#feat: the terrible snakes

[starship-prism]

Happy tgirl tummy Tuesday beloved goo girls!!!

[itsphoenix0724]

I love your writing. I'm excited your asks are open and I hope you like this idea. I really love Leander and Reader. I was wondering if you could do one where he's asking Rhys for her hand. Eris and Feyre are there because of the intercourt implications, but Leander knows the one he really needs to impress and convince is Rhys because Reader had told him many times how sad Rhys has been getting about the kids growing up and he won't be so happy to let his baby girl go. Especially since she'll have to go to Autumn since Leander is the heir. A second part with their mating ceremony, because of course they're mates, would be so sweet.

Forever After All~(Leander Vanserra x Reader)

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff

A/N: Hi love! Thank you for visiting my inbox! I loved this request, and I hope you love it just as much <3 I combined it all into one fic instead of two separate parts I hope that's okay. Enjoy and please feel free to visit again!

Leander Vanserra often considered himself a brave male. He was the heir to the Autumn Court, a decorated general, and he regularly faced down his explosive sister which is a feat in and of itself. But here, sitting across from the High Lord and High Lady of the night court he felt like a child caught sneaking sweets before dinner. He didn’t tell you he was coming, and he thinks maybe that had been his first mistake as the bond pulls curiously in his chest. He almost keels over with the rush of emotions. You’ve been together for a few years now, but the mating bond is still relatively new. He tries to lock down the bursts of anxiety as he meets Rhysand’s violet gaze. Thankfully his father is there too, offering his quiet support as he battles the snakes coiling in his gut. He’s here to ask for your hand, he’s made his intentions clear from the beginning, but Night’s High Lord doesn’t seem to want to budge. 

“They’re too young.” Rhys rumbles glaring at Leander from across the sitting room. Feyre shoots him an incredulous look as his father rubs out the crease between his eyes. 

“They’re mated.” Feyre offers, staring at the Autumn family with an apologetic smile. Rhysand scoffs and paces in front of the roaring fireplace. You warned Leander something like this might happen. You’ve been complaining to him for weeks about your father being “an overbearing illyrian baby” and that he’s been hovering around you. Leander had laughed you off, it had been funny at the time, but now that he’s sitting across from Rhysand that overprotectiveness seemed much more threatening. 

“They’re barely into their fifties, Feyre darling,” he replies and Feyre rolls her eyes. The High Lord of Autumn finishes his wine before refilling his glass, patting his son on the back sympathetically. 

“Need I remind you, Rhysand, that Feyre was barely 20 when you mated.” Eris offers, and Rhysand turns that fury-filled gaze onto his father, but Eris doesn’t balk he simply just tilts his head and sips his wine. Rhys snarls a terrible thing, night-kissed powers rushing through the room. Leander’s father just sighs again. “We’re too old for showboating, come now, enough with the bullshit power waves.” Feyre looks like she’s trying to choke back laughter. 

“Darling,” Rhys tries again again. “Our baby girl will no longer be a citizen of the Night Court as soon as she’s married off. Are you ready for that?” It’s Feyre’s turn to shoot out of her chair, looking accusatorily between the two High Lords 

“No longer a citizen of this court?!” She prods angrily. “She is our daughter. She will always be a citizen of this court.” Her blue eyes glare at her mate to further explain, but Rhysand remains tight-lipped with a white-knuckled grip against the mantle. Leander mainly wants to disappear, he feels like a child listening to his parents' hushed arguments from the top of the stairwell. He averts his high from the silent argument of Night’s Royal family. His eyes dart around the study, and when he sees the portrait of your smiling face hanging above the hearth he remembers what he’s here for. Eris clears his throat making Feyre turn her icy fury onto him. 

“She’s marrying my heir. It’s customary that she would become a citizen of the Autumn Court. That way there can be no She would become my son’s responsibility, where she would take on whatever role she desires.” Eris rumbles, and Leander wants to shrink in his seat. 

His father could have put things more delicately. It made it sound like he owned you and the prospect of that makes his skin crawl. He talked to his grandmother enough to know that he never wanted to be anything like the man who sired his father. 

“Why?” Feyre spits. “Why can they not be citizens of both courts?” She turns her gaze back to her mate. 

“It’s just not how it’s done,” Rhys responds. 

“Well, I seem to recall that there was no such thing as High Lady either,” Feyre replies. “Yet here we are.” Rhysand starts to reply again, but Leander cuts in. 

“If I may. Lord and Lady, I love my mate with everything in my soul. She is my light, and I don’t care what I have to do to marry her officially, but I would never want to take her away from her family.” Leander directs this part specifically at Rhys who gives him a respectful nod. Rhys and Feyre’s eyes go glassy in a way that lets him know they’re having a conversation. He’s seen you and your siblings have that look, and he’s reminded of your smooth voice purring into his mind whenever you feel like causing mischief. 

“It’s settled then,” Feyre says after a short while. “You have our full permission to marry, but both of you will be full citizens of both the Night and Autumn Courts.” She holds her chin high, there is no room for arguments as the High Lady’s eyes drift to his father who smiles in agreement. 

“Well then,” Rhys claps his hands together, “I guess this calls for me to open a bottle of my good wine.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You could tell Leo was nervous. You’re wandering down the streets of the Autumn Court pressed close to his side, he seems like the picture of a male at perfect ease, but the flames in the lanterns keep flickering with waves of the power that’s radiating off of him. The stars are winking brightly as he leads you to the top of a hill where he had set up a picnic blanket with enchanted stained glass orbs floating and glimmering with warm candlelight. You almost keel over at the sight as you gasp, your hands shooting to your heart as the bond in your chest thrums with joy. 

“Is this why you’ve been so jumpy today?” You question as you look your arms around his neck. His cheeks flood a delightful shade of pink that you want to drink down, but you settle for pressing your lips to his allowing that pleasant dizzy feeling to flood your veins like slow-moving honey. With some effort, you break apart from the kiss and look over at the spread of food he has laid out for the two of you. Plates of fruit and cheese, decadent chocolate, and a bottle of mulled wine rest atop the blanket. You turn back to Leander, “This is making me think you’re apologizing for something?” You raise a brow and he looks alarmed for a second before laughing and shaking his head. 

“No Fawn, I’m not apologizing for anything.”  He leads you over to the blanket and allows you to dig into the mountains of different foods, eyes softening as he contentedly watches you fill your plate. You have your fill, sipping on the mulled wine and admiring Leander as the candlelight bounces off his copper hair, you notice he’s barely picked at his own food as your stomach gives an awful twist. 

“Something is the matter. Why aren’t you eating?” Your brows furrow as you cross the picnic blanker to settle into his side. Leo’s eyes dart nervously to the basket, and you follow his eyes before attempting to reach for it. His hands grab your hips and you stare at him with wide eyes. 

There’s something in that picnic basket. 

“Nothing’s wrong. Why don’t you go back to your chocolate cake my love it’s your favorite.” Leander attempts to sway you, reaching out for your plate and offering it back to you, but you lunge for the basket again. “You’re a mad woman, stop it!” He’s laughing, as he tries to wrangle you back in his lap. 

“What’s in the basket?” You question. He rolls his eyes, but you can feel his fondness radiating down the thread connecting your hearts. 

“You couldn’t just be patient,” he laughs and shakes his head, pulling a small velvet box from inside the picnic basket. He guides you to your feet before dropping down to one knee infront of you. “Fawn, my mate, my heart, will you make me the luckiest man in Prythian and do me the honor of marrying me?” He looks nervous, your confident proud mate looks as if you might actually say no. That thought makes you laugh around the budding tears that flood your eyes, as you frantically nod your head throat clogging around unsaid words. 

“Yes! Yes of course I’ll marry you!” You yank him to his feet, hauling your mouth to his in a fervent kiss before he slips the ring on your finger. It fits perfectly, a delicate gold band circles your finger and you admire the massive sparkling ruby that sits in the center framed by delicate golden leaves. It takes your breath away as you watch it sparkle under the moonlight. Warm hands wipe away the tears that flooded your eyes before pulling you into a kiss again. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆. ───

The silk of your dress glides against your skin as your mother laces the ties of the ribbons in the back. Your sister and cousins are fussing with their own hair and makeup as you try to calm your racing heart. 

You’re a bit worried that the anxiety might make you hurl your guts out before you make it down the aisle.

“You look beautiful,” your mother promises as she threads the pins into the intricate style of your updo. They resemble stars and moons, the glimmering diamonds scattering constellations across the crown of your head. “Don’t stress.” Her lips press into your cheek as he admires you in the mirror. 

“I’m not nervous,” you promise, even though her blue eyes lock with yours with that motherly look that says she can see right through you. Your bridesmaids all leave their compliments to you as they leave your suite to walk to the altar. There’s a knock on the door and Eris announces his presence before your mother calls him into the room. 

“There’s my beautiful daughter-in-law.” He presses a kiss to your cheek before pressing a kiss to your mother’s hand. “Leander won’t know what to do with himself when he sees you.” That sends a herd of wild horses stampeding through your heart at the thought of your mate waiting for you. A bell rings somewhere in the chapel, signaling from the priestess that the ceremony is about to start. Eris links arms with your mother, leading her to the ceremony. Your father enters the room a moment later, looking the picture of night-dark royalty. His violet eyes well with tears as he takes you in. 

“I can’t believe you’re all grown up.” He sighs, wiping his eyes. “I remember when you were barely taller than my knee, and now look at you.” You blush as he wraps you in his arms, trying not to cry yourself. “Just one more finishing touch.” He winks and with a wave of his hand a sheer cape of shimmering starlight drapes off your shoulders. “Your mother wore it on her wedding day, and my mother wore it on hers, so it’s only right that you wear it today.” You do start crying then, big crocodile tears like the day he first dropped you off at school. “Come now, no tears.” He produces a handkerchief and dabs at your eyes. “Let’s go get you married.” 

You loop arms with your father as he leads you into the chapel and every nervous melancholy thought drains out of your head when you see Leander standing next to the priestess. He’s a vision in his burgundy waistcoat, auburn hair pulled back and styled. You walk to him slowly, your friends and family gasping as you pass them in the pews. Tears well in Leo’s eyes as you reach him and your father presses a kiss on your forehead before sitting down next to your mother. 

“Hello Fawn,” he whispers, reaching to grasp your hands between his. 

“Hello Lion,” you whisper in return, a warm steady feeling falls over you as your stomach flips. You both turn to the priestess and she begins the ceremony, but you’re not even listening. You’re too busy staring at the male standing across from you. You only zone back in as the priestess ties your hands together with the ceremonial ribbon, the symbol binding you together for the rest of your lives. 

“You may now kiss the bride,” the priestess proclaims and cheers pound against the stone, echoing to tenfold the volume. Your mother sends a beam of light that causes the stained glass to send a myriad of colors. Leander hauls you to him dipping you low as he finally draws your lips to his. You all head to the reception, where a feast big enough to feed both your courts awaits. Finally, after dancing into the early hours of the morning you head back into your room and you collapse into the bed. 

“How does it feel to be officially married, My Lady?” Leo purrs, pressing kisses into the crook of your neck trailing your bound hands to rest between your hearts. 

“Perfect My Lord” You mumble into his mouth and that warm comforting feeling settles into your chest, permanently.

[ms-hells-bells]

in reading more about the colombian children that survived the plane crash and jungle, i stumbled upon this story. there is almost no english news about it, largely only an AP article from 1996 about it, there's not even a wikipedia page, but i found a translated page of a guyana newspaper with the story.

THE gripping, inspiring survival experience of two young girls lost in Guyana’s jungles is the stuff epic films are made of.

Bertina and Bernadette Domingo of the Wapishiana tribe, Apoteri Village in the Rupununi began travelling from 7th April 1995 with their uncle up the Essequibo River; an uncle who had been instructed by the father of the girls to take them direct to the family farm.

Instead he diverted in the opposite direction with them, paddling for ninety-five miles in a canoe, then forcing them to trek through the jungle, threatening to kill the terrified girls when they cried.

At Pakani Falls they watched in fear as their uncle died of malaria – an uncle whose motives for his actions are shrouded in secret, lost forever in the hinterland landscape that had been the undoing of men from a time even preceding the Spanish Conquistadors.

If that uncle meant harm to his innocent, trusting nieces, as his actions indicated he did, because terrible pictures come to mind of child and female trafficking, he paid a terrible price for his heinous betrayal of his brother and nieces.

But that was no real consolation to the two young girls, who were left alone and defenceless to fend for themselves in the dense, dark rainforest, with merely a cutlass, a hammock, and their traditional tribal skills to keep them alive.

They were forced to undertake a journey that would test all their survival skills, their resilience, their character, and their survival instincts if they were to live.

The older Bertina, at thirteen, would have to become the leader, transmitting her unshakeable faith that they would survive their ordeal to her frightened nine-yr-old sister. In turn, the response of the younger girl, and the faith she reposed in her older sibling, would bolster Bertina’s spirit and inspire and encourage her to greater feats of endurance.

Before their journey ended they would have traversed over 200 miles of virgin rainforest, at the mercy of the elements, with all the inherent dangers of the deep rainforests – from the remote reaches of Essequibo to approximately 190 miles up the Berbice River – a mile away from the Lindo tributary.

They ate what they could, but their knowledge of the land and basic survival skills, inculcated from birth by the traditions of their aboriginal tribe, came to their rescue, resulting in their finding the “haiwa” wood to produce the most crucial requirement for their protection at night – light.

The girls staved off hunger by eating berries, peppers and fish caught by the traditional method. They remembered their tribe’s ancient skill of lighting an area of water with the “haiwa” wood to entice fish to the surface, then spearing them with a spear – in their instance with a cutlass.

The girls also had a miraculous escape from the claws and jaws of a jaguar and were forced to keep their terror at bay when they encountered the large snakes, crocodiles, and other large and dangerous denizens that proliferate in Guyana’s rainforests.

At one point they thought that they were about to be rescued. Hearing the sound of an engine their hopes soared as they walked quickly toward the sound and what they hoped would have been the end of their ordeal.

But as fast as they walked it was not enough and the frightening sounds of the rainforest enclosed them once again.

Rescue seemed near at hand once more when they stumbled upon a porknocker’s camp, but the camp had long been abandoned and was empty of any human presence. At nights they slung their hammock high in the trees to protect themselves from the many ever-existent perils threatening their survival every minute, with every step they took, and even in their sleep.

Many nights Bertina stayed awake for hours watching protectively as the exhausted Bernadetta slept the sleep of the innocent.

