#revised recollection

[umbry2000]

Recess week!!! Whooo recess week!!!!

[cherriivaniila]

POV: You're Sora

This is a WIP I've been working on for the past few...idk weeks? I decided to practice working on CSP and I figured what better way than to try an animation. Especially, since it requires multiple passes over my same work over and over. This is no where near the end of the intended loop. I want it to go on - and show a wave of emotion evolve from fondness, jealousy, anguish, anger, to coldness & distance. In the POV of Sora kinda recollecting Riku's emotional evolution that (he feels) he neglected till now. And to no one's surprise, this was all inspired by music. Pls listen to this song and imagine the melodrama with me. Whenever I hear this song I always wanted to do something soriku with it.

( the song ) - The Nutcracker, Op. 71, Act II: No. 14a, Pas de deux. Andante maestoso.

I hope to finish this eventually. Im revising it little by little as I go. But im not used to working with a screenless tablet and im also relatively new to animation, so please excuse my slow work.

Unrelated, but related, I once had an art teacher tell me I was too ambitious. At the time, I told her "oh, thank you!" not realizing until idk 300 years later that she was trying to temper me back to reality. lmao. Well, I kinda get it now.

[ancuninfiles]

Comfort Pt 1. (Revised)

Screenshot by @astarionposting

6.4k words - F/M - Astarion x F! Named Tav (Nym) - 18+

Work summary: Nym, a wood-elf, finds herself thrust into leadership of a ragtag crew. From day one she is overwhelmed by the sudden responsibility. She seeks solace and unexpectedly finds herself drawn to the tent of a pale elf. In the intimacy of their encounter, they both ponder the potential for mutual comfort and connection amidst the chaos of their new journey.

OR

Chapter summary: Nym the Wood Elf finds herself Wild-Shaped in the pale elf's tent, though he is unaware of the strange druid that he's accidentally invited into his dwelling. As they inadvertently share secrets, they discover solace and connection in each other's embrace.

Tags: Smut and Fluff, Druid Tav, Soft Astarion, P in V sex, Oral (female receiving), Wood elf Tav, Blood drinking, Vampire bites, Choking, Light BDSM, Soft dom Astarion, Tav is autism-coded, Creampie, Aftercare, Astarion is a dork

MASTERLIST (Other chapters and works)

Read on AO3 (recommended)

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠

˚₊‧⁺˖✮•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•✮˖⁺‧₊˚

It was a brisk night in Faerün, and the crisp gentle breeze that whisked through the camp caused the walls of Nym’s tent to expand and contract, almost as if it were alive. 

She had gained allies, fellow victims of Mind Flayer parasites, and inexplicably, on the very first day of this ordeal, they had chosen her as their leader, though she couldn’t fathom why.

Nym was chronically indecisive, often unsure even about simple choices, such as which berry to use for jam. Consequently, every jam she made ended up as a mixed-berry concoction.

Over the day, a pounding headache had begun to possess her, and she did not know if this sudden affliction was caused by the unwanted parasite in her brain or the recent stress of her gratuitous position at the helm of her freshly instituted cohort. 

"Silvanus, save me," she whispered to herself in quiet prayer as she sat in her tent with folded legs that teetered repetitively with pent-up nervousness. 

Nym, ever avoidant, attempted to sort through the folds of her mind, searching for ways to quell her anxious streak.

Make tea? Read a book? Take a warm bath?

But they possessed no tea nor books, and certainly no hot spring.

Nym groaned, carding her fingers through her hair and tugging at her scalp. Whatelsewhatelsewhatelse? Come on, think, she pressed -

Although . . .

Nym was hit with a sudden recollection, one of when she was just a young girl seeking solace away from others.

My cat Wild Shape, she mused.

In the stream of her consciousness, Nym caught glimpses of memories where she pranced on four furry legs, finding solace within the hollows of rotten logs - far removed from the dramas of her people both physically and spiritually.

She doubted that if she were to Wild Shape into a cat and slip into the woods, her newfound acquaintances would even notice her absence; and if they did, she also doubted they would care.

Perfect, Nym thought.

She was resolute in her plan: Slink away for an hour or so. Nym felt confident that she’d be able to avoid any responsibilities, if only for a night.

Cautiously exiting her tent, she slid on her sandals and made her way into the woods, deliberately avoiding any twigs that might find their way between her toes, knowing that the sensation of such a mishap would surely trigger a paroxysm of discomfort within her.

"Argh," she fumed. As if the universe had read her mind and was out to get her, sap found its way into her sandals, and - like clockwork - was sending her teetering over the edge of sanity. 

In a rage, Nym’s form became arcane, ripping and contracting violently to suit her new cat shape.

Settling into her brown fur-covered body, Nym’s ears twitched at the high-pitched sounds caused by the bristling branches and whistling wind. These sounds, which would normally calm her frayed nerves, now caused her to vehemently tense her muscles and clench her sharp-toothed maw, unbidden.

Stepping out of her clothes, which pooled at her feet on the dirt-covered forest floor, she gingerly trekked back toward camp. 

Surely none of her companions would find it strange to see a cat wandering around the camp. In fact, they would probably just assume she was looking for scraps or hunting for fish down by the river.

As she reached the tree line, she observed that everyone was either gathered around the fire or nestled inside their tents. Grateful for the solitude, she made her way toward the flickering flames, her path taking her past the pale elf's opulent red tent. 

She couldn't remember his name. Aster? Asherion? Hmm, she pondered.

He had an air of slight menace, yet his charm couldn't be denied, she reflected. With seemingly a repertoire of sardonic quips at his disposal, he was frequently armed and ready to defuse tension with a well-timed barb, a quality she found rather admirable.

Individuals like him were invaluable in social settings, Nym believed. Her own tendency to feel self-conscious often left her at a loss for words, making her grateful for those adept at breaking the silence and easing the tension. 

Gods, it helps to have someone silly with a dark sense of humour to be idiots with. 

She wondered if he felt the same way and envisioned them becoming friends, hoping that his presence could alleviate the weight of the horrors they were sure to face; courtesy of the tadpoles nestled happily within their craniums.

She was only mere steps from the crackling fire when she heard a mouse-like sound, summoning her to look back.

To her utter surprise, it was the white-haired elven man, holding his hand out, and rubbing his thumb on his fingers in offering. The look on his face was relaxed with eyes that were slightly widened, contrasting with his otherwise composed expression.

"Psspsspsspsspsssss," the pale elf made the one sound that Nym couldn't resist in her cat form.

Hypnotized by the gesture of his digits and the sound of his call, Nym's feline pupils blew wide, expanding to consume most of her golden irises. Bringing her body tight to the ground, she stalked towards the white-haired elf's tent. 

Against her better judgment, she crawled closer to his hand, salivating as she sped up. Finally, she pounced on his hand and wrist, capturing it in a fighter’s hold, ferociously nibbling at his wrist and kicking his hand with her hind legs.

"Ah ah - we ask before we bite," he said, disarming her before gently scratching her soft, fluffy tummy. 

Unlatching, she slumped into a purring puddle of fur and slowly closed her eyes as she leaned into the relaxing sensation of his touch.

The grinning elf scooped her onto his lap and into his tent. "You are a very cuddly kitty," he cooed.

He began to pet her, starting at her armpits and making his way up to her fuzzy onyx chin. He rubbed her belly when she rolled over, and even scratched and patted the base of her tail when she rolled back onto her tummy. 

Periodically standing up on his lap, she would stretch her front paws up to his chest and nudge his chin with her head.

During her unexpected detour into the stranger’s tent, never once had it crossed her walnut-sized mind that it might be a poor decision, nor a lapse in judgment - no - her focus was solely on the way he tenderly caressed her; blessing her with the comfort that she had yearned for all night. The feeling enveloped her, possessing her mind as if she were a meagre thrall, obedient to its master's every command.

The cat-loving elf showered her with affection for several minutes before relenting; only then did Nym curl up into a ball on his hard, marble chest, peacefully trancing and purring.

She relaxed blissfully, slowly kneading at his chest with her toes and claws, thoughtlessly accepting all of the pets that the gentle pale elf offered.

"Oh kitty, I’ve had a terrible day, you wouldn't believe it,” he whispered, "your snuggles are the highlight of my evening."

He poked her wet nose with a precise, feather-light touch, causing her to twitch her head briefly before settling back comfortably on his chest.

"Do you think people will understand if I bite like you do?" He asked in his most hushed tone yet. "Will people think I'm cute if I bite like you? Gods I'm starving." He threw his unoccupied hand to his face, cupping his nose before dragging it down to his chin, stretching the skin in his wake.

The sound of his hand abruptly making contact with his face, and his odd question stirred Nym from her trance. If I bite like you do - okay? Odd. But then - Gods I'm starving? She pondered his words critically. 

Still snuggled up on his chest, she tucked her paws under herself and purred a quiet rumble, contemplating with a person-like capacity for the first time since entering his vermillion candlelit tent.

What an odd thing for one to say. Is he a cannibal? Like the Bhaalspawn type?

She sniffed to test her theory, but his fresh scent of bergamot and rosemary led her to conclude that he was indeed not a Bhaalspawn. What she had read about Bhaalspawn had taught her that a lingering diluted stench of rot always accompanied them.

She quizzed herself, questioning what other creatures consumed the flesh or blood of humanoids, considering zombies or hags; however, upon examining the flawless complexion of the man beneath her, she realized that her hypotheses were impossible. 

A vampire? No way. He was in the beating sun when we’d met, and he would’ve been ash before I even got there if that were the case; although . . . 

She peered down at his face, looking for what she knew to be the tell-tale signs of a vampire: red eyes, pale skin, and sharp teeth.

Standing on his hard chest, she noticed his eyes were closed. 

Despite his peaceful expression, she felt it necessary to disturb his rest - if not to confirm her suspicions, then to set her curious mind at ease.

Ghosting her whiskers over his lips, she successfully stirred him from his evanescent trance

"Oh, kitty - you are so sweet," he squeaked, blinking and sitting up before Nym could properly inspect his irises.

The handsome man set her down beside him and stretched his arms, first grasping one elbow and then the other, accompanied by a bend of his torso.

Standing in the pale elf’s blankets, she peered up to his candlelit face which, much to her dismay, bore two garnet-coloured eyes.

Well - if he doesn't have fangs, he could be part drow

Without missing a beat, he flashed her a toothy grin, revealing his long, sharp canine teeth.

The sudden realization caused panic to surge through her; if what she knew of the Vampyre held true, the beautiful elven man would surely make a meal of her.

Arching her back, Nym’s fur stuck straight out in all directions.

The stranger did not notice, for he was gazing in the other direction.

"Well kitty, time for me to start getting ready to rest," he said with a smile as he took off his night-shirt, exposing his toned muscles that rippled under lightly freckled ivory skin. His thumbs slid under the waistband of his breeches, making his next move all too clear: he was going to remove his trousers.

Nym wasn't the most socially aware, but she knew it was exceedingly inappropriate to gaze upon someone's nude form without their knowledge; an act known as peeping, she recalled, remembering a passage she’d read on the topic once before.

Just as he was readying himself to stand and pulling his pants past his hip bones, Nym panicked and, on impulse, arcanely ripped herself back into her regular humanoid self.

She had dismissed her Wild Shape, leaving her bare-bodied and trembling before the half-naked vampire. 

They both screamed, their voices overlapping, before instinctively moving to cover each other's mouths with their hands. Then, a heavy silence descended as they locked eyes, both filled with terror.

"What was that? Is everyone okay?" Yelled the wizard from his tent.

The pale elf vehemently tore Nym’s hand from his mouth. "Yes, Just practicing for the opera!" He yelled while rolling his eyes before looking at her with downward-canting brows, a deep frown painting his face.

"I see. Maybe save it for tomorrow instead of waking everyone at camp, thank you," spoke the wizard once more.

Nym couldn't help but giggle under his palm; perhaps her worry was all for naught, as his playful fib toward the wizard had served to remind her of the lighthearted demeanour he'd shown all day.

Suddenly becoming too aware of her nudity, she pulled away from his palm, hugging her knees to her chest. She would have rather planned to be naked in front of him; instead, she’d transformed and had yet to learn how to do so while maintaining her clothed state.

"Can I - er - have that blanket for a moment, please," Nym asked, shyly.

The pale elf scoffed. "Fine, but only because I am such a gentleman - Godsdamned druids." He gave her the blanket and she prudently draped it over her shoulders and around her knees.

"I - um - I'm really sorry," she apologized, her gaze falling and her cheeks blushing with embarrassment.

The handsome elf pinched his brow ridge between his finger and thumb, closing his eyes and scrunching his face in a scowl. "Why did you let me go on for so long, believing you were a real cat?"

As he spoke, Nym looked at him, but when she began to ponder the answer to his question, her gaze fell once more. 

"I guess it's just that when I Wild Shape, sometimes the instincts of whatever animal I turn into take over me; like I'm not in control," she explained, "You summoned me with your - bewitching gestures and sounds.” Her face screwed up as she recalled his actions.

The pale elf covered his face with both hands as if trying to hide his embarrassment. "Oh, Gods - save me for once. Please just this once."

Witnessing his expression, Nym felt a pang of guilt; nevertheless, as the leader, she knew she had to be open with him about her conclusions on his vampiric affliction. Still, her resolve warred with embarrassment, causing her already poor communication skills to fray ever so slightly.

"I - er - heard what you said about biting and what-not," Nym said, pushing past her nervousness, "And your eyes! Your teeth - well. . . Also, I forgot your name; what was it again? Asherton?"

He ran both hands through his hair, gripping his scalp as his eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened, fixed on the tent floor. 

"This isn't happening," he said, voice cracking, "No - this isn't real. I must be having a nightmare or - something." 

Nym internally scrutinized his frantic demeanour, her frustration mounting as she sensed her words falling on deaf ears. "Rah,” she groaned, “I said I'm sorry and it's okay that you're toothy and bitey," she snipped.

For some reason, she felt oddly comfortable around this man - this creature - who could easily rip her throat out.

He breathed deeply, sighing on the exhale. "Astarion."

"A'staring at what? I'm sorry - I'll look away," said Nym, turning her head sideways, hoping to make him feel more comfortable.

"No, you blubbering idiot. That's my name - my name's Astarion," he quipped.

"Oh - uh - so can I look at you or not?" She asked him in earnest.

"If a wall were nearby, I would smash my head against it," Astarion confided.

"Why would you do that?” Nym prodded, looking at him quizzically.

Astarion stared daggers at her, mouth agape and brows knitted together.

. . . 

A pregnant silence blanketed the duo, stirring unease within Nym.

"I should go,” she professed, readying herself to stand and pinching his beige blanket together near her décolleté.

As she turned to his tent flap, she felt a cool hand grasp her arm, engendering her to look back.

˚₊‧⁺˖✮•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•✮˖⁺‧₊˚

"Wait!" Astarion pleaded.

By the time the word left his mouth, it had been too late to mask the desperation in his tone.

Seeking reparation, Astarion intentionally lowered his volume. "Look - I just need more details on what you found out about me," he spoke with a serious intonation, tilting his head down and gazing up at her through his eyelashes.

Nym turned to face him, still draped in his taupe blanket like a cloak. "Oh - well... I might have concluded that you’re a vampire, but it confuses me that you can walk in the sun." Her words tumbled out quickly, driven more by her curiosity than by fear of the monster before her.

As Astarion forced a smile, he expelled a sigh tinged with frustration.

"Ah - okay, glad we've cleared that up. Now, is there any chance that you could keep those pretty little lips of yours shut about this specific topic with the others? I would much rather broach the topic myself," he said, letting go of her forearm. 

She blinked rapidly, as if trying to process his words, her expression shifting from confusion to mild offence. 

"I wasn't planning on telling anyone,” she reassured, her voice softening with each word. “I have the feeling that you're not dangerous; well - not dangerous to us at least."

"What?" His eyes widened in mock horror. "I'll have you know I am very dangerous, actually." He smiled, the corners of his lips twitching with amusement.

"I know! That’s not what I mean, though. I’m realizing that I think you wouldn’t hurt me; am I correct?" Nym asked, only somewhat fearing what the answer might be.

Astarion pursed his lips to the side and held his chin in thought. "Hmm." 

Releasing his chin, he scanned Nym’s form, his eyes roving up her body and then landing on her face. This could be an opportunity, he thought.

In an instant, he turned on his charm, honed over two hundred years of courting partners to bring back to his master in Bladur’s Gate.

Flashing her a roguish grin, he started, "Not unless you want me to," he said before leaning in close to Nym, his lips nearly brushing on her ear, "darling."

His last word was spoken like an enchantment, sending a pleasant chill down her spine and causing her to shiver, unbidden.

Nym froze in place, her face reddening deeply. "I'm not quite sure what you mean by that," she exclaimed.

"I recall you biting me without asking, dear." He snaked his right hand to the back of her head, fingers gently running through her hair. "Do you remember what I told you?"

Nym gulped and gazed at his handsome, pale face, mere centimetres from hers - her heart beating quickly as if she were merely a rabbit in the jaws of a sly fox. Despite her increased heart rate, she instinctively held her breath as he toyed with her locs. "To ask before I bite," she said, unsure if she was about to become his meal or his lover.

"Good girl. Now - it would only be right of me to follow my own rules, correct?" Astarion’s voice resonated in a low tenor, his eyes fixed on her expression as he gingerly massaged the back of her scalp.

Relieved, Nym's head lolled back into his tender touch. 

"Mmmyeah," the words spilled from her lips like a moan.

Astarion leaned in once again, this time ghosting his lips on her throat beneath her ear and bringing his unoccupied hand to the small of her back, nudging her closer. "So - what do you say? May I? I only need a taste - I swear," he purred into her neck.

"You can do whatever you want with me if you keep touching me like that." Entranced by his decadent ministrations, the pale elf had disarmed her yet again.

Whatever I want? He thought, pulling away and placing a hand on her shoulder. “Darling - are you sure about this? We might get carried away, and we've only just met."

Astarion thought that she might allow him to drink from her; his charm rarely failed him, but he didn’t expect her to offer her body as well. A pleasant surprise, considering that he’d fantasized about taking her on the cliffside when they’d just met. The way her bottom squirmed against his groin while he held a dagger to her throat, and the scent of her blood blooming beneath the surface of the skin on her neck was enough to cause his length to strain against his smallclothes.

