#i almost called it that should i rename it

[coryosbaby]

—“ʙᴀʙʏ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ, ʏᴏᴜ’ʟʟ ᴄᴀʟʟ ᴍᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙᴜɴɴʏ, ᴛᴇʟʟ ᴍᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ’ᴍ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴀ ʙᴀʙʏ, ʜᴏɴᴇʏ !”

♡ content warning . cunnlingus, vaginal fingering, squirting, servant! reader, dom munch Coryo my beloved <3

Your life begins to escalate one day when you come into Coriolanus Snow’s office.

You aren’t new to the capital, most definitely not, but you’re new to him. He’s just as handsome as all your coworkers had talked about— and just as strict. The moment you walk through the doors and introduce yourself as his new maid, he’s already barking orders and giving you a list of things to do. Not before his eyes wonder over your thighs, tits, mouth— but you don’t notice that. No, of course you don’t. You’re a shy, timid little thing….almost like a bunny.

Maybe that’s why Coriolanus names you that.

Members of the capital, no matter how much privilege, can’t exactly rename their workers. But it seems that Coriolanus has. Because no matter what, that’s what your name seems to be from now on— Bunny. When you need to fix him his meals, when you clean up the clothes littering his room or the empty wine bottles on his table, there he is.

“Good job, bunny.”

“Such a good girl, bunny.”

“Thank you, bunny. C’mere, why don’t you have some wine with me?”

And that statement itself is what leads to this particular night: you’re sitting across from Coriolanus, your feet nervously tapping against the wooden floor, taking small, small sips out of the expensive wine glass he had passed to you. You don’t quite understand why he is offering this, but what you don’t know is that you’ve enamored him. Your hard work, your perfect resilience at following his orders. You are everything Lucy Gray never was: compliant. But Coriolanus never felt this strongly about Lucy. No, not really. She was a pawn, a way to work his way up to the top. But you caught him by surprise.

His blonde curls are golden in the lamp light, and he’s undid his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. You try not to drool at the sight of his tanned chest peeking out of the fabric or the way his thick, muscle-ey thighs spread simultaneously as he speaks to you.

“—but as I was saying. He’s quite ridiculous. He’s completely unintelligent, weak minded, and—“

He stalls, watching your small, shy smile. He knows you have no idea who he’s talking about, even though he’s been going on this rant about another business partner for the past twenty minutes. He clears his throat.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be talking about these things with… a maid.”

He doesn’t say it in the sense that he’s disgusted. He merely seems to be choosing his words carefully. You shrug meekly, trying not to upset him.

“I don’t mind, sir,” you say, twiddling your fingers. “In fact.. I think I enjoy it. If you don’t mind me saying so.”

How sweet.

Coriolanus’ eyes thread through with a rather playful look, and he takes another sip of his wine as he takes sight of your almost see through tights.

“I told you, Y/N. Don’t call me sir.”

Your eyes widen a bit, in fear of displeasing him. You set your glass down shakily.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—“

“I’m kidding. Lighten up, Bunny, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

You let out a small, awkward chuckle along with him as he utters the words, anxiety coursing through you. You watch as his finger traces the rim of his wine glass. He looks up at you with those familiar icy blue eyes, his smile suddenly fading, and something dark flashes over him as he locks you in with his gaze.

“Unless you want me to.”

Your pouty lips part, a shiver running down your spine. He’s looking at you with something you can’t quite place— is it anger? Intrigue?

Or maybe, perhaps, possession?

You let out a small huff of laughter, setting your glass down and getting up from the table.

“It’s been amazing talking with you, sir—“

“Coriolanus.”

“C-Coriolanus. Yes. But it is quite late. I think I should be getting back to my quarters…”

You attempt to brush past him, but his fingers grab your wrist and he pulls you in front of him.

“You don’t really want to stay there, do you?” He says, his lips turning into a thin line. “I know how uncomfortable your bed must be.”

“It’s fine, really! I’m thankful enough to be staying in the capital..” your face floods with heat. “And… also thankful to be working for someone as incredible as you.”

Coriolanus doesn’t say anything. He just gives you this look, his expression amused but also intrigued. His thumb still strokes your wrist in gentle circles.

“Why don’t you stay here in my room tonight, then?” He suggests softly. “I can give you some clothes. I don’t mind sharing.”

If you’re being honest, the thought of going back to your quarters and surrounding yourself with all the other servant girls makes you want to throw up. And besides, Coriolanus is a superior. It’s not like you can say no to him.

“Thank you so much,” you sigh out. “I’ll stay out of your way for the rest of the night, I promise.”

You don’t even realize how tall the man really is until he lifts himself up from his seat. He lets go of your wrist, and you put both hands behind your back as he towers over you.

“No need to thank me,” He says, his fingers brushing up against your cheek and pushing a stray strand of hair out of the way. “You’re an amazing worker.”

His thumb brushes against your chin, then up to your bottom lip. He pulls the plump skin down and watches it snap back against your teeth.

“So obedient..” he whispers, and you can feel something begin to tingle on your lower half.

He breathes heavy now, and you can see him leaning in. You know what kissing is, but he can’t possibly be trying to kiss you right now.

…right?

Wrong. He grabs your face with both hands and presses his mouth to yours. It’s rough, but it’s slow and it’s passionate. He kisses you like you’re made of sunlight. He kisses you like he doesn’t want to let you go.

Or at least, that’s how you perceive it.

Gentleness gives way to hunger, something you’ve grown used to but not when it’s as strong as this. You can’t help but wrap your arms around Coriolanus’ neck as his tongue probes at your mouth. You let him in, timid but desperate to feel any part of him inside of you. His big hands move to your waist, gripping the skin harshly as he turns your back away from the table and towards his bed. Fastened in red silk and fine embroidery, it’s soft when he pushes your body down onto it. He pulls away as he looks down at you. He makes sure to keep his eyes on yours as his fingers slide underneath the hem of your skirt. You’re almost frozen, awkward and, although you want this, scared. Coriolanus moves moves his fingers over your underwear, brushing against your clit.

“You’ve never done this before,” he mutters against your ear. “Have you, little bunny?”

You whine, bucking your hips up into his touch.

“Coryo.”

Coryo. Coriolanus’ cock kicks, harder than it was before if possible.

“Answer me.” He demands, pausing his movements on your cunt.

“No,” you cry. “No sir, I haven’t.”

He groans, patience wavering as he finally slips his fingers underneath the crotch of your underwear and brushes against your bare pussy. He presses down onto your clit with the soft pads of his fingers and rubs tight little circles onto the bundle of nerves. You gasp, your nails digging into the sheets below you. Your legs spread on their own accord and your thighs lift up, giving Coriolanus more access. He smiles at your neediness, watching as you begin to fall apart already.

“So pretty,” Coriolanus coos. With his non stopping stimulation to your clit you can already feel yourself getting close. “After you cum from this I think I’ll taste this pretty cunt. How about that, angel?”

“Wan’ it so bad,” you whimper. Your legs attempt to squeeze coriolanus’ hand but he pulls them back apart harshly. “Oh, please sir! I wanna cum…”

“And you will. Just keep whining like that baby, keep making those little noises for me.”

And when you cum the first time it’s like seeing stars, Coriolanus’ palm grinding right up against your achy clit, your legs shaking. It’s perfect. But nothing can compare to this next moment: Coriolanus’ cock hanging thick and heavy between his legs, his clothes and yours now discarded, as he prods at your soaked entrance with his tongue. He swirls the wet muscle around your hole, quick to slip the tip just barely inside. You shake, your hand gripping his golden curls, and you wonder how you have such a privilege to have the upcoming president of panem nestled between your thighs.

He licks up your slick, pulling back with a groan.

“You taste so good, baby.”

His tongue pushes back in, ravaging your cunt with his mouth and grinding his cock against the surface of the bedsheets. You mewl, your eyes rolling back. Coriolanus’ tongue moves up to your swollen clit for a moment, and he pulls away again— you’re now realizing that it’s purposeful. He’s doing it to tease you.

He takes in sight of your pussy, plump and swollen, the curly hair at the top of your mound absolutely adorable to him. He uses his thumbs to spread apart your lips, your hole stretching out and exposing your insides to him. He watches as it clenches desperately, all small and tight, and he can’t wait to stick his cock in there. With a deep shaky breath he breathes in your cunt and dives back into you. Your legs try to close around his head, but his big hands grip your thighs and pull them back apart. When you manage to keep them open he grabs your flailing hands and holds them, an oddly sweet gesture that he himself didn’t even expect to do. He presses the small things against your belly, his jaw working harder than the people of the districts to get you to cum.

“Coryo,” you whimper, when his lips wrap around your clit again. “Im gonna cum on your mouth, ‘m gonna cum all over it—“

And hearing these words makes Coriolanus hums, his finger moving up to your hole and slipping inside. He wastes no time, fingering your hole intensely as you get closer and closer to your high. And with one last flick to your clit, you reach it.

Your body freezes, ecstasy flooding through you, your vision giving out. Your first orgasm was good, but it could never compare to this. No, this was something different. Your pussy begins to squirt slick all over Coriolanus’ mouth, his chin, the sheets. Coryo lets out a desperately loud moan, his tongue lapping up all over your release vigorously, his eyes rolling back when he himself cums against the sheets.

What a brilliant capital citizen, cumming so quick like that at the taste of a servant’s cunt. But he can’t find time to think about the humiliation— he’s too busy devouring you, and when he does pull away your fucked out face distracts him. He moves up your body, his cum dragging a sticky line against your leg, thighs, tummy. He kisses you, chin dripping in slick and his cock kicking against him once again. His hands take hold of your legs, a fucked out haze taking over your brain as you become limp in his grasp.

“Turn over,” he demands, desperate. “Turn over now, bunny.”

And with enough energy to spare, you turn onto your stomach and present your ass to him like a bitch in heat. His cock, now limp but so help him if he isn’t going to get it up and fuck you, rubs up against your small entrance. And when he pushes in, giving you all you’ve wanted for months and more, you let him take your innocence like the obedient girl you are.

[middleearthpixie]

Can you please write a fic where Thorin falls in love with a human girl, but he thinks she is disgusted by his looks? 🙏

Hi there, Nonny!! I know it took me forEVER, but here you go and i hope you like it! 💜

The Harp

Summary: You and Thorin are friends, but then you find out his feelings for you run deeper, and he’s holding back because he feels he is not good enough for you.  

Pairing: Thorin x fem!Reader (post-sack of Erebor, pre-quest for Erebor)

Warning: None. Just fluffy fluff

Rating: G

Word Count: 4.7k

***

He came into the dining room at the same time each evening and always sat at the same table—the one in the far corner, which was also the darkest corner of the room. He was polite, but kept to himself and you noticed how he always sat with his back to the wall and rarely did his eyes pause from scanning the room. 

The other diners eyed him with just as much suspicion but then again, they all eyed each other with suspicion as well. It was second nature to this lot, as they came from all four corners of Middle Earth. No one was actually from Emyn Vanya. No, every warm body had come from somewhere else to this tiny village on the outskirts of everywhere and yet somehow in the middle of nowhere. Some came to start over. Some came to forget. Some came to do both and some were just passing through. But everyone was from somewhere else and almost no one wished to discuss where that somewhere else might be.

You couldn't help but notice him, for he was a dwarf and the Grey Gander did not see many dwarves in their dining room. And not only that, but he was a handsome dwarf, to boot, with black hair, touched here and there with hints of silver, that spilled over his shoulders in a long tangle of curls. His most striking feature was his eyes, however, for they were the most piercing shade of icy blue you’d ever seen. There was a hardness within those pale eyes, one belied by his polite demeanor and deep, if soft, voice. 

Night after night, this man came in alone. He sat alone. He spoke to no one other than you when you approached to take his order, just as you did this evening. He was polite, if reserved, and spoke only when absolutely necessary, which was an interesting change from the patrons who grew louder and more opinionated as they dove further and further into their cups. 

“Welcome back,” you said with a smile as you approached him. “Might I fetch you a drink to begin?”

“Thank you. A tanked of ale would suit.”

“Of course. And do you know what you’d like or are you still trying to decide?”

He looked up at you with those striking eyes. “The hunter’s stew.”

His order never varied and you were certain you could just bring him a bowl of the stew without asking, which was why you couldn't resist a bit of playing with him. “I think we should start calling that your usual. Perhaps we should change it on the menu itself.”

That earned you one of the dwarf’s rare smiles. “I am not so certain that is necessary.”

“Well, you’ve been in here eight of the last ten nights and have yet to order anything different.” You couldn’t help teasing him. You sensed a hint of sadness in him, one that might explain the hardness in his eyes. And while it was a bit of a risk, teasing this man you didn’t really know, you had to admit, his smile made the risk worthwhile.

“But,” you added, taking your teasing further than you normally did, “you would have to tell me your name first. I certainly cannot ask to rename it Dwarf Stew. That would give the wrong impression, don’t you think?”

A darkness flashed through his eyes and you knew you’d overstepped. Your mind raced as you struggled to come up with something to smooth over his obviously ruffled feathers, knowing your employer would be furious if your flippancy drove away a paying customer. “I mean… that is… I apolo—”

“No,” he interrupted softly, shaking his head, “there is no need to apologize. And you’re right, it would sound odd. So, I suppose then, it would only be fair to tell you my name, wouldn’t it?”

Your heart beat a little faster at that. Perhaps it was but your imagination, but his voice sounded lower than it normally did. Lower and bit growlier. Had he, by any chance, noticed you the way you’d noticed him?

No, that was madness talking. Very few people noticed you aside from being their serving girl. You tended to blend into the background far too easily and since so many people in Emyn Vanya were only passing through, they paid little heed to you.

Still, that didn't stop you from replying, “It would, yes.”

To your surprise, that earned you a laugh. A genuine, honest-to-goodness laugh and one that sent flutters through you as it rolled across the small table in your direction. Like his voice, it was low and silken, and those flutters made you forget your own name for a moment.

“Very well,” he nodded, his eyes meeting and holding yours, “I am Thorin.”

You offered your name in return and added, “It’s wonderful to make your acquaintance, Thorin.”

“And yours as well.”

Heat climbed into your cheeks and you ducked your head, saying, “I will be back in a few moments with your ale,” you hesitated, then added, “Thorin.”

“I will be here.”

Thorin sat back as you darted off and couldn't believe his cheek. What had possessed him to even think to flirt with you? Your interest had to be only because he was a paying customer, because there was no way a woman as beautiful as you could possibly be interested in him. 

The first time he stepped into the Grey Gander, he’d noticed you at once, noticed how easily you smiled and joked with the tavern’s patrons. Your laughter was a silvery melody that made everyone turn in your direction and smile even if they had no idea what it was that made you laugh. 

He noticed everything about you—from that amazing smile and intoxicating laughter to your beautiful eyes and easy grace with which you moved about the crowded dining room. You never seemed impatience, or irritated, and even when someone gave you a hard time about something, you never lost your temper and somehow managed to defuse the most volatile of situations. 

The second night he’d come in, he’d witness such a scene, almost reaching for his sword, propped against the table, when the giant of man actually grabbed you by the arm. He had no doubt he’d have intervened if you needed it, but you didn’t. You smiled at the man as you peeled his fingers from your wrist and very sweetly informed him that if he touched you again, you’d turn him from a rooster to a hen in one fell swoop. 

It was at that moment, Thorin lost his heart.

A foolish notion at best, as you would never feel about him the way he did you. Why would you? He was a dwarf. He had no home. He had been in line for a throne, but now supported himself by moving from place to place, taking work where he could find it. 

That was what brought him to Emyn Vanya. His trade was blacksmithing and the village needed one. So, there he was, in the dining room of the Grey Gander, admiring you from afar and wishing he stood a chance at winning your hand. 

It was just as well, for what did he have to offer you? A king with no kingdom was no better than a pauper, really. Not to mention, he certainly couldn’t compete with the men of Emyn Vanya, who were all taller, slimmer, and far more attractive than he certainly was. You would be a fool to even consider him.

But, he watched you from afar, watched as you moved from table to table, how you brought a beaming smile to the face of an old crone, how you soothed angry children bickering over a toy, how you made a crying infant smile by making silly faces until they could do nothing else. 

How you focused on him as if he was the most interesting man in the room and not, for lack of a better phrase, a homely, homeless refugee. 

If only…

He sighed as you approached with a tankard in one hand. His heart beat so much faster when you met his gaze. His mouth went as dry as the plains between his lost kingdom of Erebor and the city of Dale after the dragon Smaug torched it from one end to the other.

You set the tankard before him. “Your supper will be ready in but a few minutes, Mr. Thorin.”

Mr. Thorin. He smiled, shaking his head. “No Mister. Thorin is just fine.”

“Oh, well that wouldn’t be proper now, would it?” Your eyes almost sparkled as your easy smile curved your lips. “After all, we only just met.”

“This is true,” he nodded, reaching for the tankard. Then, on impulse, he added, “Perhaps you might join me one evening?”

You looked taken aback and he immediately berated himself silently. You fool! What is wrong with you?