Meanwhile the girls’ parents were frantically looking for them and search parties were organized. The parents, accompanied by members of one search party went as far as Kurupukari – 60 miles from the Potaro River, but had to give up, not knowing what direction to take in the vast, dense rainforest.

Frantic messages were sent to relatives living in Georgetown in attempts to locate the uncle and girls, but to no avail.

Finally, at 5.50 p.m. on the third day of May, 31 days after they had left home, covered with mosquito bites and weak with hunger, Bertina and Bernadetta stumbled into a porknocker’s camp.

The astonished miners fed the girls and then took them into the city, where officialdom took over, affording them medical and other care.

Their rescuer, a miner named Gonsalves, said that the area in which they were found was so remote that hardly anyone ventured there.

The indomitable will to survive, their stoic resilience in the face of betrayal and overwhelming dangers, and the epic journey of these two fragile little ones is the stuff of which legends are made.

This was triumph of the human spirit against all odds. These two little girls were imaginative, resourceful, determined, tenacious, and, above all, courageous beyond the parameters of normal human endurance of body and mind.

To honour their resilience and courage in the face of danger and adversity, the Domingo sisters were deservedly conferred with a special award for courage during the 1996 investiture ceremony by then Executive President of Guyana, Dr. Cheddi Jagan.

They had also been awarded with a plaque saluting their bravery by the South Ruimveldt Policing Group.

Bertina and Bernadetta Domingo represent the best of the indigenous peoples of this land.

[soleilnomoon]

Ayoooooooo congratulations on 1.3k!!!!

May I have a mai tai with a side of diced mangoes. And may I request songs 20, 36, 42 and 46 from the playlist for Izou x fem reader 😗

ty so much, it feels so surreal tbh lmaooo (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝) lissen, lissen i’m so happy u requested izou bc i’ve been wanting to write him; i had to stop myself from writing more bc i said i was gonna keep things short but!!! 🥴️ sometimes u have to lie a lil. anyway, i had more fun than i should have, i hope you enjoy 😌

1k words (i...know i know, but! in my defense it's izou, what was i supposed to do, oppose him?? never), fem reader, nsfw, 18+ mdni; feat. izou being the worst™ & overall menace, fingering, edging, orgasm denial, dom/sub vibes, idk other stuff probably i can't think rn. anyway!!! y/n deserves a purple heart for surviving (or barely surviving idk u tell me). (if u see grammar/spelling errors no u didn't &lt;3)

the rain is relentless — pelting hard, angry droplets against the window, accompanied by a cacophonous, echoing boom from the thunder. nerves get the best of you, make your skin feel like it's being pulled taut against your bones, stretched thin enough to make you want to pull your hair out. being trapped indoors is never ideal, but when izou notices your discomfort and graciously offers to take your mind off the storm, who are you to refuse?

still, you should’ve known better; with izou, there’s always a certain… price you have to pay.

the room is stifling with the window shut, the temperature even more unbearable when he takes his time undressing you.

part of the show, he tells you as he touts an extremely convincing facade of a man with all the grace and patience in the world for you. except, it doesn’t feel that way when his lithe fingers coast along the curve of your jaw, leaving behind a scorching phantom touch that will surely haunt you well into the night. 

you know he’s doing this intentionally, especially when you whine and plead for him to hurry up — to touch you properly.

“oh, now you care?”

you stare at him, wide-eyed, mouth slightly agape at his accusation. normally, you’re always willing to go at his pace, but now you’re barely holding on as an unexplainable greed pours into you at an alarming rate. 

he clicks his tongue, disapproval stamped all over his pretty, delicate features, a frown tugging on his lips as he pinches your nipple roughly through your bra; you let out a shameless moan and almost apologize for it. 

almost.

“be patient,” he commands evenly, his voice terribly deep and hypnotic as you find yourself nodding despite wanting to scream at him to hurry up. the determined look in your eyes makes him chuckle darkly; he brushes his lips against yours, softly kissing once, then twice. a menacing warmth snakes its way up your stomach and lands aggressively in your chest. you grip the edge of the desk tightly, your nails harshly digging into the wood as you force yourself to breathe.

you doubt you’ll survive at the rate he’s going, but if you move, he’ll leave you to fend for yourself — and you don’t want that.

not after he teased you for so long.

izou knows he’s incorrigible, but the desperation in your strained movements brings him a sick pleasure that he’s not ready to admit to. he often wonders how you can make him act as if he’s lost all common sense; and he’s reminded of it when you shift your hips forward, inching your ass closer to the edge of the desk.

he has half a mind to drag this out for as long as he can, but he knows his patience is practically nonexistent right now, despite his words earlier.

on your next inhale, izou gently grabs your face and kisses you; the thunderstorm is the furthest thing from your mind as his other hand travels down your thigh slowly, palm rough and warm against your skin. goosebumps prance down your arms and legs at the sensation, and when his tongue glides deftly in between your parted lips, your back arches, and your chest presses against his. 

izou has assured himself, time and time again, that he doesn’t care for kissing — except when it comes to you, that is.

he nearly loses his focus when you whimper against his lips; you taste every bit as sweet as you look, something he’s come to enjoy every time his tongue caresses yours. you’re not sure how much longer you can hold out, your fingers strain as you struggle to keep gripping the edge of the desk.

there’s a haze that clouds your mind, so much that you barely register when his fingers push aside your panties, an amused smile crawling onto his lips when you tremble against him. you pull away from him while panting lightly, lips now stained with the remnants of his lipstick. 

“izou,” you gasp when he rubs the tips of his fingers along your slit, gathering up a bit of your arousal. his touch is feather-light and you let out a frustrated groan, as your hips roll forward on instinct. “damn it, stop teasing me.”

even though he cuts you with a sharp look, you can tell that he’s having too much damn fun teasing you like that. 

“what did i say earlier?” 

the question is rhetorical, you know it is — which is why you swallow hard and put on a brave face, despite not knowing if izou keep edging you throughout the night. he doesn’t let you marinate on the issue for too long, instead sliding two fingers inside of you without warning. he swallows every moan and gasp you let out while working his fingers in and out of your wet cunt. 

your legs tremble as he fingerfucks you fast and hard; when you get too loud, he slows his pace, thumb hovering over your throbbing clit.

again, you forget yourself and forget izou’s little “rules” rather quickly.

“fuck!” 

he reminds you in between ardent tongue-kisses that you agreed to behave, but he knew you were talking shit. dragging his lips down the length of your neck, izou curls his fingers and rubs firm slow circles against your clit with his thumb. you buck your hips against his hand recklessly and sink your teeth into your bottom lip as you try to stifle another loud moan. it comes out garbled and wholly unintelligible; he bites your neck in warning while your pussy squeezes around his fingers.

it must be audacity that compels him to remove his fingers prematurely, your slick arousal slowly gliding down his fingers — his secret honey, he told you once.

“you really are a greedy little thing, aren’t you?”

his tone is daunting now, giving you a different kind of thrill as you shake your head at him.

“i don’t like liars,” he says smoothly, his own lie spoken with ease as he pushes his fingers in between your lips. “but i’ll give you a chance to make it up to me.” his eyelids lower as you begin to suck and taste yourself on his fingers; he’s already forgiven you, but you don’t need to know that just yet — not when he’s planning to push you to your limit so that you’ll be every bit as obsessed with him as he is with you.

[sassy-ahsoka-tano]

My Bestest Girl

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: No

Prompt: You have a nightmare but your husband is always there to comfort you when you need him. Feat. a spicy ending. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: mentions of sex

Rating: Pg-13     ||     Word Count: 1030

A/N: I swear this morphed into like 3 different things as I was writing it. Part 2...maybe? Smut is coming cause i can't control myself, i just don't know when 😂

🦋 mila

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

You’re running like you’ve never run before. One foot replaces the other faster than you can even think and you feel a pain from somewhere, but you can’t place it exactly. Your chest heaves and you feel panic spreading throughout your body. The darkness around you starts to cave in. There are no walls, but you feel them crushing down on you anyway. Although you try to push them back, they only come faster. The horrific, distorted face of someone you don’t recognize appears floating in the darkness, and your heart lurches as-

Suddenly, you’re awake, sweating and shaking a little in the bed. It takes a moment for you to return to reality and remember where you are and that you’re safe.

“Baby?” Elvis’ deep, smooth voice comes out raspier than usual. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

You curl your arms around your knees, and your husband leans up. The bed shifts under his weight as he scoots toward you and wraps his arms around your shoulders.

“What’s the matter, baby girl?” he asks again, rubbing your shoulder and tucking some loose hair behind your ear.

You look at him in the dark. His blue eyes peer tenderly back, his eyebrows knitted in concern. Although his hair is disheveled, he still looks as handsome as the day you married him. Something in the way he’s gazing so intently at you draws your tears out. You fall back into his arms and start to sob. The cold air in the bedroom freezes your tears as they trickle down your cheeks. His grip loosens and then retightens to bring you all the way into his lap, and you bury your face into his shoulder. His skin is warm and smooth, and you feel terribly guilty for wetting his beautiful chest with your ugly tears.

“Come ‘ere,” he whispers, rubbing your back. “Come ‘ere and let me hold ya. Everything’s gonna be aright. Shhh, it’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

You let your body go limp in his strong embrace, and you feel completely supported. The way he rubs your back and squeezes you just a little too tightly makes you feel like nothing in the world would dare try to hurt you. He presses a few kisses to your sweaty forehead. As you heave to a normal breath, Elvis leans back and moves your hair out of your face so he can see your eyes.

“You’re my bestest girl, you know that?”

“I thought your mama was your bestest girl,” you sniffle with a small smile.

Elvis smiles back, wipes a stray tear from your cheek, and then shakes his head.

“She’ll always be my first girl, but you became my bestest girl the day I married ya,” he says, and you smile so hard it hurts. “Now, tell me what’s goin on. D’ya have a nightmare?”

You nod.

“What about, baby girl?”

“I was trying to run away from something and it wasn’t working,” you say, feeling tears well up again. “I couldn’t see exactly what it was but I just know I was terrified of it. As I was running, the hallways started to get smaller and smaller like they were squeezing me to death.”

“Well that don’t sound like fun, baby. But hey, look,” he responds, taking your hand in his. He flips your palm so that it’s facing the ceiling and curls his own fingers over yours. “I’m here. I’ll always be here for ya. Ain’t nothing gonna hurt you while I’m here.”

He squeezes your fingers and smiles down at you. You glance up at him in the moonlight and gently touch his cheek. He leans into your hand, and you brush the lines around his smiling mouth with your thumb. You pull him toward you and press your lips to his. As you kiss him, his arm snakes around your back and pulls you against his chest. You wind your hands around his neck and back, spreading your fingers to absorb as much of his warmth as possible.

He pulls back for a moment to gaze into your eyes before kissing your cheek and your neck. He brings you into a big bear hug. Your legs reposition to hug his waist, and you throw your arms over his shoulders. As you squeeze out your stress, he peppers kisses all over your neck and shoulders.

You feel him kiss the top of the strap of your nightgown and then pause. You turn to look at him. He stares at the strap with an angry expression for a moment before quickly moving it out of the way, planting a kiss on your bare shoulder, and putting it back. He nods as if he’s pleased with the job he’s done. You throw your head back to laugh, but he takes the opportunity to assault your undefended neck with kisses. His breath tickles your skin, and you giggle, playfully trying to push him away. After a few moments, he stops, kisses your jaw sweetly, and meets your eyes.

“You feelin any better?” he asks, and you nod enthusiastically.

“Much. Thank you. I love you,” you respond in a whisper.

“And I love you,” he replies. “I will always love you. Except that you did wake me up while I was havin a nice dream.”

“Oh yeah?” you ask as he pulls the covers back and helps tuck you underneath them. You wriggle onto your back and underneath the warm sheets. He drops down to his elbow and leans over to kiss your forehead.

“Yeah, I was.”

“Well what was it about?”

“You,” he smirks.

“Yeah? What was I doing?”

He says nothing, only glances down your body and bites his lip.

“Everything. Anything I wanted,” he finally replies, and you flush.

“You could have just asked.”

“I don’t know if you can live up to that,” he jokes, looking up at the ceiling and away from you.

You pop up to your elbows.

“Are you saying that dream me is better at sex than real me?”

“Not necessarily…maybe we should find out?”

He bites his lip again and raises his eyebrows. You playfully slap him and reach to unbutton his shirt.

“Strip, Presley.”

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

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**If you notice any triggers or grammatical errors that I missed, please let me know! :)

[birdmitosis]

Fanmix-slash-playlist for Slay the Princess! Song list under the cut. There’s 96 songs on this fanmix/playlist, and it’s about 6 and a half hours long.

Some of the songs were not available on Spotify, and they will be linked to on YouTube below. (Some artists have 2 songs on the playlist; aeseaes, The Crane Wives, and Hozier each have 3 because they were just too perfect. Also, some songs are definitely on here because of other people's fanvids or even just suggestions, and I've made note of and credited all of those!) (All fanmixes/playlists are a perpetual WIP.)

aeseaes - All Things Devour

aeseaes - Semantics

aeseaes - Tongues

AG - Terrible Thing

t h e . a i m s - Violence & Blood

Alanis Morissette - Everything (friend suggestion)

Amanda Palmer & The Grand Theft Orchestra - Trout Heart Replica

Amber Run - I Found

The Amazing Devil - The Horror and the Wild

The Amazing Devil - That Unwanted Animal

Andrew Bird - Imitosis

AURORA - Your Blood

Baby Storme - This City is a Graveyard

Band of Horses - No One's Gonna Love You

Beth Crowley - Monster

Blindside - Withering

Bring Me the Horizon - Deathbeds

Camera Obscura - Fifth in Line to the Throne

Chonny Jash - The Soul Eclectic (inspiration)

City and Colour - Little Hell

Coldplay - The Hardest Part

Coldplay - Square One

Collective Soul - The World I Know

The Crane Wives - Curses

The Crane Wives - Hollow Moon (inspiration)

The Crane Wives - Tongues & Teeth

Crystal Castles - Suffocation (inspiration)

David Bowie - Changes

The Echoing Green - Starling

Electric President - Some Crap About the Future

Elizabeth & the Catapult - Do Not Hang Your Head

Elizabeth & the Catapult - My Goodbye

Ellie Goulding - Salt Skin

Eurielle - Hate Me

The Feeling - Mr Grin

Florence + The Machine - Kiss With a Fist

Florence + The Machine - What the Water Gave Me

Forgive Durden - A Dead Person Breathed on Me!