“Among my people, such matters hold little importance,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ll gladly partake if that’s what you desire; though I may still yearn for it even if you don’t, but that doesn’t mean that you must—” He silenced her with a finger pressed to her lips, and she gazed up at him, eyes wide with surprise.

"Has anyone ever told you that you talk a lot?" He asked, aiming for straightforwardness.

Her speech was muffled by the digit pressed to her lips. "Yes, actually. Usually, they say that I talk too much, but—" Suddenly, Astarion’s lips met hers in a bruising kiss, silencing her once again. He seized the back of her neck and drew her close as he ascended to his knees, looming over her and dominating her mouth.

Nym whined small sounds of pleasure into his mouth as he pulled her taut to his chest, causing the blanket to fall from her shoulder ever so slightly.

With a pop, he broke the kiss, licking his lips as he studied her expression. 

Her heavy-lidded eyes met his, and her lips were reddened from their kiss.

"You know. . . I rather like you, my dear," he said, holding her closely. "Now - how about we make ourselves comfortable."

Astarion released her and gestured to his bedroll.

"Oh - Yes," she answered, carelessly dropping the blanket covering her and crawling hastily to his suggested destination. 

She hesitated. "Wait - how do you want me?"

He felt a rush in his lower abdomen that made his growing cock twitch."My sweet - if you wouldn't mind lying beneath me, I would be delighted. It will also help when I'm drinking from you; we wouldn't want you toppling over, would we?"

"Right." Nym nodded curtly and positioned herself on the bedroll, still sitting.

Astarion mounted her with a fervent kiss, coaxing her downwards and parting her thighs with his knee. Pushing her legs up to expose her core, he positioned himself fully between her legs, only breaking their kiss to sit back on his knees and take her in. 

He stared at her with adoration as he appreciated the shape of her body.

Despite getting on his nerves earlier, he respected her openness and willingness to confess her discovery. Her promise to keep his secret was likely crucial to his survival, and he desired her loyalty, giving him another reason to seduce her and gain her support.

Additionally, he couldn't help but admit to himself that her playful demeanour was extremely endearing; it wasn't often that he would meet someone charming in the way that Nym was.

He desperately wanted her blood; not only because he craved it physically, but also because of the assurance it would provide that he was free from Cazador's compulsion at last.

But then, he yearned to make her come undone beneath him; to feel her quivering around his length and hear her whimper his name in ecstasy; surely for no other reason than to stroke his ego, he reflected as his member strained uncomfortably against his strays.

Nym lay comfortably exposed, her arms resting beside her head while her chest rose and fell with anticipation. Trusting him came intuitively, as she bared her most vulnerable parts to this man who, just moments ago, still felt like a stranger.

They had only met that day, and now, in the quiet of the night, while everyone else slept, they were about to become one. 

Squeezing her thighs, Astarion placed his face at her core, his breath teasing her quim. 

Reading her face, he witnessed her wet, pleading eyes.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he asserted.

"Of course," she managed to say despite her desirously clouded mind.

"Perfect," Astarion cooed. 

He began his plot, licking a thick stripe through her folds and kissing her clit, causing Nym to throw her head back as she moaned. 

Her sounds encouraged him to start toying with her clit with his tongue. 

She arched her back and bucked wildly onto his tongue, but he held her down to regain control and she groaned through gritted teeth. 

He removed his mouth, replacing his tongue with a digit as he stroked her inner walls languidly. 

“Careful dear, I have sharp teeth," he warned. "Be a good girl and try to hold still."

"Mhm," was all she could manage to say as she clenched around his finger. 

He continued his oral ministrations, groaning into her clit as he sucked on it mercilessly which sent waves of pleasure through her body; although not quite enough to fully satisfy her.

"I need more - please," she pleaded.

Needing no further invitation, he added a second finger to her hole, causing her pelvis to squirm and wanton sounds to spill from her lips.

Curling his fingers, he pumped into her at a consistent pace while lapping up her clit. 

The tips of his digits stroked up into her sweet spot, sending her teetering over the edge. 

Glancing down at Astarion, she carded her fingers through his moon-coloured curls.

The muscles in her legs tensed as she felt a rising energy in her core. "I'm cumming, Astarion!" She screamed as her orgasm crested, her voice echoing throughout the camp.

He continued fucking her with his hand and torturing her oversensitive nub as she rode out her climax.

Flooded with searing pleasure, she sought reprieve. "Ah - too much!" She hissed. 

"Good girl, you are so good at following instructions," Astarion purred, crawling to meet her lips in a brief and tender kiss.

"I'm surprised you remembered my name, darling. I'm impressed," he jested before pushing down his pants just enough to free his large member which rested heavily on her soaking cunt.

She let out a huff of air as she felt his length weigh on her bud. “I certainly don't have the will to protest you right now," she retorted, lying breathless.

Astarion staggered his elbows on either side of her torso, studying her features again; this time, his gaze reflecting not just curiosity, but also a subtle hint of confusion, as if grappling with the capricious nature of his own actions rather than their usual conniving intent.

"Mm - you can stare if you want, but—" She wriggled her hips, teasing his cock.

He choked out a moan, his mouth forming an “O”.

"Oh, you cheeky little pup," he crooned.

"I remember you calling me 'kitty', actually," she teased, smirking.

"You’ll pay for that,” he growled as he reached for his shaft and aligned himself with her core, grinning whilst prodding at her tight entrance with the tip of his cock.

She expelled a high-pitched moan, her face twisting into a needy expression.

Slowly entering her while she twirled her hips sensually, he felt her wetness tightening around him.

Head lolling forward, he eased into her with little effort until he was fully buried to the hilt and his tip kissed her cervix snugly, causing him to choke out an undignified groan.

She enthusiastically shifted her legs up above his arms, her feet dangling in the air above him. 

He began with a painfully languid pace, whining in tandem as their lips connected in a passionate, messy kiss. 

Their tongues danced around each other's mouths, fighting for dominance as he unhooked one of her legs from his arm and grabbed her cheeks, roughly prying her mouth open further; consequently, her nethers contracted around him.

Ever perceptive, he recognized this before pulling his mouth from hers. "Does the little druid like it rough?" He teased.

"Uhuh," she whined. "Can you choke me - please?" She pleaded with moist, batting eyes, her upward-canted brows reading as desperation on her freckled face.

He groaned excitedly at her lewd suggestion, a sly grin painting his face. 

Hearing her desire stirred something within him, prompting him to contemplate his incessant longing for control, freedom, and dominance; concepts that melded together in his mind as if it were a swirling brew - both saccharine and intoxicating.

"Deep breath, my dear," he instructed while thrusting into her consistently.

Nym took a deep breath, making her experience on the matter clear. 

Astarion grasped the sides of her throat firmly, causing her quim to quiver violently around his cock.

"What a good little druid, you are," he purred.

He began to rut into her punishingly, using his grip on her throat to thrust with uninhibited force as he rhythmically pulled and pushed her on and off of his length. 

He straightened the arm that was at her throat, parting his torso from hers and placing his unoccupied hand on her clit where he rubbed taut circles.

Nym's face became a darker red than her typical blush; evidence of the lack of oxygen reaching her brain. 

Her leg muscles showed the impending signs of an orgasm while her back arched off the bedroll, but he slammed into her throbbing cunt and circled her bud remorselessly. He basked in the control that had been gifted to him; no - the control he took of his own volition. 

She choked out his name, crying in pleasure as she came with his hand around her throat. 

He continued toying with her clit as he removed his hand from her neck, the flush on her skin beginning to fade ever so slightly, being freed from his grasp.

While she rode out her climax, he hooked her right leg over his left shoulder, hovering closer to her throat and blithely pulling her head to the side with a strong grasp of her cheeks.

He sunk his fangs into her flesh, only removing his hand from her cheeks to cavalierly grab at the hair on the back of her head.

With a low tenor, he groaned deeply into her neck, fucking her with a faltering pace, signifying his escalating pleasure.

Her delectable blood pooled into his mouth, enrapturing him with its ambrosius flavours.

Whimpering softly, Nym wriggled on his growing cock in an attempt to escape the abuse on her clit. Thankfully, Astarion freed her bud from his tortuous touch - seemingly as a result of her body language. 

Nym carded her fingers through his soft white curls encouragingly, relishing in its silken texture and herbaceous scent. 

Sifting through her recollections, she recognized that the elven man whose fangs were piercing her flesh was undeniably the most beautiful she had ever bedded. This was no small feat, considering her many previous lovers, sometimes in pairs or more, all of whom had been remarkably attractive. 

Although somewhat painful for a moment, letting him sup from her felt curiously wholesome, as if she were helping a dear friend in need.

She allowed him to imbibe as he soothingly rolled his tongue. He continuously impaled her with his expanding girth, sending her into a blissful stupor that she knew could only be enhanced by one gesture.

"Could you cum for me - please?" Nym slurred her words, hoping he was lucid enough to hear her request.

Within a few moments, Nym felt the tickle of his murmured agreement against her sensitive neck. 

An escalating symphony of wet slapping noises and moans coursed through the camp before  Astarion snapped his hips into Nym's core; bottoming out as he drank from her neck and overflowing her with his seed. 

He shallowly thrust a few more times, thoroughly imbuing her with his jism; his latch on her throat, unrelenting.

Nym, although sated, began to feel herself weakening, as the corners of her vision grew spotty: the telltale signs of blood loss.

Knowing this, she resolved to withdraw her consent at last, and hoped that he would hear her soft voice.

"Astarion, please - stop,” she cooed, tugging gently at the curls on the nape of his neck. 

At first, nothing. . .

But then - Astarion jostled as if gearing up to release her.

Taking one last gulp, he somehow found the will to tear himself from her - his fantasy of control coming to a not-unpleasant end.

Panting instinctively, he craned his head into her neck. With the flat of his trembling tongue, he cleaned her wounds, making sure to not waste even a drop of her precious ichor before kissing her chastely; a formality, surely, and not as a lover's gesture, he thought.

Nym hummed, rotating her hips around Astarion's still-hard cock which he had yet to remove.

Grunting, he lifted his head from her neck, grabbing her hips with both hands before thrusting into her once more - as a final treat; for himself or his lover, he did not know.

He placed his hand at the nape of her neck, pulling her into a sloppy, exhausted kiss. They moaned into one another before swiftly breaking away and sharing a seemingly deep, affectionate glance.

"As much as it’d be nice to continue, I fear I’ll be too sore tomorrow if we plan on doing this again," Nym confided, sighing.

"It seems you are as eager as I - you sweet thing," Astarion professed, finally pulling out of her body while they mutually sighed. 

"Now - kitty - shall I grab your blankets and tuck you in to spend the rest of your night with me? After we clean you up, of course," he suggested, as it only made sense, of course.

Blushing, Nym fought back a precipitous grin. "I really fucking like you, you know. You're my favourite."

"The feeling is quite mutual, If you couldn't tell already,” he exclaimed, pecking her forehead before giving her head a condescending scratch. "Right then, I'll be right back." 

Astarion swiftly tucked himself into his pants and nicked his best handkerchief before rising from his tent to find the kettle. Grateful that the water was still warm, he soaked his handkerchief before prudently ringing it out. 

Bringing the soft, damp fabric back to his tent, he somehow felt whelmed, knowing that a beautiful woman was waiting for him; an abstract concept to him, considering he'd only been a means to an end for centuries.

He felt so very gracious for her generosity, but he knew that these things often come with a price. He was indebted, and he wanted to repay her for her favour, but perhaps sex was enough. 

Of course, he enjoyed himself, certainly worlds more than he had during any of his previous trysts; Hells, he couldn't remember the last time he'd had an orgasm that torridly intense, or if he'd ever had one like that at all.

Crouching into his crimson tent, handkerchief in hand, he greeted Nym. "Hello, there." He forced a smile, as his mind still swam with anxiety.

"Hi, Astarion. Long time, no see,” she said, giggling at her own joke. 

"You are quite the silly one. I'm becoming very fond of that laugh of yours." Astarion confessed.

"Hmm - well, you make me giggle a lot, too, if you haven't noticed." She winked cheekily as the corner of her lip pulled up.

"Oh, I cause you to make all sorts of noises, apparently,” he teased, "Now let me help you wash up."

She huffed a close-lipped laugh while a smile painted her lips.

A tender moment between two strangers who had sought comfort in the form of connection. 

Nym believed that moments like these were just as nature intended, for those were the teachings of Silvanus. 

Astarion wiped Nym down with his soft cloth, taking care to be both thorough and gentle. 

Nym turned her bottom to him, so he used his free hand to briefly massage her backside; a gesture that felt more sensual rather than sexual. Nym hummed, leaning into his touch.

Astarion, feeling satisfied with his efforts, left the tent again to rinse his cloth in the river and hang it up outside his tent in a somewhat obscured location. He stalked over to Nym's tent to gather her belongings, which there were few of, managing to snag a couple of blankets, a pillow, and an unopened glass bottle of water.

He strode back to his tent, clumsily opening the flap with his hand that was also fisting the neck of the water bottle. 

Upon entering, he saw Nym who was lying belly-down on his things. “I hoped that you’d had more blankets, but it seems as though we'll have to add it to our shopping list," he stated, mournfully.

"We? Oh - it’d be so pleasant to have assistance with that. I've been finding this whole ‘leader’ thing quite overwhelming." Nym confessed, laughing nervously.

"Well, apologies. I should’ve offered to help you sooner. I may be a monster but I'm not a bum. I can't say the same for our other ‘companions’, however,” he quipped.

Smiling brightly at Astarion, Nym rolled onto her back. "You're not a monster, you're just a bit toothy. I can be toothy sometimes, and I don't think I'm a monster."

"Hmm - well you are only slightly devious so I suppose they would make an exception in the famed Guide to Monsters." He joked. 

Dropping the fixings, he began to undress himself, fully.

"Oh, stop. You love me." She jested with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"Maybe a little. I do have an appreciation for pretty morsels with claws." He attentively and tactfully placed each blanket atop one another. 

Kneeling beside her head, he gestured, "Up." She lifted her head slightly and he tucked her pillow under it with care.

Opening the blankets, he climbed in next to Nym, now lying on her back with her eyes closed while her hands rested lazily on her ribcage. He nudged and caressed her cheek with his knuckle before ghosting a thumb over her lips. 

Languidly turning to face him, she opened her eyes, her gaze holding a gentle and weary look.

She snaked her hand up to his ear, caressing it affectionately, engendering him to close his eyes as he basked in her loving touch; a feeling that he hadn't had the opportunity to feel for as long as he could remember.

Unbidden tears formed behind his closed eyes as a fragment of his recent past surfaced in his memories; though he quickly pushed the thought aside, regaining his composure. 

If Nym noticed his tearful display, she didn't press.

Maybe in time, as they grew more acquainted, he could open up about his past, and perhaps she, along with the rest of their cohort, could offer him support. But for now, he focused on cherishing this tender moment with his newfound friend.

They lay entwined with one another, trancing until the sun came up. 

Despite their predicament, in a way, they both felt it a blessing that they had found one another. The bond that had begun forming between them felt promising, in a way that could make both of them stronger. This was a good thing. 

Comfort can be a good thing.

˚₊‧⁺˖✮•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•✮˖⁺‧₊˚

𝔗𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔦𝔰 𝔞 𝔤𝔦𝔳𝔦𝔫𝔤,

𝔞𝔫 𝔬𝔣𝔣𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 ℑ𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔣𝔞𝔳𝔬𝔲𝔯,

𝔞 𝔰𝔞𝔠𝔯𝔦𝔣𝔦𝔠𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢

𝔅𝔲𝔱 ℑ 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔶𝔬𝔲'𝔳𝔢 𝔤𝔬𝔱 𝔞 𝔱𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢

𝔖𝔬 𝔧𝔲𝔰𝔱 𝔱𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔞 𝔟𝔦𝔱𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔪𝔢

˚₊‧⁺˖✮•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•✮˖⁺‧₊˚

Read part 2

[eternal-auditor]

Consultation

Morax x GN!Reader, Suggestive, Piercing discussion

You follow Morax around while he completes his last task for the day. Bored out, you start contemplating on a topic this devil has a particular interest in.

— Morax, I've been thinking...

— Hm, about what? — your voice distracts him from the task at hand to sort and do revision of the medical supplies left.

— I've been thinking if I should get myself pierced.

The small storage was so silent that you can even hear his breathing muffled by the bandages.

He stops for a moment and turns to look at you.

— And what did you decide?

— I though long and hard on this, but I don't know which one to choose, so maybe you can help me with that? — you move closer to him with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

— Which one do you think would look good on me? — you look at him expectantly.

Your seemingly innocent question made his imagination stir. He keeps his gaze on you, visualizing in his mind how your face and body would change with modifications. He thinks anything will suit you.

— You can start with your ears. The lobe is the most popular spot to pierce. You can also choose helix or–

— Ahh, I'm bad at remembering names, so I'm not sure which one are you talking about, maybe you can use your fingers to point those spots out?— you smile coy and bring his hand closer to your face, but he halts.

— I told you before, you can touch me freely, — you sigh out, — whatever you worry of now doesn't bother me at all.

He seems hesitant, but allows you to guide his hand to your ear, and you give his palm an encouraging kiss.

His fingers trace and point out each spot that is suitable for piercing while you stare at his face attentively.

— And what about my face?

He shifts his gaze to your eyes as his hand trails to your brows.

— You can pierce your eyebrows or the anti eyebrow location, here, — his thumb brushes under your eye, — a teardrop would suit you, — his mouth is covered, but you can see him smiling at you with his eye.

He goes further, tracing your nose and cheeks, reaching your lips.

— You can do Medusa or Jestrum, and here you can put the Labret, — his fingers stop at your lower lip.

— Mm, and what about oral piercing? — you ask.

He was about to answer, but words got stuck in his throat when you took two of his fingers in your mouth, swirling your tongue around them. His breath stops and his ears redden in tone of his hair. You suck on his fingers and release them with a popping sound.

While he was distracted, you snaked your arms around his waist, pushing his body against yours. He lets out a surprised gasp, and you feel no less surprised when his hard-on gets pressed against your lower part. You didn't think he would react this strongly, as you only wanted to tease him a little, but you feel pleased with the outcome regardless.

