.

Is Yoruba the Definitive African Religion?

There is no official African religion out there, and that is because there are countless cultures and practices that are spread all across the continent.

Instead, we can refer to the Yoruba religion as its most popular religion simply due to how widespread it is.

The Yoruba religion originated from Nigeria, where it starts off small but it soon picked up traction, becoming a faith where its followers can address the gods and goddesses through their complex oral traditions which they pass down from generation to generation.

Important Themes in African Mythology

By far the most important theme that we need to mention about the Yoruba religion is the idea of Animism. This simply refers to the fact that everything, and we do mean everything, possesses some sort of spiritual essence within it.

So, you should never disrespect anything because chances are, they are controlled by the Orishas and disrespecting them is akin to disrespecting the Orisha gods.

The second most important theme that we can attribute to the Yoruba religion and culture is the idea behind reincarnation. This belief has been with the Yoruba religion for many generations now, and it refers to the idea that deceased family members will be reborn as babies after their passing.

This is why you will often times find Yoruba people named after their departed parents or grandparents in case they look alike. If they share the same likeness, they will be called something like “Babatunde” which pretty much just translates to “father returns” or Yetunde” or “mother returns”.

Now that we are accustomed to the most popular religion in Africa, let’s just talk about the 15 Gods and Goddesses that we have in store for you today, starting off with:

1. Oshun

Interestingly enough, Oshun was actually not that popular in western media until a while ago, when Beyonce mentioned her in her Lemonade music video. That is when people started to do their research about the Goddess, shining light on this Yoruba deity for the first time in the states.

But who exactly is Oshun? Well, she is the Goddess of sweet and freshwaters. The reason for this is because she is most often times depicted admiring her own beauty in the water.

She is known for healing the sick with ease, fostering prosperity and better yet, for making infertile couples fertile.

Most of the times she is actually showcased as a beautiful and coquettish young lady, and her name specifically translates to sweetness, joy, beauty and good times.

2. Ajé Shaluga

Ajé Shaluga is the god that represents money and treasures. Most of the time they are depicted as both a male and a female orisha, and their followers are always thanking them for providing them with fair wages and plenty of work opportunities to keep their families fed and happy.

If you ever need a job as a Yoruba follower, you just need to pray to Ajé Shaluga and they will grant you your wishes. While this Orisha is not one of the most popular or powerful gods around, Ajé Shaluga still has a decent following due to them being associated with happiness, stability and spiritual wealth.

If you wish to give Ajé Shaluga an offering, all you need to do is you need to grab a handful of fresh fruit, pigeons, necklaces made out of coins and shells and flowers and you need to leave them at one of their altars.

3. Bumba

Also commonly referred to as Mbombo, Bumba is actually the creator god of the Kuba people from Central Africa.

It is said that Bumba vomited the universe during its inception, creating the sun then drying up the water on Earth creating the land. Bumba didn’t stop there though as he also vomited up the sun, the night and nine animals in total.

These nine animals are the original inhabitants of Earth, and out of several combinations came humanity.

Bumba himself however is represented as a giant white-colored humanoid creature. He is most often times showcased sick, since he did vomit up the Earth back in the day.

4. Eshu

The idea of having a trickster god may sound like something made up by the Nordics, but African cultures weren’t all that far off from this concept either since they had Eshu right around the corner.

Eshu, also commonly referred to as Elegba, is the Trickster god of the Pantheon. He is pretty much just a benevolent version of Loki, as he goes around not trying to stir up problems but instead just enjoying life, more so playing the role of a messenger between the realm of spirits and mankind.

If you do actually spot him and decide not to give him an offering, he is definitely going to play tricks on you, but for the most part he just wants to have fun and be left to his own whims instead.

He does require tobacco offerings though, but once you do receive his blessing you are pretty much set for life.

5. Ogun

Regardless of which mythology you look at, chances are that there is always a master of iron right around the corner, ready to bring the gods the weapons and armor that they don during the final days.

West Africa is anything but peaceful, as war can break out at any point between tribes, which is why steel is a more useful keeper of peace than words will ever be.

And when steel becomes your only means of protection, it isn’t too uncommon to find gods based around the armory for the warriors to pray to.

This is where Ogun comes in. He is known as the Giver of Iron or the Warrior God of War for many. He is the best weapon wielder in the Orisha. He is the one that protects the Yoruba people from dangers and more specifically, the one that helps bless their weapons before they set out for war.

6. Oya

Oya is by far one of the most ferocious and protective gods that the Yoruba pray to. She is often times referred to as the Goddess of wind, thunderbolt and fire, and she is by far the most feared goddess in the pantheon.

This isn’t to say that she mistreats her followers, quite the contrary actually, but it is something to keep in mind if you choose to pray to her.

Whenever she shows up, she is usually accompanied by her husband, Shango, the God of Storms. The two walk together as their thunderstorms destroy everything in sight.

7. Shango

While modern people look at the roar of the thunder and they don’t think much of it, back in ancient times, this thunder would have been a sign that the gods’ wrath was coming down from the heavens, punishing the pagans that took the gods’ name in vain.

This wrath was represented by Shango, the bringer of thunder, as he would showcase the true power of the Gods through his own wrath and fury.

He is also the god of masculinity and strength, with many people comparing him to the Greek God Zeus or the Norse God Thor.

He actually has three different wives, Oshun, Oya and Oba, and he is often times depicted with either one of them or all three being by his side.

8. Ala

Igbo is one of the oldest African religions around, with Ala being one of their oldest and most popular goddesses.

Her name literally translates to “Earth”, which is meant to indicate that she is the creator of our planet and the one that controls its every move.

She is the goddess of fertility, morality, creativity and land, and she is often times seen next to Amadioha, her husband and the God of the Sky.

She is actually often times honored and celebrated by the Igbo people, especially so during the yearly yam festival.

You should never take her name in vain as if you dare to disrespect her, she will convince her husband to stop the rain from coming down, causing the people to suffer tremendously because of it.

9. Oshun

We all know that no matter which religion you look into, chances are that they consider rivers to be a benevolent gift from the gods.

When it comes to the Yoruba people, Oshun is the one most commonly referred to as the Goddess of Rivers, but besides this she is also often times known as the Lifeblood of the Niger River and the mother of all rivers.

She is actually Shango’s favorite wife, and she is one of the most important Orishas that you need to know about in the Yoruba pantheon.

She is also often times associated with fertility and childbirth, and it is said that she is the one that gives mothers the ability to do everything in their power to protect their children from dangers.

10. Oduda

Oduda is the goddess of prostitution that is worshipped by the North-West African people. These are the Benin, Yoruba and Dahomey tribes, and despite the fact that prostitution is considered to be a taboo by most modern people, it is often times cited as a necessity by these tribes.

Her name translates to “The Black One”, and she is most often times showcased as a serpent. The reason as to why she is the goddess of prostitution is because that is the most common practice in the Caribbean Islands.

11. Obatala

Often times referred to as the “Child of God”, Obatala is known as the kindest god in the pantheon, even though they are seen a lot of the times next to their father, the powerful Olorun.

Interestingly enough, Obatala was never actually stated as being a male or a female god, they are pretty much androgynous.

It is said that Obatala was the one that created the human bodies, and as they finished up their job, they demanded of their father to breathe life into the soulless bodies in front of them.

Their androgynous trait is actually meant to represent fairness, forgiveness and compassion all at once. They were supposed to take care of the first men and women, but because they got distracted their brother Oduduwa decided to create the world instead for them to be safe in.

12. Yemaya

Yemaya is known as the Patron Spirit of the Ocean and the Rivers, and she is the main deity that the Yoruba people pray to when they set sail.

She is said to be motherly and strong willed, while also being very good at curing infertility in women. Whenever she does lose her temper though she causes the waters to be violent, attacking and taking down even the mightiest ships because of her sorrows.

13. Aja

Aja is actually the Goddess of the Forest and all of the animals that live within it. She is the one that brings the life over to the forests, and most often times she is depicted carrying around a basket with her.

This basket is full of potions and healing herbs, since she is also often times referred to as the Goddess of Botany.

She was the one that taught the Yoruba people how to create potions and heal through herbs alone, and whenever you do go hunting you need to give her an offering so she allows you to have a safe passage through her realm.

14. Obaluaye

While death is never considered to be the final frontier in most any African culture, that doesn’t mean that you should welcome death no matter what.

Being able to prevent death from happening simply means that it was not their time to go yet, and if you can do that you need to thank Obaluaye because they were the ones that gave you the answers you needed when you searched for a way to heal them.

This is because Obaluaye is the Master of Healing and by far one of the most popular Orisha in the Yoruba mythos.

He is the one that has the cure for any illness around and if you ever happen to grow sick and weary you need to pray to Obaluaye if you wish to be healed as soon as possible.

15. Kibuka

Kibuka is actually referred to as the God of War in the Buganda Empire kingdom. It goes as far back as the 9th century, way before the first Europeans set sail on the country’s shores.