Foxtails Brigade - Long Route

Foxtails Brigade - Nun but the Lost

Ghost and Pals - DEATHBODY

Ghost and Pals - In Iolite

Hannah Fury - Angels & Absinthe

Howie Day - Collide

Hozier - Francesca

Hozier - In the Woods Somewhere

Hozier - Who We Are

Jack Conte - Kitchen Fork (inspiration)

The Jezabels - Hurt Me

Jhariah - Flight of the Crows

Kate Nash - Paris

Kiltro - Softy

King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard - Magenta Mountain

lasah - taixu (inspiration)

Lisa Hannigan - Oh Undone

Little Dragon - Twice

The Lord Dog Bird - The Shedding Path

Ludo - The Horror of Our Love

Madilyn Mei - Knotted Constellations

MGMT - Little Dark Age

Michelle Branch - Everywhere

Mili (feat. KIHOW) - In Hell We Live, Lament

Mirah - You've Gone Away Enough

The Mountain Goats - No Children (inspiration)

The Mountain Goats - Sudden Oak Death

Mr.Kitty - After Dark

múm - Prophecies & Reversed Memories

The Nor'easters - 715 — CRΣΣKS (inspiration)

Olivier Bibeau - Better Run, Better Hide

Passion Pit - Seaweed Song

PEGGY - Villains Aren't Born (They're Made)

Perfectly Human - Bad As

Perfectly Human - Fly Again

Racoon - Took a Hit

Reinaeiry - When the Sun Loves the Moon

Ricky Montgomery - This December

RIProducer - Fruiting Bodies

RIProducer - What Gave It Away?

Sarah Blasko - Bird on a Wire

Satin Puppets - Bad Moon Rising

Seeming - Someday Lily

Sharon Van Etten - It's Not Like

Shayfer James - Boots Worn Through (inspiration)

Sleeping At Last - Mind

Sleeping At Last - Taste

SNAKE POOL - FIGURE IN THE BACKGROUND (inspiration)

Snow Patrol - Open Your Eyes

Solas Composer - He Who Devoured the Dark II

Southwest Statistic - Fairy Tale (friend suggestion)

Stars - He Dreams He's Awake

Subsignal - The Bells of Lyonesse (inspiration)

Sunset Rubdown - For the Pier (and Dead Shimmering)

Talking Heads - And She Was

Trespassers William - I Know

TV on the Radio - Stork & Owl

Woodkid - Ghost Lights

[bloodfromthethorn]

Setting Boundaries

"Gods,” she hissed finally. Her expression crumpled into despair a moment before she buried her face in her hands to hide the fresh tears that came with it. “I made you say please.”

Raevan suffers a few belated realisations. Astarion is quick to set her straight.

Also on AO3.

..

After everything that had happened that day, from their miserable trudge through Moonrise Towers, to their run-in with that vile drow, to Astarion’s own personal revelations and growth, it was little wonder that he reached the evening – such as it was ever evening in the Shadowlands – bone tired and more than ready to pack it all in for the night. Halsin’s surprisingly passable attempt at a vegetable stew certainly furthered that desire, leaving him blinking and weary beside the fire. 

There was only one more thing he wanted before he surrendered himself to a well-deserved trance – blood. He wasn’t starving and he’d gone longer on less a great many times in his life, but now that he had a willing donor readily available, he’d started to become more accustomed to semi-regular feeds. He could always go hunting of course but…

It had been a really long day. 

The only problem was his dinner appeared to have gone walkabouts. Sometime between the stew getting handed around and Astarion tuning back into the conversation, Raevan had managed to disappear entirely. She wasn’t in any of her usual haunts around the camp and a few not-so-subtle inquiries with his travelling companions revealed no obvious solution either. It would seem she really had just vanished. 

Briefly, Astarion considered calling it a lost cause and just heading to his own tent. Raevan, like all of them, occasionally felt the need to take some moments to herself and it wasn’t like she hadn’t earned an evening of peace. It was entirely possible she had no interest in being disturbed. Still, it wasn’t wise to wander so far from camp alone with the Curse hanging around them as an ever present threat, besides whatever other horrors could be waiting beyond the ring of firelight.

And, perhaps he was honest enough with himself these days that he could admit he was worried for her. A desire for solitude or not, it was unlike her to take herself off without any warning to anyone.

His mind made up, he put the campfire at his back and strode out into the night. The darkness was little trouble for his eyes and the pixie’s little trick was still holding strong to keep the Curse at bay, but it was still no mean feat to pick up Raevan’s faint trail through the gloom. It was fortunate that she clearly hadn’t been trying to conceal her passage; the woman was stealthy enough she could cross the whole world without leaving a single mark if that was what she so desired. 

As it stood, she hadn’t even tried to conceal her footsteps in the rotting mulch carpeting the forest floor. Even without a torch, it was enough to lead him right to her. 

The sight he found was… not encouraging. She’d sat herself down on a patch of dark, loamy earth beside the river, apparently unbothered by the damp that must have been soaking into her clothes, and had curled her knees up to her chest to rest her chin on them. It looked terribly uncomfortable and was about as small as it was possible to make herself. 

Concern rose up thick and fast in Astarion’s gut and he was moving forwards before he could stop himself, his foot landing overly hard on a half-rotten piece of treebark that let out a muted groan in protest. Raevan spun around at the sound like a snake braced to attack, the movement revealing the dagger she'd been gripping tightly in the shadow of her body.

He raised his hands in surrender. “Only me,” he said lightly, relaxing minutely when the dagger was immediately lowered. He'd been out of striking range – which said a lot for her awareness – but he'd seen her throw knives before. Thank the gods her recognition abilities were just as quick as her reflexes. 

“Astarion,” she breathed out sharply, evidently working through her own sudden spike in adrenaline. “What are you doing sneaking around? I could have hurt you!”

The words were annoyed in that exaggerated way people used when they'd been startled badly, but that wasn't what caught his attention. No, it was the way Raevan’s eyes dropped from his almost as soon as she'd recognised he wasn't a threat, turning instead to focus intensely on the action of sheathing the dagger. She'd done that move a thousand times that week and Astarion had never once seen her need to look at what she was doing while she did it. No, this wasn’t simple distraction; this was hiding.

It was in vain, too. Even in the low light cast by the torch that she’d apparently thought to bring with her, Astarion’s eyes were sharp enough to see the redness she was hoping he wouldn’t notice. 

She'd been crying.

Astarion heart slid down through the bottom of his ribcage and kept going. She'd seemed so understanding when they'd spoken earlier, so gentle. She hadn't looked or sounded upset by his self-reflectant revelations. On the contrary, she'd encouraged him to take whatever time he needed, no matter how long it might be. She hadn't in acted in any way then that could have indicated she'd end the evening crying alone on the riverbank.

Then again, maybe this was nothing to do with him or their earlier conversation. As everyone kept telling him, not everything revolved around him. Maybe she'd simply had a falling out with one of the others and no one had thought to tell him when he’d asked after her earlier. 

'Maybes' weren't going to get him anywhere. Raevan had always approached her concerns with him directly; he owed it to them both to grant her the same courtesy. Still, two hundred years of safeguarding his own heart were not an easy thing to just shake off and the idea of simply asking her outright what was wrong inevitably led to him imagination dragging him through a series of the worst possible outcomes. 

Instead, he took a deep breath, fixed on his best lighthearted smile, and sat himself down beside her as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “I rather thought I’d ask you the same question. It’s a strange night for a stroll.”

He waved a carefree hand at their grim surroundings. This wasn’t the worst place she could have picked, precisely; it was more a matter of there being no particularly nice places to choose from. This spot was neither a part of the ruined town or its troublingly expansive graveyard, which was a vote in its favour, but Astarion’s nose was keen enough to suggest there was more than simple leaves rotting nearby. It was the kind of smell that permeated every inch of the region and yet was vile enough to never quite manage to fade into the background. Astarion had realised quickly he hated it. It wasn’t exactly his idea of a pleasant accompaniment to an evening jaunt in the woods. 

Raevan didn’t rise to the comment. Instead, she settled herself back down in her tightly restrained ball and gazed out over the rumbling water. After a long moment of expectant silence, she sighed. “I just needed a little while to think. Did you need me for something?”

“Not at all,” he said cheerfully, already determined to not mention how he’d technically started seeking her out so he could feed. 

“Oh. That’s good.” Her voice was flat. It was clear her mind was already fading back into whatever elsewhere it had been occupying before Astarion had so rudely intruded on her solitude. 

Suddenly uncertain of himself, if no less worried about where her head might be at, Astarion shifted. “I– I can leave, if you’d prefer? I just thought it was unwise for any of us to linger alone out here.” Raevan glanced at him and a sudden shock of nervousness prompted him to continue when really he should just shut his mouth. “I know, I know, you think that little imp’s spell can protect us, but putting your faith in that kind of magic is frankly a level of optimism to which I refuse to consign myself. You can never trust devils with wings, no matter how small they might be.”

He flashed her a grin and nearly collapsed in relief when it drew a faint smile and an eyeroll from his companion. “It was a pixie.”

“I fear you may be missing my point.”

She snorted softly, the tense line of her shoulders easing ever so slightly. “Perhaps. You’re right. It was foolish to come out here alone. I just…”

“It can be hard to grab a moment to yourself in a camp full of people constantly vying for your attention,” he commiserated when her voice trailed off. “Present company excluded, of course,” he tacked on with a haughty huff. “My companionship is a constant source of delight, I’m sure.”

That earned him a genuine laugh albeit a quiet one. “It is,” she agreed easily. “Wherever would I be without you?”

She said it in jest, but the compliment beneath felt genuine enough. If he’d been physically capable, he’d probably have blushed. “Well, you’d be short one warlock at the very least. Wyll really needs to learn to watch his flank.”

“The man has one eye.”

Astarion pursed his lips. He hadn’t actually considered that right up until this moment. “Still,” he said pointedly. 

Raevan laughed again. “I’m sure he’d be willing to train with you if you asked him. Hells, he’d probably love the opportunity, he’s just too intimidated to ask you.”

“Intimidated? I am eminently approachable.”

“Uh huh.”

“I am.”

She shook her head, still smiling, though the expression faded rapidly when her gaze fell back to the water. The amusement that had lit up her entire face just a moment ago seemed to snuff out like a candle, leaving behind the tired and drawn expression of someone who had had to shoulder too many burdens without enough rest. The worry that had softened to a gentle prickle in the back of Astarion’s mind rushed to the fore once again. 

“Raevan,” he started slowly, faltering when her eyes jumped back to him before he steadied. “Are you alright? I know today has been… a lot.”

She was already shaking her head by the time he’d finished speaking. “It’s nothing,” she brushed off carelessly. “You’ve had a more stressful day than me, I imagine.”

“And yet, I’m not the one who vanished from camp without a word to come and sit alone in the shadows. Without wishing to jump to conclusions, I’m sure you can see why I might be… worried.” He didn’t want to specifically mention their earlier conversation for fear of making the matter about himself when it may have nothing to do with him, but he saw Raevan make the connection in the way her eyes suddenly widened in concern. 

“Oh!” She said, straightening suddenly from her slump. “No! No, it’s nothing like that. This isn’t– This is my own issue. It’s not anything to do with– anything that happened earlier. I’m not–” She bit her lip, her sudden panicked energy lighting her up like a bolt of magic. 

“Raevan,” he cut in, hands up as if calming a startled horse. “It’s okay. I wasn’t trying to accuse.”

“No, but you think–”

“I’m not thinking anything,” he said firmly, ignoring the sudden swell of relief he felt at hearing she wasn’t tying herself in knots about their sudden step back from intimacy. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if she had been; he’d started becoming self-aware enough to worry that he might have allowed himself to be guilted into something he didn’t actually want to do. Not that Raevan would do so intentionally, of course, but he recognised his own inability to disappoint her. “I’m just worried that something’s upset you enough to drive you away from camp on one of the few nights we didn’t have to endure Gale’s cooking.”

It was an unfair slight against a man who genuinely was quite a talented cook, but Raevan didn’t rise to it like he’d hoped. Instead, as her panic faded, abject misery flowed back into her expression before she managed to turn away to hide it. Something twisted painfully in Astarion’s gut. 

“I don’t want to pry,” he said quietly, “But I would help if I can. Even if it’s just to listen. I’m told that speaking about your problems can ease them.”

She’d told him as much multiple times in their relatively short time together. He was increasingly finding that she might just be right. 

From the sideways look she shot him, she knew exactly what he was doing. She didn’t seem entirely happy to have her own logic turned against her, but she didn’t try to refute it. On the contrary, she lapsed into a stubborn sort of silence, folded up into her tight little ball as she gazed out across the water. Well, two could play at that game. Despite what anyone else might think, Astarion was perfectly capable of keeping his mouth shut when the situation called for it. If Raevan thought she could win this little contest through a superior reserve of patience, she was to be sorely mistaken. 

In the end, the pair sat there in total silence for what had to be at least ten minutes. Through it all, neither of them even moved; Astarion the consummate hunter frozen in wait for his prey and Raevan, stubborn and firm-jawed in her refusal to speak. 

It wasn’t until Astarion’s anxiety about whether he should really be there or not was about to bubble over that Raevan sighed heavily and rubbed at her face. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, the words half lost to her palms before she looked back up at him and added, “I owe you an apology.”

He considered that and came up empty. It did nothing to soothe his anxious worryings. “For what?”

“That first night we spent together,” she said, not meeting his eyes. The low-level murmur of discomfort that Astarion had been fighting against roared into life so sharply he stopped breathing for a moment. He’d known that admitting the truth of his intentions would not be well received, but he’d hoped nothing he’d said would cause any lasting damage. Certainly not enough to drive her from the camp to sit in miserable solitude all evening. Maybe the panic showed in his face, because she continued on quickly, “I don’t mean I’m sorry it happened. Or– I mean–” 

She stopped, cursing, then buried her face in her hands again. When she looked up, her eyes were redder than before but her jaw was set. 

“You shouldn’t have had to do that if you didn’t want to. I know you had your reasons. But I’m sorry that I– If I did anything to you that made you uncomfortable. I didn’t realise– Well. That’s not important. I’m just– Sorry.” 

It took a minute for Astarion to parse what precisely she was saying. It was obvious that she wasn’t entirely clear on the point she was trying to convey herself, or perhaps more that she was trying to ensure she didn’t offend him by doing it. He likely wasn’t helping in that regard, suddenly aware that he’d gone tense as a bowstring as soon as she’d mentioned that night and hadn’t relaxed since. He wasn’t sure what expression he’d been wearing, but he doubted it was encouraging.