But then you smiled. “I think I would like that. I have an off night tomorrow. Would that work for you?”

He was stunned, not only by your agreement, but by your suggestion. No woman ever approached him that way. He’d always been the one to ask. You were bold and he admired that. So, he nodded. “That would work just fine for me.”

“Wonderful. What time?”

“Half seven?”

“Half seven it is,” you told him. “And I’ll be back in but a moment with your supper.”

****

What were you thinking? How could you just blurt out an invitation to him that way? He must think you a harlot, or a wanton woman for doing so. 

But at the same time, as you smoothed a hand along your skirts, you had to admit, you looked so forward to seeing him without having to wait upon him. It was a nice change of pace for you. A break in the monotony of your life that was work, sleep, and more work.

You’d told him where you lived, a rundown little flat above the florist’s shop, and at half eight, when the knock came at the door, you nearly jumped clear out of your skin. Then, laughing at your foolishness, you hurried to the door, before he thought you’d changed your mind and left. 

You smiled as you pulled open the door. “You are early.”

“I allowed myself extra time in case I found myself lost. I’m still new to these parts and this town takes a bit of getting used to.”

“If you remember the streets run east and west, and the avenues run north and south, you might fare better.”

He bobbed his head. “I would, but there are three florists on this street alone.”

“It is a very competitive business in Emyn Vanya.”

“So I’ve noticed.” 

You hesitated a moment and then stepped aside. “Come in.”

As he stepped over the threshold, you tried not to dwell on how shabby your flat was, with its scratched and scuffed hand-me-down furnishings. After you paid your rent and made certain there was food on the table, there was not much money left for luxuries such as nice furniture. Normally, it didn't trouble you. This was your home and you thought it cozy, if a bit rundown. But, when you tried to see it through Thorin’s eyes? 

You saw exactly how awful it must have looked to him. Threadbare sofa. The armchair had a hole in the cushion thanks to a broken spring, which meant that not only was stuffing peeping up from the hole, one received a nasty poke in the backside, should they think to sit there. 

And of course, there was that awful water stain in the far corner. You had no idea from where it had come, only that no matter how much you tried to paint over it, it bled through. You’d given up trying when paint fell into the luxury category.

But, he reached up for the frogs at his throat and then whisked his cloak off to drape over his arm. “This is lovely.”

Lovely? You looked about, wondering exactly what he found so lovely about it. “It’s a bit… ah… worn, don't you think?”

“Lived in, is how I would describe it.” He smiled at you. “Homes should be lived in. That is how they become such. Otherwise, they are but houses, flats, nothing more than buildings.”

You looked back at him. “Lived in?”

He nodded. “Lived in.” 

Then he looked back at you and for a moment, you were rendered speechless. Did he have any idea whatsoever as to how handsome he truly was? Because if he did, he certainly did not act as if he did.

Of course, you kept that to yourself, especially when that night, a deep friendship was born. You had dinner together on the nights when you weren’t working. You spent off days together, sometimes running errands with each other, sometimes just doing nothing. He had a knack for the acrostics printed in the village newspaper and the two of you spent your share of days or nights looking up which answers you thought would work. It didn't matter. He had quickly become your dearest friend and while you loved that, you’d also begun thinking that perhaps there was a bit more to your relationship than only friendship.

It was too bad he’d never given any indication at all that he saw you as anything more than a friend.

So you stayed quiet. Autumn gave way to winter and the Yule holiday was only a few days off when you made your way to Thorin’s forge at the northern end of town. A bitter cold wind whipped down the narrow alleyway where his shop was located and you didn't have to look to know you were near it. The carved wooden sign identifying the forge creaked on its hooks as it swung in the wind. Through the swirling snow, you could still make out the word etched into the wood. 

Blacksmith

Beneath that word, Thorin had carved symbols as well, and when you’d asked, he’d smiled and explained that they were a language called khuzdul, which was his native language, actually. He’d attempted to teach you some of it, and showed nothing but patience as you fumbled over seemingly simple words. Little by little, though, it became easier and left you wishing you had something like that to share with him. 

But then you found something. One night, over several goblets of wine, he confessed that he once played the harp, but had lost his when he’d lost his home, but that was all he would say about either the harp or what happened to his home. So, you’d saved a bit of your pay each week and put it aside and then went to the music shop at the far end of town and found what you’d hoped would be a suitable replacement harp. It wasn't a big, grand instrument, as those were far beyond what you could ever hope to afford, but you hoped he’d like it the same. You couldn’t remember the last time you were so excited and impatient to give someone a gift as you were this one, which was why you braved the worsening weather.  

So there you were, at the far end of a gray-shingled building with a roof in need of repair, listening to the almost melodic sound of metal striking metal. The closer you drew to his workshop, the warmer the air grew and as you rounded the corner, a blast of heat hit you square in the face. It was a welcome sensation as your cheeks felt quite numb from the cold. 

He had his back to you and heat shot through you at the sight of him, shirtless in deference to that blasted heat, the muscles in his back and along his shoulders bulging as he held a piece of iron in one hand, a hammer in the other. The clang rang through you when he brought the hammer slamming against the iron, again and again and you couldn't help but just stare. 

Your eyes roamed over his naked back, heavy with obviously well-earned muscle, and inked with black lines of varying sizes that covered his entire shoulder, stretched across his back, and into the opposite shoulder as well. You had no idea what the symbols and lines meant, but they looked very similar to the ones carved into the forge’s sign, so your guess was they were dwarfish runes or words.

The heat in the forge was brutal regardless of how cold it was beyond the walls. Sweat prickled along your back as you stepped closer. You didn't want to startle him. The iron with which he worked began with an orange glow, but slowly, as he pounded it flat, the glow faded and when he set down the hammer and used a pair of tongs to pick up the flattened piece and thrust it into a tub of water, steam actually rose from the tub.

“Thorin?”

He jumped, letting go of the tongs as he spun around and now heat shot up into your cheeks at the naked chest you found yourself staring at. Like his back, his chest was just as broad, with black hair swirled from one nipple to the other and down across his belly. More symbols had been inked across it, meeting with the design on his left shoulder.

“I am so sorry,” you stammered, tearing your eyes from that impressive sight to meet his startled blue eyes, “I was trying not to startle you.”

“What are you doing here?”

You hugged the package close. “I had to go and pick something up and thought while I was out, I’d stop by.” You peered around him, at the iron still resting in the water. “What are you making?”

“A sword.” He reached for the towel draped over the workbench and swept it across his forehead. “You should not be in here. It’s far too dangerous.”

“I will come no closer then. But tell me, who commissioned the sword?”

“No one. It is mine. I work on it when I’ve a bit of free time.”

“Might I see?”

“It’s not even close to being finished.” He came around the bench and stood before you. His black hair was damp at the temples. 

“You don't have to stop on my account, you know.” You took a step closer to him, the urge to reach out and touch him so powerful, it nearly overwhelmed you. You wish you had the courage to tell him how you’d come to feel about him, as you’d had when you’d left your flat. You’d left there full of fire and determined to confess your feelings for him, but unfortunately, by the time you reached his forge, that courage evaporated like the water in the tub had. 

“It would be rude of me to continue.”

“Not at all. I think it would be fascinating, watching you work.” 

His gaze shifted slightly to his left and you followed it to see what he looked at—a heavy dark gray henley lay draped over a chair by his desk. Without thinking, you shifted the package to one arm and reached out to catch him by the upper arm as he stretched for his shirt.

“Wait, don’t,” you said, shaking your head.

“Don’t?”

You nodded. “I—what is this?” You traced your fingertips along the thick black lines curving his shoulder, unable to believe your own brazenness but unable to halt your touch as well. 

“It’s my… my… it’s a raven,” he managed, his voice deep and huskier than usual. He cleared his throat. “The symbol of my clan, and my family crest.”

You could not keep yourself from tracing along those lines as little by little, the image of a raven wearing a crown slowly showed itself to you. You’d held back from telling him how you felt for so long, now that the opportunity to perhaps go beyond friendship had presented itself and you were not about to let it slip by. But… you had to be careful. It was a delicate matter and that called for delicate handling. The last thing you wished to do was destroy your friendship with him.

With that, you lowered your hand “It’s lovely.”

“Thank you.”

“This is for you, by the by.” You pressed the package toward him. “I know Yule isn’t for several more days, but when I went to pick this up, I grew far too impatient to wait.”

He stared down at it. “What is it?”

“Well, you have to open it to find out.”

He took the package and slowly unwrapped it and then just stared, his blue eyes growing shiny as he murmured, “How did you know?”

“You told me, silly.” You nudged him with your shoulder. “Remember? We were talking about how my neighbor plays the harpsichord and how awful it sounds and you told me you once played the harp. So, I asked Mr. Trumble if he could find me a harp for you and he did me one better. He made this.”

“He—” those blue eyes met yours, wide and incredulous—“made this?”

You nodded. “He did, indeed.”

He gazed down at the harp, and then back at you. “I—this—this is beautiful. I thank you.”

“There is one condition to it, however.” You nudged him once more. “You must play it for me.”

“Oh, I couldn't now. I’d be far too rusty.”

“Well, once you flake off all the rust.”

“Fair enough.” He offered up a smile brighter than any you’d ever seen from him. “You shouldn’t have done this, though. Save your wages, don’t spend them on me.”

“I didn't mind.” You shrugged as if you spent that kind of money all the time. “And it’s Yule, so it was but a small sacrifice.”

He stepped closer. “This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me, you know. I will treasure it. And you.”

And with that, he leaned in and to your surprise, pressed his lips to yours. You froze at first, caught by utter surprise, as this was the last thing you’d expected him to do. For one maddening moment, you wondered if perhaps you were just imagining it.

But then, his lips moved softly against yours and your toes actually curled in your sensible boots when he brought his hands up to cup your face, and you knew that this was, in fact, actually happening. And how wonderful it was! The sensations that rippled through you were soft and sweet, the crisp, coarse hair around his mouth tickling at first, but then you found you didn't mind it so much as it was a caress of its own. 

Your head did a slow spin, his kiss leaving you lightheaded and when your hands came to rest on those massive upper arms of his, your fingers pressed into muscle that greatly resembled stone of their own accord. You were afraid your weak knees might buckle on you at any moment.

His kiss was slow and sweet, teasing and gentle and when his lips parted and his tongue swept gently along yours, your head spun even faster. A rush of heat swept through you. Your lips tingled. Your heart beat harder and faster and it took every bit of will you had to not melt right into his arms. 

When he drew back, his eyes were soft, swirling with an emotion you couldn’t quite place and he seemed as breathless as you were as he murmured, “I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time now.”

“What?”

He nodded. “I do and I did and now I just want to do it again.” Then he paused, a hint of sheepishness creeping into his smile, into his eyes, “Unless, of course, you’d rather I didn’t.”

“No, I’d not rather that at all,” you told him, smiling as you curved a hand against his cheek. “In fact, I’d like it very much if you would do it again. And again. And I think you should keep doing, no matter where we might be.”

A low chuckle rumbled up from the depths of his chest. “So, I am not about to send you screaming into the snow?”

“Hardly.” 

“Are you certain? I mean,” he rubbed his bearded jaw ruefully, a sheepish smile coming to his lips, “I know people whisper about me and poke fun at me behind my back.”

“They whisper about you because they are fascinated by you. And no one pokes fun at you. I know they think you’re quite an excellent smithy, judging by what I’ve heard. And I won’t even tell you what the women say about you.”

To your surprise, his sheepish smile faded and a darkness came to his eyes. “I can only imagine.”

“Have I said something wrong? I thought I was complimenting you. Do dwarves not like to hear how handsome they are thought to be?”

“Handsome?” He snorted as he shook his head. “That’s kind of you, but I’ve seen my own face and that is not how I’d describe it.”

“Well, perhaps you should but have Mr. Sinclair examine your eyes, for you are not only handsome, but very handsome.”

He stared at you, clearly not believing a word you said. “Thank you, but you are just being kind, as you’ve been since we met.”

“Thorin,” you caught his hands in yours, “I’ve been wishing you’d notice me as more than simply your friend, that you’d kiss me, and perhaps I’ve been too brazen in taking the first step. If you wish me to leave you alone, I will.”

“Leave me alone?” His eyes went wide and he shook his head once more. “No, no, I don’t wish that at all. In fact, I—”

A scarlet flush swept up into his cheeks and he went quiet. You waited for him to continue, your heart hammering away at your ribs. All you wanted was for him to pull you into his arms, to tug you flush against that massive chest, and kiss you until you forgot your name.

“You what?” you asked softly.

“I lied. About the sword.” He smiled then. “It’s for you, actually. For Yule. I meant it to be a surprise.”

“For me? But I don't even know who to wield one.”

“Worry not, for I will teach you. When the weather breaks.”

“You did this for me? You would do that for me?”

He nodded. “I would do anything for you, you know.” His eyes softened then as he smiled. “I love you.”

This was the last thing you ever expected him to say and you could only stare at him for a long moment, as your stupid brain forgot how to process words. The best you could muster was a whispered, “What?”

“I love you. I’ve been wanting to tell you for some time now, but how could I when I thought you would be embarrassed to be courted by me. So, I relegated myself to knowing we would only ever be friends, but now…”

“Embarrassed to be courted by you? Are you mad, Thorin? Are you absolutely and completely mad? Because you would have to be to think any woman alive would be embarrassed to be courted by you.” You shifted to wind your arms about his neck. “And no one has ever made something for me. At least, not something as beautiful as a sword. So, if I didn't already love you in return, I would have most definitely fallen at this moment.”

He smiled. “So, all this time, it would’ve only taken a sword to win your hand?”

“I’m a very simple woman, Thorin. You should know that by now.”

Your heart skipped a beat as he eased his arms about your waist, pulling you flush against him. He leaned closer, his lips just brushing yours as he murmured, “I’ll keep it in mind.”

You tried to think of something witty to reply with, but then his lips met yours once more and rendered words unnecessary.

***

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[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

I’m new here so I’m sorry if I missed an FAQ about rec lists instead of general fic locate requests. If you do regular rev lists on your fave fics but can you do a list of your favorite Stackson Brotp fics? Like it’s still endgame Sterek but still has a healthy dose of Stackson brotp please. I’d really appreciate it

joonniverse asked:

Hey there ! Would you happen to have any fic recs where Jackson and Stiles are/become really close? Any Stiles centric pairing is fine

AND

Anonymous asked:

May i get some fic recs for Jackson and stiles friendship? Either childhood friends or became friends post Canon or anything in between. If stackson happens that is also ok as is any other ship.

Alright friends. It took me a minute but here's some of my favorite Stiles and Jackson friendship fics. (alternatively this could be renamed " A list of mostly isthatbloodonyourshirt fics")

So When Do I Get To Pledge My Loyalty To The Mob? by RedRidingStiles

(1/1 I 10,146 I Mature I Sterek)

“Are you my sugar daddy?” Stiles blurts out, slapping a hand over his mouth when his brain catches up to his mouth.

The man lets out a soft laugh, making his way around the couch till he’s standing just feet away from Stiles.

Stiles can smell his cologne from here, it smells heavenly, Stiles kinda wants to bury his face into the guy's chest so he can figure out exactly what it is.

“If that’s what you’d like to call it.” The man smiles.

Stiles doesn’t think he should be allowed to smile like that. All soft and gorgeous and way too pretty to be legal.

He’s still not convinced any of this is real.

Stiles loses his wallet, someone returns it along with $5,000. Shit keeps coming, Stiles life doesn't make any sense anymore, he's just going with it.

Quack (Stiles Stop Calling It That) by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

(1/1 I 15,980 I Teen I Sterek)

“Stiles, I’m serious, I need a favour.”

“That sounds like a trap,” Stiles Stilinski muttered sleepily into both his pillows. “You know,” he continued when the man in his room made no move to leave, “you’d think I’d be used to this. My dad, coming into my room, smacking my ass to get me out of bed, waking me up at the ass crack of dawn—”

“It’s almost one.”

“—waking me up at the ass crack of one,” Stiles continued without missing a beat, “and asking for a favour. Given my life growing up with you, you’d think I’d be used to this by now. I think the reason this hits so hard now is that I specifically bought my own apartment so that you couldn’t wake me up at the ass crack of dawn—”

“Stiles, it’s almost one.”

“—so that you couldn’t wake me up at the ass crack of one.”

Everyone Needs a Little Mischief in Their Life by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

(1/1 I 17,984 I Teen I Sterek)

Finally, against his better judgement, and having gone in circles for much too long, he blurted out, “Who is my soulmate?”

The Witch looked disappointed, like he’d fucked up. Like he’d fucked up bad.

But she answered anyway.

“Mischief.”

Derek stared at her, not understanding, because what? “That’s not a name,” he insisted.

“Not exactly, no.” She offered him a small smile.

“I don’t understand.”

“You will.”