It is said that after the Bugandan people were terrorized by a series of attacks, their king decided to have a meeting with Mukasa, the Creator of all things, to ask him how he can defeat his enemies.

His answer was simple and swift, he ordered his younger brother, Kibuka, to fight on their behalf as their God of War.

Because of this Kibuka pretty much managed to destroy everyone in his path, bringing victory to the Buganda Empire kingdom.

Conclusion

African mythology has hundreds if not thousands of other gods and goddesses that we have yet to mention in this article alone. While the Yoruba mythology is by far the most popular, we also recommend checking out some of the other religions here if you have the time for it.

That is because there are so many wondrous, crazy and fantastic stories that you can hear coming from the tribes here, stories that you won’t be able to find anywhere else around the globe.

While it is nowhere near as popular as the Norse or Greek mythologies, African mythology can be just as fun to research if you have the time and passion to do so.

At the same time, we can assure you that if you do end up doing your own homework, you’ll find more than a handful of customs and traditions that you yourself may start adoring just as much as we do.

Contents [hide]

How Many African Gods Are There?

Is Yoruba the Definitive African Religion?

Important Themes in African Mythology

1. Oshun

2. Ajé Shaluga

3. Bumba

4. Eshu

5. Ogun

6. Oya

7. Shango

8. Ala

9. Oshun

10. Oduda

11. Obatala

12. Yemaya

13. Aja

14. Obaluaye

15. Kibuka

#15 African Gods and Goddesses You Should Know #ATR

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koraesrambles · 7 months

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GREAT READING ADVENTURE PART 1 (CW: pictures from the Sandman comics may be disturbing to some)

I started with the Sandman, by Neil Gaiman. A legend in comic spheres, and one that I'd been wanting to read for a while.

I found 10 volumes at my local library and have made my way through two of them so far. First off, as a horror book DAMN. DAAAAAAAAAAAAMN these books do not pull punches. They come at you like a gut punch and just keep going. I like to describe myself as someone who enjoys "horror lite" I love monsters, I love angst and crazy situations and some messed up stuff, but I'm kind of a baby about it. Things like Supernatural, Gravity Falls (It's kid friendly, but there's blood!), Buffy the Vampire Slayer, that's my jam (wow, that list makes me feel about 5 years old, but whatever! I like what I like!). The Sandman Is Not That.

The Writing

Don't get me wrong, it is beautiful in every way, but it's also a lot for a wussy like myself. I'm enthralled, captivated, unable to look away, but there have been multiple times where I've needed to close my eyes for a second and remind myself that this is a comic book, and the world isn't necessarily this dark all the time. I'm pretty triggered by children in danger/getting hurt/dying and these books don't shy away from that. But they're also just . . . so beautiful.

The writing is annoyingly amazing. I expected nothing less, it is Neil Gaiman, but sometimes as a writer you look at other people's writing and just sit back in awe. I wish I could write something like this. Or, if not exactly like this, something as beautiful and poignant as this. The story flows so beautifully. Every scene perfectly blending in with the next. Every word feels like it has a point, which makes you want to pay attention to everything to make sure you're not missing anything.

Writing is my main background, but comic writing is so different from prose. This is what I struggled with the most while drafting up OUTCAST ODYSSEY, how do I get everything across that I need to when I can't just write it all out? How do I pace it when telling a story with pictures vs words feels so different? But Neil does this so well. It felt lyrical, and I could see his influence on every single page. The art was done by someone else, but the ideas, the imagry, the way the story flows from one idea to the next, is all a result of absolutely phenomenal writing.

It reminded me to trust readers to read between the lines. It's difficult to find the line between "subtlty" and "confusing" and I am often guilty of feeling like I need to spell things out to my readers so that they won't miss anything, but more often then not that just slows down the plot and makes the whole experience clunky. You don't want to go too far in the other direction either, but Neil knew who his audience was and trusted them to at least give things a second glance. I was worried at the beginning that I'd be too dumb to figure out what he was hinting at, but he was able to patiently feed me the information without me getting frustrated or lost.

It's a skill that comes with experience and practice, but I feel like this story really really shines at it. I found myself studying the way he handled exposition and wanting to emulate it in my own work.

The Art

The art is also stunning. It's not "cute" art. It's not something that I would want to hang up in my house or look at for hours. It's amazing from a skill standpoint (which is easy for me to tell just due to my own extremely obvious shortcomings) but it's not concerned with everyone looking like hollywood movie stars.

Which . . . I mean, that's definitely a feature, not a bug. This story is not supposed to be cute, and a cutsy art style would absolutely ruin the atmosphere. It is rough and full of sharp points. it doesn't shy away from nudity or gore. The characters are not attractive, these are not anime stars, but they are compelling, and distinct enough that I was able to easily tell who everyone is, which is more often then not extremely difficult for me (i think I may be a bit face-blind).

The art adds to the horror of everything. Even when things are supposed to be calm, or sexy, or whatever, there's an edge of panic and unease to it. Part of that is the reader knowing that there's more going on behind the scenes then the character knows, but it's also the style. The heavy black shadows, the hard lines, the emphasis on some details while the obscuring of others, it all combines to perfectly compliment the writing. It's not a pleasure to look at, but that's absolutely the point. It's also extremely difficult to look away FROM. How can something simultaneously look jarring, eerie, and unpolished, while also whispering "Yes. This is beautiful art. Look at it. Bask in it."?

I'm a newbie artist. It's way beyond my skillset to even begin to figure out how they were able to accomplish this. But someday I hope I figure out the secret.

The art perfectly compliments the writing, and the two work together to tell the story. I remember feeling a little annoyed on the artists' behalf that the Sandman is always known as "Neil Gaiman's" when the art side of comics is so incredibly important. The art sets the tone and compliments the words. It helps with reading between the lines and helping us know how seriously we should be taking the words.

Characters

All of the characters are great! Except the ones I already knew. I'm not saying they were bad, just bland compared to everyone else. Constantine, the Justice League, every cameo that came up and I was excited for felt . . . not quite out of place, but not quite seamless either. I was most excited for Constantine, and he was fine, but I probably have enjoyed him more in every other comic I've ever seen him in. I know they were all included just to try and sell the first few issues of a new story, and I respect that (the amount of comics that I've read just because my favorite character showed up for a few panels is . . *cough* embarrassing), but I was kind of bummed by how little conflict they added to the story.

Constantine immediately agrees to help Morpheus (which, okay, he can see how powerful Morpheus is and doesn't want to get on his bad side, totally in character. But I like Constantine best when he's being a bit of a dickhead), when I was really expecting a bit of tension or at least antagonism between them. We briefly see Etrigan but he is so quickly outshined by Lucifer that I nearly forgot about him, Scarecrow shows up but I didn't really feel like he added much besides a familiar face, we see Scott Free (who I know very little about) and J'onn (whose reaction to Dream was probably the most interesting) but all they do is immediately tell Morpheus where he needs to go. Why were they so quick to be okay with this obviously terrifying powerful force just grabbing stuff? I guess I understand why J'onn was okay with it, since he knew who Morpheus was, but it still felt weird that there wasn't even a single moment of hesitation or resistance. They basically served as a plot GPS.

Again, there's nothing wrong with any of them, they just didn't feel as vibrant as all of the other characters we were introduced to. Even the woman who gave Dr. Destiny/Dr Dee a ride was more vivid and felt more real and purposeful than the cameos did. At least to me.

The original characters (or at least everyone I didn't recognize. Was Dr. Dee a Gaiman original or had he shown up previously? Cuz he was very much A tier villain for me,) were all amazing and vivid and lively. I cared about them way faster than I normally do, especially at the very beginning of a story. The cameos felt exactly like what they were: Cameos to sell the book.

Final Thoughts

This book is, objectively, better than anything I will ever create. And that's not even a diss on myself, it's just objective fact on the quality of this piece. I learned a lot looking through it, trying to figure out what Gaiman did that worked vs didn't. The lyricism vs crassness of the writing, the way the art complimented the dialogue, how the panels flowed and where it was easy for me to follow vs where I got a little confused. It's a beautiful book and I can absolutely see why it's a graphic novel must read. I'm planning on reading the rest of the series, but I can only read one volume a day, because the horror of it all absolutely follows me after I close the last page.

#reading analysis #reading challenge #the sandman #morpheus #the sandman graphic novel #comics #DC #learning to be a better writer and artist #studying the greats #the great reading challenge of 2024 #neil gaiman #best graphic novels #list of best graphic novels

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emotionalsupportbastardmen · 2 years

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Round one of the Bastard Man (affectionate) championshionships is complete!

Let's take a moment to appreciate everyone who got knocked out in round one, and everything I like about them.

Mammon (Obey Me)

Mammon the love of my life Mammon. </3 Yes he's a demon, yes he's the avatar of greed, yes he's "the scummy brother", but with a heart of gold, deep down inside. Very deep down. Plus he's funny and secretly sensitive and he likes to cuddle. <3 I'm honestly shocked he got knocked out in round one, I always thought he was quite a tumblr darling.