“You’re sorry because… You think you upset me?” He tried, uncertain. 

She flinched, and the dam broke. All the things she’d clearly been trying to hold in came pouring forth in a rapid rush. “Yes. No. I don’t know. All I know is that you said you only propositioned me to get me on your side and not because you actually wanted– And that’s fine, I understand that, I’m not upset about it, but I just keep remembering that night and everything we did, and I think about touching you and how you must have felt–” She paused just long enough to suck in a hard breath, eyes wild, before diving right back in. “I know how pushy and demanding I can be and I think about what I might have made you do against your will, and how awful that must have been and– Gods,” she hissed finally. Her expression crumpled into despair a moment before she buried her face in her hands to hide the fresh tears that came with it. “I made you say please .”

Astarion didn’t need her to elaborate to know exactly what moment she was referring to, having had it branded in his own mind ever since it happened. He’d spent almost every evening since that fateful night turning the moment over, recalling how sharply her demand had rankled on a surface level and yet marvelling over how much his capitulation hadn’t. She’d asked him to beg for something he hadn’t even really wanted, had only been doing to save his own skin, and yet he’d granted her that small power willingly, knowing as he did so that if nothing else, he could trust her with that. That she wouldn’t abuse the weapon he was freely handing her. 

It was, in hindsight, probably the moment he should have realised he was becoming far too emotionally invested in his own con but he hadn’t and it was much too late now. At least he could say with honesty that he didn’t regret it for a second. 

“You didn’t make me do anything,” he said lightly instead of trying to explain it. His own anxiety faded out in one quiet rush as he realised her sticking point and how easily he could fix it. “Raevan, I made my own decisions every step of the way. For better or ill.” He paused a moment, allowing a faint thrill of excitement to escape into his expression even when she couldn’t see it. “And it was for the better, I assure you.”

She stayed hidden for another long few seconds, only a faint sniffling emerging from her self-made cocoon, before she finally pulled her head up to look at him again. Her eyes were puffy and red. She certainly didn’t look comforted by his reassurances. 

“You couldn’t have known my history,” he continued in a low, soothing tone. “And it’s not like it would have been reasonable to expect one of your companions to be trying to bed you just so that you’d protect them should any villains come knocking. I’m the one who betrayed someone in this scenario.” It felt like a risk to remind her of it, even after she’d been so shockingly accepting of that fact earlier, but he’d take it if it meant her no longer thinking she’d done something wrong. Hells below, he was absolutely stupid for her.

“You didn’t,” she said immediately, looking almost offended by the suggestion and unknowingly confirming to Astarion that once this matter was settled, they desperately needed to start thinking about how to build up her sense of self-preservation. “You were scared and you had every reason to be. Of course you’d do anything you could to get allies on your side.”

Astarion hummed. “Perhaps. Though it’s recently been brought to my attention that sex isn’t always a necessary step in that process.”

Raeven shot him an annoyed look out the corner of her eye, unimpressed by his relatively good humour when her mood was already so sour. He softened his expression in apology. 

“Truly Raevan, you’ve done nothing wrong. Far from it. And while I might regret that my motives were… what they were, I wouldn’t change what happened. Not for anything.” He reached out as he spoke, laying a featherlight touch against her palm that was as much a question as it was an invitation. After a moment, her fingers curled warm around his. The heat of her never failed to thrill him, blazing bright right down the bone. Right then, several days out from his last half-decent feed, she burned hot as a brand. 

“No?”

“Never.”

She visibly teetered on the brink of believing him, fighting hard against her tears. “It’s just– I can’t help but feel… dirty. The thought of me touching you and knowing now that it was unwelcome, I just–”

“It was welcome,” he said firmly. He would not allow her to believe anything else for another moment more. “It was heartily welcomed. My intentions might have made any pleasure secondary, but I assure you it was pleasurable. Whatever my reasons, bedding you was hardly a chore for me.” He took the risk of pulling on an expression indicating how absurd the suggestion was. “Raevan, you’re beautiful. If you had been nothing else that would have been enough and still, you are so much more. You’re kind and funny and smart, and a thousand other things that drew me to you. Trust me, nothing that happened that night was any kind of hardship for me.”

In truth, the only real hardship had been the parts where he’d tried to remind himself why he was doing it in the first place. Even then, he’d already begun to lose himself in his attraction to her, that insatiable pull beneath his ribs that constantly demanded her and only her. He wouldn’t put a name to the sensation for weeks, and he wasn’t sure he could voice it even now, but it had been there right from that first night. Maybe longer. 

Her fingers squeezed his. “You mean that?”

“I would not lie to you. Not about this.”

She considered that a moment, weighing up his appearance with steady, red-rimmed eyes. Astarion let her look, trying to show his sincerity as clearly as he could. A terrifying few heartbeats later, she nodded faintly. “Okay,” she murmured. “Okay.”

Astarion let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. 

His relief was shortlived; a few seconds later, Raevan’s eyes tightened back into an intense focus. “But I need you to promise me something.”

He caught himself an instant before he said an idiotic anything’. Whatever their relationship might be, he was in no position to be making offers like that. “What is it?”

“If my touch ever is unwelcome, at any time, you will tell me. Anything. Whatever it is. However much you think I want or need it. If you’re uncomfortable, you will tell me.” 

He blinked at the simplicity of the request. “I can do that.”

“Promise me,” she pressed. “You’ll tell me even if you think it’ll upset me. Even if I get mad. Whatever the situation is, you’ll ask me to back off if you need me to.”

Long-buried instinct prompted him to say an immediate yes, but if nothing else the last two centuries had blessed him with an abundance of caution and it was clear Raevan meant the request extremely seriously. He could see her point – he’d already proven himself to be someone willing to sacrifice physical comfort in the name of achieving some greater purpose. Wasn’t that the point of this whole mess? 

To anyone else, he probably would have lied. To her, after everything she’d done for him and the trust she had more than earned? He squeezed her hand tightly. “I can promise to try?”

There was something sad in her answering smile, but she didn’t let go of his hand. “I suppose I can work with that.”

The tension of the moment broke like a cool summer morning and both of them shared a faint breath of relief as it washed over them. Astarion hadn’t even realised how tense he’d become since he sat down. Now he was paying attention, he noted that not only were his muscles knotted and complaining, his clothes were uncomfortably sticky with grime from where he was sitting. 

Beside him, Raevan had started idly toying with his fingers, a faint line reappearing between her brows. Astarion considered worrying that they were about to get into another emotionally fraught conversation straight away, but she wasn’t holding the same tension as she had before and she looked more pensive than anything. 

“Maybe…” She started slowly. “Maybe we should start with clear boundaries. That way you shouldn’t have to constantly be warning me off.” 

Astarion hadn’t had the luxury of personal boundaries in over two centuries. The idea was foreign enough to him that he might have laughed had Raevan not so obviously been serious about it. “I can’t imagine there’s much you could do that I would object to,” he pointed out. It was mostly true, too. He’d already told her he didn’t want to have sex for a while and she’d agreed immediately; beyond that, he hadn’t considered laying out any restrictions. 

“Still,” she said, determined. “We should be on the same page. I– I don’t want to have to constantly be worrying I’m overstepping again.”

They’d just gone over all the ways in which she hadn’t been overstepping the first time, but Astarion wasn’t about to drag them back into that. Instead, he nodded. “Alright. I can understand that.”

He offered nothing further, unsure of himself and the situation, so Raevan chose to take the lead. “Well, you seem to be alright with this,” she said, indicating where she still had hold of his hand. He nodded. He’d rapidly discovered he actually quite liked the non-sexual intimacy of holding her hand and he was loathe to do anything that would discourage her from doing so whenever she desired. “Alright, let’s start there. How about this: I touch you, here and now, and you just tell me yes or no. You can nod and shake your head if it’s easier. Just so I know what’s off limits.”

It was… a reasonable idea, if a little childish. Then again, the thought of having to verbally explain to her all the ways in which he did and didn’t want to be touched was horrifying enough he’d rather throw himself into the river and have done with it, so perhaps this was for the best. At least this way, she wasn’t asking him to justify his decisions, merely taking note of what they were. 

On closer inspection, it was the kind of considerate offer he should have started to expect from her and yet never failed to be surprised by. 

“Okay,” he said simply. 

There, Raevan hesitated but it was only momentary. After a second to centre herself and double check that Astarion wasn’t about to run for the hills, she slowly reached out with her free hand and laid it carefully over his bicep. He nodded once. 

Her hand trailed up further, resting on his shoulder until she received another nod, then sliding featherlight down over his chest. She got as far as the corded muscle of his stomach before he found himself shaking his head. It was a surprise to him – he hadn’t even realised how vulnerable the touch made him feel until he was giving the clear option of saying no to it – but Raevan didn’t even pause. Her hand withdrew immediately and without comment, only returning several seconds later to his knee. 

She continued on in the same manner, getting a headshake on both thigh and upper back – though admittedly the latter was more hesitant. He genuinely hadn’t had any problem with her hands on his back when they’d slept together, so he wasn’t sure why or when it had become such a problem. Learning about the meaning of his scars had certainly made him more aware of them, but she already knew of their existence. It wasn’t like there was anything more to hide. 

Still, Raevan didn’t question it, merely confirmed that his lower back was apparently still totally fine alongside his hip and, strangely, his ass, before she redirected her attention to his head. It was at that point she grew more hesitant, perhaps in anticipation of a stronger response. In truth, Astarion wasn’t completely sure how he’d feel about it either so he could understand her uncertainty, but it turned out to be completely fine. Her fingertips brushing over his eyelids, down his nose, and across his lips did nothing more than light up a line of warmth that tingled pleasantly in the cool air. His ears tickled a little but the sensation was not unpleasant and his sharp inhale of surprised delight when she ran her hand through his hair startled them both into a sudden burst of laughter. 

It was only when they both quieted again that she asked her final silent question. Slowly, oh so slowly, she reached out and cupped her palm around the curve of his throat, right over the twin scars Cazador had so kindly left him all those years ago. Astarion tensed on instinct, but Raevan didn’t pull away, awaiting his answer.

For a long, frozen second, Astarion battled with a thousand different thoughts. Some base instinct was roaring at the vulnerability of the touch, while a monstrous side of him inherited from Cazador spat at the entitlement of this woman thinking she could touch the scars that had so defined him. Astarion didn’t want to listen to either. He was more than a beast and more than what Cazador had made him, and it was his damned throat. He got to decide what he did with it. 

His nod, when it came, was firm and decisive. 

The reward was a wide, bright smile from Raevan that seemed to light up the darkness around her. “Thank you,” she said warmly. “For trusting me.”

“You’ve more than earned it,” he said in a surprisingly husky voice. He cleared his throat awkwardly, embarrassed. She grinned at him, but let it go. 

Then she sobered. “Remember, you can change your mind at any time. Alright? If you decide tomorrow that something's off-limits when it wasn't tonight, that's okay. Just tell me.”

Astarion smiled, indulgent and thrilled at his own security in the moment. After the strain of the last few minutes, it was a relief to pull his confidence back on. “I promised, didn't I?”

“Just making sure.”

“Darling, I assure you, I'm more than happy for you to put your hands on me. Please don't think that me asking to take things a little slower than I usually might is any indication otherwise.”

“I don't,” she said breezily. “I just want us both to be comfortable and this way, you don't have to constantly tell me in front of the others that I'm crossing your boundaries.” She waved a careless hand and dropped his gaze for a moment, and Astarion realised she was avoiding another question.

“There's something else, isn't there?”

She looked back up at him quickly, eyes wide as a deer’s when facing down a hunter. It was as clear a confirmation as if she'd spoken. 

“You can ask, my dear. Don't hold yourself back on my account.”

She blushed, suddenly unable to meet his gaze. “No, it's– Ah. Gods. You remember your promise?”

“Raevan, ask.”

She huffed. The blood rushing to her cheeks was adorable. She looked more unsure of herself than she had done all evening, though perhaps that was only because she'd been so busy hiding her face during the first half of their conversation. It actually took her several moments to build up the courage to ask her question. “Could– Uh. Could I kiss you?”

For a brief instant, Astarion considered leaning in to claim a kiss himself and letting that be his answer, but he stopped himself. She had treated him with a thoroughly undeserved gentleness all night and he wasn’t going to repay that by taking something from her without permission. Besides, he wanted to be able to see her face light up when he dropped his voice low and seductive and said, “How could I say no?”

The reward for his self-restraint was truly a sight to behold. Raevan’s breath caught, her pupils dilated. The blush still staining her cheeks continued to pulse a vivid red, a bright flag of her own vitality even as the rest of her momentarily froze in surprise. When she regained herself and slowly leaned in – giving him every opportunity to pull away even now as if there was anything he wanted to do less in that moment – her beauty was captivating. 

The kiss itself was surprisingly chaste for the weight it had been given, but to Astarion it was perfect. He knew Raevan was doing it in part to confirm to him that she wouldn’t press for more, reassuring him of her commitment to letting him set the pace and even if he would have been fine with something more it was a comfort to know she offered it. There would be time for more later. Well, probably. There was still Thorm to deal with and who knew if they could both survive that. Fortunately, for once, he was feeling uncharacteristically optimistic. 

“I do rather like that, you know,” he murmured to her.

She smiled, sharp and delighted and victorious. Gods, she was breathtaking. “Good. I’m something of a fan myself.” She brushed her thumb over the swell of his bottom lip, watching in fascination as his lips parted and his fangs peeked out. He held still as she ever so gently pricked her skin on one sharp canine.

“Careful, my dear,” he warned non-seriously. “Teasing a vampire is a dangerous game.”

Her gaze was self-assured and unrepentant. All the coy uncertainty and heartbroken regret of earlier had bled out of her at the reassurance that, yes, he wanted her too and no, she hadn’t done anything wrong. Without it she looked… strong. “I suppose it’s a good thing I know I can trust this one then,” she said smugly. 

The words took a second to sink in, but when they did, Astarion felt something warm pool in his belly. She actually meant it – she genuinely did trust him. Not just to fight at her side or to not betray her to the enemy, but trusted him with her body, her blood, knowing that he wouldn’t take advantage. He couldn’t remember ever being given that trust by anybody. Certainly not anyone who knew about all the reasons why they shouldn’t. 