— Well, we can come back to it later, now what about the rest of my body?

He tries to recollect himself to answer.

— Ah, you can make a dermal piercing, right here, for example, — he puts his hand on your collarbone tracing its outlines.

— Or here, — his hand moves lower to your chest and stops in the center, while the other finds your nipple.

— Have you thought about nipple piercing? What would you prefer: rings or barbells? — he asks as he tugs and massages them.

Now it's your turn to blush, as you try to surpass a moan.

— I-I was thinking about rings- Aah! — you moan out as he suddenly squeezes them.

— Very interesting, — he lets out a small chuckle. He continues to play with your nipple as his other hand travels lower, circling around your navel.

He leans further in and whispers in your ear.

— Your lower parts can also be pierced, whether it's your pubic mound, — he presses his hand to it, — or your genitalia, — you can feel his hot breath even through the bandages.

— It looks attractive, but it can also serve to increase your sexual pleasure.

His hand trails further between your legs and starts rubbing your crotch, making you groan.

— Mm, that's all very vague descriptions. If I show you myself, can you explain it in details? — you guide his hand to the waistband of your pants, sliding it down a little.

He smiles at you and says:

— I'll do my best.

[thepixelelf]

Band of Silver, Remember my Vow [Teaser]

Based on and inspired by the Sanskrit play, Sakuntala; or The Ring of Recollection, by Kālidāsa, which dramatizes the story of Sakuntala as told in the epic, the Mahābhārata

genres: romance, angst, past civilization au (set in a made up land inspired by joseon and influenced by other asian (and hints of european :/) cultures), subtle magic, not e2l just people who annoy each other at the start to people hopelessly in love w each other pairing: healer reader x lord scoups. platonic reader & soldier dino teaser word count: 2.2k estimated fic word count: ~15k teaser warnings: injury by weapon to an animal (hunting). animal attack. estimated fic warnings: descriptions of blood, injury, and illness. (possibly) sex but not smut. animal gore. notes: this was meant to be for caratlibrary's fall collaboration, but I flubbed it on the deadline (no surprise there!). I'm still not done, but I wanted to post this to see if people are as interested in the story as I am! I will not be making a requestable taglist, however I will be tagging people who comment/show interest in the tags of reblogs

In the story of Sakuntala, the king Dusyanta ends a hunting trip before he comes across the beautiful Sakuntala in a nearby hermitage. He is immediately captivated by her, courts her, and marries her soon after. However, he must return to his royal duties in the capital. He leaves his signet ring with her, promising to return. While distracted with her love for Dusyanta, Sakuntala forgets to greet a visiting and easily irritated sage. Angered by her disrespect, he curses her by making Dusyanta forget her existence. He is later convinced to lighten her punishment, and revises the curse so that the king will remember everything upon seeing the ring he left behind.

teaser under the cut!

The bowstring pulls taut as Seungcheol draws his arm back. His aim is unwavering— it better be, with all the years of training his breath to even at will, all those days spent shooting arrows at dyed targets and skittering rabbits. He kneels in the grass, still as a corpse, and waits for the stag to lift its head from where it’s dipped at the base of a tree.

Wait. Patience. That’s what he was taught.

Patience. Wait. Wait. Breathe.

But — air huffs through Seungcheol’s nose — why isn’t it lifting its damn head? The entire forest surrounding him is quiet. Nothing is here to disturb this perfect moment. This almost perfect moment.

Seungcheol fills his chest with air again, even and silent.

Wait. Patience. Breathe. Lift your damn—

“What are you doing?”

Startling at the sudden whisper in his ear, Seungcheol swerves to the side, his fingers slipping and releasing his arrow into the air. It slams into a tree, right where the stag’s neck would have been had it lifted its head. The sound echoes through the forest, and it spooks the stag. It dashes off out of sight, and Seungcheol curses under his breath.

“Why would you—” He whips his head around and finds you crouching next to him, a woven basket resting on your hip, held there by one hand. For only a moment, he is distracted by your face, and the way the sunlight, broken through the leaves of the forest, dances on your cheeks. He clears his throat. “Do you know what you’ve just done?”

You blink and tilt your head. “What have I done?”

Abruptly, Seungcheol stands, gesturing his bow towards where the stag disappeared. “My— you…” He huffs, then looks away, returning the bow to its spot on his back and tearing off his gloves in muted frustration.

He came here for a distraction, but you are closer to an annoyance, albeit a not unattractive one. He prefers to lose himself in the concentration of the hunt.

As he moves to follow the deer, your voice stops him.

“Where are you from?”

When he turns, you’ve already stood up, and you regard him with slightly furrowed brows.

“You must be from rather far,” you say without giving him much chance to respond. “Were you planning on shooting him?”

“Him?” Seungcheol echoes. “You’re referring to that animal?”

You hum, nodding to yourself. “Rather far indeed. He may very well have been the patron spirit of these woods.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s a terrible dishonour to harm an antlered one in this forest. A dishonour to what this place provides, and the vast life within it,” you explain, though the words mean nothing to Seungcheol. You step closer to him, tilting your body to peer at the quiver of arrows on his back. “You’d be a fool to attempt to kill one, and invite grand misfortune by doing so.”

His jaw clenches, and air comes out of his nose hot. “Who are you to call me a fool? Do you know who I am?”

You straighten. “Am I supposed to? You’re quite far from home.”

“I am Lord Choi Seungcheol,” he announces with pride, though it tastes of the arrogance his mother always tutted at on his tongue. “General of the Four Peak Soldiers, and— and future ruler of the Eastern District.”

You make a face, and it only makes the anger in Seungcheol burn hotter.

“A lord, huh?” you taunt. “Or a general. Which one is it? Or does it not matter?” Leaning back slightly, you study his face. “Certainly, it doesn’t matter to me. I am neither a Four Peak soldier, nor a citizen of the Eastern District, so I will say as I please. A fool is a fool.”

Seungcheol raises his hand, and you flinch, but only slightly. Your eyes remain firm on his.

He lowers his hand, tired of your presence and of having to listen. If he and you were in his district, you’d have serious punishment awaiting your next sunrise. However, he was out on his own, alone on a rogue, spontaneous hunting trip far away from home because he wanted some space to get his thoughts together. It’s something he’s done before, two or three or nine times. His mother shows contempt for this habit of his, but she does not try to stop him. All she asks is that he not bring home trouble.

You seem like trouble.

How was he supposed to know that the woods he ventured into had such trivial myths to abide by?

He is Choi Seungcheol, damn it. Your silly fairy tales won’t deter him.

Deciding to spare you this time, Seungcheol breathes out and turns away, walking now in the direction of where he tied his horse. Perhaps this trip was a failure. To expect to clear his head the same way he has done before was foolish — though he would never admit that. What is on his mind now is much heavier, much more inevitable than the other things he would run away from in his youth.

A marriage to the country’s princess.

His marriage to her.

Seungcheol’s hands twitch, and he yearns to draw his bow again.

“Lord General,” you call out, the tone of your voice itself a warning. “Don’t be a fool.”

He ignores you.

=

Ricecake seems to have had a much better experience in this forest than Seungcheol. He finds her munching on the lush, untrodden grass, and he almost feels bad for interrupting her meal. However, that feeling lessens when he remembers that if he were successful in his hunt, she'd have to carry the spoils all the way home. At least she has that.

Seungcheol rides for not half an hour, following the river, before another stag dashes alongside his path. He spends no time thinking. Pulling his bow from his shoulder, he notches an arrow and lets it fly. A second arrow leaves his fingers before he blinks.

The stag rears on its hind legs, one arrow in its thick neck and one pierced directly through its eye. It shrieks, haunted and low.

But it does not fall.

Seungcheol dismounts from his horse and draws another arrow, aiming again for its neck so it cannot escape far before it dies. He expects it to run in the opposite direction.

Its hooves dig into the dirt beneath it, and the stag charges towards Seungcheol.

He has no time to react, his arms moving instinctually to protect his head, before pain blooms fiery red from his torso. An icy cold engulfs him, and everything goes dark.

=

Pain is what wakes him up, dull and aching, but when he attempts to right himself, Seungcheol winces. A fierce pang rings in his body from his stomach to his right ear, which sparks a jolt of pain throughout his head. He falls back again, though his head doesn’t hit the hard earth. Instead, a steady hand catches his head, and another gently touches the front of his shoulder, as if to calm him.

“Easy there, Lord General.”

Your voice, and the way you patronise his titles again, make Seungcheol frown. It hurts to breathe, but he can’t help the annoyance that refills within him. What the hell are you doing here? Did you follow him? Why are your hands so gentle?

Though his headache may worsen with sunlight, Seungcheol pries his eyes open. His eyelids are heavy, and for a moment, he thinks he must not have opened them fully. He can barely see you, even though it was midday when he’d been knocked unconscious. It then registers that he is no longer outside, in the woods, but in a room, lowly lit with sparsely strewn candles.

The realisation makes him want to jump up again, but the pain in his torso forces a groan from him, and he falls back onto the support of your hand. He strains his head to assess his surroundings. “Where am I?” he grits out. It hurts to speak.

“Be careful,” you say, concern sewn into your brows. “You may have broken your ribs.”

He demands, though perhaps sounding weaker than he likes, “Answer the question.”

Your lips settle into a straight line, and you breathe out through your nose. “You’re in my home.”

“Why?”

“I found you nearby,” you begin to explain, pulling your hand out from under him to cross your arms. He feels a thin layer of folded cloth under his head. “You were washed up on the riverbank, unconscious. Bloody…bruised…” You tilt your head. “Perhaps even more bruised now, since I practically had to drag you here, though the balm should help with the scrapes.”

“Balm?” Seungcheol echoes. Now that he thinks about it, there is a strange warmth seeping through the skin on his face. “You’re a healer,” he concludes.

You nod, and for the first time, Seungcheol sees a smile on your lips. In the candlelight, it only adds to the warmth.

“You’re lucky it was me who found you. Who knows how long you were lying in the cold water.” You sit back, eyes thoughtfully gazing over Seungcheol’s blanket-covered body. They pause around where Seungcheol’s left hand is. “I was able to save almost all your fingers.”

Seungcheol’s eyes widen, and he jerks his hands out from under the blanket to hold above his face. The pain this causes is in the background compared to his panic, but that fades soon after he sees all ten fingers, wiggles them, then glares at you.

You’re smiling wider now. “That was a joke, Lord General.” At his glare sharpening, you let out a small laugh. “Your fingers are fine. They might be stiff for a few days, though.” Your expression shifts to a more serious one. “Your ribs, on the other hand… You’re severely bruised. I suspect they may be fractured.

Breathing in again, Seungcheol watches the way you eye his chest as it rises and falls. It hurts like a bonfire has sparked in his lungs.

“What happened?” you ask, no residual hint of playfulness in the simple question.

“I…” In the back of his mind, Seungcheol sees the stag again, sees the blood rivering from its eye and neck, sees its antlers as they bouldered into him. He sees you, and how you spoke to him in the forest. An enchantingly bright bad omen.

Don’t be a fool.

Yet here he is, under your care in your home, for doing the very thing you warned him not to.

"...I fell," he says after a moment of quiet. It’s only a half-lie. He did fall, even if that wasn’t how he sustained the injuries to his ribs.

One of your eyebrows rises up your forehead. “You fell.”

“...Yes.”

You hum, doubtful. “Off your horse, I assume. I’ve seen similar bruising and fractures when people are kicked. It happens to someone around here at least once a year; there’s no shame in getting unsaddled.”

He’s never fallen off Ricecake — she’s the perfect companion, but Seungcheol grits his teeth and says, “I suppose there’s not.”

A triumphant grin appears on your face, and you turn slightly to reach for a small notebook. “Well, Lord General—”

“That is not my title,” he interrupts on principle, though he instantly regrets it with the waking pain in his chest. Still, he cannot stop himself from correcting you. “You will address me as Lord Choi, or ‘my Lord’.”

Your eyes don’t leave your notes. “Alright Lord General, it—”

“You can’t—”

“—is my professional opinion that you should be on bed rest for three days, though your full recovery could take two to three moons. I’ll need to monitor your breathing until it regulates.” You speak as if Seungcheol is just anyone, not someone with power or higher standing. To you, he is just a patient.

Why does that thought not continue to anger him?

“I need to find my horse,” he tells you. “There are healers in the Four Peak fortress that can oversee my recovery.”

You shake your head. “Riding is out of the question. It will only worsen your condition.”

“I can’t stay here. I am needed as their leader.” And his mother is going to kill him for being gone more than a few days without a word.

“Do you have a palanquin?”

Seungcheol frowns. “Do I look like I have a palanquin with me?”

“Could you send for one?” you rephrase.

He ponders on that. It is rare for him to ride a palanquin, even back home. The cart is used more decoratively these days, reserved for events like longevity parades through the city, and no longer for extended trips over uneven ground like the forests he travelled through to find himself on your land. 

Still, he can’t stay here. Certainly not for three moons. “I’ll write a missive.”

“Alright,” you say with a nod. “There’s a merchant group that travels every two weeks between here and a city in the Eastern District. You can send it with one of them.”

“When are they travelling next?”

“You’re lucky, Lord General. They leave for the east in five days.”

Not as soon as he’d like, but at least the merchants hadn’t just left. Then he would have to stay here for one full moon before he’d even be able to send for help.

“For now,” you continue, “you should rest. It’s late, and your body needs time to recover.”

do not send an ask/reply just asking to be on a taglist!! I will only be tagging people who reblog and comment in the tags!!

[writingstoraes]

down the aisle 💍

pairing: charles leclerc/fem!reader

type: written imagine (fluff, angst)

theme/s: none very gruesome, typical childhood best friends pining, unspoken feelings and all that

word count: 5.1k (got carried away lol)

notes: not proofread and not revised so pls expect grammatical/spelling errors! will be working on the pending reqs now hehe lmk what u guys think <3

about: charles was six when he promised to marry you when he got older and the time was right. as crazy children can go, you always thought he was delirious, but he reminds you of it almost every year. 

“Y’know what, when we get older, I am going to marry you for real!” Charles, in broken French, says a little enthusiastically as he walks down the makeshift aisle you two had made for the two-hour playtime your parents allowed.

With a pillowcase hanging on your head as an improvised veil, you held in your hands hand-picked flowers from the Leclerc’s garden as your bouquet. Two of your other friends cheer, the joy of make-believe weddings children orchestrate on their own taking over.

“You’re crazy, Charlie! We can’t marry each other, we’re only six years old,” you giggle.

“I know,” he says. “I’ll do it when we get old! When we’re 18 or something.”

You thought of Charles as demented every time he promised to marry you in the unforeseeable future. He first said it when the two of you were six years old, playing an infamous game of roleplay wedding. For a long time, in your little group of friends, the two of you always assumed the role of the groom and bride. Of course, you were just as young as he was, but you dismiss his thoughts by saying you were too young to get married - and he’d always respond with the promise of doing it when you both got older.

Even when his parents and his older brother Lorenzo watch the two of you, he assumed Charles was just hopped up on the adrenaline of playing with his best friend, his favorite person in the whole world, you. He thought that when the two of you actually get older, Charles would eventually forget the silly vow he had made when he was awfully young.

But Charles never abandoned the thought. As he got older, he finds himself repeating the same promise he had told you in his family’s backyard, not for the sake of mere recollection, but because he deems you as his perfect pair, his soulmate. 

It was at age 10 when he had made the same promise to marry you. You sat a bench in front of your school’s gates, waiting for the school bus, clutching your backpack as tears welled in your eyes. You and Charles had made a pact to always go home together and sit at the bus side by side, so he’s not surprised to find you at your usual spot, but he was surprised to see you crying.

Charles rushes to you, taking off his backpack to set it on the bench. 

“Hey, why are you crying?” Worriedly, he says, a little panicked to see his best friend with tears running down her face.

“Louis t-th-threw away my let-t-ter,” you say in between sobs. 

Louis was a grade above you, who was the dreamiest boy in school with his soft brown hair and brown eyes. Every girl at school had a crush on him, gigantic ones at that, so his locker is expected to be filled with love letters even on normal days. Frankly, Charles never got the hype over him but he’d never tell you that, not when you were one of the lovestruck girls at school.

“What happened?” 

“I was too shy to tell him I like him,” you tell Charles, who proceeds to rub your back calmly to ease you down. “So I wrote a letter to tell him that and he crumpled it up into a ball and threw it in the garbage.” 

“He did it in front of everyone!” you add, breaking into cries once again. Charles’ brows furrow, wanting to punch the stupid boy who had made you cry, but his main goal was to make you stop crying first.

“Il est idiot ou abruti!” He’s a jerk.

“Y/N, please stop crying. He’s no good for you, you’re too great for him.” he says, using both his hands to grip your shoulders as he adjusts you so you can face him.

“I’m so embarrassed. What if this goes on for years? What if nobody likes me-” you ramble on and Charles could only look at you sympathetically.

“Hey, I like you! You’re the best girl I know.” Charles replies, smiling slightly. 

“And I will always like you, you know? It doesn’t matter if it’s years from now, I promise to marry you when we’re older because I will always like you!” 

“You’re just saying that because I’m sad,” you shake your head, lightly laughing at his attempt to cheer you up.

“I’m not lying! I really will marry you. That’s how much I like you.” 

It’s amusing to hear. What do 10-year-olds know about marriage, anyway?

At first, Charles thought he was repeating his vow to marry you years from now just to fulfill what he told the best person in his life when he was young. He remembers the time he had made the promise again back when he was 10 and he recalls telling you you were the best girl he knew. He convinces himself that he said that partially to cheer you up and because he’d do anything to make you smile, you were his best friend after all.

But it’s three years from now and he had done it again. Maybe it’s a reflex, something he thinks he’s supposed to say because he had said it two times already. Maybe when he was six it was out of joy and the child-like innocence he had. When he was 10 maybe it’s out of the fact that he wanted to dry your tears. Yet this time, he had no reason to justify it.

Deep down he knew it was because he grew to like you, more than a friend, more than he should. Internally he shakes his head, trying to dismiss the thought of breaking the unspoken rule of liking his best friend. He was 13, figuring things out, and the first thing he knew to be certain of was you were in fact, his dream girl. 