Sweet Buns by skoosiepants

(1/1 I 17,935 I Teen I Sterek)

Stiles hasn’t seen Derek Hale this close up for over a decade. He looks almost exactly the same, except somehow he seems even bigger and broodier—criminally handsome, with soft-looking dark scruff, heavy brows, light hazel eyes. His gaze zeros in on Stiles almost immediately, and his scowl lightens minutely in what looks like surprise.

Stiles is acutely aware that he has melted butter and cinnamon all over his face, and tries to surreptitiously wipe it with the ends of his sweater-sleeve.

I've Lived A Better Day by HelloWhyTheFuckAmIHere

(18/18 I 32,819 I Not Rated I Sterek)

When Stiles comes across a rogue Alpha during his first year at Berkeley, the ensuing fight doesn't exactly go his way. He calls an unlikely ally to help him with his transition, and finds out his new pack isn't quite who he might have thought it would be.

Stiles is now left with the task of trying to figure out how his old life will fit in with his new, but that is not without its challenges.

Stilinski's Home for Wayward Wolves by owlpostagain

(1/1 I 35,197 I Teen I Sterek)

“At least your puppies knock first,” Stiles snorts. “Here I thought their alpha raised them to be well-mannered.”

“There’s a sign,” Derek responds stiffly.

Stiles, whose curiosity outweighs even his hardest of grudges, abandons his chilly façade of nonchalance in a heartbeat. He jumps right up and all but pushes Derek out of the way in his effort to get to the window, and sure enough when he leans outside there’s a laminated strip of cardstock duct taped to the vinyl siding:

DON’T FORGET TO KNOCK Stiles gets cranky when we scare him

---

Or, in which Stiles Stilinski moves to Beacon Hills for his junior year of high school and accidentally adopts a pack of teenage werewolves.

There’s No Escape for the Potato Man by isthatbloodonhisshirt

(1/1 I 53,977 I Teen I Sterek)

“Who is this? Where’s Erica?”

“Wrong number, asshole!”

“Stop calling me an asshole,” the man on the other end snapped aggressively.

Stiles could understand. He’d be pretty aggressive too if he’d murdered someone and texted a wrong number to ask for help burying the body. This guy obviously failed How To Be a Serial Killer 101.

“What kind of idiot thinks I murdered someone?”

“The kind of idiot who got your text messages, you fucking dumbass!” he retorted hotly. “Maybe double check your contacts before sending a random stranger details on your nefarious plans to dispose of a freshly cut up body!”

“What?!” the guy on the other end demanded, crossed between horrendously confused and livid.

Have You Met Me? by Niecy8

(23/23 I 60,462 I Mature I Steter)

Derek’s eyes widened as his mouth contorted. “Good luck with that. First of all, he has sworn off alphas. Second of all, he will never ever agree to fake date and third of all, he’s just as stubborn as you.”

Oh, this idea of his was becoming more of a challenge. Peter certainly doesn’t want to back down now. “Please Derek. I am Peter Hale. I am charismatic as fuck. I can steal candy from a baby. Stiles will be no match for me.” And he was an omega. Despite what his nephew said, he could definitely turn on his alpha charm and the boy will be putty in his hand. It would be a slam dunk in his book.

Laughing through a wheeze which was rude by the way, Derek caught his breath. “Please tell me when you go to his place so I can video when he slams the door in your face.”

Later, there would be a door slammed in his face. Yet the boy did take the flowers Peter brought over as an ice breaker before doing so because Peter can be warming and Derek was not there smirking at him so he called it win.

Yep, challenged accepted. He would most certainly convince a certain omega to fake date him for a week.

What Fresh Twilight Bullshit Is This? by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

(7/7 I 196,137 I Explicit I Sterek)

“I am not Bella!” he insisted, shaking his fist angrily at Jackson, as if he’d been the one to suggest he was. “I am not Bella! I am, like, a Jacob, at least!”

Lydia made a noise of debate from his right and he whipped around to look at her.

“What?! What was that sound?!”

“You’re more of a Mike,” she insisted, shrugging neatly and flipping some curls over her shoulder.

“Wha—” Stiles had never been so offended in his life! “I am not! No way! I am a solid Jacob!”

“Mike,” she argued.

“Who’s Mike?” Scott asked.

“Shut up, Scott!” Stiles insisted, pointing a finger at him but still glaring at Lydia.

AND

@lovesouthernsweettea and @harriet-wimsey suggested this one!

stuck in reverse by crazyassmurdererwall (smartalli)

(1/1 I 66,656 I Explicit I Sterek)

Look, Derek is the worst. Everyone knows that. Their fearless leader is a total and complete failwolf.

Which means the rest of them? Are kind of the worst too. They’re a ramshackle, slap dashed, sorry excuse for a pack that’s about a half second away from getting one of them killed. And this is a problem, because Stiles would really like to survive high school. Thanks.

Still, nobody deserves what Derek has gone through. Nobody.

And it’s about time somebody told him that.

AND

@midnightwinterhawk suggested these!

stuck in reverse by crazyassmurdererwall (smartalli)

(1/1 I 65,656 I Explicit I Sterek)

Look, Derek is the worst. Everyone knows that. Their fearless leader is a total and complete failwolf.

Which means the rest of them? Are kind of the worst too. They’re a ramshackle, slap dashed, sorry excuse for a pack that’s about a half second away from getting one of them killed. And this is a problem, because Stiles would really like to survive high school. Thanks.

Still, nobody deserves what Derek has gone through. Nobody.

And it’s about time somebody told him that.

Shovels and Dirt by bellefire

(15/15 I 88,628 I Mature I Sterek)

The nogitsune’s power doesn’t leave Stiles after the spirit is defeated. No, it seems Stiles was changing and knowing what that darkness did to his friends he refuses to put them in danger again. He leaves without a word. Now in a new city with not quite new friends Stiles realizes no one can run forever. Because family doesn’t back down and also, yeah, that fuckin’ tree really is talking to him.

AND

@nolanfa suggested this one!

See You on the Other Side by damnitgreenberg

(18/18 I 146,077 I Mature I Sterek)

Stiles isn't doing so well on the ‘dealing with life’ front. He'll admit to that freely, okay? But he quickly discovers he isn't the only one, and that person’s inability to adapt and roll with the punches may cost Stiles his own life.

AND

@ah-lone-drah suggested this one!

Derek's Person by ash_mcj

(3/? I 3,916 I General i Sterek)

Derek didn’t like people—they set him on edge in a way that nobody quite seemed to understand, much to his vexation. They always invited themselves into his space, like they somehow had a right to be there. They touched his clothes, his books, his skin—leaving their scents clinging to things that were supposed to smell like himself. They expected him to talk to them, and never managed to wrap their heads around the notion that he just couldn’t. Words were difficult for him to use most of the time, and despite all efforts to communicate in other ways, people just didn’t understand. But it didn’t matter anyway, because Derek didn’t like people and had no inclination to socialize with them.

But Stiles was…different, somehow. He did everything that Derek hated, and more. He intruded into Derek’s space, he rambled constantly, loudly, with flailing arms and fidgeting fingers—and his presence should have driven Derek up the wall, but it didn’t. Stiles didn’t set him on edge, like everyone else did. And maybe most surprising of all, he understood him.

[or: reclusive, feral-risk derek hale finds solace in a wild child, much to his pack’s surprise]

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 11: 'Till Death Do Us Part

Summary: You helped Astarion complete the Rite of Profane Ascension and become the Vampire Ascendant. You agreed to become his spawn soon after. Once the Netherbrain was defeated, Astarion claimed the Szarr Palace, renaming it the Crimson Palace, for himself and set about his plans of domination.

Word Count: 6.1k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience}

“I want… more,” Astarion concludes, confident and sure. “I want to be us again.”

Us. I do like the sound of that.

“I don’t know, Astarion…” You pull your knees to your chest. You want nothing more than to be his as you should have been this entire time, but what does more even mean to him?

“Why? What’s stopping us?” His expression is closed and hardened. His intonation is steady but otherwise void of emotion, “You love me, yes?”

You sigh, drop your head to your knees and try to dispose of the urge to cry. You’re scared that if you deny him while you’re here, and it upsets him…. Well, that spells the end for you. There is nowhere to hide from the sun here except perhaps the bottom of the lake. You stare blankly at the serene rayless deep and miss the consoling palliation of nothingness, hushed as the grave.

“Yes, I love you.” Your eyes don’t leave the water, reflecting the glimmer of the sky like a mirror, unable to look into his eyes for fear of losing your rational thought and jumping into his arms. “That’s not the problem.”

“Tell me the problem, and I will remedy it.” Astarion appeals insistently. His fingers brush down your arm as softly as a summer evening breeze. “Whatever you desire, I will make it yours.”

Good Gods, you need to breathe. Your chest is tight. It expands with a whistle as you inhale a sizeable breath, defying the rigour that has set into your lungs. The sun heats your skin, as pale as a pearl, yet your body trembles as if cold. You’re on the verge of falling to pieces, but you cannot allow yourself such weakness. You must be as emotionless as a stone and twice as hard.

You meet his gaze and reach out to the connection you share with him. You cannot read his emotions. He is too poised and practiced, but you can feel them if only he will allow it.

Astarion’s eyes widen slightly at the request, “No,” he shakes his head. “Not right now.”

“Why is that?” You cock your head at him with a frown, “What are you hiding?”

“No, darling. It is for you that I will not do this here. I can hear your thoughts, remember? Last time you called me the devil,” he chuckles with a smug smirk. “That would hardly upset me, but if you do think something untoward, I do not want to be stuck out in the middle of nowhere with no place to hide should you need to. Just tell me what is troubling you.”

It sounds like a very convenient excuse for him to keep things from me.

“Can we not just wait and have this conversation at the manor then? Will you open the bond there?”

Astarion sighs, combing fingers through his damp hair, “Yes, I suppose we could. Is it because of my- “

“No, it has nothing to do with your condition.” You cut him off, “It’s... I will be plain. I have accepted that you cannot love me, but that is what I desire. I will not be your dutiful consort, Astarion. I want something real.”

“What you’re looking to hear,” he glances away, almost sheepish. It would be winsome and nostalgic, this glimpse of his past self, if you were not worried that it’s a clever ruse, a tactical manipulation to appease your doubts. “I have said it before, you know.”

“And therein lies the problem,” you wince at the memory - “I love you. That’s what you want to hear. Isn’t it? That’s what you’ve been waiting for.” You brush your expression with bedrock, “You say it because you think it’s what I want to hear.”

“No,” he protests with a twisted mouth. “I meant every word.”

“Then say it, Astarion,” you urge, praying he will. Gods, it’s what you’ve longed to hear. There’s a desolate part of you that would savour it, even if it is just a beautiful lie, and you hate yourself for being so broken, “Open the bond and say it.”

“I…I-” he trails off with a rasp and grimaces. His lips smack together, but no sound emerges from his mouth. It’s as if the words are lodged in this throat. He shakes his head with a low, pained groan. “Perhaps you are right. This is a conversation better had at home.”

He won’t say it.

Pieces fall from your heart like petals off a dead flower.

The sun is dipping below the horizon as the mare moves under you in a fluid canter with Astarion’s black gelding leading. Your hips roll steadily with the pace, and you barely perceive when Astarion pushes his gelding into a gallop. Your mind spins with questions, concerns, doubts and desires you dare not act on. His words still ricochet around your mind as quickly as the booming of the horses’ hoofs pounding the earth.

“I want to be us again.”

“I have said it before.”

“I meant every word.”

A tear rolls down your cheek as you watch him from behind. Nothing is more torturous than having everything you want laid at your feet, only to force yourself to walk away. You wipe the tear off your cheek and push away the others welled in your eyes, fluttering on your lashes like dew on blades of grass.

Astarion reels his gelding around on its haunches, shifts into mist and crashes into you abruptly, throwing you out of the saddle and to the ground harshly on your stomach. The horses scatter with bucks and rears, squealing and frightened. You try to push yourself up to your feet, but Astarion presses his chest down hard on your back, sinking you into the tall grass.

Reacting instinctively, you rival his dominance as dread mauls you, “Astari-“

“Shut up,” his hand covers your mouth, muffling you.

You crane your neck, trying to get a view of his eyes. If he’s gone, that’s a surefire way to tell. Astarion studies the trees around you with an acute glare. His heart thuds so hard in his chest that you can feel it against your spine. He looks like a hunter stalking its prey, but otherwise, his eyes are the vivid crimson of his and not the matte frost you expected.

He looks down, removes his hand from your mouth and leans low, bringing his lips beside your ear, “When I give the order, you run back to the manor. You do not stop for anything or anyone. Do I make myself clear?”

“I don’t understand,” you keep your voice as low as his. “What’s wrong?”

“Do as I ask, and do not challenge me on this,” he commands assertively.

His expression is grim and severe as he brandishes his blade, snapping his wrist and twirling the hilt into his grip. Something is wrong, and you follow his glare to the trees, trying to figure out what danger he’s detected looming in the shadows.

Astarion leaps to his feet and hauls you up with him by the back of your shirt so fast you’re dizzy by the time he pushes you and commands, “Run!”

You hesitate. Does he really expect you to leave him here when there’s a threat nearby? Is he out of his mind? Has he forgotten who you are and the power you possess?

“No,” you shake your head, gripping the Weave. “Whatever is coming, we can fight it together like we always did!”

“I said RUN!” Astarion shouts gruffly.

“I’m not leaving you here!”

Astarion sighs, “You leave me no choice. I’m sorry.”

Suddenly, you feel that presence in your head, but not in the way as if he were opening the bond. No, this time, it takes your control, wicking it out of your muscles, tendons, and bones and bequeathing it to him. Your eyes widen as all your muscles go stiff and await the incoming command.

Compulsion.

Hells, you can barely blink without his godsdamned permission. You’re trying to shake your head, to speak, to fucking scream, to get him to stop, but your body pays no heed to your instructions. The only command that matters is his, and you await it like an obedient hound.

Astarion speaks precise commands, “Run to the manor as fast as you can and stay there until I return. You will stop for no one and nothing.”

“Run to the manor as fast as I can and stay there,” the words are pulled out of your lungs without your consent. “I will stop for no one and nothing.”

Your body pivots without your approval, and you break into a full sprint, streaking through the forest like a meteor. You hurtle over fallen trees and boulders while ducking under long-limbed branches and zigzagging between trees at a break-neck pace you can’t control. Your mind chants your command in a hypnotic chorus.

Run. Run. Run. Run.

The repeating instruction is nearly all you can focus on. It drowns all other thoughts out. There’s a quiver outside that melody, the beating drum of footsteps and heartbeats. You can’t turn your head. You do not have the authority to do so, but your eyes scan your surroundings. Catching movement between the trees, you finally comprehend what’s going on.

The Gur.

It’s hard for you to focus on anything besides your mad dash, but you vaguely make out that they are stalking in the forest all around you. You strain to focus on the sounds outside of the tittering in your head, and you finally hear the sound of howling, enraged warriors and clashing steel.

No. No. Why did he send me away? I can fight!

Good Gods. It’s hard to think. Hands catch you, stopping you in your tracks, but your body is not yours. You’ve been told to run and stop for nothing, and it’s agonizing to disobey, like a million sharp nails being hammered into every atom of your being, making you cry out. You would do anything, fucking anything, to make this suffering end.

You cast Thunderwave, throwing anyone in the vicinity backward and then Fireball in quick succession almost unconsciously. You can barely focus on anything but the order to run and the pain of not doing so. You whirl to continue running, but another hunter grabs you, snarling with yellow teeth and spittle flying from his lips.

By the Gods, it hurts. You can’t think through the white-hot pain.

Clawed, furry paws grab the hunter from behind before a snout full of razor-tipped, serrated fangs sink into the Gur’s throat and rip it out. Your mind is so singularly focused you can’t even be bothered to be tempted by the blood. Hells. You don’t even have permission to smell it, so you don’t. It takes you a moment to recognize the werewolf standing before you as part of Astarion’s powers.

Will his hellspawn mutt attack you as well? It drops the hunter with a howl that would make your blood run cold if it was not already and stares at you, waiting and watching, flexing its claws and growling. Its fangs are dipped in crimson, and blood drips from its snout. Astarion must have sent it to protect you. That’s the only reason it would be here with you and not helping him.

No! Go back. Help him.

You want to scream at it, but you’re already running again with the werewolf as your shadow.

It sprints ahead and kills any hunters that aim to thwart you, but if it misses, you do not hesitate to kill. You will take a million lives if it means you don’t have to feel that pain again, you will do anything to continue obeying, and you cast subconsciously with deadly power and finesse. Even the thought of turning around and going back, of defying your orders, causes pain to slice into your psyche like hot steel. An arrow plunges through your shoulder, swords and axes slice into your skin, painting your body vivid red, yet you feel nothing but the undeniable need to comply. Your nerves have not been given the authorization to feel pain. Could you even die, or are you not allowed?

When you finally break the treeline, the werewolf trailing you sinks back into the gloom as you bolt toward the manor with a resounding, echoing bay as if it’s signalling to Astarion that its job has been completed.

Run. Run. Run. Run.