It was too much to acknowledge after the weight of everything they’d already gone through that day. Instead, he tucked that gentle warmth in close to his heart and smirked at her. “I don’t know about that. You are awfully tempting. It has a disastrous effect on my self-control.”

His eyes traced the slender line of her throat, more teasing than anything, but instead of making her blush again, he was left with a pensive expression peering out at him beneath rapidly descending eyebrows. “Wait,” she said suddenly, the sultry low timbre of her voice abruptly rising back to her usual pitch. “What have you been eating?”

Astarion blinked at her, utterly thrown by the change of pace. “The same stew as you, most recently…?”

“No,” she brushed off with a flick of her wrist. “For blood, I mean.” She cast her gaze around them at their withered surroundings, directing him to acknowledge the complete lack of sound caused by animals that should have been rustling in the undergrowth. The best they’d been able to hope for since entering the Shadowlands had been the occasional caw of an unseen crow. “Are you– Have you been able to find enough food?”

She was starting to look panicked all over again, so he was quick to pull on a quelling smile. “I’m fine Raevan, I assure you. The… ah, local cuisine is not entirely agreeable to my palate, but I’m surviving well enough.”

What he didn’t say was that he’d survived far worse. He also firmly didn’t mention that the most he’d been able to catch since their arrival was a few rats and a single, somewhat skinny rabbit. Without his periodic top-ups from Raevan, he’d probably be in a pretty poor state by now. Like the humans before them, most of the local wildlife had seemingly fled the area when the curse rolled in, or had been consumed by it, leaving only a few enterprising rodents to capitalise on the sudden lack of competition. Even without it, nothing natural could grow strong here. The best any of them could manage was to eke out a half-life in the shadows – if he’d been given to that sort of poetry, Astarion might have found he related to the poor beasts. 

As it was, he detested the entire experience and had been counting down the days until they were able to get out of that gods forsaken realm. 

Something like it must have shown on his face, because Raevan’s expression had folded down into a peeved frown even as she reached for her own collar. “Gods, Astarion, you should have said something.” She managed to get her top button undone and pulled her neckline loose before Astarion caught up to what she was doing. “Drink.”

With her head tilted to allow him better access and her jaw jutted out in muted frustration with him, she looked almost comically petulant about the entire exchange. He huffed. “Raevan, it’s fine–”

“Drink. Are you honestly going to try and tell me you’re not thirsty?”

Faintly, he remembered the bloodlust that had driven him to follow her out here in the first place. Even if he’d been in a mood to lie about it, she could no doubt already read it in the pallor of his skin and the coolness of his touch. He never looked more dead than when it had been a few days since he’d last had some half-decent sustenance. After all the running around and fighting they’d had to do, on top of the general exhausting drag of merely existing in a region so wholly hostile to life, he really shouldn’t be denying the chance for a good meal when given the opportunity. 

And, well, she was offering. It would surely be rude to refuse. 

“Well,” he said brightly, “If you insist, who am I to reject such a delightful offer?”

He leaned into her slowly, mirroring the speed with which she’d claimed her kiss; giving her the time to pull away if she wanted and yet somehow knowing, with absolute certainty, that she wouldn’t. Their relationship might have had its rocky moments – mostly due to his own drama, he could admit – but this was where they’d always met in the middle. This he could trust. 

Just before he closed the final distance, he paused. There weren’t words in any language he knew that could encapsulate the feelings bottled within his chest, but it felt cowardly to say nothing at all when she had pushed herself to say so much. It was only fair he at least attempted to do the same. “Thank you,” he murmured against her skin. He didn’t just mean for the blood. 

Her hand came up to press lightly on the back of his head, threading her fingers through his curls and holding him to her as if he wasn’t a monster she should be pushing away with all her might. “You’re welcome,” she said, heavy with understanding. 

It was enough. With a final inhale of that intoxicating aroma so unique to her, Astarion leaned in and bit down. 

[rontra]

who The Fuck is manhunter

god this is such a good question. who the fuck IS manhunter. well okay so let me pose a counter-question. what if women sucked and were not fun to hang out with. do we still support their wrongs?

no okay (visibly trying not to laugh) heres the girlcrush of the day. she's got what ive jokingly called "bull-in-a-china-shop lifestyle". her name is kate she's a famous federal prosecutor who specializes in prosecuting supervillains. and brother she loves pushing for the death penalty. one day when she was pushing so so hard for the death penalty, the jury did not go for it. and she got so so so mad that she decided to go find and kill the guy herself

and she liked it.

so she blackmails some guy in the witness protection program into being her gadget guy & from then on she's the vigilante "manhunter" (yay!) who kills bad guys she thinks deserve it. when she's out there she's basically operating on a completely circular logic that goes like "well if i can't kill this villain here, i'll simply get him the death penalty in court (which i'm very good at), and if that falls through, i'll just go back to Plan A (killing him with my own hands)" and it's like girl i think you just kind of Like Killing. good luck with that

it's like what if batman not only loved killing and jumped directly to it every time, but was also working With & Inside the system at the same time to ensure there is no other way for things to end. that's a weird thing to do, right? girl? this is weird?...

& like MAYBE in 2004 america this setup was written to appeal to a certain type of reader who'd go "yeah girl the System never gives the bad guys what they Deserve lets fucking go #justice" . i couldn't really tell you to be honest (and her murder mettle is proven entirely in scenarios that are like "well maybe she's morally in the clear here because the guy in question is a cartoon snake-man who eats people") (to me personally, on its face, this all reads like the origin story for a supervillain lawyer named Death Row or something. but that's just another part of her womanly charm in my eyes.) what i CAN tell you is that deciding to become a coldblooded premeditated killer in her spare time is Really cutting into both her professional and private life and now her ex-husband is suing for full custody of their son

oh yeah. she has a son and she is like a deadbeat mother she never shows up on time she forgets to pick him up and he hates going to her house when it's her weekend she is NOT doing a good job on this one. figuring out how to actually mom this kid is also kind of a thing for her and she DOES figure it out but i have to tell you. her Divorced Milf Who Totally Sucks appeal. VERY High

man. yeah she's always getting her shit pushed in during fights because She Is Just A Lawyer but she just like Walks it off (girl...). she's addicted to nicotine in a major way. she's cold and cranky and would not be fun to hang out with. she's terrible at banter. she actually sucks to the point it makes me feel Bad for her ex-husband who has to keep hounding her like "don't forget to pick up our SON" it's kind of a feat to be honest. she just sort of is charging blindly into things and wrecking her life because she has a chip on her shoulder and Maybe Enjoys Killing but at least she's also got a certain failgirl swag about it

there is a major theme of like, legacy, but crucially (and most interestingly, imo) most of the time kate is completely ignorant of said legacies existing around her while she's stomping through the porcelain with her hooves until they rear up to bite her directly in the ass, which i enjoy very much. she is very much focused on her own thing and consumed by her own motivations and does not really give a shit about these things and it's a major issue every time. even "manhunter" itself is a name that's been used by multiple dc characters (sometimes simultaneously) (including a whole cult), which suddenly becomes a problem for her when someone starts murdering all the other manhunters until she's the only one left standing. uh oh! i was just doing my own thing and thought the name sounded cool! noooo!

there's also the very pointed matter of her gear which is all "borrowed" from just like. the lockup. (girl...) so she's wearing someone else's suit and someone else's gauntlets and using someone else's weapon (actually one of the previous manhunters! there's that manhunter lineage again!) and while the audience is treated to a whole issue elaborating on the backstories of these things, kate herself is completely unaware and uninterested in the significance and legacy of these hand-me-downs because she picked them out at complete random to go do premeditated killing. it's really underscored in an interesting way how much she just is kind of bulldozing straight through everything--whether it's her own life or her proverbial predecessors--towards her own ends

the whole lineage and legacy thing is something of a Theme i guess. especially when it turns out her own biological father is an absolute sicko with a murder charge and he's on his way right now to bulldoze her life for his own ends. that's funny. maybe she's got that serial killer gene from riverdale,

jokes aside i would give her a 10/10 failwife cringemilf rating, with ample extra points awarded for being divorced, for the broken ribs, and for how much i would hate hanging out with her if she were real. this is a certified manhunter post. i hope you enjoyed it.

(reading manhunter 2004 and shaking my head sternly the whole time but also smiling. so people know i don't support the death penalty but i Do support women's wrongs)

[celestiall0tus]

Scions - Chapter 1 - Warning

Next

            Juleka packed up her alchemy tools into her backpack. She finished bottling the last of her health potions and stored them away until tomorrow when she and Luka set out. She moved to close her journal when her eye caught the small white snake marking on the inside of her left wrist. She ran her hand up on it, then looked at her blank right arm.

            Juleka sighed and glanced out the window. She saw people celebrating with food and drink in the annual Scion Festival. An event held by every city, town, village, and everything in between. They all gave thanks and honored the kwamis in hopes the gods would bless them, turning them into Scions. She and her twin, Luka, had been blessed one such year. Both of them had received the dual-natured snake that governs all of life.

            Juleka discovered her side of the blessing dealt with the living part of life. She had been imbued with the power to heal, closing wounds, and putting a stopper to death. She had been told that in time she’d be capable of truly miraculous feats such as resurrection. The idea had always amazed her, and she set to please the god of life, Sass. Though, more often than not, it was cleaning up after her twin.

            Juleka’s attention was stolen away briefly by the sound of Luka’s gruff, melodic laughter. She eyed him outside with their mother, Anarka, partaking in the festivities. She managed to catch the faintest of glimpses of the black snake marking on his right arm. Where she was life, he was death. He could inflict terrible wounds that could be fatal if he didn’t end his enemies with his bare hands. It made him a formidable warrior and valiant defender for their village. Guilt and anger struck her heart knowing she’d be robbing their home of such a warrior. That she would be stuck with her babysitter.

            Juleka shook her head and grabbed her foraging satchel. She slipped out the back and into the forest. She let out a breath as she walked along her trodden path. She had wanted to set out for a long time on her own adventure. She was a Scion, and it was her breed that made their marks in history. She was blessed by the gods and given powers others could only dream of. Sure, she could become a famous alchemist and healer, but where was the glory in that? What adventure could there be staying holed up in a little village tending to the few sick and injured?

            Juleka had told Anarka and Luka her plans, fully intending on setting out on her own. However, Luka wouldn’t hear of it. If she was going to head out, he’d be going with her. Anger flared as she remembered his stubbornness. She wasn’t a weak, little girl. She was a Scion, a blessed human. She was capable of forging her own path and protecting herself. Besides, their village needed him more, but he was just going to abandon them. And for what?

            Juleka huffed and crossed her arms. Luka had a place here. He was a fine warrior and now a bard. The people loved him, relied on him. He had found his glory, but he was going to give it up just to babysit her. She didn’t need a babysitter when their home would need a defender. However, there was no convincing him otherwise. His mind was made, and she would be stuck with him.

            Juleka sighed. She forged along the path and through the forest. She stayed out until the sun had started to set and when the Scion ceremony should begin. She considered staying out a little longer. It was a rarity for anyone in the village to be picked. They would usually go years before anyone is blessed. Maybe she could stay out a little longer to look for ingredients.

            “My, what’s a lovely lassie like you doing so far from home?” a man asked.

            Juleka whirled around to face a group of three bandits. She swore and placed her hands behind her. She glanced between them as they held their swords at her.

            “Isn’t this that Scion girl from that village? The healer?” another man pointed out.

            “Why, I think she is. Just look at the black and lilac hair. She’s gotta to be the one.”

            “Oh, come along with us, sweetie. Nice and easy now.”

            The third bandit held them back. “Wait! She’s the one with that brute.”

            The first bandit looked around. “Well, I don’t see her bodyguard. Having a quarrel with your lover there, Scion?”

            “Brother, actually. Arguably worse,” Juleka corrected.

            The second bandit pushed the others. “Idiots! Let’s grab her now while he’s not here.”

            Juleka rolled her eyes. She reached into a small pouch on her belt and pulled out five small glass orbs. Green, ghastly smoke rolled around in each of them. She tossed them onto the ground, and they exploded, covering the area in the sickly fog. The bandits coughed as she jumped back. She reached into another pouch and pulled out an orb with orange clouds. She threw it at the ground in the green fog. She shielded her eyes as the fog exploded in a fiery burst.

            Juleka grabbed two more containers and readied them. She watched as the smoke began to clear and saw one of the bandits dead on the ground. She took a step back when an arrow hit her hand. She flinched from the pain and dropped one of the containers. It burst upon impact, spreading out a light blue fog.

            Juleka sucked in a breath, inhaling the fog. She swore and coughed. She charged out of the fog as her mind spun and she teetered about. The bandits approached her to restrain her. She swung wildly at them, but they easily stepped out of the way. They grabbed her and forced her to the ground. She attempted to break free, but they kept her down as they tied her up in rope.

            “Should we knock her out?” a bandit asked.

            “What for? She’s just a healer. She can’t do anything. Now let’s get out of here!”

            Juleka wriggled as she was picked up. The bandits started their retreat when a roar shattered the silence. She looked up as Luka charged in and punched one of the bandit’s heads clear off his shoulders. The bandit that held her dropped her, making a run for it. The remaining bandit made it a few steps before he crumbled to the ground, crying out in pain. She ignored them while she struggled with the ropes, unable to undo the binding.

            Juleka grunted when Luka grabbed her shoulder. He fussed over the ropes as he released her from them. She scrambled to get away from him, but he grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder.

            “Dammit, Luka, let me down! I can walk on my own,” Juleka screeched.

            Luka didn’t answer.

            “Luka! Put me down now!”

            Luka sneered. He threw Juleka onto the ground but blocked her path.

            “What? Oh, what’s the matter? I can’t do gather ingredients now?”

            “What ails you? You know better than to go out during a festival. There’s all manner of bandits crawling around, looking for an easy score. And you basically handed yourself over on a silver platter. If you wanted your precious ingredients so badly, you should have come to get me!” Luka roared.

            “Fuck you! I’m very well able to defend myself. Just because I’m not a hulking brute with fucking bulging muscles when I get pissed, doesn’t mean I can’t protect myself. I was able to kill one of them with my explosives just fine. If I hadn’t been hit with an arrow, I would have killed the other two!” Juleka yelled.

            “But you didn’t. Instead, you were nearly kidnapped. You would have been if I didn’t show up. You’re lucky I went to check on you otherwise I wouldn’t have even shown up!”

            Juleka snarled. “I wish they had. Maybe then I’d be able to escape from you!”

            Juleka brushed past Luka back to the village. She fumed in silence as they returned, and she headed for their home.