Your family and the Leclercs were together again for dinner, a tradition done at least once a month. A big table was set up at your house since it was your family’s turn to host dinner. Plates were neatly set up, the smell of roast chicken and the aroma of an array of dishes coming out of the kitchen. It’s the same night Charles realized just how beautiful you’ve grown to be. Your hair was much longer and you were a little taller. You dressed differently, and the two years you had braces finally paid off. Charles feels butterflies in his stomach each time you smiled, but he chooses to ignore it.

“Remember when you said you’d marry me like, three years ago?” you spoke up, hoping to playfully embarrass Charles who was beside you in your bedroom, legs sprawled on your bed.

“You can say it, were you just saying that to cheer me up?” 

“No, can you stop accusing me of that? I really meant it!” he says in defense, knowing he really did mean it, and he means it even more now.

“Hmm, I’m sure you won’t mean it anymore when you ask Elise to the dance and you guys have your first kiss,” you tease, enunciating the word “kiss” just to poke at Charles and the fact that the school dance was in 2 weeks.

“I’m still going to mean it, Y/N.” he shakes his head. “And weren’t we going to go together? I already bought your ticket.”

“Come on, Charlie! You don’t have to appease me anymore, we’re growing older, you know?” 

“I know, and I keep my promises,” he turns to look at you, shifting into a seated position. 

“Really?” you mock, raising one brow at him with a smirk on your face. “You’d really marry me like, 10 years from now?”

“I would,” Charles responds, unknowingly providing you with a small amount of comfort you couldn’t figure out just yet.

Things were pretty routine for you and Charles. Every time he promised to marry you, your response was always to never take him seriously. You always think he’s just trying to lift your spirits up or it’s because he’s fulfilling a promise he made when he was six years old. And if Charles was anything, he wasn’t someone who broke promises. He shows up and keeps his word, it’s just who he was. You think that vow would eventually be null and void when he finds a girl he genuinely likes, and the same would go for you.

Charles never lets your response get to his head. After he realizes he had grown feelings for you, feelings that persisted until now that he was sixteen, he lets your chuckle and “you’re crazy” responses slide away. He didn’t think he’d make the promise again anyway, he knows better than to say it again now that he actually was going to mean every word. 

At sixteen, you and Charles attended your first party with friends without parental supervision. Even Lorenzo wasn’t there as a chaperone so it was an entirely new experience for the two of you. He had promised your parents prior that he was going to take care of you and makes sure you don’t go home wasted, and obviously, they trusted him with their entire chests. 

Charles made sure not to drink too much that night, not even with the heavy and ceaseless invites from his friends. He wanted to be of composure in the event you get more inebriated than him, which will take place about an hour from now. You both went your separate ways, agreeing to meet when it was time to go home. You had friends outside of Charles and he had friends that weren’t you as well. Before letting you go he makes you promise to not drink too much and you only respond with a nod and a wide smile.

But he was summoned by your friend so he comes running to the living room and he finds you flushed and drunk out of your mind.

“Hi, Charlie!” you slur, waving your hands aimlessly as you see Charles’ figure tower over you. 

“Oh my god, how many have you had?” Charles asks, desperately trying to lift you up and out of the couch you were nearly passed out on.

“Come on, Y/N, I told your parents I wouldn’t let you drink!”

“Sorry, Charlie.” you say, all senses nonfunctional, slinging both your arms over Charles' shoulder as he carries you.

He figures he can’t take you home in your state, so he takes you out to the patio and sat you on the lawn chair. The booming music was heard outside, red cups littered on the grass, teenagers shouting every now and then. He had asked someone to fetch a clean towel drenched in water so he can wipe your face, hoping that and some water could lessen your inebriation.

“Aww, you’re taking care of me,” you coo, still clearly drunk. You had totally underestimated the toll alcohol would take on you.

“When we get married, are you going to take care of me when I’m drunk?” 

“What?” Charles mutters in disbelief, but he quickly remembers you were drunk out of your mind so he tries his best not to give it any thought.

“You promised you’d marry me. You’ll keep your promise, right?” you say, mispronouncing some of the words and holding back a hiccup. 

Charles doesn’t say anything and continues wiping your face with the damp towel in his hand and proceeds to tie your hair into a neat ponytail. He ignores that most of the time drunk words are a product of sober thoughts. He grabs the glass of water beside you and asks you to drink it. You shake your head in disapproval.

“Not drinking until you say you’ll m-ma-marry m-me,” 

He can only sigh, not believing he was making the promise yet again, this time out of actual sincerity, not just because you asked and he wanted you to shut up and drink the damn water he had in his hand.

“I will marry you, okay? When we get together and the time is right, you’ll walk down the aisle and you will see me.” 

“Now, please drink some water, I’m begging.”

And oddly enough, Charles is convinced you would have no recollection of the words that came straight out his chest.

Charles was already nineteen and how he felt for you hadn’t changed, not one bit. He’s evaluated the emotions he’s been avoiding hundreds of times - he asks himself if it was the nostalgia of having known you for more than a decade or if it was really because he had grown old enough to realize you were all he could ever want. But he’s not the type to do something about it, he’s far more afraid of losing you than having to keep the biggest secret he had withheld from you. 

You would be lying if you said the way you looked at Charles was still the same way you did when you were nine. You were scared to entertain the thought, it’s a dangerous territory should you try to open the door and see what was inside. For some time you disregard the pounding in your chest when Charles sends you a smile or the electricity that runs through your fingertips every time he held your hand.

Both of you decide to keep it at bay, stashing whatever you felt in a box and stowing it away in a compartment in the back of your heads. You were still as comfortable as ever, knowing each other best like you were each other’s home address. For whatever reason you and Charles deem it best and most reasonable to stay as friends and not say anything, you both loved each other too much to risk, jump, and then fall. Unbeknownst to the two of you, you were both ready to catch whoever falls first.

It’s not like neither of you tried to expand your horizons. There were attempts to date other people and establish the same or at least a comparable connection with another person as the one you had with each other.  Numerous times you asked for Charles’ opinion on what to wear on a first date and several occasions were you with him as he bought flowers for whoever was waiting for him. The difference was that you were more desperate than Charles, trying your best and trying hard to get over the fact that you were possibly in love with your best friend. Maybe because you weren't at peace with it as much as him, so you figure that maybe when you actually meet someone you like, all of this would just fade into thin air.

But it does get tiring. Looking back now, you weren’t sure you got the irony in going on several dates just for you to come home at night to Charles, who’s almost always waiting for you at your front door to make sure you got home safe. Sure, his house was awfully near, but you don’t mind it anyway. 

To say your date tonight was bad is an understatement. It was with a guy you met through a mutual friend, and at first, seemed charming and kind. After having rescheduled the date four times because of reasons he couldn’t say, you took comfort in the fact that he might be a great guy and you should give him a chance. He didn’t pick you up from the house, which Charles frowned upon, but he let it slide eventually after some persuasion and convincing. The whole night he only talked about himself and was even rude to the waiter who served you. To make the night even worse, him complimenting your physique in a way only perverts do was the cherry on top. 

Charles’ lips twitch to form a small smile the moment he saw you walking towards your door. Previously on his phone, he shuts it down and sees your shoulders slumped as you give him an exasperated sigh when you finally get to him.

“Home so soon?” Charles asks, though it was more of a statement laced with an I-told-you-so tone.

“Why are you here so early?” you return the question. 

“It’s only what-” you glance at your watch. “8:30 in the evening? You’re usually not here until 11.” 

Charles shrugs. “I figured this date wouldn’t go well. I had this weird feeling to wait for you really early, call it best friend instinct or something.”

Best friend. In some weird way, the comforting thought that he goes out of his way to wait for you was joined with a little pang in your chest from the two words that defined the two of you your whole lives. Best friends, were all you were and you figure, all you ever will be. 

“Sucks you had me give him the benefit of the doubt - the douchey shirt he was wearing really gave it away for me,” he laughs lightly. 

The both of you sit down at the front of your door like you usually do before you went to bed. It’s routine, something you never get tired of, even when sometimes you and Charles were just enveloped in silence, comfortable silence that is. 

“In my defense, he did seem nice. I wanted to give him a chance.” 

“Yeah that’s the problem with you, no?” he says. “You give way too many chances. You give them away like it’s Halloween and they’re trick-or-treating. Even when signs point you to not entertaining them, you’re too kind to dismiss it.” 

I’ve only ever wanted to give one person one chance. But I’m too scared to lose you. You wanted to reply, but there was no way in hell you would actually say that. So much for the self-imposed courage you said you had.

“That’s practically what dating is, Charlie,” you say instead, sighing after. “How am I going to meet the right person if I just stand and stall?” 

“It’s because you keep looking. I think incessantly looking for the right person is overrated, sometimes it’s better to stop and let them come to you.”

“Oh because I should take dating advice from a guy who’s been in what, 6 dates his entire life?” you tease, smiling at Charles after he returns a knowing look.

For a while, his gaze fixates on you, a small smile painted on your face and the moonlight reflecting in your eyes, somehow making them sparkle.

Right then and there he finds the answer as to why he’s only ever been in six dates. And had no desire on going to more. 

“Hey,” you speak up, cutting Charles’ trail of thought. 

“At least when I don’t find the right person, I won’t be husbandless. I have you to marry, right?” you joke, hoping it jogs Charles’ memory of a dumb promise he made when he was a child. 

“Yeah, you do.” 

You entered the Leclerc household while it was in complete chaos. His brothers were occupied setting up a big table in the backyard and meticulously arranging the plates and centerpieces as to how Pascale, his mom, would like it. His aunts and mainly his mother were in the kitchen, surrounded by pots, pans, and cut-up ingredients for whatever they were cooking. Undoubtedly, Charles had a fairly big family if you include the extended ones. It was his 21st birthday after all, so it makes sense why he was a big deal for today.

“Y/N! You’re here early, dinner isn’t for another 3 hours.” Pascale smiles upon seeing you, walking over to give you a kiss on the cheek. 

“I wanted to help you guys set up, looks like it’s a busy day today.” 

You soon made rounds in their house, taking turns in helping in the kitchen, and backyard, and visiting Charles in his bedroom because he was apparently ordered to not move a finger until it was time to eat. 

Soon after, the long table set up beautifully in the backyard of Charles’ house was filled. Close friends, family, and everyone he held dear were present to celebrate his special day. Various dishes were laid out on the table as well as a cake baked by his mom herself had candles sticking out of it, along with a cake topper that said ‘21’. You sat beside Charles like you normally do, which was never an issue to anyone. Thankfully enough, despite the long tradition of having meals together with your and Charles’ family, no one ever posed the question of when the two of you are getting together or telling you two how much you looked good together.

Which benefitted the two of you. Now, you weren’t really sure if you’d call each other best friends, not when you two had lingering feelings you keep hidden from one another. It’s better that no one imposes anything so you and Charles can avoid any awkward conversation that may arise after.

The dinner was definitely delightful. It was nice that Charles was able to fly back home after his races to celebrate with family and you could tell how happy he was as he sat at the head of the table, providing him a clear view of everyone present to celebrate him. The rest of the night was nothing but hearty conversations, light-hearted jokes, and sangrias that were made by a proud Lorenzo. 

“Speaking of Lorenzo, I bumped into your girlfriend at the market the other day,” Pascale speaks up, everyone instantly shifting their attention to her.

“You should have brought her here, Enzo. She seems really nice.” 

“Noted for next time, Mama,” Lorenzo laughs, continuing to sip his sangria. 

Granted, Lorenzo did explain they’ve been together only for several months and he didn’t want to put his girlfriend under extreme pressure by bringing her to a dinner surrounded by his entire family. 

“How about you, Charles? Anyone your mom might be bumping into here in the city?” his aunt turns his head to Charles, who was pleasantly surprised by the question.

“Oh no, not at the moment,” he chuckles, in hopes that would be the end of it.

“I don’t think Charles is the ‘dating’ type as of now, tante,” Lorenzo adds, replying to his aunt.

“Hey, I’ve been on dates!” Charles puts his hands up in defense as everyone erupted in laughter. “Really, I’ve just been focusing on my racing career.”

“Plus, I don’t think I’ve met the right person yet.” he adds, adding a low laugh at the end. 

You shift in your seat as something in your heart drops, like your oxygen levels were dropping and your heart rate was slowing down. Whatever confirmation you were waiting for from the universe that what you felt for Charles remained stagnant, you were sure this was it. Hearing about how he’s in pursuit of the destined person for him sent shivers down your spine, yet you’re certain you had no spine at all, considering you chose to hide your true feelings for him for God knows how long now.

“Mama won’t have to worry about daughters-in-law anyway, Y/N’s practically one,” Arthur quips, making the whole table laugh once again, except you and Charles, who knew the gravity of the word wedding or marriage held for the two of you.

But the two of you manage to let out light, slightly forced laughs anyway, for each other’s benefit mostly.

“Ah yes, Charles did promise to marry me when the time is right.” you say, in a somehow witty and humorous tone, raising a brow as you look at Charles. 

“I intend to keep that promise, Y/N, don’t dare me.” Charles taunts jokingly.

And for the irony and heartbreak of it all, that would wind up being the last time Charles ever mentions the only promise he’s kept this long.

If anyone ever writes a biography about the untold love story you and Charles had, the author would probably call you cowards. For several years, decades even, the both of you never tried to see what it would be like on the other side of the door. Swearing you loved each other more than life itself yet never brave enough to jump and take the risk. You only ever convince yourselves that what you two have cost more and is more than finally having what you two really desired since you were both thirteen. So you both decide it’s better to let what you felt die down when you both get tired of waiting and hoping that someday, time would finally pencil you in on a schedule and things would finally work out.

The shadow of being best friends your whole life mostly served as a justification for the hidden affection you had for one another. Whenever you questioned the motive as to why it only takes one call for Charles to come running over to wherever you are, you tell yourself he’s your best friend, that’s why he cares so much. And every time Charles’ heartbeat skips when your skin touches whether in a hug or a kiss on the cheek, he ignores and tells himself the two of you have been close ever since. The two of you never thought to question it, always afraid of what comes after.

Soon enough the extended pining for each other would blur at least a little bit. You and Charles will eventually grow tired of being surrounded by the what-if’s you’ve been holding back for years. So neither of you can really blame each other when one takes a step forward - it’s general knowledge that any longer of whatever situation this was would just harm the two of you and could potentially ruin your friendship, the thing you’ve been protecting so ceaselessly over the years.

At 24, you and Charles are at the peak of your careers. He was now racing for his dream team, and you finally got the promotion you’d been busting your behind for for several years. But despite the busy schedules that you have mounted on your calendars, you manage to still have time for each other no matter how tough it got. 

19 years later, nothing had changed - exactly the way you and Charles wanted it to be. A small price to pay for broken hearts because of words left unspoken. 

But the question remains, would your hearts stay broken for so long? Maybe not, maybe the long game is what you’re supposed to play.

Charles always wanted his wedding to be private and intimate. He wasn’t one for big weddings where he invites people he’s only seen several times in his life, and probably won’t see for a long time after the wedding. He preferred it to just be close friends and family, in a private chapel, and he’s damn lucky his bride shared the same philosophy.

The villa Charles had chosen was exclusive and very private, even the planners of the wedding itself can be counted by hand. The villa was rented for the entire weekend and he pats himself on the shoulder for doing a good job of picking out the place. 

The sun was starting to set and you could only stare at the golden hues that painted the sky. The breeze was warm but not too hot it makes you sweat. Tables and chairs were set up, beautiful centerpieces on top of it. Everyone was already well-dressed following the theme, all prepared for the ceremony. Even the piano player was seated down, in a tuxedo, all ready to play probably the most haunting music you will ever hear. You smile lightly as you play with the hem of your dress, closing your eyes and hoping your heart won’t pop out of your chest.

“Your vows, please,” the officiant says, as Charles brings out a paper from his coat pocket, tears already forming in his eyes. 

You could only look at him longingly, chest pounding, waiting for the words written on the piece of paper he held tightly. 

“Mon amour, 7 years ago, my family thought I was never the dating type. Sure it was a joke, partly, but I wondered what it would be like to actually be with the right person, with my soulmate. I was too caught up in my career and in the whirlwind of chasing my dreams. But there you stood, in the middle of the chaos and you have managed to keep me grounded. You have served as my anchor all these years and I honestly don’t know what my life could have been if you weren’t in it.” He continues, tears falling down as he proceeds to use his index finger to wipe his eyes.

“With you, I finally know how it feels to be with their soulmate. In you, I found the best friend, the greatest teammate, and the most amazing woman. You have no idea how thankful I am that I found you in this lifetime, and I will spend the rest of my life loving you and reminding you just how much.”

It wasn’t long before a tear rolled down your cheek and it feels like you couldn’t breathe. Of all the places you could be, this was the last place you ever thought you’d be in - the wedding of the only man you have ever loved.

You sat in the audience, beside Arthur and Joris, who you hope was too occupied to see the tears you were shedding. You sat in the audience in your cream-colored dress, watching Charles promise to love another woman for the rest of his life, like your own personal execution, like you had done an unforgivable crime and this was the world’s way of punishing you for it.

Maybe it was your fault you even went. But your best friend for more than two decades asking you to be there for his wedding seems like something you can’t decline. It was the happiest day of his life, one of the most important days he was ever going to have - it would seem off that you weren’t there, but it was barbaric of you to torture yourself. 

You were happy for Charles, you know in your heart you were. But it was a shame you never knew how he felt and it was a missed opportunity you spent years hiding your heart from him. But here you sat, surrounded by the desolating what-ifs, just like when you were thirteen and you realized you liked Charles more than a friend.

For the first time in his life, Charles has finally broken a promise.

For the first time in your life, you realize just how crushing heartbreaks can be.

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

tagging: @slytherheign, @honethatty12, @siovhanroy, @fdl305, @iloveyou3000morgan, @cxcewg, @sassyheroneckgiant, @ang3licho3, @pitlanebabe, @riverdalexvixens, @msliz, @boherahpsody (if anyone else wants to be a part of my taglist or if i forgot anyone that asked to be tagged, pls lmk by replying or sending me a message hehe)

notes: been ia since the hungarian gp bc my tooth was hurting so bad i was practically glued to my bed, also my classes start in less than three weeks and i am now more anxious than ever ANYWAY thank u so much for reading <3

[s-4pphics]

let the rain sing. 3 (a.a)

OHHHHH WHO UP FR😨😨

wc;cw: 3.7k, dadsbestfriend!abby, lawstudent!oc, large age gap (oc is 25, abby is mid 40s), abby is bi<3, weed, alcohol, dubcon, footsie lol, angst :(

You haven’t seen or spoken to Abby in a month, and you were dying. 