You sprint full speed through Rivington, Wyrm's Crossing, and the Lower City without slowing your brutal pace. You blow past citizens who stare at you with wild eyes and angry shouts as you push past them with desperation so intense it eclipses everything else. Is this how Astarion felt when Cazador compelled him? Was he as helpless to refuse as you are in this moment?

Astarion has never compelled you before, at least that you know about. How long will this last? How far does his reach extend? If he told you to run forever, would your body run until the ground gnawed your legs into bloody stumps? What would happen if you could no longer run? Would the pain from disobeying eventually kill you, or would you be stuck in a purgatory of white-hot agony for eternity?

When you finally get to the manor and slam the door behind you. You stand stiff as a statue in the foyer. Sweat runs down your face and chest, but you can’t get your arms to move to wipe it from your eyes, and blood splashes, dripping onto the floor from your fingertips like a leaky faucet. Your head won’t swivel to look around, and your eyes will not move in their sockets, so you're stuck staring straight ahead. At least the chanting in your head has gone silent, and you can think freely, or perhaps that’s worse. Now, you can’t think of anything but Astarion, alone in battle with however many Gur. If they knew who they were hunting, which they must, they would come in vast numbers.

What was that idiot thinking? You could have helped him! He may be the Vampire Ascendant, but he’s not indestructible. Unless he is? Truly, you have no idea what he is capable of. Astarion is a force to be reckoned with, but will he lose himself in this? When he gets back to the manor which him will he be? Will you still be stuck like an effigy and unable to defend yourself? What if he doesn’t come back? Will you forever be a statue in this foyer?

Gods. You need to get back there and help him, but as soon as you have any intention of trying to move, trying to break this authority over your body, your mind warbles the enchanting tune of compliance.

Stay. Stay. Stay. Stay.

Fuck! You try your magic. It glows on your fingers and even heats in your palms, but without being able to move your arms, it’s useless. There’s nothing you can do. You’re immovable until either his compulsion wanes or he gives you new orders.

With nothing else to do, your mind wanders.

You prowl the halls of the Crimson Palace looking for Astarion after escaping from the prison of your room. The air in this place is musty, and you can still smell what remains of Cazador in the rooms and halls. This place is oppressive and cold, and he’s changed nothing.

“Astarion!” You scream in a blind rage that sweeps over you like wildfire.

You round the corner and see him sitting at his desk, glaring at you with a bland, expressionless stare. You fill yourself with the Weave until you’re awash with it, and your palms are so blisteringly hot that the skin boils and blisters. Whoever this man staring at you is, not the Astarion you knew.

You should try and kill him, but you cannot bring yourself to do it. Is that a consequence of being his spawn? Is your loyalty to him poisoned, or is it love that refrains you?

Astarion leans back, “What in the Hells,” he growls, his brows pinching together in a fearsome scowl, “do you think you’re doing out of your room?”

“Astarion. Listen to me, please,” you plead. “Something isn’t right. This is not you. Why are you doing this? Why do I have to stay in my room? What happened to Aeterna Amantes?”

“Oh, love,” he scoffs with a sneer. “Come now. Did you truly believe I would ever be beholden to one person? For eternity? HA! I told you before. I am a man of enormous appetites. Don’t worry,” he purrs. “You will always be my favourite.”

Angry tears roll down your cheeks at his taunts, and you can see in his face that he takes satisfaction in your pain. Fire bursts from your palm, licking up your forearms, “The Rite changed you. This isn’t you. You were never cruel before.”

“Are you positive you truly knew me?” Astarion stands slowly, “Yes, the Rite did change me. I am a veritable God! All thanks to you. You will forever have my undying gratitude. If you’re a good little pet, I will take excellent care of you. You will want for nothing.”

A good little pet...

“What I want is the old you back!” You shout at the top of your lungs.

“You want cute, cuddly Astarion?” He laughs mockingly and then hisses with venomous contempt, “That pathetic wretch is dead. He was a miserable, weak little pest. Grieve him, for he is gone, and he is never coming back.”

"Fuck! You don’t have to be cute, cuddly Astarion, but there isn’t even a hint of Astarion left in you, whoever you are!”

Astarion is advancing on you with slow steps, and you reflexively take steps back. Good Gods. He’s herding you like an animal.

“I am the Vampire Ascendant and your creator, and you will give me the respect I am due.” His hands come to his chin, “I think you will call me Master from now on.”

“I will never call you Master!” You retort in a voice dripping with defiance. Flames twirl around your forearms like a tornado.

“I could make you,” He rebukes with an impassive inflection, “All it would take is a thought, and you will do anything I say.”

“Then do it, you fuck!” You conclude, baring your teeth. You’re sick of his threats. If he’s going to make you a puppet, you would rather he get it over with. “Go ahead, Ascendant! Show me your power.”

Astarion laughs lightheartedly, but his face is as expressive as a white wall, “Don’t be such a fucking bitch.”

Oh. No.

You cast Scorching Rays against him, buffeting him repeatedly with a sorrowful, hopeless scream. It burns him, some of his pallid skin ruddy and his clothes hang off him in tatters. Astarion lunges at you, a streak of silver lightning, and throws you to the ground, breaking the floorboards beneath you. He snarls in your face with his fangs bared and pestilent abhorrence in his numb eyes.

“Do you feel like a man, Astarion?” You spit with a wheeze, “Does throwing me around make you feel good?”

It’s barely perceptible, but there’s a meagre flash in his eyes. The pressure with which he pins you to the floor recedes slightly. He shakes his head, and it’s gone. Astarion drags you through the halls by your ankle, down the stairs, uncaring as your head smashes against each step. You grimace, refusing to give him the satisfaction of crying out. You don’t bother to cast again as grief smothers your anger, and the flames die out along with your will to live.

Astarion tosses you into your room, your body skipping across the floor like a flat stone across the surface of a lake.

“Stay, pet.” He commands with an aloof chuckle, whirls around and leaves.

The lock clicks, and the metal bolt slides into place. Knock does not work on locks like that. It seems he’s learned your tricks.

“No!” You scream, rattling the door, “No! Please! Astarion, don’t do this.”

He does not answer.

It’s hard to tell how much time goes by. Days? Weeks? Who knows, but you’re so hungry that you’re sitting on the floor, sobbing against the door, clawing at it as if you might be able to dig your way out. Your fingers are bloodied, and you’ve ripped off your fingernails in your desperation.

“Astarion!” You wail, sobbing as your muscles jerk and spasm painfully.

He does not answer.

He never answers.

Your knees give way, and you crash to the ground, breaking you out of the memory. Astarion’s compulsion has broken, and your body is finally your own to control. You yank the arrow from your shoulder and burn it to ash.

Astarion… 

Peering around and listening closely, you surmise that he still has not returned. Pushing yourself to your feet, your muscles cramp severely and twitch, a tune of overexertion from your retreat. With the compulsion gone, sensation returns, and you feel the wounds you received with a biting ferocity. The only thing on your mind is finding Astarion, and you lunge for the door hastily. Golden rays of sunlight flood the foyer as soon as you fling it open, and you're washed in the agony of the Hells. Every nerve melts as you're immersed in rivers of liquid fire in Phlegethos. Your skin sizzles, snapping into fissures and greying rapidly.

It’s the kind of pain that makes you want to scratch your skin off to escape your body. You throw yourself back with a screech, and the pain ebbs as your skin slowly stops smouldering. Dropping to the ground, you cast Telekinesis and throw the door closed with a frustrated roar. If you cannot go into the sun, Astarion is not nearby or… Gods, you don’t even want to think about it. You don’t even want the thought to run through your mind, but it does, regardless of your restraint.

Astarion could be dead.

The only solace you have is that feeling in the back of your mind that still lingers. If he was dead, would that also disappear? You’re unsure. You tell yourself it would because you desperately need the lie to keep you sane. Reaching out to it, you try to force it open, but it does not budge, and Astarion does not respond to the request, increasing your panic further.

What can you do? You need to do something, anything, but what? You’re stuck in this fucking manor until the sun goes down. You get up and pace back and forth, rage building inside you. Why did he send you away? You’re a godsdamned terror in battle. You could have helped him, and now you’re stuck here, unable to do anything.

Fuck!

You scream as tears streak down your burnt face, grabbing a mirror from the wall and throwing it against the floor, shattering it to bits. He made you stand here like a foolish statue all night while he… you don’t finish the thought.

You can’t.

Come back to me. Please.

Things are falling apart quicker than you can piece them back together. Astarion told you he wanted you to be his, and you balked. All the reasons you felt so resolute about suddenly seem so trivial. For a year, you would have done anything to have him back, and now you do, and you’re too scared to put your already dead and broken heart on the table.

This love might kill you, but it’s not over. It was never over. It could never be over.

You chuck a vase against the wall and snarl like a wild animal. It bursts, showering the floor in a spray of glass. You cannot control your rabid emotions. You punch a hole through the wood panelling, tear paintings off it and snap them into pieces as you fall into a tailspin of misery.

You pace the hallways in a rage. At him. At yourself. At the world.

You will not lose him to whatever that thing is inside of him.

You will not lose him.

You cannot lose him.

The jagged pieces of your frenzy are strewn haphazardly throughout the manor and resemble a portrayal of what remains of your life. Everything is broken, fragmented and sharp enough to cut down to bone.

Desperate to feel close to him in some form, you run up to his room. It smells like bergamot and rosemary with a hint of aged brandy - it smells like him, and he smells like home. You inhale deeply. Grim thoughts race through your mind like a whirling flood that creeps out of your eyes in the form of tears.  Without Astarion’s heartbeat, the silence in this place is heavy and dark, like a passing cloud.

You lay on the bed, and your hand skims over where he was this morning when you woke with your head on his chest. Astarion held you all night and long into the morning. When your eyes opened, Astarion was already gazing at you with scarlet eyes as gorgeous as the heavens and as deep as the hells. His expression was warm-hearted, loving even. He looked at you like he used to.

“Well, hello, beautiful.”

He smiled, sweeping your hair out of your sleepy eyes. All the things he’s said to you start echoing through your mind.

“I missed you, you know. When you left.”

“You make me feel.”

“I could never get you out of my head.”

“I told you I can be romantic.”

“Yes, little love, true feelings.”

“My feelings for you, of course.”

Good Gods. Has he been trying to tell you he loves you through his actions this entire time? You’ve been so caught up in not letting yourself fall into another trap that you didn’t see it. You were reading random pages and not the entire book.

It ends today. You don’t know where this will end, but you know where it must start.

Curling up on the bed, you cry until you manage to push yourself into your trance because that’s all you can do.

Your hand slams into the wooden door with a force that causes it to whine. Night has finally consumed the sun, and Astarion still has not returned. When you woke, the manor was still deathly silent.

Shadowheart opens the door a crack, and her eyes widen when she sees you. She scowls fiercely, “Did Astarion do this to you!?” She growls with a clenched fist.

Did he do what to me? Oh....

“No,” you assure quickly. Your skin is still creviced and grey with red, scabbed lacerations marring your flesh. You push yourself into the house. “This was not him. He’s missing. I need your help to find him.”

Shadowheart’s magic washes over you, healing your wounds, and she takes a quick step back. She knows better than to get too close to you, but right now, your hysteria is overriding any bloodlust you might feel.

Even though she does smell delicious.

Gale frowns, “What do you mean missing?”

“We were attacked by Gur in the forest last night,” you blurt out rapidly. “He hasn’t come home.”

Gale smiles. He fucking smiles, and it takes everything in you not to slap that grin off his face. He shrugs, “Good riddance, I say.”

“I’m sorry, but I agree with Gale,” Shadowheart crosses her arms. “He told me what happened. Is it true Astarion was going to kill him?”

“Gale attacked him!” You roar with a hiss, narrowing your eyes at Gale who noticeably jolts at your rough inflection. You sigh and try to calm your rampaging temper, “You don’t understand, and I do not have time to explain it right now. Without Astarion, I cannot be out in the sun. I only have until dawn to find him. We must hurry.”

Gale scoffs, “I’m sorry, but there is no “we,” in this, my friend. If the Gur took care of that monster for us, we should be thanking them.”

You knew Gale would be a longshot, especially after what happened at the manor, but Shadowheart might still be swayed but your pleas.

“Shadowheart, please,” you beg, tears kissing your cheeks once again. “I need help.”

“I don’t know...” She sighs, rubbing her face. “He’s dangerous. Why not just leave him to his fate? If he is dead, you’re free. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Not if his death is the price of that freedom,” you rasp. You clutch your chest, wishing to feel his heart beating behind your breast, to feel complete, because, without him, you are so vastly empty. “Dangerous as he is, he is my safe, Shadowheart.”

“How did you get away?” Shadowheart asks.

“He compelled me,” your voice breaks. “The idiot compelled me to leave.”

Shadowheart arches a brow and purses her lips, “Does he compel you often?”

“He’s never compelled me before,” you groan at the memory of your body betraying you. “Astarion told me to leave, and I refused. It’s the first time he’s compelled me, and it was to get me away from danger. Stupid, foolish imbecile!”

Well, it’s the first time he’s compelled you that you know about, but alas, she doesn’t need to know that.

Shadowheart looks you over and you’re not exactly sure what she’s looking for, but she finally nods, “Okay. Give me a moment to get ready. I will help you look for him.”

“You cannot be serious, Shadowheart!” Gale says hoarsely.

Shadowheart sniffs and waves dismissively, “We have all had our demons, Gale. Astarion is no exception.”

“He killed her!” Gale shouts. “He turned her into,” Gale cringes with a gesture toward you. “This.”

Gods, you’ve had just about enough of everyone blaming him for your choices, and you step forward, “I wanted to be turned into this,” you hiss in contempt. “Astarion did not force me. I’ve told you this time and time again.”

Shadowheart gives your arm a light tug, pulling you back, “I will help you look. Perhaps it would be best for you to wait outside, and Gale,” she scolds with a sniff, “I expected better of you. Gods know you reached for unfathomable power, and you would have taken it in a heartbeat.”

The air is crisp in your lungs. Shadowheart was right to send you outside. There is no time to participate in an argument right now, but you will have to return and speak to Gale and Shadowheart eventually to sort this out - if it can be sorted out.

Shadowheart joins quickly, dressed in her armour with her spear slung across her back and a pack around her shoulders, “Let’s go,” she nods. “How much ground do we have to cover?”

“We were on the outskirts of the forest when they attacked. It’s not a substantial distance, but it’s not close either. We will have to hurry.”

You can run endlessly since you don’t require air, and you bolt ahead of Shadowheart to scout the way. Your body is sticky with sweat. It rolls down your temples like a stream from your pores. The adrenaline coursing through your veins is a welcome distraction from the woe warping your heart.

How had the Gur known where you were? Someone must have tipped them off, but who?

It doesn’t take long until the air smells of sweat, death and old, congealed blood, and you can at least follow the scent. The forest is eerily soundless, with only small streaks of moonlight as pale as ghosts streaking through the dense canopy. No animals scurry. No wind blows. No insects chirp. Only the sound of your feet crunching over the forest floor.

Mutilated bodies of Gur, werewolves, and hundreds of bats litter the earth in a carpet of flesh and gore. The ground is a blood-stained dark maroon and squelches under your feet as you slow your pace. Your mouth drops open as you look around, astonished at the number of bodies. Terror sinks into you, and you start pulling on bodies only to uncover more underneath. Heaps of dead in unfathomable numbers. Hells. You listen for a heartbeat but hear none. You choke back sobs. There’s no way he could have survived this, and you hate him for making you leave.

Your ears twitch as they catch the sound of twigs breaking behind you. If it were Shadowheart, she would surely make her presence known. You whirl just in time for snapping fangs to miss your throat as a werewolf lunges. You cast Gust of Wind and send it reeling off its feet. It stands snarling, but it’s gravely wounded, with a sickeningly large festering gash in its belly. You don’t know if this thing will listen or if it can even understand you, but you must try.

“I’m a friend.” You put your hands up but are ready to cast should this prove to be a futile attempt. “Your master’s friend.”

Its ears flick and twitch around as it listens. It sniffs the air and makes no further move to attack.

“Take me to him,” you instruct as commanding as you can. “Now.”

Its lips pull back to reveal rows of sharp teeth and growls, but it turns and plods away unsteadily. You don’t know if it’s just decided you’re not a threat or if it will take you to Astarion, but you pursue it.

The number of bodies dwindles the further you follow, with only a few scattered here and there like dead leaves shed from the trees. Sliding down a steep incline, it finally turns to you, ears flattening against its head, drooping at the tips, and points its disfigured paw with a melancholy whine.

You scramble forward, eyes skimming the ground, and finally see Astarion lying motionless on the rust-coloured earth, painted with blood and gore. His ivory skin only peeks through between the cracks in the drying crimson veil sheeting his body. Countless wounds mar his flesh, some superficial and others that make your stomach twist in your belly, threatening to spill its contents.

You flop to your knees and shake him vigorously, “Astarion!” Your voice is a screeching pitch that could shatter glass, “Astarion! Wake up! Please.”