Hercule Flambeau (Father Brown)

Everyone loves a gentleman thief, don't they? Especially one with a homoerotic relationship with his narrative foil? A master of disguise? A secret sadboy with a tragic backstory? A man who broke out of prison? World's sluttiest absent father? When will your man ever.

Inspector Mallory (Father Brown)

I LOVE HIM SO MUCH YOU HAVE NO IDEA. He's such a funny character. Little angry northern bastard man. He's awful, and should be easy to hate, but he just suffers so often and suffers so beautifully, you can't help but root for him to win, just once. And he loves his kids! A short king and a DILF.

James E. Negatus (Yonderland)

Listen. Listen. I could never love anyone like I love Negatus. He occupies a special and unique part of my heart just for him. He's babygirl. He's daddy. He's cringefail. He's badass. He's gender. He's really really kinky. I cannot understate this, this is the fetish fuel show and it's like 70% his fault. He's on a mission to kill the hero but he's also sort of in love with her. I'm never not going to go feral for that. He has a tragic backstory and a softness for small children and small animals. He's canonically committed multiple warcrimes, several murders, and also demon-genocide. He's done nothing wrong ever in his life <3

Louis Fairhead (Casualty)

My sweet prince when will he return from war? It's been so long since the show ever even so much as acknowledged him. He wasn't even at his own father's wedding to a woman Louis was practically part-raised by. I think he's fallen into a crack in space and time. Anyway I love Louis. I don't even think he's a bad guy. He's had the most traumatic life imaginable. His mother died in a car accident while he was in the car. He got kidnapped once. One time he nearly got blown up. This was all before he was ten. Then as a teenager he became a drug addict. And as a young adult he had a heroin overdose. I think he's within his rights to be an angry and emotionally distant man. I would defend him to the death. I just want him to be safe and happy and healthy. Feel like pure shit just want him back.

Aristide Valentin (the Father Brown books)

First of all Aristide Valentin did nothing wrong so jot that down. YES he committed murder. But he murdered a Catholic pro-guillotine billionaire so it barely counts. He also stole human remains but this is tumblr, we're used to that. He's a skilled swordsman with a vast sword collection which is just the sexiest thing imaginable. YES he's rude to everyone but you don't UNDERSTAND, he's a genius surrounded by idiots, he gets frustrated. Also he's Parisian, they're just like that I think, he can't help it. Honestly his only real crime is smoking while on the underground platform at Liverpool Street station. That's unforgivable.

Barclay Beg-Chetwynde (BBC Ghosts)

Honestly one of the funniest characters in the show, I don't even care. Every episode he's in is a delight. Every single line delivery is so deliciously bastardly. And he makes a brilliant foil to my two favourite characters, Julian and Alison. He's great.

B.Z. (Santa Claus The Movie)

I love this movie. I love this movie a lot. I've watched it at least twice a year every year since I was a toddler. Often more. I could quote the whole film by heart. And my guy B.Z. is by far the most quotable character. Highlight of the whole film. Every single line of his lives rent free in my head. He has beef with Santa Claus for literally no good reason. He chained up a child for even less good reason. He invented Christmas 2. He exited the movie by eating too many magic flying lollypops and floating away into the stratosphere. Utterly unhinged from first scene to last. Literally no-one could ever compare.

Kerr Avon (Blakes 7)

Ah, Avon. I was obsessed with him as an edgy teen. I think in many ways he is the edgy teen appeal character of his genre. He's like the Shadow the Hedgehog of dystopian sci-fi. I mean this as a sincere complement. And he's once again by far the most quotable character in the show. I feel like that's a very important factor for a good bastard man. Quotability.

I won't say I could fix him, because I don't think anyone could. But I wish someone could.

Cat (Red Dwarf)

My sweet underappreciated boy. In many shows he would be the beloved bastard man. It's not his fault he shares a show with Arnold Rimmer, and you simply can't outdo the do-er.

But everything he does, he does it in ~ style ~

Randal Graves (Clerks)

This character means such a lot to me. He's the worst, of course. He sucks. You wouldn't want to know someone like that in real life. But that's part of what's so tragic about him. He's already resigned himself to the fact he's an unlikeable asshole loser, and has long since given up even trying to make new friends, and now he's a deeply lonely weirdo trapped in a toxic co-dependant relationship with the only real friend he has, who he's simultaneously obsessed with and sort of in love with (no homo) (maybe homo) and would die for, but also treats terribly. He's just such a sad odd man. I think about him often.

Ray Carling (Life on Mars/Ashes to Ashes)

Ray my best friend Ray. Yes okay so he's wildly homophobic and misogynistic, but like. Underneath that he's a very sweet and compassionate man, I promise. He's just trapped under the crushing weight of insecurity and self-loathing and societal expectations of masculinity. His backstory is heartbreaking. Absolutely devastating. I won't go into details because spoilers but Jesus Christ. He's the world's number one most single man, being the only one left not paired up out of the seven main characters across both shows, which hardly seems fair. He deserves a nice love interest I think. Give him a nice girlfriend, or lean into the "Ray is suffering from internalised homophobia" implications that Ashes to Ashes leant into occasionally and give him a nice boyfriend if you want, I don't care which, just give him someone.

Mentally I am holding his hand and buying him a pint right now.

Julian Cantley (literally one single episode of Heartbeat)

Choo choo, all aboard the brainrot express. Get in loser we're forming deep emotional attachments to characters with like 20 minutes total screentime. Anyway I'm obsessed with him right now. It's disrupting my drive to create content for characters with actual fanbases because I just keep thinking about Brooding Spy Man Whomst Only I Care About instead. He's just so quiet and angry and brooding. I have so many headcanons for him. I've even headcanoned what his entire flat back in London looks like. Send help.

Ryan Reeves (The Dumping Ground)

Ah he's just a baby. Just a little guy. Who could stay mad at him. Yes the way he'd learn his lesson only to go back to being evil again 2 episodes later got frustrating, but like. He loves his sister and he rescued Harry and Finn. He's not all bad. Apart from when he's being a teenage supervillain lurking in the shadows for no reason. But it's all because he's SAD, you don't UNDERSTAND,

Michael Doyle (Grange Hill)

Look. He stopped being racist after he turned like 13, okay? He just became a petty criminal and politically corrupt instead. And his dad sucks, his dad says worse stuff than Mickey ever did, he was clearly just parroting his dad when he was wee. And there's something so sad and lonely about him. The way he always tries to join in with the group only get pushed out because everyone finds him unbelievably awful. The way he so wants to be Alan's friend. The way he only has the two friends he's got because he pays them to be his friend. Poor little guy. I have to believe he got it together eventually. I have to believe him and Justin were pals by the time they went to sixth form together. I have to.

Ralph Passmore (Tucker's Luck)

It's Mr Passmore! He means such a lot to me. I'm so happy they started portraying him sympathetically in series 2 because honestly? His rage is so justified. He's unemployed and he's already been cast aside as unemployable. His family have already given him up as a lost cause. His only friend and ally in his family is his younger sister, who ends up leaving home to get away from how verbally abusive their parents are. He drinks to cope and joins a gang for the companionship. He finally gets a job after years of unemployment but finds out it's exploiting vulnerable fellow working class people in his community so he angrily and aggressively quits, after befriending and supporting an old lady. What a king.

#if you actually read all of this I am kissing you on the lips mwaah #obey me swd #father brown #yonderland #bbc casualty #bbc ghosts #santa claus the movie #blake's 7 #red dwarf #clerks #view askewniverse #life on mars #ashes to ashes #heartbeat #the dumping ground #grange hill #tucker's luck

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gffa · 1 year

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Heyyy

Thanks for posting about Trigun! It's amazing! I wouldn't have heard about otherwise.

I also love your Star Wars posts <3

I'm glad that I could help get you into it! To be fair, I will say Trigun Stampede had a leg up with me because I've been into Trigun for a long time, I do my every other year tour through the fandom, so I was already primed, but Tristamp was legitimately a beautifully animated series, the characters were charismatic and charming as all get out, and the plot genuinely engaged me. I know I burn through fixations about every three weeks or whatever, but each of them is special and serve as recommendations! Do you like stories where characters love each other for being who they are but that their conflict is also rooted in their opposing worldviews? Do you like stories where that local sillyman blond twink is literally capable of blowing a hole through the planet with just one arm but he refuses to ever hurt anyone because he's determined everyone can live together in peace? Do you like stories where cynical characters can't help getting wrapped up in said local sillyman bond twink's hope and optimism because he's someone you can't help but love even if you know you'll probably die on this mission, but it'll be worth it because the world he's seeking is a better one than any you've known so far? Do you like stories where it's not about naivete, people know that others are going to hurt them, that bad things are going to happen, and maybe they're never really going to achieve their dream world because they're too uncompromising in a situation where people will die if they don't use up the other, that you can't just Peace & Love your way out of this? But that they will still give everything of themselves to try to find that world? Do you like stories where a character will burn down the world because people have abused and misused his sisters for as long as they've existed, where he dreams of a paradise world for his kind, and he does this because he loves the local silllyman blond twink and does it because of him, even as it drives them further apart and he knows it hurts him? Do you like stories with gorgeous fight scenes that are frantic and energetic and practically glowing with how they light up the screen? Anyway, watch Trigun Stampede, it has some great characters, great themes, and is super pretty on the eyes.