It wasn’t even due to your insomnia, which came as a shock to you in the beginning. Your exhaustion was overcrowded by shame since your last encounter with her. A self-loathing deep in your gut that nearly puts you in the ground when you recollect on your aloofness. 

You forced yourself to neglect everything but coursework to wither your desire to call her and beg for forgiveness. It was December, and you were scavenging to get most of your revisions for your thesis complete before February. You were almost forty pages deep, but you couldn’t even relish your successes due to your overworked brain conjuring up visions of a dripping wet, crying Abby. 

Your short minutes of sleep were dominated by images of her: laughing, smiling, crying in pleasure under you, but none of the enjoyment lasted. Even in the heavy moments you two shared in your subconscious, you were always jolted awake by her screaming about how much she hated you, how you used her because you're selfish and controlling and mean. 

She never said those things to you outwardly, but you knew she felt it whenever she saw you during the late hours of the night, even more so now after your last fight. You felt like a terrible person; you are a terrible person. And you looked the part. 

The dark, heavy bags under your eyes returned, skin dry and wrinkly from frowning, crying, and stressing from school. You were glued to your laptop, clinging it to your side everywhere you went like your life depended on it. Like you would completely lose all connection to reality if it parted from you. You couldn’t separate from it.

Even when your parents would come knocking on your door asking why you didn’t eat dinner with them, your eyes bored into the bright screen, the sound of your mom’s cheery voice almost sounding like blaring alarms in your head.

Your dad made your favorite, baby! Come eat!

Your father. 

You could barely bring yourself to look him in the eye anymore. You make sure to avoid eye contact when he speaks to you, turning your head down when he holds you close. You missed his laugh lines and gentle smile, but you just… couldn’t. Every time you slipped up and met his delicate eyes, you saw Abby’s. 

So full of affection and softness: their eyes felt like a warm embrace, constant and comforting. Your father always got more affectionate during the holiday season. 

Your heart hurts whenever you think about Abby during this time of year. 

Was she lonely during the holidays? Is she close with her family? You were embarrassed how little you knew about her personal life. Her attempts to bond were always stopped by hot kisses, wandering hands, your desperate pleas for shut eye. How could you be so heartless to someone as kind as her? She invited you into her home, expressed her trauma, provided you with an outlet to release your tensions, and you stole from her with greed. 

You brought your hands up to your burning eyes to rub them before grabbing your phone. You unlocked it and scrolled down to you and Abby’s abandoned messages. Remorse slammed into your gut, the slew of abby i need you please and her replies of Okay. Come over anytime :) made nausea stir in your gut. 

You should leave her be. Leave her alone. Leave her alone, leave her alone, leave her alone—

But your selfishness was too strong, and your efforts to avoid her couldn’t hold any longer. Your fingers moved before your brain could stop them, the sounds of your unclipped nails tapping against your screen. Your eyes hurt so badly. 

You sent your message before you neglected it completely. 

i’m so sorry Abigail. 

Regret sat heavy in your chest like an anchor. 

You hoped she would forgive you someday. 

Mariah Carey interrupted your hour of slumber. Fuck her and your life. 

You angrily threw your blanket off your body and dug your palms into your eyes. Sometimes, the purity of your dad aggravates your soul. 

He always loved Christmas Eve more than Christmas day. You still remember when he went behind your mom’s back and snuck your Bratz Doll set into your devious, stubby hands after Eve dinner when you were seven. 

Mama’s gonna be so mad at you! 

Meh. She’ll never know if you don’t snitch!

Your irritated inhales were swarmed with the smell of savory meats and sweet pies. You were going to eat well later, at least. 

You reached over to your nightstand and grabbed your phone off the charger. Abby never replied to you, but she did open it. Your heartbeat sped up; She must’ve really despised you, and you couldn’t blame her. 

You hoped she has a great Christm—

“ALL I WANT FOR CHRIIISTMAAAS IS YOUU— “

Your father’s joyous shouts interrupted your wishful thoughts of seeing his close friend again. 

The irony of it all. 

You tiredly hobbled downstairs after brushing your teeth. 

You admired your parents' decorative abilities: the stair railings were wrapped in green and red ribbons; they hung up stockings and fairy lights over the small fireplace and covered the small tree in the corner of the living room in their DIY ornaments. 

You followed the sounds of pots and pans clanging together in the kitchen as your parents sang along to the lyrics booming from the speakers. Their backs were turned to you, but you could see them taste-testing soups and the corners of desserts as they shared small kisses. Your heart fluttered at the sight; they’re so in love.

You made yourself known, calling out over the tunes, “Y’all are up early.” 

Both their heads whipped around to face you, instantly brightening at your disheveled sight. 

“Girl, it’s noon,” your mom called out as she returned to her stirring of the large pot. Your dad trotted over to engulf you in his arms and planted kisses to your head. You made sure to keep your eyes on the wall in front of you. 

“Merry Christmas, babygirl,” he said into your ear. You were overcome with warmth, then swiftly blinded by guilt. Tears jerked in your eyes, but you blinked them away with urgency. 

You cleared your throat and huffed a laugh, “It’s not Christmas yet, bonehead.” 

You felt a playful pinch at the back of your neck as he laughed, “Keep talkin’ trash and you’re not eating.” 

You shook your head and pulled away from him, catching a small glimpse of his mischievous grin. You would’ve broken at the sight, but you swiftly brushed past him and into the kitchen to make you a quick bowl of microwaveable oatmeal. You heard your dad bolt up the stairs with a shout of BRB!

“And what are you doing.”

You turned to look at your mom, who was watching you grab a bowl from the cabinet with her hands on her hips, soupy spoon in hand. 

Your brows creased, “What, mom?” 

She looked at you like you had two heads. “You’re gonna ruin your appetite, baby. We’re all eating soon.”

You blinked blankly, “… So I can’t have oatmeal?” 

“No, you can’t have oatmeal. Did your dad not tell you the plans?”

“Uhh… no?”

“That man, I tell you," She shook her head in exasperation, “We’re having a little Christmas party. Everyone’s bringing stuff and we need to eat everything!” 

Your heart stopped in your chest at the mention of a party. You almost dropped the ceramic bowl on the floor when your arms lost strength. You tried to hide the anxiety on your face, but your mom’s gaze felt like it was piercing through you. 

No. No, please—

You set the bowl on the counter harder than you should have, “W-Who’s… Who’s coming?” 

She furrowed her brows at you and spoke in an obvious tone, “… All our family? Me’n dad’s work friends, some neighbors. The usual.” 

You nodded and turned towards the cupboards with a pounding heart. You felt lightheaded and your mouth went dry, your throat closing at the thought of seeing Abby. You knew she was coming; You've never seen her say no to your dad. She never even denied you and you were practically strangers. 

You were certain you were going to pass out—

“What’s the matter, baby?” 

You flinched at your mom’s gentle hand on your shoulder. You looked at her, and she looked just as confused, just as concerned as you would expect. You noticed a glint of intensity in her gaze, and your breath caught in your throat. 

… Did she know? There’s no way she knew. She couldn’t know. She didn’t, she didn’t—

“I… I just feel faint. I don’t know what happened.” 

Her eyes widened in shock, “Maybe you did need that damn oatmeal. Come here, baby. Come sit.” 

You could barely get words out, but your mom guided you to the dining table and ushered you to sit before running to get some water

“One bowl of oatmeal wouldn’t hurt, I guess,” She said with a sigh, handing you an ice-cold bottle from the fridge. You never choked down water that quickly in your entire life. “Cinnamon apple or maple?”

You gulped and garbled apple before getting more water in. 

You weren’t thinking about fucking oatmeal. The thought of eating suddenly made you sick. 

You were seeing Abby much quicker than you expected, and there was nothing you could do about it.

Your quiet neighborhood was bustling. 

You were peeping out the window from the living room couch to distract yourself from your oncoming doom. Bundled-up families were making their way through the snow and onto lit-up porches, children were smiling and jumping in piles of white ice, and everyone had ugly sweaters under their coats. 

The sight was precious, but all you could think about was Abby, the image of her at your parents' front door making you want to flee. 

… Your parents were busy all day. Maybe they wouldn’t notice if you stole your keys from the kitchen counter and drove off until the guests drunkenly laughed home—

“Girl, why aren’t you dressed! Everyone will be here soon!”

Your eyes shut in nervousness at your mom’s tone. You released the hold you had on the blinds and got up off the couch. You caught a glimpse of the ugly Christmas sweater she wanted to match with you, holding yours up in both hands. You grabbed it and moved to walk up the stairs, flinching at the playful slap she gave your ass. You ignored her as she ridiculed you for being late, your heartbeat rattling your ribcage. 

… Here goes nothing. 

The sun was setting as you nervously sipped your second glass of wine, watching your family and friends prance all over your home with joy. 

After greeting all your guests, you took a seat on the couch next to the door, completely on guard as you poured more maroon liquid into your glass. You assumed sipping would calm your anxiety, but your tipsiness only added to your stress. You were thankful that your family respected your observance so you could isolate during these gatherings. 

Ugly Christmas sweaters were a theme for your block evidently. Everyone was decked in garb that had corny punchlines and ridiculously bright green and red sleeves. Your favorite cousin even had the nerve to show up in a Merry Litmas sweater riddled with marijuana leaves. Your mom, aunt, and uncle tag-teamed cursing him out at the front door. 

Your friends loved coming over when your pothead cousin was present; They never missed an opportunity to hotbox in his car. You want to join them so badly. 

Your youngest aunt had gotten tired of hearing songs about Santa, propping your youngest cousin on her hip and queuing the entirety of Tina Snow. Your mom smirked deviously as your father grabbed the shot glasses and Tequila from the cupboards. 

Your home was jumping an hour later. Everyone had migrated towards the kitchen, rotating between pouring up and sneaking tastes of your mom’s homemade sweet potato pies on the table. 

Your dad’s work friends trickled in one by one, but there was still no sign of Abby. A hole opened in your heart, and you accepted that she wasn’t coming. That your apology wouldn’t be enough to amend your relationship. 

You caught a glimpse of your remarkably high cousin waltz into the snowy backyard, and you moved on autopilot. You made your way through the dancing crowd, avoiding the scene of your dad grinding on your mom and grabbing your coat off the rack. You pushed the back door open and shivered at the cold, catching the sight of your cousin rolling up at the patio table. 

“Yo.”

He jumped and turned to face you, his eyes light pink and a lazy smile appearing on his face at the sight. 

“Don’t sneak up on me like that. What’s up.”

You shrugged and grabbed a seat in front of him, sighing heavily as you sat. “It’s crowded in there.”

He nodded along with you, sealing his blunt with a smirk on his face, “Your new friend’s fine as hell. With the red antlers— “

You cut him off with a sharp glare, “Don’t you fucking dare. Leave her alone.”

He furrowed his brows at your tone, “Damn, my bad. I didn’t even say shit.”

“You don’t have to. Whore.”

He let out a loud laugh, his Santa hat covered head flying back as he pulled his lighter out his pocket. You watched him spark the end of his blunt before puffing from it, exhaling the smoke in a spherical cloud that floated near your face. 

He wordlessly passed the blunt to you, and you accepted it, bringing it to your lips and pulling from it for a while. You felt the dull burn in your lungs as smoke filled your mouth before exhaling. 

“You got better at that. Shit.”  

You looked up at him and shrugged again, “I’ve been practicing, I guess.” 

You puffed from the lit blunt again before passing it back to your cousin, watching him mimic your previous actions as you breathed out the carbon.

He exhaled the smoke as he spoke, “How come? Is that why you look like trash?”

You glared at him, but he didn’t care, continuing, “Have you been sleepin’?”

You hesitated before quietly denying. 

His eyes widened at you. “Bro, what the fuck. Do your parents know?”

You shrugged sheepishly as you looked down at the frosted glass table, reaching for the blunt. 

He passed it to you as he shook his head, “You need to go to the fuckin’ doctor and get that checked. Have you been using aids?” 

You couldn’t help the huffed laugh that escaped you, Abby’s ribbed dick and blushing face popping into your mind. 

“Somethin’ like that.” 

You took one last good pull from the blunt before passing it back to him, your body relaxing into the cushioned chair. You watched your cousin shake his head as he pulled from the blunt. 

You two caught up as darkness consumed you, giggling at the nonsensical ramblings about his new job as a Uber driver and how much he hated living near a university. 

You couldn’t stop fucking laughing. You didn’t know how much time passed or what your cousin was talking about, but you felt light. Like the frigid wind surrounding the two of you would send you flying; You haven’t felt this joyous in months. The twinkling lights that surrounded the back door shined like stars; Everything looked so pretty. Maybe you should start smoking again—

The back door was pulled open, and it snapped you out of your colorful trance, your youngest aunt’s head poking out. 

She whispered harshly to the two of you, nodding towards your cousin's roach in his hand, “Can y’all put that shit out so we can eat?! Hurry the fuck up!”

She turned back inside with an aggravated eye roll, leaving the door open so that you could both follow her back into warmth. Your cousin stubbed his blunt out on the floor as you stood from your seat, making your way inside as you watched everyone line up for their plates in the kitchen. 

Your heart stopped and your gut swirled with nerves and want when you saw the familiar form standing by the speakers, talking to your dad. You should’ve never fucking smoked, why the fuck did you smoke—

Your head was rushing as you took in Abby: hair in two braids that were covered by a pink Santa hat, and a black and white ugly sweater covered with reindeers pooping. She was smiling as she listened to your father’s tipsy rambles, laughing as he waved his arms around in excitement. Her laugh swallowed you in slow motion, sounding like jingle bells and filling your heart with… something heavy and unfamiliar. You always thought her laugh was cute and she has the prettiest smile—

“You good?”

You jumped and gasped harshly as your cousin's voice came from behind you. You nodded in a rush, halting your gawking before scurrying over to the dining table and grabbing a paper plate. 

Try not to look fucking high! You’re not even high! Abby came, Abby came, Abby came. 

Your mind was racing as you filled your plate with baked mac and cheese, nearly dropping the large scooping spoon on the floor when your aunt asked why you were taking so long. 

You look high, you idiot! Don’t look high—

Your nose was filled with the familiar scent of roses, and you whipped your head around to see Abby retreating back to the dining table with a filled plate and wine glass in her hand. She smelled so fucking good—

“Bruh, you’re tweaking. Go sit the hell down.” 

You looked over and saw your cousin with a plate that was nearly identical to yours: a giant pile of fucking mac and cheese with some wings next to it. You want fucking chicken, too!

You walked past him and grabbed you some from the foil serving tin before making your way over to the table and Abby was fucking looking at you and there was an open seat in front of her, oh fuck—

You probably looked so fucking high when you plopped down in the vacant seat, tearing into your macaroni. 

You kept your head down, face deep in your plate.

Every time you looked up, Abby caught your gaze. 

The table was filled with drunken converse, your parents and uncles arguing over who would die in the Hunger Games first… you think. What the fuck did you smoke? 

… Abby is so gorgeous. Have you ever told her that? Probably not. 

You’ve been studying her face for what felt like hours as you chowed down your food, watching her sip her wine, watching her watch you. It made your heart race and your fingers twitch as they rested on the table. 

You were hyper aware of every move she made: every shuffle in her seat, every fiddle with her fork, every minuscule response to your dad from across the table before her eyes flickered towards you again. You couldn’t read her expressions, but there was something in her eye that terrified you. Maybe your assumptions about her hatred towards you were true. Your behavior ruined everything. You were never going to see her smile or laugh or sleep again—

The brush against your leg made you stiffen. 

Your eyes immediately flickered towards Abby: she was conversing with a work friend that you didn’t recognize, chuckling into her glass as she beamed with excitement as she listened to the tale. Another brush against you, nearly pressing into your limb. Your nipples hardened.

You shuddered with a heavy sigh, and you felt a foot slowly glide up your knee before traveling back down to your ankle, catching on your sock. Your tummy was in knots. 

Abby finally paid you some attention, reconnecting your eyes. The sparkle in her eyes sent a tight twist in your gut. It was playful and mischievous and full of want. You shuddered again when she wet her lips, her tongue peeping out of her mouth and brushing against the glass.

“You okay?”

You jumped at your aunt's voice from next to you, and you nodded stiffly. Abby's foot traveled up your leg again as she watched the interaction between you and her. 

“You sure, babe? You look sick— “

You shook your head and turned to look at your aunt’s concerned face, “M’okay. I’m just tired.” 

“You look it.” 

You could see Abby adjust in her seat, her feet going up your knee and inching up your thigh. Your legs closed around her fuzzy sock covered foot on instinct, your core clenching as your aunt palmed your forehead. 

“You feel hot, babe. Maybe you should lay down for a bit?”

You could see Abby smirking behind her glass. You hate her, you hate her, you hate her—

You exhaled sharply, “Okay— “

A sharp gasp cut you off when her foot shoved between your shut legs, the bottom of it pushing into your clothed, drippy cunt. Your clit jerked with need as you shot up out of your seat, almost tripping as your chair clattered to the floor. Everyone’s conversation stopped, eyeing you with concern as they asked what was wrong. Abby was still smirking, sipping in silence. 

“Sorry, m’good. I’m gonna… gonna lay down for a sec.” 

You turned away before you could hear your family’s arguments, your youngest aunt asking your cousin what the fuck he put in that blunt. You bolted up the stairs and shut your door, trying to ignore the wetness between your legs. 

You’re horny as fuck. You’re never getting high again. 

You heard the party pick up after some minutes before a ding came from your pocket as you paced around your room. 

You clumsily pulled it out and read the message from Abby, the coil in your gut reigniting as guilt filled your chest. 

You’re not forgiven. :)

damn this took forever my fault yall

next part gon b up quick omg abby backstory purr

omg first post in the middle of the night who up fr

taglistttt love yall smooches @ohlawdthebirds @fibrogirlie @unangelic-thoughts @chrry1ovr @uraesthete @gravygranules @digit4lslut @machetegirl109 @letsreadsomesins-shallwe @macaroni676 @sillygooselit @nil-eena @elliesgirlll @hi2647

prologue. part one. part two. interlude. part four.