He does not wake or rouse. He’s cold, deathly cold like he used to be. Leaning down, you put your ear to his chest and try to stifle your loud sobbing so you can listen. You hear nothing. His chest is as silent as yours, seized by the dominion of death. Touching his cheek, you scream shrilly into the night, lamenting your pain to the heavens.

Shadowheart.

You don’t want to leave his side, but you pull yourself away and charge with renewed vigour until you catch Shadowheart’s scent and the hammering thud, thud, thud of her heart. You nearly crash into her in your haste.

“Hells,” She jumps, grabs your shoulders to steady you, and sees the inconsolable look on your face, “What’s wrong?”

“I found him,” your knees are rickety. The only thing keeping you upright and from hurtling off the edge of collapse is the need to return to his side. He can’t be dead. He can’t be! “I think… Gods, I think he’s dead, Shadowheart.”

Shadowheart’s mouth drops open in a gasp, “Show me.”

Sliding down the slope, you dive to Astarion’s side, hands coming to his face, sweeping your thumb across his frigid cheek. Shadowheart drops to her knees with magic already glowing on her fingers. The colour drains from her face, leaving her as pale as you, awash with horror at the grotesque sight.

“Hells below,” she mumbles. “Is his heart beating? Does it usually beat?”

She knows your hearing is sharper than hers, “It usually does,” you falter and place a splayed hand on your chest. You glance at her and shake your head, “It’s as still as mine.”

Shadowheart casts and her magic sinks into Astarion, but he does not stir. She tries again, and again, and again, increasing the strength with every successive round with no result. Astarion does not so much as twitch a finger or muscle.

You shake him again, screaming into his face as your tears fall like raindrops splashing on his cheeks, “Don’t you dare think about leaving me! Please... please, don’t leave me alone. I need you, Astarion.”

Shadowheart’s cheeks are red, and her eyes brim with shiny tears. She gives you a look of regret, and you know what she’s thinking without her even saying it because you’re thinking it, too.

“He can’t be...” you choke as you fall to pieces.

“I’m sorry,” Shadowheart shakes her head. Her face contorted in sorrow, “I’m so sorry.”

You fall forward onto Astarion’s lifeless chest, blanketing him with your body, and you scream, guttural and ear-splitting as continuous as the stream of time.  

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things. As always, I hope you enjoy this, darlings!

AO3 [Crossposted]

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

Small Notes:

I'm releasing this chapter earlier than I usually do because I've finally had some time to sit and do nothing but write (my favourite), but that means it may push back the release of the next chapter. It will depend on how work and life go this week.

Apologies, darlings. For the cliffhanger.

[warriorcatsofficialfacts]

Can you share more about the ableism in warrior cats? I always hear it talked about but I haven't read it since I was a kid so I don't remember.

this is a complicated thing to discuss bc on some level the ableism in warrior cats has its roots in the sheer amount of value this cat society places on physical strength but here are the like. basic bullet points i guess

1. use of ableist slurs

the terms "cripple" and "lame" are used in the books, both of which are insults to the physically disabled, cripple being considered an active slur most physically disabled people agree ablebodied people shouldn't even say. i Have had one person defend this by pointing out that the characters who use the term cripple are using it As a slur: it's meant to be a depiction of jayfeather as a protagonist experiencing ableism

i countered this with pointing out that mentally disabled people do not have to worry about opening up a warrior cats book and having to read the pov character be called the r slur, nor do gay people have to worry about opening up a warrior cats book and having to see the pov be called a faggot or a queer. The issue is not the use of ableist slur itself, but instead the fact that it is the Only instance of a character being called an irl slur or curse word. i should not have to explain why it's not appropriate for books to contain slurs when they're not even allowed to say Fuck. if these were books where real life bigotry and bigoted terminology were used frequently and not only for physical disabilities, i would see no issue with jaypaw being called a cripple by two ableist jackasses

however even with that out of the way there's still the fact that disabled characters are referred to as Lame more than once, not by an ableist character, but by the Narration. that's not a character being a bigot, that's the Books being bigoted

2. disability as a plot device to serve abled characters

the most obvious instance of this is snowkit (who i often call a "walking hate crime" for this exact reason), but it's fairly consistent that disabled characters almost never solely exist for their own sake, but always to say something about the abled people around them or have an impact on those people

snowkit dies to traumatize his mother, his deafness being directly related to his death. jagged peak is made a paraplegic to demonstrate clear sky's cruelty to even his own family. briarlights paralysis is routinely shown through the lens of other people debating or discussing her worth and impact on her. cinderpelt loses movement in her leg both to emotionally impact fireheart and to be yet another person who's life has been impacted by tigerclaw. brightheart is permanently disfigured so that bluestars cruelty towards her can act as yet another step in her progression to madness, and so that firestars renaming of her can establish him as a more benevolent leader (sort of patching up his predecessors wrongdoings).

there are a few exceptions, crookedstar in particular is pretty good.

3. arc one exclusive: disability or disfigurement as a sign of menace

i generally say arc one is the best on ableism simply because it treats disability as a Fact that Will inevitably happen to all warriors (this is why basically Every elder is disabled). but there is one thing that. I think people forget? A Little?

Outside of elders, there are a decent number of arc one cats who are described as being disfigured or disabled outside of thunderclan

if i'm remembering correctly, these are crookedstar, brokenstar, deadfoot, and clawface. only two of these cats (crooked and dead) are intended to actually be Disabled (even though brokenstar has a SCI if you know how cat spines work), but all of them are meant to be visually disfigured, with brokenstar having an obviously deformed tail, and clawface having distinctive facial scarring

it's probably pretty easy to figure out why i'm bringing up broken and claw, since. they're both murderers. but here's something that's easy to miss:

crookedstar is rather consistently antagonistic in arc one and deadfoot is explicitly considered to be intimidating by fireheart. deadfoot is the least egregious, he is a deputy afterall so it makes sense fireheart is menaced by his presence, but crookedstar is very much like. he openly declares he intends to take over windclans old territory along with shadowclan. people tend to forget but riverclan is Mean in arc one, Crookedstar Included.

that's 4/4 of the non elderly disfigured characters in arc one who are meant to be somehow intimidating at best, and menacing, antagonistic, and evil at worst. not great numbers. btw the reason i'm not counting cinder and bright here is because those are previously abled characters who then Become disfigured and disabled, meanwhile these four are introduced as disfigured and/or disabled, which is a bit different from a meta perspective.

4. outside of arc one, a universal perspective that disabled characters cannot be warriors

now, this isn't really a Thing in arc one. there's only One character who is explicitly made to stop being a warrior because she's disabled, and even then it's not that she Couldn't be a warrior: her broken bone healed wrong and warrior duties would be constantly painful for her.

however after arc one there are very few New disabled characters at all, and all of them are medicine cats or elders. longtail is blinded and almost immediately retires (even though that doesn't seem super in character for him), jayfeather tries his best to be a warrior despite the complete and total uselessness of everyone around him but is eventually forced into medicine cat duties by god anyway, briarlight is genuinely just a medicine cat in all but name, and if you count shadowsight (which. honestly i don't think you should) he's also a medicine cat

i just. feel the need to point out that arc one specifically had brightheart get taught how to be a warrior by her abled boyfriend but somehow none of these cats could accommodate Themselves. I guess accommodations only exist if you're Half blind or have an abled boyfriend to save you from your own body

[hiaon]

Someone asked for a top! Femboy x bottom! trans masc.. I accidentally posted it so.. I need to restart. If it's you thank you for giving me Ideas! Also you didn't specify how the story should go, so I made my own.

Broken and fixed again.

Disclaimer: cheating(only briefly), sexual intercourse (Not really)

You we're a famous influencer that was followed by millions, but recently your girlfriend for 2 years cheated on you. So you decide to drink in a bar instead of drinking alone in your house.

When you sit came at the bar and then ordered alcohol, you saw a lady pass by and sat down two sits away from you.

And you can clearly see that she is beautiful and very majestic, since you we're two sits away you let the bartender give her a drink and tell her that it was you that gave her the drink.

You we're fidgeting with your hands, because whenever you find someone attractive you kind of just freeze for a moment. You didn't notice because you we're thinking of how beautiful she is, but she was looking at you and smiled she noticed that you we're to shy to make the first move. So she did.

She got up and sat next to you, you finally snapped out of your little nervous moment and noticed the beautiful person next to you.

"Oh! Your the guy that your dumped your girlfriend for cheating!" She said cheerfully, evern her voice is beautiful. You didn't really know what to say, but you worked it through. One thing you hate about your social media career was your fans just like to invade your privacy.

"Yeah.. That's actually why I'm here actually, to forget about her even a little bit.." you said avoiding her eyes.

'That's cute' She thought.

"I'm sorry do you want to change the topic?" She asked you in a calm manner.

"Sure-" Before you could you could continue your conversation with her, someone called you. It was your ex girlfriend, she was telling you to get back whit her again. Of course you said no, but she threatened you that she will ___.

"W-what.! Wait, I'll be there. Don't you dare do it.." You we're getting threats almost everyday it was getting annoying. She was just doing it for attention, she wasn't going to actually do it.

"Sorry but I need to go.." But before you can stand up she grabbed your hand— which was quite strong.

"Can you give me your number first?" She asked you as you happily obliged.

As you we're leaving you felt that her stare was burning you, or more likely your ass.

3 Days later

When you we're just laying around doing nothing, you received a message.

Unknown

Hi, It's the person that you meet at the bar. Wait, we forgot to exchange names.. The name is Ash. What's yours? I'm sorry I totally forgot to ask for your name 😞.

You

Ohh! It's also my fault.. I didn't even though of asking for your name. But my [Y/N].

You renamed "Unknown" into 'Ash'.

Ash

I have nothing to do right now, do you want to hang out? It's okay if you don't wanna.

You

I have nothing to do as well, so it's perfect timing actually.

Ash

Okay then, how about a club?

You

Sure!

Ash

Btw, did you think that I was a women?

You

You aren't?? Huh.. But we can still talk! I was just finding someone I can talk to at a bar.. (LIES)

Ash

That's good then.

*At the Club*

You just arrived at the club and you we're looking for Ash, and somebody touched your ass. It was highly uncomfortable. Ash found you and pulled you away from the man that was touching your ass.

"Ugh, fucking bitch.." Ash mumbled in his breath.

"Huh?" You didn't heard it though.

"Nothing, do you want to have a drink?" His voice completely changed of tone when he was talking shut about that dude.

"Sure!"

40 minutes later..

You forgot that you we're a very weak drinker, and get drunk very easily.

Ash didn't know where you house is and you we're clearly to drunk to tell him. So he made the second best decision, he went to his house instead.

When he was carrying you to his bedroom when he just noticed that you were a very talkative guy when you are drunk. He didn't mind it though, you're very cute when you're like that.

"You know, when I found.. *Hic* out you were a guy.. I didn't really care, I still *Hic* find youu.. reallyyy really attractive.." After you said what you said he was already at his bedroom. He gently put you down.

".... Damn it, I was going to take my time with you to be in a relationship. But this changed my mind." He said as he took your lips swiftly and tasting your acholic taste. You woke up.

"Is this a dream..?" You asked.

"..Yes, yes it is." Ash said

"Ah. Ugh I'm having a wet dream about Ashy again. But since I know *Hic*.. that he is an actual he, this *Hic* might be different.." After you said that you stretched your arms.

"Just do it already.. *Hic*" He was actually just planning to kiss you and sleep besides you, but now that he got the consent that he was waiting for... He can do it with you now.

He immediately took off your shirt pants and underwear — but the underwear was just hanging by on one of your leg.

Part 2 for the actual sexual intercourse?

Also I made this with my friend! — @nosus69

[a-spawn-on-my-lawn]

Quick tip for my fellow (Asti) artists for the perfect reference :D

You don't need to know Blender for this except for some tiny basics that you can learn in less than 30 min!

Download Blender. It's free and amazing.

Download this Astarion model as .blend file.

Unpack the ZIP and open the .blend file with double click. It should open in Blender automatically when you have installed the software. (I probably renamed the file so don't worry.)

4. Once opened in Blender, look for the globe symbols on the top right of the window and click the middle globe "Viewport Shading".

5. You should now have something like this:

Don't get distracted by the camera, the lights or the shlong, you won't need any of it (probably)

6. Go to the top left of the window and make sure "Object mode" ist activated.

7. Pick the "Modeling" tab.

8. Click on the Asti. You can zoom in and out with mouse wheel. You can navigate by pressing the mouse wheel alone and move the mouse or pressing mouse wheel + shift.

9. On the very right, there should be an area that is called "Scene collection".

Navigate to this window and click on the eye symbol next to "Astarion Armature" to make sure it is visible if it isn't yet.

10. Make sure you still have object mode activated. Click on the "Astarion armature". Now you should see a lot of orange fancy thingamabobs around Asti.

11. Now it is important that you navigate to the "Object Mode" tab and pick "Pose Mode".

You will now see that the thingamabobs (his rig) will become colourful. Perfect, almost done :D

Now it is time for Asti to strike some Poses!

Click on any of the colourful lines (Some are not able to be moved, but you will figure out which one does what).

In this example, I picked the rig for this arm/wrist:

On the left side of the window, you should see a toolbar that looks like this:

If the toolbar is not there, simply press "T". All we basically need are these two:

If you pick one of these an click on the parts of Asti's rig that you want to move, you can move them up or down with the arrow option ("Move") or rotate them in any direction with the option below the arrow. ("Rotate").

Let's rotate Asti's hand:

I click + hold the red line and move it upwards.

EASY GOING! this is honestly basically it. Play around with it a bit and you will get the gist :)

You can really get him into any pose you like, it may be a bit fiddly to find out if you are new to Blender, but it is totally worth it :)

This is not only a great ref tool for Asti artists, generally he makes a remarkable ref for studying the male anatomy, facial structure, hand poses and so much more :)

I hope my little tutorial was helpful to you, I usually don't make tutorials so I hope I was able to make it somewhat comprehensible 😅

I just really wanted to share this because it was a real game changer to me. :)

If you have any questions, feel free to ask in the comments/DMs etc.

Also here's a dope Blender beginner tutorial:

Happy painting/modeling!! ♥

[markrosewater]

Should it still be called the storm scale when new cards in standard sets occasionally have almost the exact rules text for storm written out on them? Thousand year storm and show of confidence are both cards that were put into standard that either have or grant an ability that is (almost) just storm. I know storm counts any spell and those two cards only see instants and sorceries, but in modern and legacy, storm decks tend to run almost exclusively instants and sorceries, with the only permanent spells being cards that enable them to cast more instants and sorceries. I know inertia is a powerful thing and you almost certainly won’t rename it, but I feel like a better name would be something like “the ante scale” or “banding scale”. What do you think?

Things that are 10 can appear in Standard-legal sets. Die-rolling is the example. So, even if exact Storm showed up in a premier set, I’m not planning to change the name of the scale. Word equity is important.

[deathbypixelz]

Alright. I'm making this post because I was unpleasantly surprised to find Microsoft had forcibly downloaded an """"ai assistant"""" onto my computer (called Copilot), and because finding a site that actually told me how to kill it for good -- in clear, truly step-by-step terms -- was way harder than it needed to be.

Preface: this is only relevant if you're running Windows 11.

Here is your target:

If you see this logo on your taskbar -- or... have Edge installed on Windows 11 -- you've got Copilot. You can't delete it on its own, Microsoft has integrated it into the OS as best they can. The most you can do is disable it (instructions for which are at the very end of this post).

So... to REALLY get rid of it you need to uninstall Microsoft Edge, because it's a part of/reliant on Edge. A lot of bells and whistles of Windows are also reliant on Edge, like widgets, but I never use those. I use my PC almost exclusively for gaming, and I don't want this slimy "ai" shit on my computer. I use Firefox anyway. Edge can go die as far as I'm concerned.

Here's the actual steps, copy-pasted from a website that took me way too long to find. It also really makes my browser chug for some reason, which is why I'm copy-pasting the whole thing. If you still want to look at the site itself, put it in reader view as fast as you can (link to site).

1.) Open Microsoft Edge, type "edge://settings/help" in the address bar, and then press Enter.

2.) Click "About Microsoft Edge" at the bottom of the left-hand pane. Copy the version number at the top of the screen, under Microsoft Edge.

3.) Press Windows Key + S to open Windows Search.

4.) Type "Command Prompt", right-click the result, and then select "Run as Administrator".

5.) The User Account Control (UAC) prompt will appear. Click "Yes".

6.) Navigate to Edge’s “Installer” directory by using the cd command. Depending on which directory your Command Prompt opens in by default, you may need to use the "cd .." command to go back a level or two.

Once ready, run this command:

cd “Program Files (x86)\Microsoft\Edge\Application\Version Number\Installer”

Replace "Version Number" with your actual version number copied earlier.

7.) Next, run this command to uninstall Microsoft Edge:

setup –uninstall –force-uninstall –system-level

((It will look like nothing happened! Don't worry!))

8.) Restart your PC for the changes to take place.