#lumi.txt #trigun stampede

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thedevillionaire · 2 years

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I posted 466 times in 2022

That's 23 more posts than 2021!

115 posts created (25%)

351 posts reblogged (75%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@evilfloralfoolery

@sniction-fiction

@athousandblessings

@mimikusu

@silklined

I tagged 461 of my posts in 2022

Only 1% of my posts had no tags

#answered asks - 39 posts

#cerberus - 31 posts

#cerberus and kia - 28 posts

#my ocs - 22 posts

#thank you so much! - 19 posts

#supernatural soap opera - 15 posts

#love it - 14 posts

#i love it - 13 posts

#thank you so much for the asks! - 9 posts

#cerbia - 8 posts

Longest Tag: 125 characters

#this – ‘’mere snatches of josephine abstracted the rippled reflection left behind when she’s some moments ahead’’ – is divine

My Top Posts in 2022:

Discovery

A little awakening moment with very early Cerberus and Kia. It's their third date, and a notable first time. ---

She can’t even remember the last time she’s been on a dinner date. A proper one, that is. Proper proper. At all.

Is it…never? Wow, is it actually never?

Kia tries to settle her nerves a little. Calm down. It’s just food, okay? Fancy food. Oh my god, you know how to eat! And you can do a little fancy. They’re not even at the dinner part of the evening yet – they’re just selecting an accompanying wine. Or he is, anyway. She has no idea about that sort of thing, really, though she’s more than happy to partake in fancy wine alongside fancy food. And she’s wearing a very suitably fancy silk embroidered dinner gown, after all. Partaking is practically mandatory.

But the magnificence still strikes her, here the depths of the DeVille manor, the cellar with its stonecut staircase wrapped in cast iron curves and filigree, the capricious flicker of firebrands, and a core warmth in the atmosphere permeating even the heavy stone. She’s never been here before, never experienced anything like it. Like him.

He looks like art. It’s far from the first time she’s thought it but there are moments it shakes her all over again, as if she’s seeing him completely anew. As indeed it does tonight, with him in beautifully tailored black dress coat, brocade waistcoat with richest green detail offsetting in echo that famous emerald gaze, unbound midnight hair falling past broad shoulders; he is dark majesty resplendent and he disorients her with a breathtaking presence unrivalled.

Cerberus pauses by the burnished oakwood door, offering his hand to her as she negotiates the final descent in delicately beautiful shoes entirely unsuited to the task. She’s slow to accept, still a little caught up in her thoughts, but thankful for the assistance and the warm solidity of his grasp – firm, safe, see? you’re not hallucinating, real – amid the imposing, classic grandeur of it all.

It’s also an imposing, classic grandeur that is apparently not in regular use.

His opening of the door sends a chaotic dance of dust motes into the air, thick and animated, the light from the firebrands illuminating the swirling wild array.

“Ah, damn.��

Cerberus, with a sharp and immediate catch of breath, frowns momentarily, sniffles and rubs his nose, well aware that it won’t prevent the inevitable for long. And indeed it doesn’t; he turns from Kia and gives over quickly. “HuhTSCHuu! Ah-TSSCH-uu! Excuse me, I… hh-AATSSCH-uu!”

“Bless you!” Kia offers with a smile, and a tone belying a sudden, riveted focus.

“*snf!* Thank you, darkling.” Cerberus shakes his head briefly as if to clear the irritation, sniffles again. “Should come down here more often, I suppose, but there’s not really been the… hh-HH…” His brow creases, expression collapsing expectant. “—the occasion. Sorry, I’m going to sneeze agai…” he almost manages, his words a blurred rush of necessity as his breath is directed to more pressing matters and he turns away once more, hurried and desperate; he covers with hastily retrieved handkerchief and with a scimitar gasp surrenders again.

“hh-h-huh-TSCHH-uu! Huh-TSSCHH-uu! *snf!* Huh… huhhTSSCHHUU!”

And Kia doesn’t expect or indeed understand the sharp thrill that flashes through her now, makes her stomach leap, her heart still a moment then race, but ohh she recognises the cause of his reaction, and she smiles softly as she finds herself discovering this simple little susceptibility in him unexpectedly beautiful.

“Aw, you’re allergic?”

He partially concedes with something approaching a concessional half-nod, and an accompanying sniffle. “A little se…” His breath catches again and he wipes his nose with a firm and determined measure of resistance. “A little sensitive to it, mm.”

Kia’s smile broadens, warm and vibrant. “It’s actually adorable, you know.”

Cerberus chuckles in a mixture of bemusement and utter disbelief as he rubs watering eyes and sniffles again. “Not quite the word I’d choose, darkling,” he says, selecting a bottle of something deep red and richly decadent, which he wastes no time in passing across to Kia in acute and escalating urgency. “It’s probably best if…” He inhales sharply at the insistent returning itch that he can do very little about, and he stifles another unstoppable sneeze against his shoulder. “HXXTch! Best if you hold this. I… hhh...!”

He turns from her immediately the moment the bottle’s safely in her hands, capitulating absolute, possessing and powerful. “Huh-AAHTSSCHHuu!!”

“Gods! *SNF!* Pardon me.” He blows his nose, excuses himself again and takes a moment to recover, looking over at Kia with an expression of self-deprecating chagrin as he pushes disarrayed falls of ebony from his face, sniffling again in the wake. “I feel my aura of debonair mystique may be taking a bit of a hit here.” He offers her a wry smile and raises an eyebrow.

Kia laughs, openly and genuinely. “Oh, but you’re completely nailing adorable,” she purrs through captivation - the unexpected thrill of seeing something so small and insignificant, so regular, so everyday, overtake him like this, but also how entirely he commits to it, once it’s a certainty. His intensity, passion, potency intrinsic to his being somehow, in every aspect.

So much to learn...

She curls her arm around his waist, stands on tiptoe to kiss him lightly on the cheek. “Bless you,” she murmurs, just a little softwanton, then adds a playful, “I mean, I’m pretty sure adorable is one of the main qualities a good Demon king needs anyway. Actual fact.” She grins.

"Oh, I see." Cerberus smiles back at her and runs a cautious forefinger beneath his nose with another sharp sniffle. “Ugh. Honestly! Charming as that is, darkling, I think what I actually need is fresh air.”

“And an incredibly sexy dinner date.”

He laughs. “And an incredibly sexy dinner date.”

68 notes - Posted June 13, 2022

It’s No Secret

Little domestic moment with my darlings, no plot other than a mildly irregular day in the Demonics Office. --- Kia knocks, opens the door and enters the Demonics Office in a fluid, nonchalant motion like there’s no risk involved in such an act whatsoever.

“Hey, hon, you busy?”

Cerberus, with a sharp sniffle, vaporises the latest clutch of used tissues he’s holding and glances up from his seat at the desk as his bonded, unannounced and unexpected, flashes him a vibrant smile as she moves to meet him, bestowing a quick kiss and no time to reply.

“No, okay, great, because…”

She mumbles a rhetorical “Can I just shift… I’m just gonna…” as she moves a few papers aside, puts the small hamper she’s carrying down in their place, and looks Cerberus over in quick assessment. He’d been headachy, distracted and sniffly morning-long. Early afternoon now, and the light hint of pink to his nostrils, the tiredness muting the intensity of his gaze, the remnant scent of smoke from recurrent tissue immolations combine to suggest that nothing much has changed. He presses the back of his hand against his nose with more than a little force, and sniffles again.

“Okay, first, this is honey and ginger tea.” Kia holds up a thermos, points to it. “It should still be pretty warm but you’ll probably want to reheat it anyway. Figured that wouldn’t be a problem, though.” She smiles and winks playfully.

“Anyway—” She pushes some more desk accoutrements aside, ignores the fleeting mildly pained expression this action brings from Cerberus, and sits on the desk to face him. “—you know that whole ‘the secret ingredient is love’ thing, right? When someone cooks something and it’s extra good and you ask them how it’s so good and the answer is that the secret ingredient is love?”

Cerberus, not quite sure where she’s going with this, gives her a quizzical look. It’s gearing up to be a particularly relentless week, as Influx is every year, and he’s only just at the beginning of arranging it all, he’s done very little of it to completion, and delaying further won’t help anything at all. “Yes, darkling, I suppose so, but I…” He wryly indicates a paper with a mess of unfinalised schedules on it. Another sniffle sees him claim another tissue.

Kia is not going to be distracted from her cause.