[thetirisfaltheatretroupe]

Coming September 7th: "Hellsqueal, the True Warchief's REMIX"

WHO: The Tirisfal Theatre Troupe...and YOU! WHAT: "Hellsqueal: The True Warchief's Remix", a live performance! WHERE: The Shrine of Fellowship, Jade Forest WHEN: Saturday, September 7th, 6:00 PM PST // 8:00 PM Central

(Original poster by our beloved friend Erialin. Miss you always <3)

Many years have passed since the fall of Garrosh Hellscream, widely referred to as only the second worst Warchief to ever live. In the wake of his legacy of failure, come have a laugh at his expense as we take a brief and historically accurate look at his career as Warchief of the Horde! Come join the illustrious Tirisfal Theatre Troupe as we perform this revision of a classic story, filled with drama, heartache, betrayal, heroics, and jokes about bronze frogs and dubious medical typos!

The show will be held at the Shrine of Fellowship in the Jade Forest (Wyrmrest Accord's shard, non-Warmode), a quick portal away for both factions on SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 7TH at 6:00 PM PST // 8:00 PM CENTRAL! Runtime is approximately an hour and a half, though technical difficulties may cause us to go slightly over!

It's been a number of years since the Tirisfal Theatre Troupe last performed the play that put us on the map! While we said goodbye to the Hellsqueal trilogy of comedies a long time ago, with the advent of the wildly successful Mists of Pandaria Remix, we figured now was as good a time as any to dust off the old script and give people another taste of this timeless classic from the Timeless Isles. This time around, a few things are a little different - our standard of quality in what we've written is a little higher, our production value is a little larger, and we've got a number of new and old talent alike returning to the stage! Come join us for this recollection of a simpler time, and maybe find something both new and old to love about this new spin on the Tirisfal Theatre's very first major production that we premiered way back in 2013. Whether you are an old troupie, or someone who has merely heard of us in passing... you're certain to have a Hellscream of a time. Note: This post will be updated and reblogged as more information becomes available or clarifications are added! Special thanks to @shamanofthewilds for editing the time and date details on the poster on such short notice, you're an amazing asset to the company and crew! <3 And best Thrall.

[americasass81]

So, This Is Love!

Warnings 18+ for the following:- Oral (female receiving), Anal Play, Use of Sex Toy, P in V Smut, Overstimulation.  Do not read if any of these warnings are upsetting. Feedback is welcomed.

By proceeding you are acknowledging that you are over 18 and are consenting to the content below the cut.

Author’s Note 1:- Written for Siri’s Birthday Bonanza, this fic my sweet @stargazingfangirl18 is a gift from me to you.  Using the choices listed below, I hope my first time trying out your favorite character works out.  I know he’s one I’ve been longing to write but never quite felt I could pull him off.  Happy birthday and fingers crossed babe cause here we go.

CE!Babe:- Ransom Drysdale (Nightclub Owner AU).

Scenario Prompt:- The moment you or babe realize you’re in love with the other.

Dialogue Prompts:- “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be ruined for anyone else.”  & “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?”

Author’s Note 2:- As always, all images have been found through google search.

Synopsis:- Heading off to a club to spend your birthday with your friends takes a turn you never expected when your path crosses that of an old flame.

Pairing:- dark/soft!nightclub owner Ransom Drysdale x Female Reader

Word Count:- 3,303

Walking through the door you still couldn't figure out why you had agreed to such an excursion, but here you were anyway.  Oh sure, it was your birthday and Risk was one of the hottest, if not the hottest, nightclubs in the city.  But he owned it and damn it if you ever again wanted anything to do with Hugh Ransom Drysdale.

Standing just inside the entrance now as you took in the elaborate decor and distastefully dressed servers, Suz and the rest of your girl friends waving down at you from the V.I.P. section required you to put your opinions of this place on hold at least temporarily however.  For this was an extra disaster you had not been expecting.

Having to listen patiently and politely while your college roommate complained extensively about all the new fixtures and revisions that arrogant trust fund prick kept demanding at the last minute, walking past the door marked private now on your way to your friends confirmed what your vague recollection of countless blueprints lying around your dorm room had imprinted on you memory ... your birthday celebration was not only taking place in his club, but your booth was located right beside that annoying fuck's office.  Which definitely put an even bigger dampener on the whole celebration.

Plastering on an enthusiastic smile however as you neared the secluded area to be swallowed up in the hugs and birthday wishes from those who had your back through every major crisis or celebration, your first sip of the exquisitely expensive champagne and you told yourself to hell with it.  This was your night, your party and you were going to be damned if you let someone like Mr. Jumped Up Drysdale ruin it for you.  After all, who's to say he was even in the club or aware of your presence here.  No, settling into the nearest vacant seat now as your friends showered you with presents, a few more glasses of the club's best bubbly and you were ready to let your hair down.  Which is exactly what you and the girls got ready to do.

Collecting up your gifts now and placing them in the safe discreetly provided in a hidden compartment under the seats, your group next made its way down to the main floor so the fun filled night could begin in earnest.  And what a night it was.  Dancing until your feet hurt and singing until your voice really couldn't take any more, you now watched from the bar as Suz dealt with the advances of some blond haired bodybuilder who was far removed from the type of guy she would normally entertain.  But still, you had to give him points for trying since, no matter how she turned him down or how many times she returned to dancing with the rest of your group, he remained close by.

But at least she seemed more than capable of handling him so far and simply carried on enjoying her night.  You however were not holding up as well it seemed.

Finally receiving the drink you were patiently waiting for now, the noise beginning to batter your head and the lack of a spot to take the weight off your tired feet soon found you back in the V.I.P. section without shoes and friends however as you took a few moments to rest and regroup.  Not that your wishes were catered to in regards to this matter for very long it seemed.

Closing your eyes temporarily now as you simply allowed the rhythm of the music to seep into your being while the seat beneath you comforted you like an old friend, a shadow crowding your space and the clearing of a throat brought you suddenly back to where you were and the vulnerable position you had allowed yourself to fall into.  But that was the least of your worries as things were about to get a whole lot worse.  Looking up now at the bouncer who had manned the door upon your arrival earlier in the night, his outstretched hand and instructions to follow him did not fill you with confidence and things only got so much worse when he led you a very short distance to the last place you ever wanted to be with these walls.  For this was the place where your nightmares dwelled.

Sitting behind his desk now as the bouncer in question ushered you into his boss' office, you were just about to object and walk back out the way you had entered when the metal door shutting in your face told you escape was not an option.  As it was, the prick ignoring you with his head pouring over various documents was more than enough to distract you and get your temper flaring.  Which is how all of your previous encounters with this man usually started.

"Hey dickface, I'm trying to enjoy a night out with my girl friends here.  You want to tell me why you're interrupting it?" you asked angrily and you couldn't believe the audacity of the man before you when he simply held up his finger and kept reading as if you hadn't just spoken.  It was as if he was determined to see just how far your patience would stretch.  But you weren't going to give him the satisfaction.  At least you hoped not.

Taking a seat in front of his desk instead as you now remembered why you had left the dance floor in the first place, him turning over the sheet of paper to yet another page infuriated you enough however to finally force a reaction from you and it wasn't one he liked apparently.  Placing your feet on his desk now in a show of disrespect no different from what he himself had been engaged in with the reading, Ransom rising from his own chair now and walking around to your side brought your full attention to him and his on you.

"Remove your feet from my desk right now Princess or I promise you won't be sitting down for a week by the time I'm through with you," he warned and though it wasn't in your nature to give him what he wanted, you had a party to get back to and you figured the sooner you got done with him the sooner you could go back outside and drink away the memory of this whole interaction.  That and the unwelcome effect his tone was having on you.

But Ransom it seemed had other plans.  Smiling in triumph now as you did what he asked, he then took the empty chair beside you and sitting down facing you began to question you incessantly on your opinion of the club, the music, the staff and pretty much how well you were enjoying your night within the walls of his establishment.

Still a little pissed off but now more confused as to why your opinion even mattered to him however, Ransom reaching down under his desk to pick up a box you hadn't seen until now brought a new set of questions flooding through your mind instead.  Like what was he playing at, for example?  He hated your guts after all and it was no secret you would love nothing more than to rip him to shreds and never set eyes on him again.  So why now was he doing something that only a sweet person with a soul would do for someone they genuinely liked?  Looking back and forth between him and the box now as he held it out between you and let the silence drown out your further questions, your own hand reaching out to take it from him however was perhaps the most surprising part of this whole exchange.  At least until you opened the gift that is.

Taking off the top and suspecting that a garment of some sort lay nestled neatly beneath the tissue layers, it was the envelope on top that caught your attention first and it was this that your fingers now reached out for.  Balancing the box on your lap then as the weight of the envelope settled in your hand, turning it over and ripping it open to reveal its contents practically took your breath away.  For the bastard had somehow done the impossible.

Printed out in clear detail, with a departure date and arrival date was a four week, all expenses paid holiday for two that you had been putting off since your early days in college.  But how on earth did he possibly know about that?  As far as you knew this was a secret you had carried around with you all these years.  And yet here was the proof that at least one other person knew and it just had to be the worst possible one.

Looking between the schedule, tickets and Ransom now as you tried to figure out what you should do or what you should say, this task would have to wait however as the man before you spoke again and sent your thoughts spinning into orbit once more.  "Well Princess, I'm sure there's one or more items still waiting for you to feast your pretty little eyes on," he reminded you with a smirk that in no way engendered confidence in what you would find, but what choice did you really have.

Your friends didn't know where you were and were more likely than not still enjoying the wonderful perks that had probably right now been laid on to distract them from what the owner was currently up to.  Add to that the fact that this room was locked and possibly soundproofed and he really had you right where he wanted you.  Which didn't help your mood or blood pressure one bit when you peeled back the tissue and revealed a silky dress you not only knew would cover very little, but also suspected bore a price tag that would easily feed a starving village for a week.  Which was a damn good reason to hate it.  That and the fact that he had bought it.

So with your mind made up that there was no earthly way you were wearing that thing, you would have told Ransom as much right there if he didn't already have some sixth sense to figure it out for himself.  And his response shocked you far more than anything else had so far this night.  For as it was, he took the box from your lap now and placing it on top of his desk, dropped to his knees in front of you and asked you to put it on in a manner that was so far removed from the Ransom Drysdale you knew that it tore at your heart to deny him.  Then again, it might simply be a result of all the alcohol you had consumed so far.  Either way, the fury slipped away as easily as the dress you entered the club with and replacing it with this new one, your suspicions had proven completely correct ... it indeed covered very little.

Encasing your breasts nicely to the point where Ransom stepped up behind you now and helped remove your superfluous bra, the rest of the material just about made it to the end of your ass cheeks, but neither of these were the problem at this exact moment.  Placing the spaghetti straps back on your shoulders now that your bra had been tossed aside, Ransom's hands now lingering in place should have had you screaming for assistance ... but this wasn't happening.  Remaining instead where you were now, as your eyes traveled back to the box on the desk and the envelope it still held, his fingers skimming along your arms and his warm body pressed against yours was mixing dangerously with the night that was in it to reignite old feelings you'd long thought dead and buried.  And it seemed he was feeling them too.

Continuing to caress your body as he had long ago and remind you of why the two of you had been so good together, his lips now resting against your ear and the secret they told couldn't even seem to break the spell he had over you.  For the dress and the tickets it seemed had only been part of his present ... your party here tonight was completely free.  Calling in some favors while throwing his name and money around, his offer to host the party had apparently been far too generous for your girl friends to pass up, but where did that leave you now?

Turning you to face him now as his lips continued to leave a trail of warmth in their wake, Ransom dropping to his knees again as his hands now rested on your hips should have told you enough about what he had planned, but it seemed he wanted to leave no doubt.  "Do you know how long I've waited to do this?  By the time I'm done with you, you'll be ruined for anyone else," he stated and while your brain told you to protect your heart and push him away, his lips meeting your core as your ripped panties landed somewhere on the floor was all it took for your rational self to shut down while your body took you on a trip down memory lane.

For the man had skills and time had in no way diminished them or the memory of what he could do.

Holding you to him now as his teeth nipped at your lips while his tongue worked its way into your core, his nose now rubbing against your bundle of nerves should have been enough to send you into a sex induced frenzy, but the fun was just beginning.  Placing your own hands on his head now as you pushed him closer in the hopes of reaching the release that was just waiting beyond the edge, Ransom humming against your core now while flexing his fingers against your ass proved to be the final nail that truly did you in.  Moaning out above him now as the tremors from your core spread outwards, he lapped up all the nectar you had to give him and then some as his tongue continued to fuck you through the high until your body couldn't take any more and threatened to collapse on the floor beside him.  But it seemed he was prepared for that too.

Rising to his feet now a little too gracefully for someone who had just done what he had done, you soon found yourself face down atop his desk with the trust fund prick folded atop you in a manner that normally would have sent your temper into overdrive.  But now it was something else entirely that was off the scale and you knew, despite your better judgment, that Ransom would deliver.  You just had no idea what exactly that entailed.

Returning his mouth to yours now as his lips devoured every moan, gasp and whimper you produced, a belt noising behind you along with his actions proved enough of a distraction that you failed to see his hand reach out towards the box on the desk once more and remove something you hadn't yet discovered.  But that didn't mean you were about to remain oblivious however.  Continuing to shower you with kisses as his lips now whispered words of love and adoration while his fingers returned to your aching core once more, another two orgasms ripped from your center and a whole new side of Ransom Drysdale was revealed to you.  Whether you liked it or not.

Returning to your body now following the highs that had pretty much rocked your world and sapped you of the strength you could do with now, a firm object moving between your lips, getting covered in your juices should have told you something was off, but it seemed Ransom had done his job well.  Too well in fact.  Exhausted and distracted now from three of the most intense orgasms your body had experienced since leaving this trust fund prick behind, it wasn't until the cool air hit the crack of your ass and a strange pressure settled there that your brain grasped what was going on.  But by then it was too late.

Having worked you over enough and stimulated you to the point where your whole body was now one giant pliable muscle to be manipulated as he saw fit, the plug, lubricated sufficiently from your previous releases, slid home easily with just the most minor discomfort on your part.  Discomfort Ransom now meant to work out of you.  Shushing your protests and profanities now as his left hand still easily held your body flush against his desk, his right hand now grabbed hold of his equipment and running it leisurely through your folds, coated himself well until your struggling ceased and a different type of movement began.  For it seemed your body still craved him despite what your mind led you to believe.  And he was nothing if not someone who aimed to please.

Teasing you, and perhaps himself, a little longer now until your begging finally sent shockwaves towards his own overstimulated package, his length sliding home now in one powerful thrust made both of you realize a startling truth that would have to be discussed at a later and more rational time ... neither one of you was complete without the other.

Oh sure, this was just sex and the more time you spent around each other the more you argued about the smallest of things.  But moving back against him now as his cock thrust deep within you, hitting all those delicious spots only Ransom ever could, both you working together and egging each other on was what made you the perfect fit for each other.  You challenged each other.  Fought to push the other higher and farther than either could alone.  Forced each other out of your comfort zones because you alone saw the talent and potential in the other and couldn't stand to see it going to waste.

Hell, even finding a moment of clarity now when Ransom flipped you over onto your back and placed your legs above his shoulders as the tip of his penis kissed your cervix, you remembered clearly a recently forgotten memory of you defending the ass to a co-worker when you were sure your feelings for him had long since scattered on the breeze.  It seemed he wasn't as easy to get over as you had previously thought.

Leaving this thought behind however and coming back to the moment now as you begged Ransom to fuck you harder, the man groaned above you but nonetheless gave in to your demands without fail.  Pulling his length almost all the way out now before bending down to capture your lips, a devilish smirk gracing his features should have told you trouble was brewing but you didn't have time to question what it might be when his hand snaked down to touch the plug and a powerful vibration shattered your soul at the exact same moment Ransom buried his shaft within you once more.

Screaming to the heavens now as the man above you competed with the vibrating toy wedged firmly up your forbidden opening, orgasm after orgasm blended together just as yours and Ransom's voices did and by the time he had finished depositing his load within your lady garden, his promise had been fulfilled.  No other man would ever satisfy you after this and when you opened your eyes on the world once more, he would prove it to you all over again until the message got through.

You were his and he was yours ... from this breath until the last.

[vintagerpg]

The Events at Poroth Farm (1990) was T.E.D. Klein's debut short story (first published in 1972) that formed the basis for his excellent novel The Ceremonies (1984). Despite being included in a couple of Year’s Best Horror anthologies, the story was difficult to find prior to this Necronomicon Press version (which boasts some minor revisions and corrections by the author). It’s one of my favorite horror stories ever and I think there is a solid argument for it being one of the best horror stories written in the second half of the 20th century (and it is, at least to my recollection, free of the controversial themes that mars some of Klein’s later work).

It sees a writer preparing for a course on Gothic literature by spending the summer in a rented room on a remote farm in South Jersey owned by a couple who practice an unnamed Amish-like religion that proscribes modern technology. The isolation is right there from the start, as is a light (an entirely unrealized) sexual tension between the young couple and their lodger. It almost feels like a different kind of story entirely, but then something crawls out of the woods and into one of the couple’s cats, then into more human lodging. Whatever it is does a good job of impersonating people, but it often forgets to blink. The result is catastrophic without ever losing the sense of intimacy and isolation (something the larger novel doesn’t succeed so well at, thought it’s still a banger).

Jason Eckhardt’s stipple-full illustrations really sold the story for me, now and in 1992. That one of the night sky is just beyond perfect. You might be familiar with Eckhardt’s name because I think his work on Chaosium’s Lovecraft Country sourcebooks is so excellently atmospheric. His work for Necronomicon Press is on the same level.

[3vln]

Ravens and Stallions: Ch. 2

Pairings: D. Blackwood x Bracken!Fem!Reader

Words: 3.2K

C.W.: probably needs lots of revisions. lots of time-inaccurate privileges (modern dilly-dallying), OCs, enemies-to-lovers, Romeo & Juliet-esque, non-canon stuff, no smut yet (but MINORS DNI) usual banter, SLOW-BURN

A.N.: Would love an editor with this, fr; also, both need to learn how to fucking communicate

Summary: Reader is presented with terrible news, while still thinking about the raven-haired man. A quick and heated meet-up happens in the godswoods gardens in Riverrun during the Harvest Feast.