((HOWEVER, Windows will try to reinstall it the next time your PC updates (or whenever it feels like it lol) so there's a second half to this))

1.) Press Windows Key + R to open Run.

2.) Type "regedit" in the text box and click OK to open the Registry Editor.

3.) The User Account Control (UAC) prompt will appear. Click "Yes".

4.) In the Registry Editor, navigate to HKEY_LOCAL_MACHINES\SOFTWARE\Microsoft.

5.) Right-click the "Microsoft" folder, hover your cursor over "New", and then select "Key".

6.) Rename the new Key to "EdgeUpdate".

7.) Right-click EdgeUpdate, hover your cursor over "New", and then select "DWORD (32-bit) Value".

8.) Right-click the new value, which is currently named "New Value #1".

9.) Select "Rename" from the context menu.

10.) Rename the value to "DoNotUpdateToEdgeWithChromium".

11.) Right-click the newly-named DoNotUpdateToEdgeWithChromium value and select "Modify" from the context menu.

12.) The Edit DWORD (32-bit) Value window will appear. Change the Value data to "1" and then click OK.

((You are now free. If you ever run into a really serious, unavoidable issue with your OS that's clearly a result of Edge being gone, you can redownload it like a regular app. But you should be fine.))

((And, if for some reason you want still want Edge around but just want the copilot thing gone, here's what you do:

The command, for ease of copy-pasting: reg add HKCU\Software\Policies\Microsoft\Windows\WindowsCopilot /v TurnOffWindowsCopilot /t REG_DWORD /d 1 /f

You can't actually truly delete Copilot (without deleting Edge), only disable it. And as the reply says, you do have to do this every time you turn the computer on. I haven't tested that myself, but I believe it. I assume/hope that excludes just waking the computer up after it goes to sleep, but I don't know for sure.))

[scalproie]

there is something really weird in mk12 about the disconnect between kuai liang and his role as scorpion

He is called feisty. Raiden goes to him so he can help him "stoke the fire" of rage. Such traits you expect from good old scorpion, as he should be and IS the angry revenge-driven fire wraith/ninja/whatever

But if you ignore all that's said and actually look at kuai liang... he is not angry or rageful, and couldnt be any less feisty, the only thing feisty about him is his ability to control flames. He is not revenge-driven, even after being scarred physically and emotionally by bi-han, he doesnt kill him, he knocks him out and carries him away so he cant help out the deadly alliance, all in a logical manner (but also its so unemotional on his part Im willing to bet it's not even smth the writers planned to write him as, it just happened bc they didnt know how to write him in a compelling way). He is rational and patient, you could even call him passive and reactionary. That's not scorpion-like, whose impulsiveness has been an established part of his character for quite a while now, that's more like sub zero. Because for the better part of 30 years, kuai liang has been sub zero

edit: after careful re-watch, my former point no really longer stand, he did very much try to kill bi-han after the reveal he let their father die. But even then, if I may... that vengeance streak doesnt really last long now does it?

I know bi-han being back as the main carrier of the sub zero mantle has rekindled some debates over who the best sub zero is between the two brothers but that just goes to show: BOTH are sub zero.

So having a sub zero being casted in the role scorpion, as both characters are POLAR (eh) OPPOSITES of each other, you end up with a weird hybrid in the middle who is neither one nor the other. In the previous timelines, scorpion starts things, kuai liang reacts as either tundra or sub zero.

Kuai liang took pride in being lin kuei, he's been called the redeemer by previous games and that's really what he is! He fights FOR the lin kuei and steers it into the right direction. Here in mk12 he just... leaves the clan. As soon as it goes toward evil. He wants to restore its honor but he leaves it to be corrupted in the first place. He doesnt fight for it to stay good. It almost reads as if he has no pride for it if he's ready to let its name be tarnished so easily after YEARS of tradition and services toward the forces of good. Did he had no ideals for the clan growing up? Did his father always hyped up bi-han as the next grandmaster? Then why didnt kuai liang also had absolute loyalty for his brother no matter what his decisions are?

No he goes to make a new clan, and why? Well that's only because scorpion is not associated with the lin kuei, but the shirai ryu. In fact, everything that happens to kuai liang doesnt happen because of who kuai liang is, it happens because IT HAS to happen because he's scorpion.

As much as the writers (through liu kang) tells us that "in this new timeline, everyone can choose their destiny" in the opening, kuai liang's character is shackled by being scorpion. If he didnt had to follow the Scorpion Staples(tm) of being a shirai ryu grandmaster married to harumi, he wouldnt abandon his clan and get with harumi (a character he never had history with once, and no, his ending telling us that they were "childhood friends" doesnt count. It feels extremely forced and comes from nowhere) to form a new clan when he could just fight his brother for the legacy and pride of the clan in the first place.

BESIDES. If harumi already had a clan she was the grandmaster of, why did kuai liang renamed it to something else instead? What was that clan's name that kuai, an outsider, decided to overwrite? It makes it look like he married her for influence and the power to go toe-to-toe against bi-han and his lin kuei. But hey. Its okay because he named it after harumi's new last name that cannot possibly work in the canon where she's with hanzo because there, the shirai ryu has been around for hundred of years before her.

Listen, I was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt for Kuai!Scorpion, hell I even called out the lin kuei/shirai ryu rift happening at one point bc it was SO OBVIOUSLY happening. But now that it's out and I see how they handled it. Man I really really REALLY dont like how easily you can see the seams of this narrative, and how clearly it makes everything related to it worse.

[arachnicas]

Spider & Spot Dynamic Headcanons 1/?

Based off of my post >>> here

-) The multi-verse collapses and Miles is thrown back in time to the day he defeated Kingpin. Determined not to repeat the future, Miles decides to seek out the Spot and end his villainy before it can begin. However, he does not eradicate or contain his nemesis. No, Miles takes a leap of faith and decides to help him.

-) Miles uses his big brain to find a way to permanently cure Dr. Johnathon Ohnn of his spotty appearance with a serum. However, Johnathon still retains his abilities, and his eyes are an eerie void black color, a reminder of what he is and what he is capable of. Still, he's back to looking like a human being again and is immensely grateful to this wonderful, genius kid for helping him in his time of need.

-) In fact, he's so happy that he immediately declares himself Spider-Man's partner, and Miles cannot reject the man. His former friends are in their respective dimensions safe now that the collider is destroyed, and if the future becomes anything like Miles remembers, he won't see them for a long while. It would be nice to have a friend on his side.

-) After some trial and error, Johnathon can easily control his abilities, using his holes to warp villains into Miles' webs or transporting himself and Miles away from dangers when dealing with particularly deadly villains. With their combined skills and hilarious wit, the duo instantly becomes Brooklyn's darlings almost overnight.

-) Johnathon's costume is based on his former spotty appearance. When Miles asked why, he grinned and said, "Makes for a superb intimidation factor, kiddo. Gets the baddies shaking in their little boots when they see me."

-) Johnathon and Miles both know each other's secret identities. Johnathon made it clear to Miles that if their partnership should work, he should at least see the face of the hero he's working with. No secrets. No lies. Miles agreed and slid off his mask.

-) Needless to say, Johnathon was appalled, concerned, and maybe even a little impressed that Spider-Man is a thirteen-year-old kid. "I mean, when you threw that bagel at me, I knew you were young, but holy cow, you're just a little guy! You should be in school doing your homework and hanging out with your friends, not running the streets fighting bad guys!"

-) Knowing that Spider-Man is just a kid made Johnathon even more sure of his decision to be his partner. Miles will need a stable adult to look out for him and somebody to make damn sure that he comes home alive. It's the least he can do for the kid who helped him get his life back on track. Plus, he's grown fond of Miles and enjoys fighting alongside him. This superhero gig isn't so bad after all.

-) Over time, the two developed a pseudo-uncle-nephew familial relationship, and while Johnathon isn't Uncle Aaron, Miles finds that they have a lot in common and will often spend hours talking about quantum physics, math, etc. They even built an underground lair where they go to rest up, work on science projects, and make neat little gizmos. Miles proudly called it "The Web," but after losing a game of rock paper scissors to Uncle Johnathon, it was renamed The Void Sanctum.

-) Helping Miles with his science homework pushed Johnathon into getting a job at Visions Academy as a science teacher because, damn it, what kind of weak-ass science is that school teaching his nephew?! No, he will become a goddamn teacher and teach these kids REAL science. And this way, he can finally distance himself from Alchemax and get a job doing something he loves. Teaching.

-) Johnathon wanted to make an excellent first impression on his first day at Visions and showed up to work in a tweed suit, squeaky shoes, and a lab coat. The students cracking jokes about his clothes were to be expected, and Miles was starting to get annoyed with them for their constant needling, but all laughter died when Mr. Ohnn made something explode. From then on, he was the school's most revered science teacher.

-) Visions loves him so much that they don't even ask why he wears sunglasses that hide his scary inky black eyes that sometimes leak dark matter. Nah, they don't need to see what's behind the glasses.

-) Johnathon uses his powers to travel across different dimensions with Miles, where they get into all sorts of whacky adventures. It's the most fun they've ever had, and the pair bring back all kinds of trinkets and decorations from their travels to hang up in their super cool lair.

"Miles, is that an alien head encased in ice?"

"Oh, yeah! Uncle Johnathon and I found this bad boy in some creepy desert dimension! I don't think we were supposed to take it, but Unc wanted to turn it into a new decoration for his desk."

"Miles, that thing just blinked."

"Yeah, it does that sometimes."

-) The walls in Miles' room are decorated with colorful equations done by Johnathon, and Johnathon's office space has drawings Miles gifted to him. Maybe he's not an artist like his nephew, but he's proud of the kid's works and will always show visitors what Miles drew.

-) Having learned from his past mistakes, Miles decided to reveal himself as Spider-Man to his parents, and as expected there were tears, ultimatums, more tears, and finally acceptance. Jeff and Rio were also told about Johnathon, and after some hesitation and promises to keep them informed about their son, they permitted the duo to keep working together...so long as Johnathon stopped by every Sunday for family dinners and continued to help Miles stay on top of his studies.

-) Their dimension travels have caused them to meet certain members of the Spider Society much earlier, but that's a story for another day.

[philosophicalconservatism]

Response To Post On Gender Ideology and Free Speech.

lily-on-the-fence

"You state that trans acceptance is an extreme point of view because it requires you to believe certain things about people or else you disrespect them. I'd argue it's more extreme to prevent someone from accessing healthcare because you personally don't agree that it's necessary, despite all the relevant scientific fields disagreeing with you."

Philosophicalconservatism

I am more interested in what the science says and what it doesn't say than I am in what opinions are popular amongst those who practice it.

Dr Jack Drescher one of the scientists responsible for the official decision by the DSM to no longer classify Gender Dysphoria as a disorder (and to rename it) stated outright that this call was more about a shift in cultural values than any groundbreaking new scientific insight.

"All psychiatric diagnoses occur within a cultural context. We know there is a whole community of people out there who are not seeking medical attention [to realign their thinking with their gender of birth ] and live between the two binary categories. We wanted to send the message that the therapist's job isn't to pathologize."

So the game is that the culture appeals to the science, while the scientists appeals to changes in the culture. It would be quite remarkable for science to go from still classifying Gender Dysphoria as a disorder in 2012 to having prescriptive knowledge about it within three or four years that is so absolutely certain it is unquestionable (the scandal with Jordan Peterson was just three years later in 2016 for example). And this is in psychology of all fields, a field with a notorious replicability and reproducibility problem; one of the softest of sciences.

Exactly how certain must we be in this discussion? There is a difference between identifying the latest credible scientific hypotheses, and having knowledge that is so certain that you are willing to irreversibly alter the life of a child over it. Knowledge of the latter type should be of the utmost certainty. But this is why advocates of Gender Ideology do proceed as though the use of hormones and surgery to "transition" individuals is science that is as firmly established as William Harvey's theory of the circulation of blood (It must not be questioned!). Yet almost any particular element of this treatment (much less the entire composite) is highly questionable. Human beings are still accumulating knowledge about the long term effects of consuming red meat, but we have the utmost confidence in our knowledge of the the long-term effects of the chemical and biochemical agents used in these treatments?

Higher risk of blood clots, heart attack, strokes, diabetes, and many other conditions have been connected to gender hormone replacement therapy. This is according to mainstream sources; I strongly encourage the readers to look it up. Can a minor child (whose brain is not even fully developed) make a decision with those kinds of ramifications? To be clear, Conservatives fully support the right of every adult to seek out such treatments, and this Conservative would certainly fight against any attempt to curtail that right. But that right has been in place for decades. Today we are talking about something quite different. We are talking about the violation of children. For children are violated anytime the adults around them attempt to make the kind of decisions for them which they can only make themselves as adults.

[xerith-42]

That AU where Aphmau Blows up

Shout out to @thornsofrustandash for the idea. This just came to me like a prophetic vision.

Okay so I usually change Aphmau's name because I hate calling her that, but I have warmed up to just shortening it because Aph is a really cute nickname and it's more accessible to people who can't be bothered to keep track of the 5th Aphmau rename they've read this weak.

This post is me pushing my garrancemau propaganda so if you aren't down with that, idk what to tell you you just don't have taste /j

If you're reading this, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I know this isn't what we wanted, I know I'm supposed to be better than this. I was once a lord, I should know the responsibility that comes with it, and I shouldn't be so selfish.

But I need to think for myself. Have I not earned the right to selfishness after all those years of sacrificing myself for others? That's why I have to do this. I'm sorry.

Aaron, I need you to look after Lilith. I know she's going to miss me, but you're a great father and you have plenty of people who will help you with whatever you need so long as you ask for it. That's what I've always tried to tell you, and I'll keep telling you from the great beyond if I have to.

To my guards and friends, I'll miss you dearly. I wish we could share one last celebration with one another, but after this, there will be plenty of reason for celebration. Please don't let the tragedy of my death outweigh the triumph of my accomplishments. Remember me fondly, keep love in your hearts, and go forward knowing that you are some of the best companions a woman could ask for.

And to my head guards... [There's a noticeable teardrop staining the page and causing some of the ink to bleed] I'm sorry. For everything.

Goodbye.

Aph

A tear slipped down her face again, one that Aph was quickly wiping away as she folded up the letter and left it on her bedside table. She glanced over at her bed, where Lilith was swaddled up in a blanket and snuggling her favorite doll, one Laurance had carved for her. Aph's heart dropped at the image, the final thing that would make her doubt what she was about to do.

She had to remind herself that it wasn't a guarantee it would kill her. Only a possibility. She could hear Zoey rightly correct her that it was a high possibility, but she had to do this. Aph walked over to her daughter, placed a final kiss on her forehead, and then left her home. The Phoenix Alliance was quiet. It usually was, but somehow it felt even emptier under the light of the full moon. As if they're city was as abandoned as the one they had found on the island.

Her eyes kept catching on the sings of life. A guitar leaned up against a stand, the sound of cows snoring in their pens, and the many clothes strung along the drying racks reminded her that they lived here. They were making a home here. Aph had a home. The relic fragment pulled at her, reminder her that she had to protect her home. She had to. She couldn't stand seeing that sad look in Vylad's eyes anymore.

She nearly sprinted past Lucinda's house after traveling through the portal. She couldn't let anyone find her. They might be able to talk her out of this. Luckily she knew the path like the back of her hand. The forests of Phoenix Drop had changed quite a lot over 15 years, and yet they were exactly as Aph had remembered them.

The fragment in her pocket started to pull at her further and further, as if responding to the magic around the closed portal. Aph pulled the piece out, turning over the small purple orb in her hands.

"Take me to him," She commanded, and a burst of light instantly went off, magic springing from the fragment and latching onto the frame of the portal. It flashed red, and the portal was open. She could almost see him. Aph reached her hand through, and when she did, she could instantly feel the heavy blue fabric she knew so well. "Garroth!"

Aph pulled, yanking him out of the dimension and to the floor, where he was instantly followed by Zane who now stood before her. The relic fragment in her hand continued to spark with magic even as she tried to close the portal. Both Garroth and Zane needed a moment to readjust to being in the overworld. It was Zane who took less time, who realized where he was, and who he was in front of.

Bright white angel wings filled Garroth's vision as he looked up at the lord he loved so dearly.

"A-Aph?" Garroth muttered out. "What are you doing?"

"Saving your life," She answered, a smile evident in her voice. Though it faintly echoed with an unfamiliar sound, overlapping with the voice of another. "I'm sorry I couldn't do it before!"

"Wait!" Her hand shot forward, reaching straight for Zane's chest as she held onto the fragment even tighter, trying to hone and focus all the stray magic that was jumping from it.

"W-What are you doing?!" Zane gasped out as he saw her eyes start to glow white. "YOU'LL KILL US BOTH!!" Finally, she had clarity. Zane had put it so well. In order to succeed, she had to kill them both. A relic for a relic, a life for a life.

"That's the plan." Aph turned around and looked down at Garroth, her eyes becoming amber for this final moment. "I love you." A blinding white light filled her eyes, and an explosion rang out across the land.