“Well, my love is not a secret.” Directing his attention now to a soup canister, she removes the cover to proudly display the contents. Floating in the broth are several vegetables which have been precisely cut into heart shapes. “It’s actual. Look - you can see the love!” She points at a heartcarrot. “Which obviously means it’s the best soup ever,” she adds with certainty, waving a presentational flourish over the soup and smiling broadly. “Anyway, so, like, I did the carrot and potato but the chicken is just shredded because it’s hard to make hearts out of chicken. Also the corn, it’s just…it’s really tiny.”

Cerberus laughs with a genuine, heartwarmed delight. This is so very Kia, so very the essence of his beloved �� these thoughtful eccentricities, percipient kindnesses, the joy she always brings with it – and he curls a hand through her rich brunette waves, touches a kiss to her forehead.

“It’s wonder…” He clears his throat as his voice catches a little, sniffles again and wipes his nose. “Excuse me. It’s wonderful, love, you’re wonderful, but, really, you needn’t have gone to the trouble. I’m al… hh…” His expression collapses into an immediately surrendered frown, haze falling over emerald eyes, and he brings the tissue he’s holding up in cover, turns from Kia as much as he can in the almost no time he’s afforded before he capitulates, urgent, needful, unforgiving. “HUHTSSCH-uu! Huh-TSSCH-uu! Hh-hh… HH… AhhHETSCHUU!”

The room spins a little more than he’s prepared for and he takes a moment for a chagrined wry recovery. “Damn it. *snff!* Couldn’t have timed that more badly if I’d tried.” He clears his throat again, wipes his nose firmly. “Pardon me.”

“Bless you. Lucky for you I brought this amazing and clearly needed chicken and vegetable love soup.”

He chuckles wryly, thanks her for the blessing and wipes his nose again, just as ineffectively as the last time. “And I do appreciate it, darkling, I truly do, but I will be fine, I promise.” And he still mostly believes it, although with somewhat less conviction than perhaps he did earlier.

A languid hand weaves through falls of ebony hair as she meets his gaze, her tone faux stern for, “Oh, I’m going to hold you to that.”

“Any form of you holding me suits me perfectly well, love.” Cerberus incinerates the tissue before indicating the multitude of papers awaiting his attention. “But unfortunately, for the moment, duty calls.”

Kia sighs, just a little. “Well, if you really absolutely do have to be all big bad formidable Demon king or whatever today, you definitely need the soup,” she says, the undertone of chastisement clear as she trails a fingernail along angular cheekbone. “You’ve barely made it through a sentence without sniffling since I got here, you know.”

He’d love to not sniffle again at this point, but despite that, he absolutely does.

She quirks a knowing eyebrow at him, leans in closer for a warm, lingering kiss, and Mindsends :Nobody is too formidable for soup.:

She leans back again, looks at him in gentle yet firm challenge. “And don’t you even try to pretend.”

Cerberus chuckles wryly, shakes his head. “Ah, darkling, I wouldn’t dare.”

This magnificent goddess. The call of duty is lessening by the second.

He wraps an arm around her waist in desirous embrace, pulling her close, raising the ambient heat both with thought and physical touch. Pushing her hair aside with slow, indulgent tenderness, he tucks silken chestnut behind her ear to press a kiss to her neck, his sly smile practically tangible as he murmurs a susurrant baritone I used to run this place, you know.

“Mmh,” Kia manages, heat suffusing her, wanton volcanic, and she leans in, tracing her fingers languorously over her bonded’s face as she does so. She feels his nostrils twitch against her touch, senses as much as hears the short, sharp inhalation he cannot help but take, and the heat already burning her rises again, incendiary.

And the Demon king would very much like to not continue to perfect the art of inopportune timing but his powers have no dominion here, not in the face of this irresistible need, this culmination desperate. He turns to stifle against his shoulder, once and then again – “HXTchu! HXXTCHu!” – and he Mindsends an apology as the need, only increased with the suppression, returns renewed insistent powerful absolute and he inhales deeply, doubles over into folded arms, surrendered.

“Huh-AAHTSSCHHUU! Hhh… hh-TSSCHH-uu! HHTSSCHH-uu!”

Kia’s Mindsent :Bless you, sweetheart: is a vibration through body and soul.

“hh-AHH… Ah-TSSCHH-uu! Ah, gods.” Cerberus sniffles fiercely, murmurs a thank you and an apology, and sighs. “I suppose I’m doomed at this point, hm? Excuse me, love.” He claims a sequence of tissues and blows his nose thoroughly, which does stop the sniffling – in the short-term, at least. And it may simply be the presence of his beloved, but he strangely finds himself feeling better than he’s felt all day, even if he’s not exactly sounding the part, and he chooses the path of optimism again. “I’m sure I’ll be alright, though, honestly. These things do pass.”

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70 notes - Posted April 27, 2022

Best Served Cold

≈ 3,000 words of Underworldian shenanigans - Cerberus and Kia and some guest appearances; any and all questions, please do ask! And as always, thank you so much for taking the time to enter in; my ridiculous little heart loves you all. ---

Seriously?

He’s somehow managed to resemble an outtake from a baroque portrait, an array of plush blankets slung over the chair and side table in what certainly wasn’t artful arrangement but has fallen that way all the same, much like his own position, like he’s been purposefully styled to be all long, sculpted limbs, curtain of silken ebony hair falling just so, shirt semi-unbuttoned as if for an intentional, dramatically splendid unconsciousness. The grandeur of the room itself brings its own measure of import, and a claret-stained wineglass and tissue box, both notably empty, lending further subtle touches to the vista – of indulgence, of necessity. An almost bacchanalian, luxuriantly rich chaos of classic beauty gone vaguely awry, a haphazardness in paradox, perfectly disordered.

And he’s got no right to be this beautiful, not under third-day ravages of a heavy headcold, asleep in the fireside chair that he swore to her he wouldn’t fall asleep in, he’s just going to review some papers, it’s no problem, darkling, and it needs to be done.

He’s a little flushed; could be the wine, could be a touch of fever.

Kia sighs. He may indeed be an unfair triumph of aesthetic debauchery, but right now the stunning Demon king is also just her sick husband, his formidable dominance quieted under blanket pile and sleepthick congested breaths, domestic everyday mundane, which is somehow the most surreal and incredible part of all of it.

Picking up one of several scrolls strewn across the table, she glances over a complex and bloodthirsty looking collection of daemonological whatnots she mostly doesn’t comprehend. Okay, pretty sure that’s ‘evisceration’…

Alrighty, then.

She takes a brief detour to the kitchen, collecting the tissue box from the countertop there, and returns.

“Hey, hon,” she says as he blearily wakes to her soft stroking of his hair, the contours of his face. Her briefly reproachful expression is entirely a work of fiction, though, and she tilts his head towards her for a loving kiss.

:You’re the worst self-medicator I have ever met.:

Cerberus murmurs a congested, hoarse and not quite awake yet Mm, hello, love with a sniffle and nose rub against an itch that wastes no time in reasserting itself; with an urgent gasp he collapses into crooked elbow and a couplet of heavy sneezes he doesn’t even consider fighting. “Ah-TSSCHH-uu! Huh-hhAHTSSCHhuu!” He excuses himself breathlessly a moment before an immediate third, powerful and possessing. “HHAAHTSSCCHU! Ugh, pardon me. *SNFF!*”

“Bless you, sweetheart. Here,” Kia says, passing him a couple of tissues from the new box, which briefly confuses Cerberus before he gathers enough wherewithal through coldhazy tiredness to work it out. He presses his hand to his temples, the bridge of his nose, a series of ineffectual, wet sniffles in the wake, pushes his hair back from his face and makes a halfhearted attempt at rearranging both himself and the blankets into a slightly more put-together fashion.

Another sniffle. “Thanks, love. Sorry.”

She touches a kiss to the top of his head,running her fingers through his hair even as she gently pushes it aside, her hand resting a moment on his brow, noting with slight concern a heat beyond his norm. Another kiss as she drapes her arms around him. “How’s the cold?”

“Flourishing.” He sniffles again, particularly emphatically, and groans as he notices that he’s not, in fact, completed the work he meant to do – work that he thought he had done. “And apparently I’ve had—” he says, as much to himself as to Kia while running through a rapid double check of several scrolls, definitely incomplete, “—the world’s most tedious dream.”

He looks up at his bonded as if she’s going to know the answer, though he’s asking himself more than asking her. “How have I not finished this?”

“Well… You did finish the wine, so...” She gives him a good-natured, gently teasing smile.

“Ah, no, that was shared with Lilith during a delightful impromptu argument earlier,” he says, examining a particular scroll for a third time, “and… *snf* Oh, I…” He frowns, breath sharpcatching, and raises an index finger in urgent necessity of pause, turning from Kia with haste. “Hhh-AHTSSCH-uu! Hh...hh-HH… Ah-HEHTSHhuu! Ah, gods.”