“Well? Do tell!”

You let out an exasperated sigh as your friend dragged you across the halls to the common room for the debrief amongst quartet.

“Bellena, you’ve become tiresome tonight,” you groaned. She stuck out her tongue.

It was a fortnight since the evening that was spent at Harroway amongst the girls. Neither of them had a moment to debrief on the specific evening, until now at Stone Hedge. You’ve been thinking about the time you spent by the distant trees of the tavern, and how you longed for the butterflies you felt in your stomach. More meetings with suitors set by your mother were spent in vain, finding an excuse or another to explain to your parents that none of them would work, and another sigh coming from them.

Greeting the guard outside the common room, you both found the other two ladies chatting away by fire.

“There you are!”

“We’ve been waiting for you!”

“We must debrief!”

You sighed quietly as you sat, wanting to ensure that the conversation didn’t fall on you to recount the memories of your evening with a certain Blackwood. You looked at Lyanne, recollecting, however, an interesting view, “Well? Get on with it. How was your kiss with the Northerner?” you wiggled your eyebrows, and then more seriously, “Did you also get ahold of that tea I mentioned?”

Lyanne’s stark contrast to her previous state was present, blithe and gushing as she recollected her evening with the man from House Locke - a rather improvement from the previous man she had been.

Kaya, the other from the friend group, had a nice chat, but nothing noteworthy. In actuality, they’ve never known Kaya to be one to gush or express interest in any of the men presented to her. But she’s always been one to wish the other girls well with any suitors, and was rather pleased if something went well. You liked Kaya, she was the most relatable one to you, even if she was rather distant at times.

Bellena, on the other hand, was most like Lyanne but less whimsical, and wasn’t taken away by the words of men. Her spirit was rather charming. Much like a siren, she knew how to turn an opportunity to her favor, and her evening at that tavern was nothing short of what she had expected with her time with Ser Aron.

“You’re awfully quiet,” one of them noticed.

“You did have us leave in haste,” the other added.

“Did you have a good time?” the last asked.

You breathed in, debating if you should explain your… dilemma? No, it was nothing noteworthy. “Nothing eventful happened," you sighed. "And I agree with Kaya, the man I spoke with was nothing of note as well. It was getting late, and I didn’t want my aunt to fret,” you shrugged. It wasn’t an absolute lie, but it wasn’t the truth either. It was a middle ground you were satisfied with.

Bellena wasn’t sold on this half-truth, glaring at you when the others weren’t looking. You rolled your eyes.

It was your experience to live in, and you were willing to swallow your emotions for the sake of preventing anything further from happening. None of them would understand. What could they possibly say that you didn’t already know?

This was an issue and feud that spanned generations-long between the two houses, and none of them would be willing to understand the intense dislike you carried for the Blackwoods, and how utterly wrong that evening was; you weren’t going to be swayed by mere words from your friends.

You quietly sighed, ordering more tea and snacks for the common room from the nearby maid.

-

The ladies bid themselves farewell in the morning after staying for the night, watching them go from inside the bailey gates.

Come nightfall, when supper was served, you couldn't help but feel a sort of tension in the air. Something was filled with a sort of anxiety, nervousness. A loaded silence waiting to explode.

Your father cleared his throat, gaining your attention.

“You must marry soon,” is all he says, rather uncomfortably.

Confusion falls upon you at his sudden and weird comment. You looked at him curiously, not understanding. You were out meeting suitors, but it wasn’t your fault the men were falling short.

Your mother grabs his hand, trying for a more eloquent explanation to his sudden request, “The Harvest Feast is upon us, and House Tully has already sent out their invitations to have us join them. It would be a great opportunity for you to meet someone,” she says. “We’ve been… rather… flexible with you –”

“And I’m forever grateful for the privilege, mama, but this is all so sudden. I don’t understand where this is coming from,” you frowned.

She looks at her husband, not meeting her gaze, and tries again as she takes in a breath, “Lord Greyjoy has taken an interest in you.”

“The old geezer?”

“The Red Kraken.”

“The Red Kraken? As if that makes things better! Does he not have a wife already? 4 others, in fact.”

“My sweet,” your mother reaches out for your hand, “we urge you to marry. His reputation, from what we hear… it’s not great. The ironborn… they’re a culture foreign to us, and we want to ensure you’re happy with your future beloved. But time is running out and Lord Greyjoy has plans to declare for you…”

“No daughter of mine will become a salt wife,” your father scorned, to no one in particular. You held your breath.

“You,” he said after some time, a distressed look in his eyes, “you are my one and only daughter. Love marriages are miracles, but not impossible,” blindly returning his wife’s caress on his hand. “However, I will have to marry you off to someone soon should you fail to secure a marriage yourself.”

Needing a moment to digest with too many thoughts running, nothing was said from your end, other than a nod of understanding.

Keeping quiet throughout supper, in the hallways leading up to your bedroom, and throughout the bath that was readied for you, the thought of having no control over whom you would soon wed terrified you.

You asked the maids to leave you in the warm water, breath becoming shallow as you thought about the prospect of marrying Dalton Greyjoy, and the thought of it boiling your blood. You would need to find your finest silks, finest jewelry, finest anything, to find a man that would make-do. Thinking conservatively, a love marriage wasn’t in the cards anymore, as much as your parents would like, but a decent marriage would at least grant you the freedom of a married woman. All you would need to do is give birth to an heir, and the best possible outcome would be that your future husband would leave you alone or flourish, pray to the Maiden.

You groaned.

You didn’t want something decent, you wanted a love marriage. You wanted one like your parents, and it was breaking your heart. Why Dalton Greyjoy of all people, why was this happening so soon? And why the Blackwood?

You thought back to the evening, promenading around the tavern, the shared laughter, the attentiveness and careful actions around you, the scar above his lips, the dark hair, the kiss by the trees, the grasp around your waist, the stirring in your loin. A hand ventured, your quiet sobs drowned out as you held yourself underwater, hoping no one would hear you.

The Harvest Feast was a celebration that often involved the overlord and their noble houses. Lord Paramount Grover Tully, although failing in age and growing weak, was not one to miss on these feasts to celebrate with his vassals. He was a man committed to his principles as Lord Paramount of the Trident, however weak or bedridden, and this was one of them.

Your Lord father made his rounds greeting the other lords in the Riverlands when the Harvest Feast came around, ensuring you got the opportunity to meet their eligible sons he thought were worth presenting. Swallowing embarrassment, polite smiles were exchanged, and sure enough, after the feast was served and the dancing ensued, their sons would come looking for you. None of them being the raven-haired male you were looking for.

“Are you enjoying yourself, my dear?” your mother asked.

You gave her a look, hoping she’d understand that No, you were not enjoying yourself, but you would at least keep trying as you sat down from a rather painful dance with one the many lord’s sons.

She only chuckled and continued her wine, keeping a worried expression for herself as she looked away.

Your eyes secretly scanned for the Blackwood boy, then focusing on your feast table when you'd catch yourself looking for him.

House Blackwood had feasted opposite of you. The seating arrangements were set up to prevent any unnecessary interactions between the opposing families, but no one knew for certain if such efforts were futile, seeing how many many feasts were set up similarly and one, imbibed with too much ale or wine (or even ego or pride for that matter) would always end up in a yelling match with the other. It was tradition at this point, in jest.

"M'lady?" one of the men had offered his hand to you, an invite to take up the upcoming ballad. As you did with the others, you paid little mind to the small talk the young lord would make, other than the small compliments and the "thank you"s that ensued.

No enjoying yourself, or the lack of conversation between you, you thought about ending the dance abruptly, excusing yourself with whatever excuse you could think of to go back to people watching.

"I'm quite parched," you fanned yourself in the middle of the dance, which wasn't a total lie. Catching on, he excused himself, fetching you something to drink and leaving you in the middle of the floor with others swirling to the ballads. The perfect opportunity.

You used the moment to get away from the crowd, get away from the Great Hall and get away from the bustling noises. You enjoyed such festivities, but you couldn't help but seek time for yourself in the middle of it all. When it all became too much, it would become emotionally consuming, having to show up for everyone and everything.

Finding the nearest balcony and a seat, you took in the evening wind, breathing in the musky and leafy scent of Riverrun in its autumn glory. You couldn't help but notice the detailings of the castle on the way to the balcony, the trout fish carved into the pillars, the clear sigil of House Tully. An appropriate sigil for the castle, seeing how it was built on land that separates two rivers--both streams flowing on both sides of the big castle.

Lost in thoughts and observances, you almost didn't see the figure out of the corner of your eye as it passed by the godswood garden below the balcony.

The raven-haired man. A sort of a pressure and a sigh of relief left you, finally finding the person you've been hoping to see all evening. Your curiosity peaked and a form of excitement brewed in you while studying him. Walking up to the godswood trees, he planted himself there, his back facing you. You saw the way his head bowed. Saw the way his jaw looked to be moving, as if praying. The moment seemed peaceful, curious about what he was saying.

Taking a seat in front of the weirwood tree, he sat there, as if finding solace. The Blackwoods were the only ones in the Riverlands who still only worshiped the old gods - something you weren't still sure if you admired from afar for being deeply rooted in their culture, or stubborn for not converting to the Holy Faith.

You debated reaching out, grabbing his attention.

But then what?

You shook your head, knowing it would only end in a terrible shouting match, and you'd be named the Harvest Feast Bracken this year. You had very little patience for nonsense with Blackwoods, and you were sure he would get on your nerves one way or another.

You decided to leave him be, and just admire his solace from afar for some time.

Back inside you sat back next to your mother after your little time away, wine cup still on hand as she looked at you. “Well? How are things going?”

You groaned, “Mother, please, must you always insist on how everything is?”

“Well, I think Lord Darry is a fine fellow. Rather handsome, I think,” recalling after the last man you danced with.

“Mama.”

“My Sun, I am trying my best to ensure your future…is with someone you want to be with. But you’re making this difficult,” she no longer was sympathetic, but a sad yet stern presence became apparent in her voice as she looked at you. “An arranged marriage can be done, yes, but I… I want you to be happy with whom you’ll be spending your time with.”

You mused at this as you paused on her words. It was a real priviledge for you to have this sort of freedom within the realm. Not many married for love, and more so for duty. You often times found it easier to give up and find a husband for duty. But this was a gift, and, althought frightening, you wanted to explore its options.

You hugged your mother for the comfort, and for wishing you the best in this scary part of every woman's lives; you debated if you should bring up a touchy subject. You hesitated, wondering how you’d phrase the scenario in a way that wouldn’t give suspicion. It was rather difficult.

“As long as they’re not a Blackwood,” you muttered coolly, studying your nails. Nice.

“Good gods, anyone but that treacherous family,” your mother laughed, a red glow in her face appearing from drinking wine.

Disappointment hides in your face as you feign a laugh. Not the response you were looking for. “Good. Wouldn’t be caught dead with a Blackwood.”

A figure from your peripheral view catches your attention, seeming to have been walking up to you.

Except, when you turned, you saw the raven-haired man storm away, and your laughter fades with every step he takes, a quiet panic taking over.

“Oh, posh, leave him,” your mother pouts in scowl. “He had no business here anyway.”

You start to think that she hasn’t assumed anything, which you thank the gods for, but your heart sinks for Davos. Eyeing him as he exits, you try to come up with an excuse to get away from your mother without her worrying. “Umm, have you seen father? I think he was asking for you before I came. I need to find Lord Darry for my drink, should I get ale or wine?” After taking a bit long to respond, you depart by telling her wine should be the better refreshment and Lord Darry should bring you another one, all while eyeing the exit.

Inside, you start to panic after not being able to find the raven-haired lord, turning around every corner in the castle hoping to see him, and only finding empty rooms, and in one embarrassing instance, a young couple needing their privacy, followed by profuse apologies from your end. After spending a lot of time searching, you thought about how it was getting to be too late to apologize, and you’d never recover from this moment.

Finally, outside, you saw a caped figure by the godswoods garden - of-fucking-course - and a lump in your throat starts to form as you approach him.

He turns to you and emptily chuckles to himself. “Well, if it isn’t the pride of Stone Hedge,” he announces to no one.

You frown, clearly starting off on the wrong foot, but taking a moment to form your words before you begin.

“Davos, I… I wanted to apologize,” you try in effort to veer back into diplomatic territory.

But he shakes his head, and something of disappointment appears in his dead eyes, “Tell me, Bracken, do you practice being insufferable, or does it come naturally?”

“Davos, I am trying to apologize.” You let out.

“For what?” he shrugs, maintaining the same dead eyes.

“For… for…,” you try, and think about how stupid everything was going to sound. For saying the truth out loud? For hurting his feelings? For lying to your mom? Why was she apologizing to a Blackwood in the first place?

He nodded with a frown, clearly disappointed. You groaned in exasperation, growing frustrated with everything, “Ugh! I-I don’t know, I don’t know Davos! I wanted to come and apologize! I don’t even know why I’m apologizing in the first place!”

Unamused, he shrugs again, “Can’t accept an apology if you don’t know what you’re sorry for.”

“Oh, fuck you!”

“Fuck me?” He points to himself, disbelief in his voice. “Fuck you! And your mother!”

Your hand meets his face and leaves him with a red print, both shock and adrenaline running through you as you point him a finger. “You leave my mother out of this,” you spit.

He stuns for a moment, astonished by the force of a woman before him, then recollects himself. He finds your finger pointing at him when he looks, grabbing your wrist to remove it from view with a grunt.

“Get your hands off me!” You try to retreat your hand from his grasp but he locks in, grabbing your other wrist as you try to fist the free hand and muster all the strength you have to hit him and release you. “Let me go!”

Heaving as you try to shake your wrists off him, you don’t hear him call your name, until he embraces you, leaving you in a confused state.

“I… I stepped out of line,” is all he says after things seemed to calm.

You pushed yourself off of him and met him with another slap.

Grabbing his jaw, all he does is nod. “Deserved.”

“Fuck you!”

Another nod, “I mean…”

“You’re so… so…!” you try to come up with the meanest, most profane, vile insult you can muster, but your thoughts run with the wind, not finding the correct words to fully explain him and his being well.

“I’ll wait,” he shrugs as he crosses his arms.

“Davos! Shut up!”

He bites back a smile as he looks down.

You groan, pacing back and forth, “Look, I’m-I’m sorry for… what you heard back there. I saw you walk up to me when I said that. And it was such a… a moment, I-I-I just kinda panicked, and… No, I'm not going to be elaborating anything further, but I just wanted you to know, and I know we’re in a relatively public space right now and we can be seen but I don’t care about that because it’s not even about what you think it was about!”

He says nothing as he studies you, arm still crossed, and you grow uncomfortable under his silence, wondering about what he’s thinking.

With a defeated sigh, you hang your head, “Davos, say something, yeah?”

But before he could answer, your father calls for you from a distance, announcing your early departure.

“I… must leave,” you look towards the distance, “but…” you look at him, hoping he says something, hoping to ask you to meet him somewhere, anything.

You leave him in the godswoods garden in Riverrun.

And for that, Davos will always kick himself for not telling you everything. How you stutter when you have a million things running through your mind. How you became the most magnificent woman when enraged, and how good you smelled when he embraced you. He, too, had a million thoughts, but none of them expressing himself in the way he wanted to, scared to push you away or the time not lending itself for him to say everything. Much less when you had to leave so sudden.

He looked at the weirwood tree they were both under, before you departed, and had hoped the gods would work on his favor and see you soon.

_____________________________________________________________

~ Tag list: @cypherpt5fttaehyung

[honey-minded-hivemind]

Hmmm... We've done a moth cryptid au... So... what about some bee crytpids or beings or something? I present to you all, a revised/expanded version of my Nectar of the Bees AU!!!

Reader winds up in a mysterious small town in the middle of nowhere, with no recollection of how they got there or what they were doing before they woke up one day in this sleepy town. The only clue they have is a small mark on their palm, a three small hexagons in the shape of honeycomb... Reader tries to find our what they can of this quiet place, with its old buildings and museums, it's sleepy diner and Mom-and-Pop store, the woods that stretch for miles and the road that leads to a valley with high paths and cliffs...

Reader meets some strange characters, from odd, unblinking and blank humans, to the jittery teen who rushes around a lot, to the strange man who seems to stalk into town every few days... Reader doesn't know what to trust, as each night they have such strange, awful dreams, of being in a large place, full of almost alien technology... It looks like a clinic of sorts, with a fountain and pool inside and different waiting rooms, yet... the deeper you go back, the more strange they become... Rooms almost like holding cells, strange chairs with straps, suspicious security and white, tiled rooms...

That's not to mention the area, a bit away from the clinic, with its yawning, black entrance and the strange, shiny black floors and walls. Waiting inside, down the twisting halls, are different cells... One has more chairs with straps, and there are different needles in the room... but farther down the halls, up stairs and then down in a tight spiral, is a warm, dark room, full of soft fluff and warmth...

And the beings in these dreams... almost bee-like, with darker eyes and stingers in their wrists and hands... The blank black beings that do whatever they're told by the more human-appearing ones, who cluck their tongues when Reader runs and who help strap them down, cooing softly and stroking their head... Or the fluffier ones in the dark, warm room, in pale yellows and golds and blacks, who tug Reader into warm hugs and seem to drag them under into sleep...

The dreams end, with Reader wondering who the strange beings they saw were, why they chased Reader and drugged them and held them down, and why after these dreams, Reader woukd wake up in the middle of the field just outside of town where the dirt road to the old medical clinic goes...

Reader visits in the daytime, wanting to see if they're crazy, but all they find is a Gothic girl dressed in green who smiles at them and man with dark blueish-black hair who asks if they're okay...

And so Reader wanders back to town, digging deeper into the mystery of the strange beings in their dreams and the odd going-ons of this sleepy, forgotten town...

( @sugar-soda and @c0ld0utside Some insect cryptids/mutants/beings, coming right up!)