"What happened?!" Dante nearly screamed as he raced to the explosion site. He prayed that Alexis would find no refugees were harmed, but all thoughts were swept from his mind when he got a clear view of the crater where the forest once was. Black and purple essence was scattered across the destroyed land, some parts were still actively on fire, and near the edge of the crater was Garroth. "Garroth?!"

Dante didn't get a reply. Garroth was still in shock, his hands trembling, and his eyes trying to cry. He was trying, but all he could seem to do was shake.

"Garroth, what happened?" Dante's voice sounded far, like he was talking to someone else. Garroth fell to his knees as he saw what laid at his feet where she once stood. A leather bound notebook with a rather crude "Aph" carved into the front of it. It was worn, clearly loved, and when Garroth traced his fingers over the poor thing like it would break, he could almost feel her life force coming from the pages.

It should have been louder. Garroth should have been filled with anger, something violent, something heard. Instead, the moment he held her diary in his hands, Garroth broke out into the sort of weeping he hadn't allowed since he was a child. Since the last time he lost someone this important to him. Garroth's crying was quiet. His tears were plentiful, but the sound was reserved, only a few sobs escaping between gasps for breath.

"Dante!" Travis called out, only seeing the backs of the two men. "Dante, what's going--" He stopped short when Dante turned around and he saw the tears streaming down his face. It made both men freeze at the sudden display of emotion. "What... What happened?" Dante glanced back at the weeping Garroth, and opted to step away and bring the conversation somewhere he couldn't hear.

"I-I don't really have any details yet. Garroth's not exactly comprehensible right now," Dante explained with a shaky voice. Travis faintly wanted to hold his shaking hands, just to console him a little. "Seems like nobody else was harmed in the explosion... Except..."

"Except...?" Travis repeated.

"A-Aph. I'm pretty sure she was the uh... The cause." Travis could hear his heart beating in his head as the entire world came out of focus. He couldn't really process what Dante said at first, and when he did, he felt numb. Like he should have some big reaction to the information, but instead it just left him feeling cold. "I-I'm going to keep looking around, see if I can't find a sign that she's alive."

"Yeah, y-you should do that. I'm... Enki help me, I don't know what I'm going to do."

"You could help me." Travis didn't have the heart to tell Dante his effort would be fruitless. It's not like Dante would listen anyways.

"I think I'm going to go tell the others." Dante nodded, before walking back towards the site. Travis' body moved without his own will, his legs suddenly having a mind of their own. His head felt heavy and yet also weightless, and he felt dizzy. Things only came into clarity for a moment when he saw Katelyn limping down the path through Phoenix Drop towards him.

That was when Travis got a hold of himself again, and he was suddenly racing towards her, catching Katelyn's weak form in his arms like it was instinct.

"Katelyn? What are you doing out of bed?!" Travis almost yelled.

"Like I was gonna sit still after hearing that," Katelyn groaned as she leaned against his weight. Travis' arm wrapped around her waist to hold her up like it was nothing. "What happened?"

"Still figuring that out."

"Where's Aph? I-Is she safe?" Travis's heart dropped, and he could feel the beginning of tears.

"I-I don't know."

"You don't know what?! Where she is or if she's safe?! You're her guard you should--" Katelyn stopped her yelling when she saw the tear finally slip down Travis' cheek. "No, no, no. Don't--"

"I-I'm sorry, Katelyn."

"No! She can't be!!" Katelyn was suddenly fighting against Travis, trying to break free from the grip he had on her waist. Instead, it just turned into Travis pulling her in even closer, wrapping both his arms around her tightly as Katelyn began to wail. The sound of her agony was enough to finally push those stubborn tears from Travis' eyes as e clung onto her.

They barely noticed the figure rush past them. His vision was somehow hazier than usual with the added tears in his eyes. It was when he stumbled into the crater and saw the man standing before him that the whirlwind of emotions quieted down, and Laurance was able to hear his own thoughts, feel his body again.

Mere moments before he felt an unholy amount of pain, a miserable feeling of mourning consumed every part of his body, and when he saw what remained he realized why. He saw Garroth's absolutely pitiful expression as he clutched onto her diary like a lifeline. Laurance's mind was quiet at first. Just him. Just the realization of all he had lost in a single moment. And all he was now able to lose.

Finally there was a sound to rival the explosion, a single noise to encapsulate the grief. A miserable scream that cracked and broke as it continued to tear through the land as Laurance came to terms with everything he had lost, and everything he was about to lose. The poor man could only fall to his knees and scream as it all came crashing down on him. A cacophony of voices filled his ears, only making it worse as tears forced their way through glassy eyes.

The voices of the calling were the same, yet because they called for something new, none of them sounded right. Nothing was right. Laurance's body felt like it was being ripped apart all over again and it didn't even matter this time because she was gone. He had failed her and possibly doomed everyone because of it. Every time Laurance tried to focus on the anguish of her loss, it was always weighed down by the agony of his own curse. The curse he bore for her sake was now meaningless.

Eventually Laurance's voice went hoarse. It was only then that he finally looked up and saw Garroth. The man he had spent so long fighting to get back, the man who he was ready to rip apart the realm barrier for, the man who was so loved he had more than one person willing to do that. Adoration and love swelled in Laurance for a moment, and emotion got the better of him. Laurance threw himself into Garroth's arms, and Garroth caught him and held him like it was the easiest thing in the world. He held Laurance's sobbing form and continued to weep himself.

Neither knew how to feel about the few tears of joy they initially shed while holding each other. They didn't last very long, and were rather quickly overshadowed by mourning. Garroth managed to stand up and walk the two of them away from the crater, before he collapsed against a tree and allowed his body to finally relax.

Neither Laurance or Garroth spoke for quite some time. It was just the two of them and her diary. At some point Garroth must have decided he'd had enough of wearing the heavy armor, but he never set Laurance down. Even as they walked through the streets of an empty Phoenix Drop that Garroth wanted nothing more than to explore. He'd need time to adjust to their new world, he knew that, but he always dreamed he'd do it hand in hand with the people he cared most about. He never imagined it would be him and Laurance stumbling into Aph's empty home at the top of the hill, and then collapsing before they could get to their own bed.

Now Garroth lay on the floor, Laurance still on top of him, and both of them seemingly run out of tears. That wouldn't last long.

"We should at least get to bed," Garroth suggested quietly. He was met with the sound of Laurance's sniffles.

"I can't," Laurance answered.

"Why not?" Laurance sat up, finally getting off of Garroth and letting him sit up. Laurance tried in vain to wipe his eyes, knowing it likely wouldn't do anything.

"I-I can't. I can't be around you for much longer."

"Why? What's wrong?" Laurance's body began to tremble. His blood ran hot. If his voice weren't already so hoarse, Laurance might have screamed. No no no this couldn't be real-- "Laurance, please talk to me."

"I can't!" Laurance backed away from Garroth, but refusing to move too much. He wasn't sure if he moved if he would have control of his body. He couldn't take the risk. "Calling!" That's all Garroth needed to hear.

The calling. He'd helped Laurance with it before, and Aph had told him how it was harming Laurance. Neither knew too many specifics unless Laurance disclosed them, but Garroth did know exactly what he was saying. There was no doubt that Dante's effort to find her was meaningless. She was dead and Laurance knew the second it happened. And now the calling had simply switched targets.

"I..." Garroth's voice trailed off. What was he supposed to say?

Aph would know what to say.

The thought made Garroth feel like crying all over again, but he didn't dare look away from Laurance. Especially not when he saw his eyes flash red.

"I'm sorry," Laurance whispered. "I love you." And like that, he was gone. In almost an instant Laurance had stood up and taken off, faster than Garroth was capable of keeping up with.

"Laurance!!" He desperately cried out, scrambling to stand up in his heavy armor, and barely making it to their door before he realized it was hopeless. As the sun started to peek over the horizon, Garroth looked out upon an almost empty Phoenix Drop, and he couldn't contain his anguish anymore. Garroth fell to his knees in the doorway of his beloveds home, and wept for his lost lovers once more.

hi i actually have a lot more ideas about this but this post is really long and writing this au is literally hurting me so I'm gonna make another post with more stuff later okay bye

[meganwritesfanfics]

Don't Know Much

Next Part

Joel Miller x freader

TRIGGER WARNING: BLOOD,TALK OF LOSS OF PREGNANCY, DARK THEMES.

This series is going to be a retelling of The Last of Us series but with the reader added in. I'm so excited for this I have had it milling around in my brain for a while and I finally got it written down. Please leave comments and share with your other Last of Us loving friends.

Her nice dream was rudely interrupted but the sound of a phone vibrated against a wooden nightstand. Next to her, her boyfriend slept soundly. One thing that Y/N envied about Joel was his ability to sleep through everything. She was a light sleeper, and her constant state of nausea definitely didn’t help. “Morning sickness should be renamed all day sickness.” She thought.

“Joel,” She groaned as she shoved his sleeping body. But he didn’t move. The phone continued to vibrate and she heard it fall off the nightstand landing on the floor. “Joel.” She said louder as she pushed him even harder. 

“Hmmm,” He groaned as he turned over and pulled Y/N into his arms. “Five more minutes.” 

“Your phone is ringing,” She replied as she tried to wriggle out of his arms. 

He growled as he reached over to his bedside table without actually looking. His hand slammed against the table where his phone usually was, but found nothing there. 

“It fell on the floor.” Y/N yawned as she turned over trying to fall back asleep. 

She could hear him feeling around on the ground before he finally got a hold of it and answered. 

“This better be good.” He sighed as he flopped back on the bed rubbing his eyes with his free hand. “They are offering how much?” He quickly sat up, and Y/N sighed knowing there was no way she was going to fall back asleep. And just as she accepted this thought, she felt the ever familiar waves of nausea hit her and she bolted from the bedroom out into the hall and into the bathroom. 

After a few moments she heard the heavy footfall of Joel make his way into the bathroom. He knelt beside her with one hand holding back her hair and with the other rubbing small circles on her back. This had been their routine almost every morning for the past three months.

“What did Tommy want?” She said as she leaned back into Joel’s arms, her eyes closed tightly as she tried to get a handle on the nausea. 

“He has a job for us,” He sighed as he kissed the side of her head. Joel hated seeing his girl in pain. He had gone through this once before with Sarah’s mother, but this was Y/N first kid, and her body seemed to have taken the pregnancy much harder. 

“But it’s your day off.” She groaned and Joel moved so that his arm snaked its way under her legs. He carefully lifted her up and carried her back to the bedroom. 

“I know darlin’ and I wouldn’t usually take a job on a day off, I want to spend as much time with you and Sarah as possible. But Tommy said they are offering a lot of money. And with this little one on the way.” He placed his hand on her stomach. 

“I know, extra money would be nice.” Y/N buried her face in his neck. “Just promise you will be home for dinner.” She kissed his cheek as she began to make her away off of his lap rubbing the back of her neck wiping away the sweat. 

“I will try my best.” He smiled as he watched her walk around the room with pure love in his eyes. 

“Good, you better, I’m making cornbread tonight.” She teased as she pulled her shirt off reaching into the dresser. 

“Oh well then I will run my way home.” He rushed forward placing his hands on her stomach as he wrapped his arms around her. “Are you going to be nice to mommy today?” He ran patterns with his fingers over her exposed skin. 

“Hopefully she will let me keep down some food today.” Y/N giggled slightly as Joel hit a ticklish spot. She grabbed one of Joel’s shirts and threw it on. His hands didn’t move but stayed underneath the shirt. 

“Call me if you need anything.” Joel said as he backed away and began to get changed as well. 

“Joel, honey, I love you, but you are the worst at answering your phone when you are on a job.” 

“I will keep my phone on so loud.” Joel insisted. 

“Ok, baby, sure.” Y/N laughed as she pulled on some pants. 

Before she had a chance to look back up at him she felt arms wrap around her as he dragged her back to the bed. 

“Joel!” She squealed as quietly as she could but she was silenced by Joel’s lips finding hers. 

“I love you. You know that. So damn much.” He said between kisses. 

“God you two are loud.” A voice said. Joel and Y/N sat up to see Sarah leaning against the doorway with a smile on her face. 

“Oh shit,” Joel laughed as he fell back onto the bed. 

“Oh Sarah, I’m sorry did we wake you?” Y/N said as she made her way towards her. 

“No, Mercy has been barking for an hour or so, I have been up for a while.” Sarah said. “What are you doing up Dad, you are never up this early?” 

“Uncle Tommy called and he has a job he wants us to go work.” 

“But it’s your day off,” Sarah whined and Y/N quickly reached over and rubbed Sarah’s arm gently. Y/N had been in Sarah’s life for as long as the young girl could remember. And for all intents and purposes, Y/N was her mother. So when Y/N and Joel had told her that was going to be a big sister, she couldn’t help but be ecstatic. 

“I know babygirl, I’m sorry. But Y/N said she would make cornbread tonight so you best believe I will be rushing back as fast as possible.” Joel said. “And I will let you pick whatever movie you want for tonight.”  

“We are so watching My Big Fat Greek Wedding tonight,” Sarah laughed as she turned and went into the bathroom. 

“Oh God, what did I just sign up for?” Joel laughed as he came up behind Y/N again. 

“You did this to yourself,” Y/N said as she turned back and kissed him again. “Now you hurry off to work so that you can come back and watch that movie with us.” She teased. 

Sarah had spent most of the day working on homework in front of the tv, while Y/N graded papers. She was a high school English teacher and her kids had just read The Great Gatsby and had to write papers about it. 

“Have I mentioned how much I hate math!” Sarah called from the living room and Y/N couldn’t help but chuckle as she took off her glasses and rubbed her tired eyes. 

“Honey, if I thought I could be of any help I would love to help you. But there is a reason I became an English teacher.” Y/N called and she was just about to start back in on reading when she felt a sharp pain in her stomach. She froze for a moment but just as quickly as it appeared the pain was gone. “What’s going on in there baby?” She whispered as she rubbed her stomach. 

As she continued to read every once and a while she would get hit with another flash of pain but it went away, so she didn’t think anything of it. After the last incident caused her to double over, she finally took off her glasses and stood up. 

“I must just be hungry.” She thought hopefully. “Sarah, sweetie why don’t you take a break and I will make us some lunch.” 

“Can we watch Buffy while we eat!” Sarah exclaimed excitedly. The two had been watching Y/N’s vhs copies of the show every day after school, it was a nice bonding moment for them while they waited for Joel to get off work. 

After making sandwiches, Y/N and Sarah sat on the couch and started the episode they had left off on. 

“Buffy is so badass,” Sarah said as they watched her take down a dozen vampires. 

Y/N laughed when suddenly she was hit with another wave of pain. She doubled over as she gasped. 

“Are you ok?” Sarah asked her eyes wide with concern. 

The pain subsided and Y/N sighed. “Yeah, it’s nothing.” She had just started to lean back when another wave of pain hit her again. 

“Ok now I’m scared. What’s going on?” Sarah asked as she quickly turned the tv off. 

“I…” Y/N started when she doubled over in pain once more. “Sarah, I need you to call your Uncle Tommy.” 

“Shouldn’t I call Dad?” 

“He won’t hear his phone,” Y/N said as she began to stand up. 

“Ok I…” Sarah started when she froze. “Your pants.” She gasped. 

“What?” Y/N said and she looked down to see blood starting to appear. “No, no, no, no.” She cried as she bolted for the bathroom. 

“Y/N!” Sarah yelled as she took off after her. “Mom!” But Y/N had already gotten to the bathroom and slammed the door. 

“Just call Tommy, Sarah. Please.” 

“But Mom, I…” 

“Just do it!” Y/N screamed again in pain. 

Sarah ran for the phone, her hands shook as she tried to dial the number. She messed up the first few times before she finally calmed down enough to dial it. 

“Hey kiddo,” Tommy answered after a few rings. “Lucky you called when you did, I just happen to be on a break and I…” 

“You and Dad need to come home right now.” She hurriedly said. 

“Woah woah woah,” Tommy responded, his voice changing tones quickly. “What's wrong? Joel!” She heard him call out. 

“It’s Y/N, she… she was in pain and bleeding and she locked herself in the bathroom, I don’t know what to do.” Sarah said, her voice cracking. 

“Fuck,” Tommy breathed. “Ok, we are on our way.” 

Sarah sat guard outside the bathroom door, she could hear Y/N crying inside but no matter how much she pounded on the door, Y/N wouldn’t open it. It felt like an eternity before she finally heard the sound of the truck pulling in the driveway. 

“Sarah!” She heard her father scream as he burst in. “Y/N!” 

“Up here!” Sarah cried as she stood up. 

Joel appeared, his face full of worry as he bounded up the stairs two at a time before he reached Sarah pulling her in for an embrace. 

“What happened?” 

“I don’t know, I mean I think I know but I’m hoping I’m wrong and… Mom locked herself in the bathroom, I can hear her crying, I tried to find the key, but it’s gone…” Sarah’s words were quickly drowned out by her tears. 