A tired exhalation follows and he sniffles thickly in the wake of it, grumbles something about barely know what I’m doing thanks to this pestilential nonsense and excuses himself to claim a fresh sequence of tissues. He blows his nose, which does little more than reignite the itch with extra heat, burning insistent relentless, and he sneezes again immediately. “Huh-AHSSCHuu! Honestly, this has been… hpt-XCH! all damn… hhH! *snf* All damn day. Excu… hh-ah…AAHTSCHUU!! Gods, excuse me.”

“Aw, bless you, babe.” Kia gives him a moment of recovery – such as it is, his breathing still somewhat erratic – and runs her hands through her bonded’s hair with one hand, passes him some more tissues with the other. “So, want my news of the day? Yeah, you do,” she says with a kiss to his cheek and no pause for an answer. “You know how I had my crash course in Mortal Studies instructing? Okay, well, oh my god it’s a whole lot harder than I expected. Like, some of the stuff you have to explain is just really…really weird. Ash has been super helpful, though. Except he did give me all the assignments to mark, which is definitely less cool, but fine, I guess. At least it’s a small group.”

She stops to regard Cerberus a moment in a sudden, slightly delayed curiosity. “So what were you arguing with Lilith about?”

Cerberus scoffs as he vaporises the used tissues. “Gods know. Haven’t a clue. I’ve willfully forgotten, or today’s medication came with some creative side effects notably more effective than its purported effects.” He clears his throat and sniffles again, rubbing his nose with a determined firmness, and subdues the most recent of the recurrent itches – almost. “She came around here and said some things at me. *snf!* I’ve no idea what.”

“So what did you say, then? You must have said something.”

“Probably did more sneezing than talking,” Cerberus mutters with clear touch of bitterness, more to himself than to Kia, though she offers a nod of agreement and wry chuckle all the same. “Be that as it may, though, I really have very little idea of what the problem actually was. Something about the damned Nuit and Arcadia issue.” He frowns in thought, pressing a hand to his forehead, and sighs. “I could have sworn we started out holding much the same opinion on the matter. Though I’m sure she’d be more than willing to let me know exactly where, why and in which way I was completely wrong about everything.”

“If you don’t remember what you said,” Kia says with a playful wicked grin, “you really can’t be sure that you weren’t wrong about everything, yeah?”

“Honestly, darkling. Are you actively trying to make my day worse than it already is?” Cerberus raises an eyebrow at her and shifts his position to rest his head against hers, murmuring, “I couldn’t have been wrong about everything. I never am.” He turns slightly to give a fleeting, knowing smile at her resultant incredulous laugh, coughs in reflex and groans quietly. “Ugh, I feel appalling.”

“Aw, honey.” Kia touches an affectionate kiss to his temple. “I know.” She glances over her shoulder as a knock sounds at the door. “Huh. Are you expecting anyone?” she asks, already moving to answer it.

“Dear gods, no. Although Lilith didn’t let that stop her from turning up earlier.”

See the full post

71 notes - Posted August 30, 2022

Home Truths

A little snapshot moment. I've been kind of on a sappy domestic comfort kick lately. No plot save the small things. 🖤 ---

I’ll be alright.

But of course he’d say that.

The doubtful inquiry in her gaze isn’t lessened at all by his assurance; he’s been tired and out of sorts since waking. He knows this, and as he looks across at her from where he sits on the couch, he concedes to it. Just a touch.

A little sniffly, love, but I’ll be alright. A slight smile she recognises as an effort made just for her.

He looks exhausted.

Kia keeps a watchful eye on Cerberus with intermittent, lingering over-the-shoulder glances while she finishes making her tea. He’s sniffly, as he says, indeed – he has been since an early, powerful trio of sneezes rich with the kind of wet heaviness that never bodes well – but also the lethargy in his motion, the unspoken story of his hand pressed against his temples, his sinuses, the brief frown of discomfort he gives as he does so ensuring her attention remains fixed.

A moment’s hiatus then another frown, first appearing almost curious but quickly deepening to something much more urgent, hijacked sharpneedful desperation, a keen gasp collapsing rapidly into an imperative, overwhelming sneeze. No respite in its wake and his breath is a hitch of pleading and need, and another, and again, completely overtaken.

“HehAHHTSSCHUU! Hhh…h… Huh-HH… hh-HAHTSSCHHUU!!” He doesn’t so much cover with crooked elbow as surrender into its refuge, whole body capitulation, and the deep shiver, cold flash and head spin that follows sets him reeling. Everything aches, sudden and absolute, he’s chilled to the bone, senses simultaneously dulled and painfully sharp, like the world cracked on its axis in the aftermath. He doesn’t excuse himself as he usually does, he doesn’t have the wherewithal, and puts his head in his hands, looking and sounding so unlike himself that his bonded abandons her tea without another thought and moves to him.

Her hand on his shoulder in steadfast caress, an unspoken promise of sanctuary.

Honey?

He gives the slightest shake of his head.

I’m not…

And for a moment she almost expects another denial, but it’s fleeting.

His energy stolen, with brow creased he looks up to meet her eyes in true concern; a clear, perplexed worry cast unmissable in emerald, and a shocked waver in his voice that she’s never heard before – tone quieted, apology-laced, and without doubt.

I’m not well.

Its simplicity brutally telling, Kia knows immediately how certain he must be for such an admission. The matter-of-factness, no denial, no mitigation. A plain honesty rendered devastating.

Oh, sweetheart.

She embraces him in softwarm haven and he leans into her touch as she cradles his head against her breast, comfort embodied, silently noting what is almost certainly fever.

A gentle kiss pressed to his forehead. It’s alright. Whisper intimate, reassuring. I’m here. A tender stroking of his hair, holding him closer as he shivers and sniffles again. I love you.

And she finds herself echoing his words, but from a place of promise rather than avoidance, security rather than hope. An endgoal rather than an entreaty.

Another kiss.

You’ll be alright.

---

73 notes - Posted July 23, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Gifted

just a small domestic micromoment

---

He’s late.

He’s very late.

He’d really tried not to be but just about everything that could have gone wrong has resolutely done so all damn day, and he closes the bedroom door as quietly as he can, not at all surprised to find his beloved already asleep. He’s exhausted himself. Everything’s taken at least twice as long as it should have, his ability to focus one step from nonexistent, and now on top of it all he just can’t…seem to…

“hh-HH”

stop…

“HuhTSSchuu!”

Cerberus covers with tightly crooked elbow as best he can in an attempt to keep things as quiet as possible but good intentions regardless it’s really not where his talents lie, and he hesitates in a momentary frozen hiatus, brow creased in concern as Kia stirs just a little, unsure whether he’s woken her or not.

But she resettles quickly enough and he sighs, sniffles, pushes his hair back from his face. He takes a fresh tissue, then another, from the box on the dresser, wipes his nose with a commanding, wilfully insistent firmness, and immediately sniffles again.

Gods his head hurts. He swallows with pained effort, the brokenglass sting in his throat a wicked omen, but for now he’s just so glad to finally be home and back with his love; the day’s had precious few moments of respite, and even the sight of his bonded is some kind of soul-deep succour.

Despite his attempts to not disturb her she wakes a little anyway as he joins her under the covers. She murmurs a soft sound of welcome, her mouth curling into the smallest of contented smiles, and sleepily shifts her position to curl up alongside him, trail her fingers through his hair.

And all he wants is to immerse in the sanctuary of her embrace and finally get some much-needed rest but this incessant itch just will not…

He turns from her rapidly as urgency becomes imperative, demanding insistent no warning no chance, and he sneezes twice, stifles a third

“Huh-TSSCH-uu! AHTSSCHuu! HXTchu!” in desperate rapid succession; she reaches over to gather some tissues to pass him, offers a sweetsoft bless you concurrent with his wearily chagrined excuse me as she does so. He manages a partial thankyou before returning unstoppable rising need wrenches him away and he buries his face in folded arms, doubles over absolute, surrendered.

“HhhAHTSSCHHuu!”

He groans quietly and collapses back amongst the pillows with another series of liquid sniffles.

“Aw, you getting a cold?” Empathic and sleepblurry, it’s not so much question as observance, muffled by both the bedlinens and her bonded’s shoulder as she wraps herself around him, touches a lingering kiss to his temple.

A resigned hmh of concession; he feels entirely too awful for any denials. “*snf!* Doing an outstanding job of it, too, it seems,” he says, the thick edges of heavying congestion already dulling his diction. He sniffles again, rubs his nose with more than a little force, and turns his gaze to hers in wry apology.

She tuts a warm sound of sympathy and props herself up on her elbow a moment to regard him with tender concern; the rarity of an admission like that from him has her immediate attention. “Come here.” A gentle hand brushes some errant midnight strands aside, a murmured, “Oh, hon,” and she softly directs him to lie against her, embracing him, entwining them together. She presses another kiss to his forehead, and feeling his breath catch anew reaches over to the tissue box again, passes him a preemptive handful as she sleepily returns to nestle close against him once more, her voice warmwhispered, intimate, soothing.