            “I don’t think so,” Luka said.

            Juleka yelped as Luka grabbed her and held her under his arm like a cat.

            “The ceremony is about to begin and it’s clear you can’t be trusted alone,” Luka remarked.

            “Go-!”

            “Go fuck myself. Yeah, yeah. For all your brains, you need better insults, Jule.”

            “Aww, what’s the matter? Are my dumbed down swear words no longer enough for you? Don’t worry, I’ll dumb it down further.”

            Luka opened his mouth to respond but was cut off when Anarka saw them.

            “There you two are. Come, quickly. They’re about to light the flame.”

            “Mam! Tell Luka to put me down,” Juleka hissed.

            Anarka scoffed. “Luka, put her down. She’s not a cat.”

            Luka rolled his eyes and dropped Juleka on the ground before joining Anarka.

            Juleka grumbled. She eyed a rock, grabbed it, and threw it at Luka’s head before she hurried to stand beside Anarka. She chanced a glance at him. He didn’t show any immediate signs of a reaction, but she noticed his eye twitching. She smirked to herself and turned to the Elders. They gave their usual speech before they lit the pyre.

            Everyone watched the pyre. The younger crowd held their breath in anticipation while the older crowd basked in the fire and offered their prayers. Juleka glanced around, then down at her mark. She ran a thumb over it, considering offering a prayer when it burned. She gasped and fell to her knees as the pain intensified. She glanced at Luka to see him still standing but clutching his right arm in pain. The crowd screamed and yelled, snapping her attention back to the pyre.

            Juleka’s eyes widened seeing the orange fire flicker between red and black flames and black and green. They licked and leapt up towards the heavens before a ladybug and black cat emerged from it. Her jaw dropped seeing them. No one was ever blessed by the goddess of creation nor the god of destruction. Same went for the goddess of reality, but the ladybug and black cat were here. Who were they going to bless? What did it mean?

            Juleka watched the ladybug and black cat when her arm burned. She whined and looked down. She gasped seeing the etching of a ladybug mark with her snake. She looked up as the ladybug crashed into her and the black cat into Luka. She let out a breath as she fell back. The screams of everyone were silenced as her world faded in and out. She passed out as a woman’s voice echoed in her head.

            “Change is coming. Take our blessings and be the heroes that everyone will need.”

[kiyfra]

Chapter 3 of Scorpio is finished! can be read here or on AO3. Pokerus AU belongs to @monsoon-of-art

“God has allowed some magical reversal to occur, so that you see the scorpion pit as an object of desire, and all the beautiful expanse around it as dangerous and swarming with snakes.”

----------------------------------------

A crack of lightning tore through the sky from far above, fizzling out before it struck the ground. Many similar bolts snaked out of the gaping rift above the mountain, their blinding light unhindered by the storm clouds that blanketed the red sky.

Even through the haze of dark fog clouding his mind, he could feel a deep seated sense of wrongness from the heavens above and every crackle of electricity.

It was no ordinary storm, that much he knew. There was genuine malice pouring out of the hole that concealed something unfathomably vast and powerful. If he looked at the rift for too long, he could almost make out a pair of hateful red eyes from beyond the void and hear the whispers of a being that hated him simply for existing. It gave him second thoughts about occupying a nest so close to such an eldritch presence.

But wait, wasn’t his den further to the north? In a harsh tundra where a large gliscor would struggle to find enough food to sustain itself, let alone an alpha such as himself. The largest source of food for a predator were the stocky piloswines that roamed the ice lands. The aggressive ice types could turn any hunt fatal and his kind would rarely evolve, sticking to smaller prey. He never really belonged there and that must be why he was back on this mountain.

No, he returned to the seat of this otherworldly presence because his precious gligar was still missing. His fledgling shouldn’t be out alone for so long, especially under this ominous cosmic event and every instinct was telling him she was in terrible danger from something or someone that meant her harm.

You’re the one putting her in danger!

He knew she was strong, strong enough that she would surpass him one day. The leader of his pack had already been bested in combat by his hatchling and countless pokémon across Hisui swore allegiance to her in acknowledgement of her power.

She was such a good gligar and under his guidance, she would command an unstoppable pack with members from every kind of pokémon. Every strength and weakness would be hers to understand and wield after he imparted all that he knew. A pack so vast and mighty that the legendaries themselves would bow to her mastery.

But she was still too young to be fending for herself out in the wilderness. There were many dangers she was ignorant of and she was only just learning how to find her own food and shelter. Any halfway competent predator would make quick work of a young gligar without a parent to protect them.

Rain slicked down his dark carapace as he rested atop his perch in an old tree. There were no wormadams residing in the foliage for an easy meal as he had hoped or even berries to take the edge off his hunger. The gnawing pit in his stomach would have to remain unfilled as he caught his breath at the barren pit stop.

Climbing a mountain with the starvation induced weakness in his limbs was no easy feat and the tears in his wings prevented him from taking the winds to the top. As far back as he could remember, the injuries periodically forced him to abandon the skies and scurry along the ground, never seeming to heal.

Always full of holes.

His memory was full of them, black splotches obscuring most of his life from him. He couldn’t remember the people that were important to him; his friends, his family, even his own name escaped him.

Ingo! My name is Ingo!

He didn’t even remember his gligar hatching; was she adopted? There was another gliscor at one point, one that was precious to him, just as much so as the elusive pokémon that wielded flames with mastery.

It was time to continue his search.

He lurched dizzyingly before taking off, the strong winds sufficient for carrying him, despite how raggedy his wings were. Powerful gales tried to take him every which way across the mountain in a roundabout path, sometimes petering out and leaving him to clamber over crumbling cliff faces. He spent hours struggling against the wind and his own ineptitude in his haphazard search, pain and exhaustion ready to force him to collapse wherever he happened to be standing.

A bolt arced about a yard above him and he cried out in surprise and alarm at the crack of lightning temporarily blinding him. Unnaturally cold static radiated off of the electric discharge that threatened to tear apart what little of his mind remained.

He suddenly felt very small, a weak pitiful creature tossed about in the air and at the mercy of a being far beyond his comprehension. A dark snake-like being that had dragged him away from his home into its realm of swirling black skies and desolate islands. Malevolent red eyes glared at him as he screamed and fell while unseen claws violently scratched away at his mind.

All at once, the sudden awareness of missing digits raced through him, of nerves rerouted into body parts that shouldn’t exist. Every part of him felt misshapen and ill-fitting with the flash of comprehension.

The stretches of leathery skin protruding out of his back, an extra limb with a mind of its own extending out of his spine, the patches of sparse hair growing through his chitin; all of it evoked a visceral disgust and horror with the fragmented memories of being attacked and mutilated.

That entity was glaring down at him from beyond the rift and wanted him to suffer, the one that dragged burning red claws through his brain and left his body mangled. A loud strangled cry escape him at the sudden wave of distressing feelings, far too animalistic and lost in the roar of the storm.

The hateful presence made him want to crawl away in a hole and hide like a frightened pichu and he longed for the comfort of his nest on this mountain. It was familiar, it was safe and it still had the reassuring scent of sneasles left over from its previous occupants.

Would she have returned to his old den?

He needed to find her, then everything would make sense again. Her excitable nature and infectious enthusiasm had always managed to slowly coax back the memories that were torn away from his psyche. Knowing she was safe and keeping her tucked away in a warm nest would put his mind at ease.

It was a terrifyingly long time traversing the highlands, making chirrupy calls that couldn’t possibly be heard over the wind before he spotted a familiar cave entrance with an old stone dais not too far away. The notion that he should leave something upon the dais overcame him, but he had nothing to offer.

Later then.

He angled his wing to swoop down but he shifted far too quickly and lost all lift, his wing becoming trapped under him as he fell from an alarming height. His distressed screeching carried over the storm loud and clear for any pokémon that hadn’t abandoned this section of the highlands to hear as he plunged toward the rapidly approaching ground.

There was a painful wrenching on his arm as he dived shoulder first into the rocky slope and skidded to a halt several feet away from the den, tearing up his wing even further and leaving an ugly fracture in his carapace. A throbbing pain in the joint where his arm met his shoulder elicited small pitiful whimpers as he crawled towards the den’s entrance, something warm seeping out of the cracks in his chitin.

He was almost safe, just a little farther over the threshold then he could rest. A welcome darkness enveloped him as he dragged himself through the cave mouth and away from the unrelenting glare of the red sky.

Soft bedding made of dried grass and shed fur awaited him; a nest far more comfortable than any he could make himself. A few stray roots from tenacious plant life grew through the rocky ceiling and tiny claw marks marred the curved walls. The den was large enough that he could stand upright and fully spread his wings with room to spare. It would be the perfect height to hang upside down from if he had the energy for it, but tonight he would simply collapse on top of the insulating bedding.

Something else’s heartbeat and quiet breathing caught his attention. Was there an intruder hidden inside his den? He gave a low growl in warning followed by a hiss and the interloper’s heartbeat quickened.

A familiar scent came from under a pile of loose straw; the smell of wet fur, human pastries, and a plethora of other pokémon. His heart leapt at the smidge of blue amongst the bedding and he lurched over to its hiding place, splaying his limbs to keep balance as he swayed unsteadily.

The tiny stowaway looked up at the apex predator looming above, their eyes quivering and wide with fear. Its face was scuffed and dirty with fresh tear tracts, trembling so hard that it had shaken off most of the straw keeping it hidden. His gligar was here, scraped up and terrified of something, but she was safe and she was alive!

Anger flared in his rib cage at the sight of how many scrapes littered his offspring and the tears in her eyes. Was she attacked while he was far away and unable to protect her?

If the human or pokémon that dared tried to harm her ever had the misfortune of facing him, they could not expect a swift death. Spending hours being tormented while dying from a shot of venom and several broken bones would be protracted and horrible enough for the merciless gliscor. He relished the idea of letting it run just far enough to let them think they could escape before returning to punish it for such conceit.

But that could wait.

The gligar was still shaking, her eyes darting between his face and behind him as if expecting some hostile prowler to materialize out of the shadows. As if her progenitor wasn’t there to tear any intruder that tried to get close to her to shreds.

He wasn’t sure if she was afraid of some assailant that might be following or if she also felt the eerie oppressiveness from the rift. A blanket of black leathery wings could block out any stray strands of red light to let his nestling sleep easily, buried in the warmth and scent of her sire. He would brood and fuss over her until whatever had her so shaken up was nothing but a distant memory.

Heavy pincers were uneasily placed down behind her to keep the girl penned in while she tried to look as small as possible. He happily nosed at his young charge and set to work grooming the dirt out of her fur, eliciting a dismayed squeal. She tried to push his face away and wriggle free, but even injured and exhausted, he could handle a fussy gligar.

A rumbling formed deep in his chest as small squeaks and chitters escaped his throat to soothe his perturbed fledgling. It was slow to take effect and she would tense up at the needle like teeth combing through her fur, stubbornly shoving his head away over enthusiastic licking while squawking in indignation.

But eventually his tiny gligar stopped trying to fight him and let herself be tended to, resting beneath his chin and wrapping her arms around his broad chest plate as best she could, seeking comfort.

Her claw tips were chipped and speckled with partially dried blood, likely from inexperienced clambering over rocky terrain. He turned his head to gently lick at the uncleaned wounds and remove the flaky blood covering tender skin.

Though dry and stale, the coppery taste reminded him of the pained burning knot that was his stomach and how it made tiredness and pain radiate through his body. It was so cramped and agonizing that he couldn’t even imagine it accepting anything he swallowed, but it still grew angry and impatient at being teased with morsels.

Something was deeply wrong. A series of confusing and contradictory notions ran through him and an inky blackness crept over the edge of his vision. His innards coiled and twisted in anticipation of enjoying his captured prey and confused dread at what that would entail. He felt the world spinning as something heavy slithered up his spine and pushed down on his back with a force nowhere close to its full strength.

Faint whispering assured him he would be fed and his heart beat harder at the malicious promise. He licked faster and more fervently as his excitement and terror rose to a fever pitch, his skin prickling as he sensed the malevolent red lighting making its way into the den.

Crimson dripped into his eyes, ran in rivers and formed pools like the most sickly sweet candy. It once again cruelly promised to sustain his body; he could eat and eat as much as he pleased but he’d pay for his indulgence and it would never fill his belly. The constant aching and pain would remain as his body carried on, animated but unsatisfied.

His face was held close to it, knowing he was too pathetic and weak-willed to stop himself from accepting the rotten deal and gorging on it. He was a ravenous, base creature that couldn’t remember not being hungry. A slave to his instincts being offered food as sugary as the berries that failed to nourish him and as salty as the blood he dearly craved.

It wasn’t the first time he’d given into the temptation to feed, desperate for such a small relief only to be left with hallow disappointment. He knew it was a terrible deal, but the syrupy painkiller was dripping down his face and it promised to take the edge off and ensure his wounds wound never kill him. All he had to do was lick it off.

His tongue swiped across his lips in a moment of weakness and caught the delicious honeyed beads, giving him an incurable taste. It was pooling so close to his mouth, its bright cheri red too great of a temptation for him to resist, and he started greedily lapping it up.

The crimson liquid pleasantly slid over his tongue and clung to his teeth, tasting of the sweetest, most indulgent syrup and the metallic pang of meat. Heavy in his mouth and rich in sugar and protein, it should have been satisfying. But it cruelly dissipated in his throat, unable to fill the bitter hollow inside him. If he kept drinking bigger mouthfuls, he could delude himself into thinking he was filling his stomach by the mere act of swallowing.

As promised, the pain and heaviness lifted slightly and the leaden feeling of his carapace became a little more manageable. All he had to do for the relief was debase himself, submit his body and mind to the one that kept him hungry.

More and more, it was never enough, could never be enough. It could only provide more fumes to run on.

He plunged his face into the mocking red lake and started feverishly gulping down as much as he could, struggling to take breaths between mouthfuls. Air seemed so unimportant and he barely tried to keep his nose above the drink. His lungs started to burn and he hardly noticing the bubbles escaping him, then suddenly he was a drowning man fighting to surface.

The crimson liquid passed through his fingers and clogged his airway, sticky and cloying with the nauseating taste of raw meat. He was choking on the ill-inducing sweetness that was like overindulging on cake. There was zero weight or substance to push against as he thrashed to escape the pitch black depths, frantic for air.

It took all of his desperation and energy to ascend just a few inches and any pause would see his work undone as he was dragged back down. His fingertips grazed at the air above; he was so close but the arm’s length left to go demanded a despairingly long time struggling with all his might. With one final push, his head broke the surface, gasping and eagerly sucking in oxygen.