“I’m here now it’s ok, everything is going to be ok.” He said and he gently moved her to the side as he faced the door. “Y/N, it’s me. I need you to open the door darlin’.” 

There was no response. 

“Ok, Sarah I need you to back up alright,” Joel said as he backed up so his back was against the hallway wall and then used all the strength he had to kick open the door. 

As the door swung open Joel felt his heart shatter as she saw Y/N in the tub her knees pulled up to her chest and he could see blood on the toilet and a bloody handprint on the tub and the wall. 

“Tommy take Sarah downstairs.” Joel said as he slowly inched into the room and shut the door behind him as best he could. 

“I yelled at Sarah,” Y/N said as she looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears and her face covered in them. 

“It’s ok,” Joel said quietly. By the time he reached the tub tears had already started to fall onto his cheeks. Y/N looked so broken. 

“The baby Joel… I lost…” Y/N started when she crumbled into sobs. 

Joel cautiously climbed in the tub and pulled Y/N into him. 

“No, Joel the blood you’ll…” She tried to say but Joel just held her tighter. 

“Shh,” He soothed but his voice cracked as buried his face in Y/N hair. “I’m so sorry Y/N.” He sobbed. 

“I don’t know what I did, I followed everything the doctor told me I…” 

“No,” Joel quickly said as he pushed her back and grabbed her face in his hands as he made her look at him. “This is not your fault don’t you dare even think that.” He said. 

“Oh Joel.” She sobbed and she wrapped her arms around him burying her face in his chest. 

Joel didn’t have any words to comfort her, his own heart was broken both for Y/N and the pain she was in, and for his own loss of a child. They stayed in the tub for a while before Joel helped Y/N get undressed and showered. He stayed in the shower with her, fully clothed and helped wash her. Neither said a word as they stood under the water, just fully absorbing what had happened. They knew they would have to go to the doctor at some point, but neither were ready to hear the word actually said outloud. Miscarriage. 

After the shower, Joel grabbed Y/N one of his t-shirts and helped her change, before he carried her back into the bedroom and laid her on the bed. 

“I’ll be right back.” He said as he kissed the side of her head and made his way back towards the bathroom. 

“Dad,” A small voice called from downstairs. Joel turned and saw Sarah and Tommy at the bottom of the stairs looking up at him. 

“Uh,” He cleared his throat as he wiped his face. “Tommy will you take Sarah to go get some ice cream or whatever she wants.” 

“Is mom ok?” Sarah asked and Joel could tell from how red and puffy her eyes were that she hadn’t stopped crying since he last saw her. 

Joel felt the lump in his throat grow bigger. He looked down at his feet because he knew that if he kept looking at Sarah he would completely lose it.  “She’s um…” He couldn’t even form cohesive thoughts at the moment. He wiped his face again. “We will need to go to the doctor to be sure, but we are pretty positive that she lost the baby.” 

Sarah let out a small whimper and Tommy quickly put his arm around her shoulder. 

“I will sit down to talk to you more about it when you and Tommy get back but right now I need to take care of Y/N, ok babygirl.” 

Sarah just nodded. 

“Give me another hour Tommy.” Joel asked as he looked back up and made eye contact with his brother who had tears in his eyes. 

“I’m so sorry Joel.” Tommy responded and Joel nodded. “Come on Sarah, we can go get whatever you want.” 

Before they left Sarah bolted up the stairs and wrapped her arms around his middle and squeezed him tightly. “I love you daddy.” She said and Joel had to bite his lip to hold in a sob. 

“I love you too Sarah.” 

“Tell mom I love her.” She replied. 

“I will.” Joel leaned down and kissed the top of Sarah’s head as she let go and ran back down to Tommy. 

The minute that Joel heard them leave he crumpled onto the stairs into sobs. He let himself have a moment before he made his way into the bathroom. He made quick work of cleaning it as he wanted to get back to Y/N. 

As he entered the bedroom once more he could hear Y/N quietly sobbing as she lay curled up on the bed. Joel kicked off his shoes and crawled in next to her pulling her into him so she was against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her. 

“Was Sarah ok?” Y/N asked between her sobs. 

“She confused and scared but I will talk to her more when she gets back. I had Tommy take her out for a little while.” Joel said as Y/N intertwined her fingers with his. 

For the next hour they lay together and cried, mourning the child they would never meet. 

Next Part

[bonefall]

Ooh ooh ooh Do you think you could do a masterpost for Dishonor and Honor titles? As well as maybe renames/the general Meaning and etiquette around names?

Yeah I really need to sit down and do that. You should know me by now though, brain goes 200 MPH and picks a random thing to focus on!

I'll slap down a casual list though just of everything I remember

HONOR TITLES:

Daylight -> Clawface Given by Brokenstar after a really bloody battle to boost Clan morale. One Clawface wanted because he didn't like his 'poetic' old name and wanted to sound cool and strong.

Meltpelt -> Ratscar Given by Brokenstar for surviving being buried in rats at Carrionplace. Broken was fond of honor titles.

Leafstripe -> Leafpool For discovering the Moonpool

Lizardtail -> Hallowflight For heroics during the Great Battle, running a marathon to fetch help and betraying the Dark Forest

Stormpaw -> Crookedjaw Disappeared to fully train himself, discovering how to fight and hunt with his injury and killing an old fox alone.

Hoprunner -> Deadfoot Created a battle technique where he distracted with his good paw, and clobbered with his bad one. Eventually created a "bonker" for the arm that would keep the wrist firm so bonkings didn't cause recoil damage.

Bluefur -> Bluemoon Unsure how she got the title though, still working that out

Stormcloud -> Monsterscar He will get this as first order of business after Bramblestar retires, or when Stormcloud dies in-canon

Thorntuft -> Shredtail He earned this title after he killed a boar, but it wasn't THE ONE who ate his family so he kept going.

DISHONOR TITLES

??? -> Maggottail Unsure how exactly, but this one is definitely a dishonor title.

Brightpaw -> Swifthound Dishonor Titles do not mock scars or the surviving of grievous injuries. Those things are VALUED in Clan society. Dishonor titles are abstract, meant to mock mistakes and follies and publicly shame the cat. Brightpaw was being reminded, every day, of the fact she got Swiftpaw killed violently. It was considered cruel and disgusting to do this when her cousin dying should have been punishment enough.

Stonefur -> Heartworm Tigerstar is calling him a deadly parasite that must be dealt with before he destroys the Clan from the inside out.

Mistyfoot -> Festerberry Similar to Stonefur, this is the Clanmew word for an abscess or pustule.

Featherpaw -> Silverpaw & Stormpaw -> Graypaw To liken them to their codebreaking parents and to say that they are the reason their mother is dead. Their father isn't even decent enough to pay for his crimes, so they will be punished instead.

Breezepelt -> Rottenheart Great Battle involvement. For being the little ringleader in WindClan.

Sunstrike -> Brokensun Great Battle involvement. References an extinguished sun that no longer shines.

Furzepelt -> Fleapelt Great Battle involvement.

Harestar -> Darkseeker Great Battle involvement. References how he sought the Dark Forest to meet Mudclaw

Mousewhisker -> Stupidhead Great Battle involvement. Same word in Clanmew as 'Mousebrain.' Meant to reference how he had no bad intentions, but still ended up on the side of the Dark Forest by not thinking through the implications of training in hell. Backfires massively because it's REALLY funny, and a perfect example of Bramblestar being an awful namer.

Spiderleg -> Spiderbite Great Battle involvement. For almost killing his son, Toadstep. In Clanmew this word is, "Spider-Doing Cannibalism," a rough translation to English.

Blossomfall -> Shredbloom Great Battle involvement. More direct translation would be "Removed-Bud" referencing a flower bud plucked before it could become fruit.

RiverClan and ShadowClan didn't apply any Dishonor Titles for Great Battle involvement.

[asherbakugou]

King Viserys had called his Small Council, his daughter Rhaenyra, her husbands, the Velaryon family, his wife, and his sons. He announced that, as he had never announced an heir after disinheriting Rhaenyra, they were to show him why they should be the heir and eventual ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.

Otto went first, advacating for Aegon. "Aegon is your firstborn son, Your Grace. I believe the people would feel more assured if a son ascended the throne as we are in tumultous times. Perhaps in the future a Queen will rule, but I do not believe now is the time for change."

Alicent agreed, advicating for Aegon. "I agree with ny Father, your Hand, husband. Aegon has also been married by the faith to Halaena in the ways of the Targaryens and now has an heir himself. Jahaerys."

Tyland Lannister, Maester Orwyle, and Jasper Wylde all advocated for Aegon.

Rickon advocated for Rhaenyra. "Your Grace. My wife rebuilt the North, making us stronger than ever. Her farmers on Dragonstone taught ours to raise and shear sheep, and then make the wool into warm, thick clothes. And in winter their meat provides."

"Her dragons created caves to nest in and discovered iron depots within, allowing us to trade in iron and weapons. Our trade with the Vale, the Stormlands, Driftmark, the Embar Glass Isles, and Dragonstone has given us the supplies to prepare for winter."

"In 118, when we had settled she had fishermen sent to the North to test something. We learned there were plenty of clams, and fish for us, and now the sea provides as our woods do."

Laenor advocated for Rhaenyra. "My wife has helped repare the rift between your family, Your Grace, and mine. She has created the fleet of the Fourteen Flames led by Ser Vaemond Velaryon, my uncle, on the ship, Arrax that now patrols Dragonstones waters. She created the army of the Second Sons, giving second sons something to fight for. They now patrol Dragonstone and protect the people from traders and others who would do them harm."

Daemon advocated for Rhaenyra. "Your Grace, Rhaenyra has taken control of the Stepstones, or as we have renamed them, the Embar Glass Isles, because of their abundance of sea glass. This opened trade with Dorne themselves, who quite adore the shards. Almost every isle has a barrack or castle, a garrison to defend it, and a fleet to patrol the waters."

"Dragonstone is now the center of trade for the Vale, the Stormlands, the North, Driftmark, and the Isles. We want for nothing. We have enough coin to last us many years. The Seven Kindoms would prosper under her rule. And any man who decided that it wasn't her place to rule would face Dark sister and I. As well as our husbands, and their families and lands. No one would think to attack us if Rhaenyra ruled."

Corlys Velaryon advocated for Rhaenyra. "Princess Rhaenyra has repared the slight you dealt to us when you married a daughter from a second son without giving any others a chance. She has given my brother a place as fleet commander, my daughter is an ambassador for Rhaenyra in Pentos and Essos. My son is now her prince consort and would rule as King Consort beside her. Our trade has expanded because of her. What has your son done in the years he's been your supposed heir?"

Rhaenys advocated for Rhaenyra. "Your Queen spoke of how the succession has been secured because of Aegons single son, Jaeharys I believe. But Rhaenyra has 16 children. And if she became Queen all would be her line of succession until her eldest, Baelon had children. She has brought back the dwindling numbers of the Targaryen family, as well as the dragons."

"19 dragons currently rest on Dragonstone, and each has a rider. There is Syrax, Caraxes, and Seasmoke. There is Morghul, Shrykos, Āeksion, Ānogar, Moondancer, and Morning. Tyvaros, Meraxes, Tyraxes, Tessarion, Cloudjumper, Vermax, and Arrax. 3 of her children have claimed Vermithor, Silverwing, and Grey Ghost."

"Your family, Your Grace, has two dragons. Sunfyre, an adolescent who is barely larger than a carruage despite his age and Dreamfyre whose rider. I doubt would ever fight in a war."

Laena advocated for Rhaenyra. "Your grace, Rhaenyra has fone something no other woman has. She has allowed her daughters, alongside her sons, to learn to fight. Each is well versed in sword fighting alongside their prefferred weapon and all hold Valyrian weapons."

"Dorne has been brought into the fold because of Rhaenyra and likely would not respond well to Aegon who does not seem to have . . . the delicacy needed to speak with them."

Lyman Beesbury advocated for Rhaenyra. "Your Grace, I have served you well and Rhaenyra has done incredible work. The crown recieves more coin from the North, the Vale, the Stormalnds, and Driftmark, than every other land. It is because of her the crown is so well off. I believe that it is time for change. Princess Rhaenys was passed over because we weren't ready, but now . . . Now Rhaenyra is ready."

Viserys, who had gone pale hearing everything his daughter had done, especially after he learned of her children and their dragons, looked to Aegon. "And you, Aegon? What is your wish?"

Aegon hesitated, glancing between his own mother and grandfather before his eyes flickered to Rhaenyra. "I advocate for Princess Rhaenyra, Your Grace. She will sit the Iron Throne better than I ever could."

At his side Alicent paled dramatically, as Otto turned red. Aemond eyed his brother with confusion, but Haelaena, she looked satisfied, and relieved.

"Rhaenyra?"

"I advocate for myself, Your Grace. My husbands, my good-family, and Lord Beesbury have given you all why I should rule."

Viserys nodded, and slowly climbed to his feet. "I will make my announcent on the morrow. For now, I rest and think."

Once the king had left, and everyone else had left, leaving Alicent and Otto with her sons, Otto whirled on Aegon. "She will kill you! Do you not understand, you fool! The Princess will order Daemon to bring her heads to her jsut to make sure you could never rule. She will kill your son and your daughter."

"If Rhaenyra wanted your sons dead, she'd have had them killed years ago before she was disinherited," Daenon drawled, emerging from the shadows with two strangers at his side.

The one to his right had black, curly hair streaked with silver-gold, and dark, purple eyes that seemed to glow in the low light of the throne room. He wore red, black and gold armor over his riding leathers, with a longsword at his waist.

The one to his left had braided silver hair and pale lilac eyes that screamed amusement, his dark skin contrasting his companions paler skin. His armors were predominently gold and black with red braces on his armes over his rider leathers. He wore a longsword at his hip with a ruby cut in the shape of a tear drip resting on the pommel.

"Ah, yes. I guess you were nver introduced. Our sons, Baelon Targaryen, heir to Dragonstone, and Aemon Targaryen, Heir to the Embar Glass Isles.

Alicent paled further as the door was swung open and Rhaenyra, Rickon and Laenor swept inside with 14 more children, guards, and horrifingly, 18 Direwolves. Some stood as tall as horses or ponies while some weren't much bigger than dogs.

"I apoligize, Queen Alicent. I believed you all would have left to see to other things. I had hoped to show ny children the famed Iron Throne," Rhaenyra stated. The little girls at her side, who were twins so alike it was impossible to tell them apart were squinting at the throne before one spoke up.

"It's ugly, Muña. When you sit in it you should add cushions."

"Father has yet to make his decision Aemma. We do not know if I will sit the throne."

"The King would be dumb not to choose you."

"Alyssa," Rhaenyra warned.

The twin ti the meft grinned and chirped, " I'm Alyssa, Muña."

"Yeah. How could you confuse us?"

Rhaenyra sighed, though it was fond, and rest her hands on their braided hair. "If you continue switching places, I'll punish both of you."

Both girls backed down with a chorused, "Yes Muña. We're sorry, Muña."

Alicent watched as the oldest girl, at least she assumed, passed her mother to join her father and her brothers it seemed. She nearly recoiled when she saw the shaved side of her head, with all of her silver-gold hair braided into a single, thick braid.

The girl was closely followed by a curly white haired, lanky yoing man who seemed to be the same age as her. He seemed nervous, indigo eyes darting around and taking everything in.

Baelon smiled, leaning down slightly to press a kiss against his sister-wife's lips, murmuring a greeting.

With horror, Alicent watched as he did the same to Lucerys before he pulled them close so they could talk.

None of Rhaenyra's family seemed bothered by the heathens, but her family all looked horrified, or confused in Aegons case.

Aegons suddenly stepped forward calling for his sisters attention. Rhaenyra looked at him cooly, thoughts hidden beneath a mask.

"I wish to know what shall happen if you ascend the Iron Throne. Where will we go?"

"I have heard Prince Aemond is a skilled swordsman. If he wished he could squire beneath any of the Kingsguard, or ny own personal guard. And if he rose through the ranks, I see no readon for him not to become the leader of the Second Sons of Dragonstone."

"Prince Daeron, who must still be fostering in Hightower, could stay if he wished. There are rumors he is training to be a Maester, yes? Then he would be welcome as Dragonstones Maester should he ever wish. And if he chooses a different path, I am sure I will find a position for him."

"But I am unsure as to where to place you, Aegon. My son, Baelon, would be my cupbearer so I cannot offer you that position. And I doubt you'd want any other. Do you have any ideas?"

"Larys Strong has been officially titled the Master of Whispers. I admit the position is interesting."

"Then it would be yours. If you proved yourself capable of holding it. And Halaena. Wherever you wish to go, I will grant you."

"The keep is my home," Halaena murnured, feebly.

"And your home it would stay. Your mother could return to Oldtown or stay. It eould be her choice."

They all noticed how she said nothing of Otto.

Aegon hoped Viserys chose her. He didn't want to be King, he never had.

Rhaenyra hoped Viserys chose her. The Hightowers were destroying the realm. She would fix it an dleave it stronger than ever for her son and his.