“You’re such an overachiever.”

134 notes - Posted February 5, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#my addiction to ask memes laid bare in the taggery #pretty happy with my top 5 here though ngl #even though i'm not entirely convinced of its accuracy because i have two posts that notes-count-wise should be here #my OCs incognito missing out lol #and there should be a comma in that 'longest tag' after 'abstracted' dammit tumblr #from The Final Final II by the fabulous mongooseblues #this was fun though

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bitbybitwrites · 2 years

Text

Inspiration/ Notes for Vervain - Klaine Fan Fic

My inspiration/notes for this story are pretty long, so I decided to add them here instead of on any of the fanfic sites.

SPOILERS AHEAD, so you may want to read the story first!

Read the whole series here: An Herbalist's Handbook

More notes under the cut

The song the Kurt sings to Blaine:

. ."He started to sing softly:

I wonder what my wings were made for,

Fluttering, active, restive things;

If this cage is all the world is.

Tell one why a bird has wings."

This song is actually modified from this ballad, The Captive Bird's Complaint:

***************

And this image/scene

"Kurt leaned against the other side of the closed door, tears streaming down his face. He clutched his hands to his chest and slid to the floor, silently sobbing."

**************

Scissors/Shears:

" . . .Kurt reached into the satchel and retrieved a pair of the silver shears his father had made for Kurt's mother to use in her garden. They were beautifully ornate but also sharp enough to be deadly."

**********

The herbs/ plants Kurt collects at his cottage:

" . . .Kurt, with shuddering sobs, quickly took to his worktable and began gathering what he knew he needed for his task.

Vervain, wormwood, wolfsbane. . ."

Herbs/ flowers - magical properties:

Vervain (and the title of the story)

(Verbena officinalis )also known as the Enchanter's herb, has a long association with magical and spiritual practices going back in time to the ancient Egyptians, Greeks, and Romans, as well as the Celtic Druids. Vervain's primary role was to protect believers against evil spells or negative energy and to purify sacred places, such as altars, ceremonial implements, temples, and private dwellings.

Wolfsbane (Aconitum napellus)

Since ancient times, poison made from wolfsbane has been used to coat swords and arrows in battle, execute criminals, commit murder, and has made its way into many spells and rituals. In medieval Europe, some magical uses for the plant wrapping wolfsbane seeds in lizard's skin and carrying them to become invisible (if you ever try this, please report back!), warding off werewolves and vampires, and shapeshifting into animals.

Blackthorn (Prunus spinosa)

Blackthorn, a thorny shrub in the rose family, has an especially sinister reputation in European folklore. Native to Europe, western Asia, and northern Africa, it has long been associated with darkness and death, in part due to the appearance of its twisted, spiky branches, which are especially stark in the winter months.

Borage (Borago officinalis)

These flowers are one of the strongest charms to bring courage, fortitude and protection to anyone who carries them. Harvest and dry a few flowers and place them in a little medicine bag or pouch and carry it when you need inner strength and bravery. Additionally, borage is reputed to enhance psychic abilities when enjoyed as a tea.

Mugwort (Artemisia vulgaris)

Mugwort is a magical plant that opens the third eye, and our ability to access our deepest intuition. It’s reputed to strengthen psychic abilities, and often used to wash the hands or tools of someone performing divination, such as reading the tarot or using a pendulum.

Pennyroyal (Mentha pulegium)

Pennyroyal has a long history of being used for protection. Historically it’s been used to protect against the evil eye. Placed in shoe it prevents weariness and increases stamina and carried in the pocket it can smooth the way for fair business deals, and promote peace, compromise, and help to stop fighting.

Rosemary (Rosemarinus officinalis)

Rosemary is one of the oldest incenses has been used traditionally to cleanse and purify a space of any negativity. It protects against nightmares when placed beneath the pillow, and when hung by the door it protects against thieves. When worn on the head, it helps aid in memory, and in fact is used medicinally to awaken the mind and improve circulation. It has strong healing energy, both medically and magically, and has long been used for love potions and elixirs.

Rue (Ruteola gravieolens)

Rue has been used as a healing ally by placing the leaves directly on the area of illness, such as the head for a headache. When smelled, rue clears the mind and improves mental acuity, and has long been used in the bath to break curses or hexes against you. It's believed that it protects against the evil eye, werewolves, and poisons. As a wash for the home, rue is believed to protect against all ills, and protect those who live within.

Skullcap (Scutellaria lateriflora)

This nourishing nervine is energetically and physically associated with relaxation and peace, making it the perfect herb for processing big emotions. Historically, it's been used in ritual baths to cleanse and calm the aura and protect from tension and stress.

Ancestors also burned the herb in ceremony to relieve any conflict between family, friends, or community members.

This is another beautiful herbal ally for restoring and nourishing the nervous system, and it pairs wonderfully with passionflower as an evening infusion. Skullcap can relax your entire system, reduce muscle spasms, and release mental, emotional, and physical tension.

Wormwood (Artemisa absinthium)

Wormwood is the bitter herb used to flavor vermouth and the liqueur absinthe. The scent of wormwood is thought to increase psychic abilities. Legend states that if you burn the plant at a graveyard, it will summon the spirit of the departed. If wormwood is carried in a sachet or charm bag, it protects against bewitchment. This baneful herb was also worked into enchantments for love. It is sacred to Artemis, Pan, and Diana.

In the language of flowers, wormwood symbolizes a sad parting of friends. This is classified as a masculine plant. Its astrological influences are the planet Mars and the element of fire.

*********

Love knot brooch that Kurt wears that belonged to his mother:

Inspired by these images:

The true love knot, in the same way, symbolizes the following:

An unbreakable bond

Eternal connection

Unity

Two separate parts interconnecting to become a whole

Loyalty

Love and passion

Steadfastness

These are all necessary characteristics of any relationship, which is why the true love knot is popular among lovers, families and close friends.

*************

What Kurt chants during his ritual:

Snippets were modified from the following poems/songs

From: BEGONE DULL CARE.

Long while you have been tarrying here,

And pleasantly you wouldst me kill;

But in faith, dull care,

You never shalt have thy will.

**************

From : THE MESSENGER OF MORTALITY;

DEATH.

Though some by age be full of grief and pain,

Yet their appointed time they must remain:

I come to none before their warrant's sealed,

And when it is, they must submit and yield.

I take no bribe, believe me, this is true;

Prepare yourself to go; I'm come for you.

***************

Moving counterclockwise while casting a spell

" . . .Crumbling the contents between his fingers, Kurt began to walk widdershins in a circle and scattered the herbs and flowers before his feet.

All while he made his counterclockwise pacing, he began chanting over and over: . . ."

When practicing witchcraft in the Northern Hemisphere, use a deosil (clockwise) motion to summon energy and a widdershins (counterclockwise) motion to banish.

#klainetober 2022 #fanfiction #writing #blaine anderson #kurt hummel #klaine #klaine fanfic #klaine fanfiction #klaine fic #31horrificdays #klainetober #bitbybitwrites #vervain

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obeymeoasis · 3 years

Text

Demon Bros React: MC Compliments Them Aggresively

Warnings: A generally thirsty MC, Beel’s react has a brief mention of choking.

Lucifer

It was rare that Lucifer had time off during the afternoon and you were fully taking advantage of it.

Holding hands, you were taking a leisurely stroll around the garden. Every few minutes you stopped to point out a flower or a bug that had caught your eye.

“Ooh Luci, look at this one! It looks like a rainbow! Oh my god, it’s so shiny, I love it!”

You heard Lucifer chuckling at you and turned to ask what was so funny when you stood still in shock at the sight before you. The glow of the afternoon sun illuminated Lucifer beautifully, his black hair almost glowing, his face open and happy, smiling at you. He looked absolutely radiant. And you were going to tell him as much.

“Oh my god Lucifer, what is wrong with you?”

Lucifer’s smile dimmed immediately and his eyes narrowed. “Love, whatever do you mean?” His voice was careful and tense.

“I mean, it is illegal for you to look that good! Oh my god! Do you see you? You look like a greek god like what in the actual world!”

Lucifer’s mouth opened in surprise at your sudden outburst.

“How are you even my boyfriend? Like you’re literally glowing Luci. Oh my god my eyes, you’re too bright I can’t even look at you!”

Lucifer blinked a couple of times as if to clear his head. Slowly a satisfied smirk replaced his confused look and he moved to press a kiss against the back of your hand.

“Love, what on earth has gotten into you today?”

“What, I’m not allowed to compliment my boyfriend?”

“Of course you are, although I’d prefer it if the compliments were given in a more... private place next time.”

“...Fine.”

Mammon

Mammon had apparently made some money in one of his schemes and he practically dragged you to Majolish one morning to go shopping.

Once in the store Mammon had sped off in a flurry of activity, adding clothes to an ever-growing pile before herding you toward the dressing room.