The darkness and fog receded and he saw with a clarity he hadn’t held in a long time. He was hunched over in Lady Sneasler’s den with Dawn in his arms, her shoulders trembling slightly and face pressed against his neck.

The lucidity wouldn’t last long, it never did.

He mentally shouted to himself in the brief moment before he forgot who he was again with the hope his urgency would carry over.

I am the subway boss, Ingo! These tracks are fraught with danger, you must get away from her before-

Something pulsating wormed its way into his brain through the back of his skull in smug contempt and it was gone. He grit his teeth and ignored the pain; now that his humandewottgligar was here, everything would be alright.

He would bundle her up and keep her hidden away deep inside the den, cradle her against his chest as she slept, shield her from the oppressive red malice outside...

and...

and...  k...i...l...l.......h...e...r...

A dangerous stinger slowly circled around her back unnoticed, cautiously raised behind her and waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Everything would be okay, she was safe now.

Such an act was probably overdoing it for something so small, but the venom would ease digestion, especially with such a young gligar.

He’d sleep soundly with a full stomach and his hatchling close to him where nothing could hurt her. She’d be able to keep her promise never to abandon him after the night spent feeding on blood and meat in their dark nest.

A strand of drool dripped down one of his fangs and landed with a splat on the girl’s shoulder. She looked up at the row of jagged teeth above her, his jaws parted and salivating hungrily. The girl’s eyes glanced backwards and she went completely still, perceiving some danger.

There’s nothing to be scared of, he’s proud of ensuring the safety of his passengers.

Nothing will get close enough to hurt you, I’ll shield you with my broken, mangled body, keep you hidden away forever, gouge and tear anything that gets close, I’ll sting them to death and I’ll eat you whole.

The stinger pulled back quickly to add force to its strike before it snapped forward into empty space.

A lack of comprehension left him staring blankly until he noticed the fresh stinging on his abdomen from something that had slashed at him. He dully noted the new injury, another one to add to his generous supply.

His hatchling was making great haste towards the cave entrance and he unhurriedly followed after her. The red light crept into the short passageway out of the den and grew stronger to closer he got to the exit, unease finding its way back into him and cutting through his stupor.

A crimson glow blanketed the barren mountainside, the dewott nowhere in sight. The realization that she had run away and he was abandoned once again dawned on him.

...

But I love you...

[uncozy-unrose]

Comfortember Day Three : Warm Food

Fandom: MCU/Captain America ♡ Main: Steve and Bucky ♡ Ship: Stucky ♡ Features: Domestic super-soldiers, Depression-Era Reminiscing, sneezing, losing voices, chilly autumn gardening, and love in the form of cooking.

Read on AO3

Somewhere, in an undisclosed stretch of land in upstate New York, two super-soldiers embarked on the task of harvesting vegetables from their garden. The chill in the autumn air indicated that it was time to begin pulling carrots up from their safe cloaks of soil and dusting off beets to prepare them for pickling later on.

Maybe Bucky will have developed a taste for them this year.

 Usually, this would be a simple feat. As previously mentioned, they were super-soldiers after all. How hard would it be to pluck an apple from their tree when you could literally rip the trunk in half with your bare hands?

Well, today, that aforementioned autumn chill was catching up with the pair. The change in the seasons, specifically from summer to fall, usually left them feeling achy, with a wide range of other symptoms including Bucky’s raw throat and Steve’s unrelenting congestion. 

A few of their more scientifically inclined friends, namely Tony, Bruce, and Shuri, came to the conclusion that their enhanced immune systems were just overreacting to the new strains of influenza and rhinovirus that peak in the fall and winter in the northeast…

Bucky and Steve usually stopped paying much attention after that, the explanations getting longer and longer each year. All that they knew was that they felt terrible, and it was best just to hole up in their home for a while and ride their illnesses out together. This proved infinitely more beneficial than being laid up in some technologically advanced medical facility where microbiologists would come in to steal their used tissues. 

Yes, the home that they had made their own a few years back, was a much better place to recoup. The pair had been fighting off fevers for the past few days and were finally starting to get out of their fog, allowing them to do something a bit more active today. They decided that a bit of light gardening and collecting some fresh vegetables for a warm stew would be an appropriate use of their time and somewhat renewed energy.

Steve, sinuses still riddled with pressure, found it painful to smile, but couldn’t help himself as he watched Bucky. The other man was haphazardly bundled in a crewneck fleece and a knit scarf, the fringe at the end dragging in the soil as he reached for the herbs in front of him.

“Who knew that James Buchanan Barnes would have such a green thumb?”

Bucky kept his gaze down, letting out a barely audible chuckle followed by a few weak coughs. He continued to pluck sprigs of rosemary off of the plant.

“Well technically, it’s a vibranium thumb…”

Steve rolled his eyes, but looked on in adoration. He placed his chin on Bucky’s shoulder and snaked his sweater-clad arms around the brunette’s waist. Brushing the dirt off of his scarf, he kissed Bucky’s jaw, noting the warmth of his skin. 

“Very funny… I guess I’m just jealous.”

Bucky tipped his chin up and to the left, catching a glance at two warm, half lidded blue eyes and stringy flaxen hair. He flashed Steve a smirk.

“Jealous?”

“Yes, jealous! Look at these baskets!” Steve, keeping his head on Bucky’s shoulder, thrust his hand forward to emphasize the bountiful harvest before them. “You planted the carrots, and the parsnips, and the herbs. You even grew that funny looking squash.”

“Okay, well you really impressed me with those potatoes…”

“I better have! If I didn’t I’m pretty sure Sarah Rogers herself would have come to haunt me.”

A few breathy chuckles were punctuated by a sniffle from Steve. A solemn silence then fell over the garden.

“I miss your mom.”

Bucky lifted his flesh hand, warmer to the touch than the other, and placed it on Steves, still resting on his abdomen. Steve threaded his right fingers through Bucky’s, pulling his vibranium hand in with his left.

“Me too”, Steve and Bucky began gently rocking side to side, “I think about her a lot when I’m out here. She would have loved this garden.”

“Hey, remember when she would take us to the gardens in the city when we were younger? The ones they made in old lots?”

“So people could feed their families, of course I remember. Sometimes that’s the only way we’d get food that week. Ma also made me pick tomatoes just to feel useful for once.”

“Yeah, and I got stuck trucking your full wagon up the hill. You were always running up behind and sneezing your ass off because you were allergic to the flowering vegetables. And the trees… and the sun.”

“Alright alright, I get it…”

As if on cue, Steve stifled two harsh sneezes into the crook of Bucky’s neck, barely scrambling out of his embrace with the other man before a third overtook him, let out forcefully, but ragged. 

“Yeah! Like that! Bless you, doll.”

“Thangk you…” Steve ran his sweater sleeve delicately under his nose, his voice rounding out with congestion. Bucky frowned.

“We should get you inside, it’s not getting any warmer out here and your cheeks are getting flushed again.”

Steve softened his features, supplying a pathetic sniffle. His shoulders dropped and his head tipped to one side, looking at Bucky with a mix of fondness and sentiment.

“I also remember you talking to me like that when we were younger. ‘Oh Stevie, your cheeks are flushed’, ‘have you got your handkerchief, Steve?’, ‘Oh doll, did you forget your gloves?”, the blonde nudged playfully.

“Are you kidding me? Have you thought about your old self lately? Its a medical miracle that you made it through the things you have. Those concerns were warranted.” 

Steve stepped back, throwing his hands up in feigned surrender. With a wet chuckle he clapped a hand on Bucky’s back.

“I know, angel” Steve reassured, “You know I know. I kid because you don’t have to worry anymore. Not in the same way, at least. I can take care of you now, too. Especially when your voice sounds like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like a lawnmower!”

“Alright, alright- let’s get inside and both get warmed up.”

The pair gathered the baskets, brimming with a colorful harvest and made their way up the path toward the house. They maneuvered through the door and into the kitchen, where they began the process of sorting and washing the vegetables for their stew. 

Bucky took the job of chopping, as he argued that his knife skills were superior. Steve wanted to refute, but realized that using a sharp blade while managing fits of sneezing was probably not a wise choice. Instead, Steve sautéed carrots, onions, and celery in a pan while also bundling sachets of herbs, stealing adoring glances at the man accompanying him in the kitchen. 

He wasn’t used to this much abundance, and he knew Bucky felt similarly, but was pleased with the way they could use this meal to come together and share their love. Each of them contributing flavors and skills, stealing swift kisses and gentle touches as they warmed the bread and set out bowls and spoons. Bucky’s laugh inaudible as the steam from the pot made Steve sneeze again.

They mutually agreed to eat their meal on the couch in front of the fire, while shrouding themselves in thick flannel blankets. They recalled more memories of their childhood, swapping stories that made their eyes shine with nostalgia -finally feeling comfortable enough with their presents to look back on their pasts.  

As the night stretched on, and Bucky’s voice faded from an abrasive rasp to a painful whisper and Steve’s aching sinuses made it hard to keep his head up, they slowly came to a silence. Empty bowls of stew lay on the coffee table and the fire died down to only embers, leaving the pair of super-soldiers entwined on their sofa- finally able to just relax, to just be ill. To finally be together, and to be home.

To finally be human.

[starship-prism]

Happy tgirl tummy Tuesday beloved goo girls!!!

[fogsrollingin]

See below the most recent fics added to my masterpost of Good Omens fic recs (linked as content source to this post)

✨ Brutal Crowley whump and snuggly Aziraphale comfort here we gooooo ✨

As Beautiful as the Day We Met by Crow__Quill. Teen & up, 7k words, Aziracrow. Summary: Aziraphale finds Crowley after he has been tortured by Hell and tends to his wounds. https://archiveofourown.org/works/49209820 Apologies in advance - I cut out 90% of the author's summary in the details above - it was a long excerpt that proved they could write very well 👌 I've been in a big mood for Crowley whump & comforting Aziraphale and this fic is such a winner. Crowley broken and crying in Aziraphale's arms, I am so here for it!!!

Guardian Angel by dreamsofspike. Rated Mature, 33k words, Aziracrow. Summary: Crowley is summoned. It's not the first time - but it's probably the worst. https://archiveofourown.org/works/21307328 Oh my gosh this fic was harrowing - the Crowley whump was A+. Then the rescue was brilliantly paced. Sometimes the order of operations can get out of wack during rescue scenes but I loved every beat of it. The hugs and cuddling at the end was like the best surge of oxytocin ever. This was such a good read!

To Sleep, Perchance to Dream by theshoparoundthecorner. Rated General, 18k words, Aziracrow. Summary: When he finally drifted off, he dreamt only of a burning bookshop and the end of the world. Since then, the nightmares came nearly every night. Some nights were easier to forget than others, but it was the nights when he woke up with a scream still caught in his throat or drenched in another cold sweat that left him shaken for the rest of the day. It was far too inconvenient to go about one’s day replaying a terrible dream in one’s head, so after about two weeks, Crowley came up with a solution to his problem. Since sleeping seemed to be the cause of all his troubles at the moment, it was simple: he would just stop. Of course, stopping one’s nearly-six-thousand-year routine was easier said than done. Demons didn’t need to sleep, that much was true, but Crowley had grown rather accustomed to it, and quitting was no easy feat. Nevertheless, he did his best to keep his head held high and his eyes wide open, with one goal in mind – avoid alerting Aziraphale to anything out of the ordinary. This, of course, failed miserably. https://archiveofourown.org/works/33308377 Yay cuddly coziness between Crowley and Aziraphale post season one, with angst and PTSD added for spice. Loved it.

(Don't) Say My Name by CosmicOcelot. Rated Mature, 4k words, Aziracrow. Summary: “Aziraphale,” Crowley clutches tighter at Aziraphale’s jacket, hissing the words between his teeth, and the slightly hysterical edge to his voice makes the angel’s entire body flood with sheer panic. “Someone’s summoning me.” https://archiveofourown.org/works/19409536 Loved the Crowley whump. The evil summoning felt a little bit like the beginning of Sandman which I loved. Aziraphale to the rescue is so delicious.

Five Times Crowley's Serpentine Nature Showed by ebullience24. Rated General, 5k words, Aziracrow. Summary: Five Times Crowley's Serpentine Nature Showed, featuring the whole airforce gang. 1. Eyes. 2. Cold-blooded. 3. Crowley can talk to other snakes. 4. Crowley has chronic pain. 5. Brumating https://archiveofourown.org/works/22318813 Fluffy and sweet, I really love the idea of Crowley as a snake, with various habits and powers and sensitivities that all comes with it. The chronic pain aspect to explain why he moves the way he does has piqued my interest too. Really well done!

Of Dust And Diamonds by entanglednow. Rated Explicit, 14k words, Aziracrow. Summary: After they're both released by Hell for good, Crowley and Aziraphale return to the bookshop. They're both dealing with their own trauma, but they're also determined not to lose what they spent six thousand years building towards. https://archiveofourown.org/works/22288885 The way this author treated the hurt/comfort aftermath of rape in hell in this fic was so nuanced and felt very authentic. The way Aziraphale and Crowley both care so deeply for each other, and cope, and circle around each other for comfort, seeking stability and balance with each other. So so good.

[the-world-annealing]

Witnessing Orcs: Literary Tradition (1)

(reviving a long-dead series of posts, introduction here, further posts in the tags or my writing page)

When orcs on a long hunt gather round the fire, when children ask their peers great questions, when a roaming Brakmor must prove himself worthy of a share of meat, it is then that orcs tell their stories. Already I told you the myth of Yurtrus's death, but a poor guide I would be if I allowed it to remain your sole example.

(though a better guide, still, than those humans who cherry-pick accounts of city orcs, and pass on only the most gory and thrilling of stories, so that their readers are led to presume that even in peaceful tale-telling orcs only think of war)

Here then follow a number of tales, gathered from my birth tribe and others, explained where they may confuse, questioned where they might mislead.

The Tales of Rokal the Oaf A great number of these tales exist, with countless variations for each, unified only by their protagonist. Rokal is a foolish, greedy, and incompetent orc, whose actions inevitably end in disaster, and who thus serves as an counterexample of good behavior.

One tale, for instance, describes how Rokal's hunting band raids a small forest town. As his comrades make off with what they can carry, Rokal comes across a large store with a hand-cart in front. Scoffing at his comrades' simple-mindedness, he loads the cart up with all the store's meat and fruit. As he begins pushing the heavy cart homeward, he loudly dreams of the glory that this haul will bring him.