[gamebird]

Murderathin Rec List

Revised for fall of 2024

As compiled by the denizens of the New Tideland MB/G channel! The greatest hits of TMBD's most popular frenemy ship - the fics that got us into it, and the fics we made because of it. "PR" are quotes from us as we talked back and forth about what was awesome about the fic, or from AO3 comments. All works are complete except Enemies, Closer and If Statements.

The Long Emergency by murderbot Words: 56,866 Rating: Teen and Up Summary: Trapped on the survey planet when the last emergency beacon fails, Murderbot and the PreservationAux team scramble to survive deadly fauna, cruel weather, scarce resources, and GrayCris's armed hunting parties. In a grueling ordeal spanning two planetary years, Murderbot becomes closer to its humans than it ever thought possible. PR: “the absolute ur-Murderathin fic”, “an absolute stunner”, “that’s the one that got me into the ship”, "This fic is amazing! Murderbot's voice and everyone's characterizations were so on-point, and all of the details of their survival on this planet and the action scenes were so well-fleshed out.", "The first MB/G fic on AO3!"

Recollection by murderbot Words: 30,753 Rating: Teen and Up Summary: SecUnit and Gurathin agree to be married, temporarily, for ease of travel during an assignment. After a violent encounter and a bad wormhole jump, they crash land on a habitable planet and discover their entire ship is suffering from amnesia. Nobody remembers anything from their past. The ship's records are badly scrambled. The planet is too far for anyone to reach safely. When Gurathin and SecUnit find the record that indicates they are married, they build a life together as marital partners, not knowing their union is based on a lie. PR: “I love pain”, “It absolutely broke me”, “still haunts me”, “wonderful”, " I'm so full of bittersweet emotions", "I was this close to crying for a few chapters, and the ending was perfect."

Enemies, Closer by Abacura, Gamebird, IHopedTheredBeStars, opalescent_potato, Rosewind2007, theAsh0 Words: 134,190 (WIP) Rating: Teen and Up Summary: When a Combat SecUnit with identical genetics to Murderbot is sent to Preservation Station to commit a massacre, the delicate balance between Murderbot, ART, and Dr. Gurathin shifts, putting all four of them on a collision course. PR: “a wonder and a delight”, “my favorite one”, "Rock-Paper-Scissors dom dynamics in which ART is the secret fourth option, Dynamite", "Can't wait for more!", "A monumental collaboration!"

Boots by opalescent_potato Words: 5,762 Rating: General Audiences Summary: Murderbot learns a little more than it wanted to about Gurathin's mysterious past. PR: “such a great, quiet study in emotional intimacy and shared trauma. Also has an absolutely amazing Oh. Oh no moment.”, "this feels like the realest depiction of poverty trauma I've ever seen in fanfic", "Info dumping as a love language. Learning self care from the most particular human."

No Peace/No Rest by IHopedTheredBeStars Words: 4,363 Rating: Teen and Up Summary: Though Dr Gurathin eventually accepts the addition of SecUnit a.k.a. Murderbot to PreservationAux, and even assists in its recovery & rehabilitation after the corporate gunship debacle, he never warms up to it like the others do—at least according to our unreliable narrator, Murderbot itself! Let’s assume Murderbot is right this time. So what’s up with that?? This story takes place (chronologically) after Fugitive Telemetry and just before Network Effect. PR: “an excellent MB&G fic”, "So many fantastic ideas in here", "This is such a great look at grappling with the guilt of having taken a life, and being stripped of that comforting denial that it wasn't a person."

The Last Client by Gamebird Words: 70,290 (series) Rating: Explicit Summary: A series with the premise of 'What if GrayCris had attacked PresAux first instead of DeltFall?' In the first, Last Client Standing, Dr. Gurathin is the only PresAux survivor, with Murderbot protecting him from GrayCris' continuing efforts to eliminate them entirely. In the second, Who Guards the Guardian?, they return to Preservation where they must come to terms with how much they, and events, have changed. PR: “Gah! Gurathin and Sec having to navigate ALL the emotions. I’m… (no better way to say it) ded. I am ded. De d ded." "Man the image of Murderbot dragging itself along with no working legs almost this whole fic and still managing to fight off a good chunk of GrayCris." "So many emotional moments, happy, sad, bittersweet, as they worked through their grief and what they mean to each other."

Gurathin’s Side of the Story by Gamebird Words: 51,849 Rating: Teen and Up Summary: A retelling of The Murderbot Diaries from Gurathin's point of view. PR: “An incredible character study that adds so much depth to Gurathin. The reader falls in love with him every step of the way (and Murderbot does too)”, "There are so many moments where this story just drop-kicks me with how real it is.", "a lovely view into Gurathin‘s CR background, augments, and his soft belly under that armadillo shell."

Faking It For Real by Gamebird Words: 1,571 Rating: Explicit Summary: Murderbot does a bad job of pretending to be Gurathin's ComfortUnit on a mission, until it figures out how to be better at it. PR: “the one where everyone's playing it cool but the feet are paddling madly beneath the surface" "I know this is a cracky premise but it sure is hot!" "the sexy frisking is definitely hot" "HOT DAMN"

Boots by Gnomeskillet Words: 2,797 Rating: General Audiences Summary: "I'm going to fix your boots," he explained, talking to me like I was a small human child that didn't know anything. At least he kept his eyes on the floor while he did it. "They're a mess and if you want them to last longer, then you need to take care of them." PR: “this entire fic got me", "Omg who knew shoe shines could be so full of tension??", "This was sort of in kink no man's land, in between the barbed wire embankments of desire and fulfillment."

It Was Only A Kiss by Gnomeskillet Words: 2,102 Rating: Teen and Up Summary: Frustrated and desperate, Murderbot hauls Gurathin into an alleyway and makes out with him in order to avoid Station Security. Hey, it has a 100% success rate in media! PR: “excellent”, “Incredibly sexy and very sweet.”, "Dom Murderbot absolutely wrecking Gurathin while not really knowing what the hell it's doing is my favorite flavor"

Pressing Down On Me, Pressing Down On You by Gnomeskillet Words: 1,061 Rating: Not Rated Summary: I was just thinking about MB pressing down on Gurathin's augments like how ART presses down on MB in the feed, and I like thinking about MB being tsundere about taking care of its least favorite augmented human. It doesn't LIKE Gurathin, he's just less annoying this way. PR: “ahhh yes this one was absolutely one of the ones that made me go OHHHH. It made me so invested in their relationship”, "Poor Gurathin doesn't know what he's getting into, good thing Murderbot is so nice XD", "I love the idea of cuddling in the feed."

Just to Suffer the Pressure by Chyoatas Words: 2,113 Rating: Explicit Summary: He was already out of breath when he let his hand press to his throat. (That hadn’t been in the original plan. This was already too close- too fraught. It was already embarrassing enough (and hotter for it, but he wouldn’t admit it.)) PR: “Okay we were all thinking it. There are not nearly enough fics where Murderbot erotically asphyxiates Gurathin.”, "this is insanely good holy shit", "unhinged screaming I can't form words, this is everything I want it to be"

Murderathin NSFW Zine Comic by Chyoatas Words: 1,069 Rating: Explicit Summary: My NSFW comic from the Murderbot Diaries NSFW Zine! Alternative text description of the comic is embedded in the images. PR: "So hot!", "sweet, naughty, and snarky", "So much thought went into this. The closer I look, the more details pop out at me!"

Purr by Rosewind2007 Words: 3,448 Rating: Teen and Up Summary: I saw a post by someone saying: “Wouldn’t it be nice if humans could just purr, like cats. You could let people know you were happy without talking about your feelings or anything...” And I thought: it’d be nice if Murderbot could purr. So, here you are. PR: “Ah yes, my favorite trope. Murderbot purring when it's happy!”, "MB your friends care about you!", "This was adorable and I loved it"

Sex Pollen by Rosewind2007 Words: 7,240 Rating: Teen and Up Summary: Atypical human and para-human courtship behaviors and coitus triggered by xeno-floral microgameteophytes Abstract: Twenty four (24) subjects were exposed to xeno-floral microgameteophytes (XFM). Atypical behaviors were recorded by all but two (2). PR: “the yearning”, “I love watching Murderbot and Gurathin dance around each other in this. Both trying so hard to be normal and just internally yearning to be close to each other. The longing is so palpable!”

Bundling by Rosewind2007 Words: 18,348 Rating: Teen and Up Summary: It was a stupid accident. We’d identified the presence of space debris in this sector, including pieces large enough to deflect the course of a small transport; but my Risk Assessment Module was happily burbling in the low teens (it really needs replacing, but I’m quite fond of its optimism now) and ART had calculated the risk of an actual collision as approximately 1 in 159,753. But of course we were that one. And of course the client I was with would be that one.  PR: "And thereby, Murderbot, SecUnit, discovered it loved itself.", " A wonderful story", "That last line is just so perfect"

That Time I Got Drunk and Yeeted a Love Potion at a SecUnit by Rosewind2007 Words: 14,918 Rating: Teen and Up Summary: What it says on the tin. PR: “amazing, showstopping" "oh yess oh yess oh yesss" "Murderbean. Murderbaby. You're killing me ❤️❤️❤️ Ahhhhh the ending to this was so sweet and so perfect, I'm all up in my feelings now"

The Corporate and the Construct by beeayy Words: 87,919 Rating: Teen and Up Summary: Bots and constructs have taken over the Corporate Rim. When PreservationAux is captured sneaking into AI-controlled space, someone must stay behind with the sophisticated bot-pilot that remembers a lot less than it thinks it does, and the rogue SecUnit with more anxiety and depression than anyone knows. PR: “my favorite AU”, “fantastic”, “An amazing AU. Great marriage of Fairy Tale elements with Robot Overlords.”, "This fic was such an amazing ride", "I had emotions and cried at the last chapter. Good job!"

I Hate The Way I Don’t Hate You by beeayy Words: 53,345 Rating: Teen and Up Summary: Murderbot hates Gurathin, though the reason changes on a daily basis. PR: "I love this whole thing", "These two ridiculous assholes *always* end up meeting in the middle", "I love fake marriage fics  especially when it's enemies to lovers."

Wrinkles by beeayy Words: 1,405 Rating: General Audiences Summary: There is a disavantage to being a rogue SecUnit in the long-term. Gurathin helps Murderbot through it. PR: “'my face is falling off' will stay with me forever" "This is the sweetest! I love depictions of them in an established relationship where they are clearly happy together, but also true to their nature (AKA assholes)." "This is so fricking ardorable!!!!!"

ComfortUnit!Gurathin by beeayy Words: 29,278 (series) Rating: Mature Summary: Gurathin tries to keep a secret from Murderbot while on a mission in the Corporate Rim. Or, "Heartbreaking: Your Least Favorite Co-Worker Is Secretly Hot". PR: “honestly top tier ending lmfaoo, and top tier fic" "I loved this whole damn fic and you nailed the ending." "This story was loads of fun, and the chemistry between them was so effective!"

Maintenance Protocol by Abacura Words: 5,762 Rating: Explicit Summary: I’m worried about SecUnit. This isn’t the first time I’ve caught it making a face that looks like it's in pain. I worry that it isn’t taking care of itself, that without a cubicle, it needs maintenance that it isn’t telling us about. I wish it would tell me. I wish it would let me take care of it. I could take such good care of it. PR: “smoking hot, I wholeheartedly recommend”, "The maintenance was so perfect and then it was done and I figured so was the fic but holy fuck (literally)", "This is the good stuff. This is perfect."

Fuckboy Strategy by The_Onion Words: 6,203 Rating: Not Rated Summary: 'Can you know you don’t like something without trying it?' I'd texted Ratthi. He responded, 'Sure! But trying things out is always a good idea :D' which I am sure he would not have said if he’d known what I was talking about. // Murderbot explores idioms, the ethics of ghosting, and its own sexuality. PR: “Ah yes, my favorite trope. Murderbot being an absolute bull in the china shop of Gurathin’s heart.”, "so good and so funny i am beside myself", "made me laugh out loud"

Construct, Social by kiwisson Words: 1,852 Rating: General Audiences Summary: Late-night human behavior discussions with your favorite deadly weapon. PR: “the vibes are really good”, “Perfect tag is perfect: You Jerks Talk A Lot For People Who Hate Each Other”, “a fascinating example of the first tagged MB&G which shows many themes already emerging!”

Imperfect Reactions by xianvar Words: 1,324 Rating: Teen and Up Summary: It’s a normal evening with friends – easy laughter, Bharadwaj stopping by to chat, Gurathin and Murderbot sniping at each other, Murderbot letting Gurathin tease it… wait, what? PR: “exterior POVs are always SO good”, "there's so many little characterizations in this fic and its really delightful!", "Adorable!"

If Statements by the_moonmoth Words: 36,683 (WIP) Rating: Explicit Summary: Without a cubicle to reset its endocrine system, Murderbot goes into heat. Gurathin would normally be the last person it would turn to for the kind of help it now needs, but he smells so good. PR: “hot, sexy, omegaverse action! Full of luscious art, too!" "Oh my LORD joining the freak train because this is fantastic!" "Aaaaaaaaaah *scream* *squeeeal* asddsgdhfthfj"

Recharge Cycle by SeeMaree Words: 5,023 Rating: General Audiences Summary: Murderbot just needs a quiet, comfortable place to run a recharge cycle. PR: “the one with the slippers" "i love this!!! Asshole friendship my beloved. U write them so good im soft" "I can’t believe you’re making them actually TALK to each other lmfaoooo"

Mixed Signals by firefox49 Words: 6,099 Rating: Mature Summary: While Dr. Gurathin is repairing some of Murderbot’s circuits, Murderbot makes a discovery about itself. PR: “the one that blows my fuse every time" ""Ahh I love how secunit is just like. Sex is a competition and I am going to win it" " I am that "sickos" meme going *yes hahaha YES*"

Plus One by musicofthespheres Words: 14,587 Rating: General Audiences Summary: Murderbot needs Gurathin's help, but he's busy. Turns out he has... other friends? Besides Ratthi and Pin-Lee? That doesn't sound right. Murderbot needs to get to the bottom of this. PR: “Murderbot being indignant about Gurathin having other friends is a fave" "Awwwwr i loved this so much its definitely one of my new favorites!" "Ohhh I just adore this whole thing" "they’re such a great little grumpy team"

[thepersonalwords]

I is for immortality, which for some poets is a necessary compensation. Presumably miserable in this life, they will be remembered when the rest of us are long forgotten. None of them asks about the quality of that remembrance--what it will be like to crouch in the dim hallways of somebody's mind until the moment of recollection occurs, or to be lifted off suddenly and forever into the pastures of obscurity. Most poets know better than to concern themselves with such things. They know the chances are better than good that their poems will die when they do and never be heard of again, that they'll be replaced by poems sporting a new look in a language more current. They also know that even if individual poems die, though in some cases slowly, poetry will continue: that its subjects, it constant themes, are less liable to change than fashions in language, and that this is where an alternate, less lustrous immortality might be. We all know that a poem can influence other poems, remain alive in them, just as previous poems are alive in it. Could we not say, therefore, that individual poems succeed most by encouraging revisions of themselves and inducing their own erasure? Yes, but is this immortality, or simply a purposeful way of being dead?

Mark Strand, The Weather of Words: Poetic Inventions

[dduane]

I was gonna hold out a little longer - but I buckled and started reading So You Want To Be A Wizard to my (smart, book-devouring) almost-7 year old. I think I was 9 or 10 but she's definitely beyond my sophistication, and besides I can manage a few tiny abridgements and, er, historical contexts.

I'm adoring it, the whole thing. The details, the pacing, the recollection...

But then I remembered! You revised them! And you're here, in the actual internet, talking to your lifelong fans and readers...

So my question is, should I "update"? I know there's a few anachronisms in my old paper edition, but is it worth switching a few chapters in? I'm presuming that of course you'd recommend your new edition over the old all things being equal, but is it important enough to recommend a switch?

Thank you! I mean, for everything!

Well, you're very welcome!

About your question : Yeah, it's a fair bet that I'd say I think the new revised editions, across the board, are superior to the older ones. :)

But I'm not going to say that just for the sake of a sale. I laid out my thinking on the subject in this post, twelve years ago... and in the decade-and-a-bit since then, my feelings on the improvements (and my reasons for them) haven't changed at all. So you should, I think, read that first, and then make up your own mind.

Maybe people who've read both versions will feel like discussing their own reactions to the new editions in the comments...?

Anyway: thanks for asking.

And if anybody wants to pick up the set of the first nine revised/updated books: they're over here at Ebooks.Direct, and on sale (like everything else in the store).

[actual-changeling]

you’ve said before that aziraphale must be aware of how painful the fall was for crowley, or even must have seen it happen, but where are you getting that assumption? /genq i thought the only thing we know aziraphale knows about the fall is the “sauntered vaguely downwards” thing crowley told him, which was a downplay but yea

We don't know much about the fall but we do know that

the angels/heaven were divided into two factions and later armies, the now fallen vs. the ones that remained angels

those two groups had one or more direct confrontations during which people got hurt (cause that's how war works)

the rebellion lost and they fell into hell

Now, Crowley does not know much about his fall because he fell and it was a deeply traumatic experience for him; in order to protect itself, our brain tends to take those memories and hide them behind dissociative barriers. The negative effects are still there and fucking you up, but your recollection of the events is foggy or hazy or completely blacked-out (or a mix).

But Aziraphale? The angels that did not fall?

The probably watched it happen. I'm no bible expert, but I know in some version the fall is a direct consequences of the war in heaven, so everyone would have been present for that. Even if for some reason Aziraphale was somewhere entirely else, heaven has a big interest in making sure everyone who remains is aware of how terrible falling is—they need that fear to control them.

Angels are terrified of being punished by heaven, even the Archangels are a shaking mess when the Metatron shows up and they realise how badly they might have fucked up.

When/If canon ever gives us more details or explanations I will gladly revise my thoughts on it, but until then this is my personal best guess based on what we've seen and what makes the most sense narratively.

Crowley's specific fall—Crowley himself does not remember it well if at all, and Aziraphale probably does not know specific things about HIS fall, but I am 100% he does have a good idea of what falling was/is like, otherwise he himself wouldn't be terrified.

Still, his view was and is an external one, so it's presumably a "I saw it happen and it looked very painful but I don't know about anything that comes after except that it's hell and hell is bad".

It's half canon interpretation, half headcanon because we're lacking information.