"Wait for me outside, okay? Ya gotta tell me how each outfit looks.”

A few minutes later, Mammon stepped out in a pair of dark jeans that hugged his toned legs and a black v-neck sweater that showed off his collarbone. A thin gold chain adorned his neck and the look was completed with a pair of combat boots.

“Well, whattaya think?”

“Mammon. What the hell.”

Mammon’s shoulders drooped a little. “Not good?”

“Mammon. You look so hot. So fucking hot. Like. A supermodel? An icon? You’re stunning!”

He was beginning to blush and you could see how pleased your compliments made him. “O-Of course you think I’m hot! I’m the Great Mammon! I always look good in whatever I wear.”

He expected you to stop at that point and chide him to be more humble but was surprised when you amped up the compliments.

“You do babe, you really do. Look at how long your legs are! And your arms, oh my god. And your chest, wow, I kinda want to lick your chest right now.”

“MC!” Shocked and a little embarrassed, Mammon fled to the inside of the dressing room, swishing the curtain shut behind him. He could feel his cheeks burning.

“Sorry Mams, I’ll stop if you want me to. But I meant every word.”

“...Please don’t stop.”

Leviathan

You were in his room, cuddled on some cushions, watching a new anime together.

Your head on Levi’s shoulder, you were so comfortable that you were close to drifting off to sleep, until Levi nudged your shoulder. “Sorry, I have to go feed Henry.”

You watched Levi sprinkle food into the large tank, his face illuminated by the soft glow. The bubbles and movement from the tank created dancing patterns on his face. As Levi watched Henry eat, he smiled a soft, private smile, and in that moment he looked ethereal.

“Levi, you’re so beautiful.”

Levi’s head whipped around to look at you. “W-What are you talking about?”

You got up and moved closer until you were inches from his face, studying his features. “I’m serious Levi, you’re absolutely gorgeous. Devastatingly handsome. I could honestly stare at you all day. You are so so beautiful.”

With each compliment, Levi’s mouth grew a little bit wider until he was gaping at you.

“I-Is this some kind of joke? Are you making fun of me right now? Why would you- You know how I feel about-”

“Levi, please. Have a little more faith in me. You know I’d never make fun of you. I’m being completely serious right now when I say that you’re incredibly beautiful.”

Levi thinks his brain might have stopped working.

His face is burning, his body is all tingly, and he can’t get any words out?

“Levi? Come back to me, Levi! Hello?” You’re waving your hand in front of his face but you think he might be broken.

You take his hand and slowly lead him back toward the cushions for kisses and more cuddling.

Satan

Reading with Satan was one of your favorite ways to spend an afternoon.

You sat in opposite armchairs and let the comfortable silence fill the room. The only disturbance would be if either of you wanted to share a line or passage from the book you were reading.

Legs curled against your chest, you watched the flame of the candles make flickering shadows against Satan’s bookshelves.

He tapped you on the shoulder and you turned to see his outstretched hand holding his book.

“Love, look at this line.”

You read in amusement as the hero of the story made a witty joke. "That was a good one-"

You turned and saw Satan, his eyes crinkled in laughter, a light blush dusting his cheeks, his lips bitten in an attempt to hold in a giggle.

"Satan... you're so fucking cute."

Immediately one of his eyebrows cocked in confusion. "What-"

"You are so adorable, wow. I want to squish your cheeks and like keep you inside my pocket or something."

"Love, I am the Avatar of Wrath. I am not... cute."

"Yeah? Well I beg to differ. I call it like I see it and right now, I can see that you are the cutest being I've ever seen in my life. The way your eyes light up and you get all blushy. So adorable, I can't stand it."

Satan seemed to be stunned by your exclamation, his features frozen in a mixture of confusion and shock.

You walked over to him and began pressing kisses against his eyelids, on his cheeks, nose, and then finally, lips. "I'm gonna keep kissing you because you're so cute, okay?"

He ended up tugging you against his chest and holding you in a princess-carry, trying to bury his face in your hair so you couldn't see how flustered he was.

Asmodeus

You were in Asmo's room helping him pick an outfit. Well, more like you were scrolling through your D.D.D. while Asmo went through his entire closet complaining about how he had nothing to wear.

He had some sort of big business meeting coming up with a perfume company who wanted his help in designing their new line of products.

Every outfit so far had been beautiful and Asmo looked amazing in each one, as always. You weren't sure how to help him.

"MC, this next outfit is a little different. It's not really my style but it was a gift from the designer so tell me what you think, okay?"

Asmo swished aside the curtain of his dressing room and walked out in a formal black business suit. The shirt was open at the throat, exposing his delicate neck, and he had added a pink pocket square. A large silver watch shone on his left wrist. His shiny black shoes clicked against the floor as he walked toward you.

"So, what do you think?"

"Asmo... If I'm being honest I kind of want you to pin me against the wall right now."

"Darling! You're usually never this forward."

You stood up and twirled him around. "My god Asmo, you look incredible. You look so sexy and professional. Like a rich CEO or something. Scratch the wall thing, I kinda need you to bend me over your desk."

Asmo had never been more surprised by you, but his shock didn’t last long.

"Do you really like it, MC? Do you like when I wear this sort of thing? I should wear suits more often if it means you talking like that. I love this side of you darling!"

He began stalking toward you until your back was gently pressed against the wall, his arms making a kind of cage around you. “Is this what you pictured, MC?” He began kissing you fiercely and you grabbed onto the lapel of his jacket to keep yourself steady.

“Asmo?”

“Yes, darling?”

“Don’t go to the meeting today.”

Beelzebub

You were in the gym with Beel. He was lifting weights and you were bouncing on a medicine ball next to him.

Even though you didn’t exercise at all, Beel said he liked you being there with him. And since it was such a hot day outside, you didn’t mind spending the afternoon in the cool air-conditioned building.

But despite the chill of the room, Beel’s shirt was soaked with sweat. He was lifting enormous weights and you could see the muscles of his arms straining with the effort.

Beel was, well, absolutely ripped. His arms, legs, and stomach all looked like they had been carved from marble. And you spent enough time cuddling with him to know that his body felt exactly like it looked, solid and incredibly strong.

People who didn��t know Beel personally would have found it hard to believe that the demon with an eight-pack had the personality of a hungry golden retriever.

A grunt from Beel startled you out of your thoughts and you realized you had been staring at him this whole time. Uncomfortable at the way his shirt was sticking to his body from sweat, Beel peeled it off of himself.

“Beel?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re killing me here.”

He looked at you in confusion, worried he had done something. “MC, what’s wrong?”

“Beel, do you even see yourself right now? You literally look like sex on legs. How are you even real? I want to touch you all over. But I also kind of want you to choke me.”

“MC!” Beel cried out in surprise and you could see his neck was flushed. “You know I would never hurt you.”

“I know big guy, I trust you.” You let out a low whistle and reveled in how Beel looked, a combination of pleased and a bit embarrassed. “Beel, you’re so perfect. You look like you could protect me from the world.”

“I would you know,” he whispered. “I want to protect you, I don’t want anything or anyone to hurt you.”

You smiled at him. “I know Beel, and I love you for it.” You let the silence hang in the air for a moment. “But also, can I lick your abs?”

“MC!”

Belphegor

It was a rare occasion that you and Belphie were outside, as you both usually preferred to stay in.

You had both woken up late and decided to stop by a local cafe for some lunch because you were too lazy to cook.

Belphie sat across from you at the small table and sipped his tea delicately while you polished off the rest of your sandwich. You had one of your ankles hooked around his.

He was looking out the window, his face turned toward the side, and you used the opportunity to study his features.

Long black eyelashes framed his piercing purple eyes. His silky dark hair stood out against his pale complexion and your eyes traced the high bridge of his nose, the softness of his lips.

As if feeling your stare Belphie turned toward you with a smirk. “Something I can help you with?”

“Belphie... you’re really pretty.”

You could see that you had surprised him a little with your honesty. “You’re so pretty, Belphie. I know a lot of people would kill to have eyelashes as long as yours. And your mouth looks so kissable. You kind of look like a doll. You’re honestly so gorgeous.”

His face was completely blank for a moment then morphed into a calculating stare. “Are... are you being serious right now?” His gaze suddenly turned cold.

“Why would I joke about something like this? I’m telling you right now that think you’re pretty. You’re beautiful.”

Belphie's voice betrayed no emotion. “Nobody’s ever called me pretty before. Or beautiful.”

“Oh, Belphie.” You took his hand from across the table and pressed a kiss against his palm and then the inside of his wrist, the way he did to you all the time. “I’ll repeat it everyday for the rest of my life if you want.”

He scrunched up his nose and whispered, “Don’t. You’re being embarrassing.” But you could tell he didn’t really mean it by the way the corners of his lips quirked up.

He was mostly silent for the rest of lunch, apparently deep in thought, only nodding occasionally at your comments.

When it was time to leave, however, he reached to hold your hand and didn’t let go the entire way home.

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