But quickly, his plan is exposed for the foolishness it is. His cart struggles to move over the rough terrain, gets stuck in mud, and is upturned while crossing a stream, forcing Rokal to scramble to right it and recover the food. He falls far behind his comrades, and when a party of vengeful villagers catches up with him, he is forced to abandon his haul and return empty-handed. The other orcs, whose feast just ended, mock his witless scheme and toss him their table-scraps. But Rokal, who is and remains an oaf, has not learned his lesson, and already plots to tame a feral bear, shoot down the moon with a mighty bow, command a fire with whip and chain, or accomplish some equally foolish feat.

The tale of the lost child This is a story told among the children of the tribe where I grew up. I know not whether it is told still, and place it here to immortalize its tellers as much as anything else.

The tale, told haltingly and inexpertly, and never quite the same way twice, speaks of a young orc who wanders too far off, and loses its way back home. While looking for the path-markers that the adults make, it suddenly finds itself facing down a great dragon.

The dragon is a terrible beast; a twenty-feet long limbless serpent, composed entirely of roaring fire, covered in flaky white ash, with teeth black as coal and eyes yellow like the sun (those in my audience who know this to not be what dragons look like, rejoice! you have proven yourself cleverer than a child of nine summers).

It roars triumphantly, for (so the narrator tells us at this point), dragons love the meat of orcs more than anything, but would never dare attack the bold and mighty adults, and so must make do with the odd child that wanders off too far.

The child runs, and the dragon gives chase, approaching closer and closer, its fiery coils scorching the earth and wilting trees as it snakes around obstacles. Already, its terrible maw is slavering at the thought of this delightful morsel, dripping red-hot oil and setting fire to the grass.

In the tale as I first heard it told, the child's mad flight happened to lead it back to the tribe, who at once formed a line to protect it and chased off the dragon with mighty cries and brandished spears. But on one notable occasion, I heard another ending told, which I will share as well.

There, the running child finds not its people, but a thin and deep shaft, filled with cold and clear water. The child dives in, and the dragon eagerly waits for it to surface. After a moment of indecision, the child turns away from the dragon hovering above, kicks its feet, and dives down into the dark waters. Having said so, the child telling the story simply ceased to talk.

This distressed the children in attendance greatly, but no matter how they begged, the tale-teller refused to utter a single word more, and in fact remained silent for all that day and the one that followed. Shortly after, I left for my now-hometown, and thus I never learned if the story was ever concluded.

How bones became as stone Long, long ago, in a time when the oldest trees alive today had not yet even sprouted, Yurtrus god of rot was much stronger than he is today. In that day, though bones were pale and strong, they were things of flesh and corded muscle, and endured but briefly beyond death. A corpse would decay into nothingness and seep away into the dirt within mere days or weeks, leaving the soul within to crawl away, unbound and unfeeling.

The worthy dead were spared this fate, of course. Their souls would be taken by Gruumsh' servants, and join him among the blessed, as they still are today. But the cowards, the braggarts, the kin-slayers: their souls would toss and turn as they withered away, and bemoan their fates and weakness, and suffer the rot of their bodies.

And in his malice, Yurtrus granted those cursed souls a portion of his power, and allowed them to move once more, not alive yet not truly dead. They became frightful and monstrous things, which shambled from their graves to visit their wrath upon the living, for by Yurtrus' will they would not rot so long as they killed and maimed.

The dead ever grew in number, and the orcs of the land despaired, and prayed to Gruumsh sky-father to embrace the unworthy dead, so they would no longer consign themselves to darkness. But Gruumsh refused to bow to such trickery, for to taint his heaven with the unworthy was the worst thing in the world to him.

And so the orcs prayed to Luthic earth-mother, who visited the restless dead as they rose from their graves. And the monstrous orcs bowed to her, for loathsome as they were they knew to honor she from who their souls sprang.

"Great mother!" one croaked. "Why have you come here? Your power does not extend to us, who are grown and dead. Will you admonish us for killing to avoid final death, as all already must? Though it will fill our hearts with sorrow, we will not change our ways, for it is better to live a life of torment than to rot and disappear."

And Luthic's brow furrowed, for there was truth in these words. And so she left the rampaging dead, and traveled beyond the stone, to that dark and sodden place where Yurtrus dwelled.

"Yurtrus Once-Son!" she called out to the corpse-god, whose white fingers snaked through the dirt like worms. "I propose a bargain! Tempt the dead no more, let their bodies lie still, eat of their flesh as you wish! In return, I shall draw upon my own power, and ensure that worthy and unworthy dead alike deliver pale death from beyond the grave. Should I fail to keep this bargain, then may every leaf on every tree wither away, never to return."

And though Yurtrus was mistrustful, he could not see fault in Luthic's offer. Either she would break the terms, and all life would surely die, or somehow she wouldn't, and even the Gruumsh-chosen would be made to kill. And so, the verminous god whispered a word of agreement through his crooked and worn teeth.

At this, Luthic traveled to the heart of a tall mountain, and retrieved an useful kind of rock in great supply, which she cut into many shapes. And in a great miracle, she gifted these carved bones to orcs dead, living, and unborn alike, and did away with the skeletons that they used to possess.

Having done so, she commanded her servants to take the bones of the dead and make use of them as spear- and arrow-points. And Yurtrus, as he watched arrows tipped with orcish bone fly through the air and bring down great prey, could not but admit that Luthic had kept her bargain, for both worthy and unworthy orcs now killed after death.

And this is why bones are sacred to Luthic, why they are hard enduring things, and why they are white. And most of all it explains why orcs must fashion the bones of the dead into tools and weapons, as they do to this day.

Next, I shall share a single tale that has earned some recognition among humans: the Epic of Ilneval.

[panie-wanie-dean-bean]

The last piece for Hybrid AU where MC gets injured (which i genuinely appreciate u both deciphering my drunken nonsense and also writing something so So delightful btw i dont think i thanked u for that yet so thank u! ^^) i got more brain zoomzooms to abuse! >83

That last piece got me thinkin, well moreso the accident was definitely a wakeup call for the MC, they should really take their life insurance and will more seriously! In case of their untimely demise, it would be her utmost priority to leave her estate to her darling boys (and a hired caretaker for Bo).

But I imagine being a "rich bitch tm" is no easy feat, I mean who knows wat distant great-uncle-aunty-twice-removed-cousin is waiting in the bushes for their time to strike and seize their assets??

And with how Hybrids are already stigmatized and discriminated against, how much convincing would it take a judge to relinquish those assets to them? After all they share blood (somewhere in their bloodstream), and a den of wild animals aren't "smart enough to handle a true human's business" they're just a bunch of strangers, pets, in Nick's case they could all just be paid for whores who took advantage of their treasured relative! (What was her name again?)

And She was so ill! She wasn't in her right mind, what with her grief over her parents, it was truly a tragic day when that random piano fell upon her from a 10 foot drop, as she recovered from...some illness or another.

I mean what are the odds of a piano being moved to the second floor of a beach resort on a busy saturday afternoon 10 minutes after she accidentally ingested a poisoned margarita and was fine? perhaps it was her mother who was allergic to pineapples- but in any case It was Tragic! surely!!

It gives her the chills just thinking about it. Having a greedy yet wealthy family is honestly like being born in a den of snakes.

No, she needs a human to help with it all, of course. Why not someone who understands her plight?? That Hybrid Rights Activist! (Im naming her Daun), I mean the first meeting was off to a rocky start, but she of all people should understand how territorial hybrids get, she has one of her own! A cat boy named Simoun, who sneers at the idea of gettin to know the boys, but, you know how cats are. They shall move in post-haste!

Daun is named the Executor, which means she's the individual appointed with carrying out the instructions, and affairs of the deceased, as well as an inheritor of an equal portion of the total sum of MC's estate, its only fair after all. (Idk anything about law but in this universe of my mind Daun has the human privileges of editing the will if she wants bc they're second class citizens. And she wont ofc! :):) why would she? :):) )

It's so exciting! To MC and Daun it's like marrying ur best friend, with the added bonus of fantastic sex! And Im certain Daun wouldn't shy away from getting to know the boys on an interpersonal level now, Simoun too! Daun's always wanted to be a cool mom, we'll be spending so much time together, if MC kicks the bucket, and Daun is left in charge, well, it's only natural that they be on their best behavior. Wouldn't want to end up homeless or right back in that dreadful shop with someone who is far more poor, and a hundred times crueler than MC, reduced from a partner to a pet in an instant... oh excluding Daun, of course!

She wants to start fresh after that terrible dinner party, So long as there are No threats, No blackmailing with that silly little information Barry found,

it's not Daun's fault her father was a part of a Human-Hybrid Crime Syndicate. She just has to live with it! And she already told her sob story to MC. All they ever did was steal from the rich and give to the *mutter*-er. Mc heard "Poorer". And ofc they dont harm anyone else unless they're planning something Really dangerous...like setting a hybrid orphanage on fire, or skimming a little extra off the top of-...the "charity" funds that Daun's sector handles.

So~ no biting or misbehaving.

Just Smiles, and Charity galas hosted on their new shared estate. where they're dressed and buffed, seen but not heard. Charming if they have to be, when approached, to get people on their side.

Once people's minds change about hybrids, it makes it easier to conduct her family's business. And If Simoun gets a little snippy, or bratty by breaking things its their job as the older siblings to let it slide, he was practically a little prince in his old life within the Crime Syndicate. Practically posted right on top of her father's lap 24/7 and spoiled rotten.

it also wouldnt be difficult to convince MC that boys will be boys~ she's practically wrapped around Daun's little finger. All those concerns of "manipulation" and "coercion" they're just territorial! Yknow how they were when MC was on that business trip.

But Im making it seem worse than it is, Daun makes it clear that if they're cool to her, she'll be cool with them, they can even pretend to like each other in front of MC if they cant seem to get along after a while once they settle in. Oop! If you dont fall for her yourself of course! She really is the nicest human! They can learn to love each other. She wont judge them for being hybrids, will love them as her own, spoil them for every birthday and holiday with MC by her side, play with them if they'd like! And look the other way when they engage in their bedroom affairs that would definitely slander MC's image in the eyes of the disapproving public. But Nick should know how hypocritical humans can be when they hire his services in secret! Hell Daun can use that if he's ever interested~

And if by some happenstance over a cup of tea late at night if they run into each other...she could inquire if, Bo...Jack... or Rory may want to help get rid of some threatening Anti-Hybrid radicals.

Those big muscles and sharp teeth can sure come in handy during runs-No? It's fine if not, it would just reaaaally help MC out, given that they're so mean to hybrid sympathizers like them during their shared campaigns, so many hurtful comments and the occasional death threat. But Daun's sure its probably just some edgy teen commenting anonymously for attention.

MC also wouldnt want them getting hurt! She loves them so much, and endures...so much for them to have a happy life, oh..they didnt know about that?? not even with Barry's meddling?? Augh, of course she would never tell them about it~ I guess Daun is just.... better at easing her burdens~! ^-^ Hybrid Activists gotta stick together after all,

So...just be a cute and quiet little lap dog, when Daun goes on her personal "business trips" okay~? Maybe MC's kiss on one cheek, and yours on the other? And tell that birdbrain in the pool to mind his business and mind his manners. Everything Daun does, she does for their little family here~

Yes, we can all be one big happy quirky little family! Just the boys, MC, and their lovely new stepmother :)

ignore the ominous lightning in the background, you know how it is with late summer weather~

🖤 nonny

(...genuinely idk where all this came from. I stg i wanted Daun to just be an innocent helpful bystander to the cute hybrid boys jealousy, but i guess her soul said "nah let's go evil (well chaotic neutral) mode" and wrote this instead-)

Ok, this is pretty neat, but I really hope you know that none of this is canon. I'm glad my au could inspire you to make all this, but my main focus of this au is for the boys to heal, not for a new villain to come in and steal their master

Again, this is really cool, but I'm not going to add onto it at all because this is your own au of my au where this woman exists (Also my y/ns are always gender neutral unless I'm writing smut)

[ladyofthebluelight]

What are Taeko's options on all of the hasira?

I got a bit too excited with this ask and ended up writing too much to put in the image so here are Taeko’s opinions on each Hashira(Pillar):

Flame Pillar: He seems like the type of person I would love to become friends with! His presence in my grandfather’s life was brief but impactful. While I don’t necessarily enjoy hearing the tale of his last battle and consequential death, it also inspired me to do my best in my training.

Water Pillar: I am very grateful for all he has done for my grandfather. It’s only because of the mercy and compassion he showed that fateful day that my grandfather was successful in his quest! Also, I read his contribution in the water breathing records so I feel like I have to thank him for his help in my training.

Mist Pillar: I was surprised when I learned how young he was when he became a hashira. It was an impressive feat but I couldn’t help but feel sad for him. Being a hashira was a huge responsibility and very dangerous so to think someone went through all that training and lost his life that young...

Sound Pillar: I heard Grandfather’s recount of his battle against upper moon six more times than I can count. It’s one of my favorite stories. He was an eccentric and fierce individual. My grandfather and his friends would have lost their lives in the entertainmentdistrict if it wasn’t for him.

Snake Pillar: I think he is the hashira I know about the least about. Grandfather trained with him but they never got to know each other in a deeper level so I don’t know much of him.

Love Pillar: While I am admittedly a bit envious her impressive physical strength, what I admire about her the most is her kindness. Grandmother told me her presence could light up the room. I suppose it was one more reason she was known as the love hashira.

Stone Pillar: From what grandparents told me he was a gentle giant. Someone strong and fierce in battle that was also sensitive to the suffering of others. He was also very tall. I’ve been around many tall people recently and it’s crazy to think he was taller than all of them.

Wind Pillar: With his aggressive behavior he didn’t leave the best first impression on my grandfather. But there ended up being more to him than meets the eye and he turned out to have a good heart behind his harshness… it actually reminds me of someone I know.

Insect Pillar: She is one of the hashira I know the most about. My grandmother spoke highly of her as both a hashira and an older sister. She didn’t let her limited physical strength stop her from becoming a hashira and her intelligence and knowledge of medicines was key during the final battle. I am proud to have someone like her as my grandaunt!

Flower Pillar: She is my other grandaunt. It was her compassion that took my grandmother from a terrible situation and gave her a family. It was painful to hear about her passing from my grandmother because I could smell her grief even all those years later.

This ask also made me think more about my plans for next chapter so thanks for the inspiration for me to continue writing the fic!