#take a body to water... take a body to tundra...

[curlytsunamiart]

turn out the lights. the party’s over. all good things must come to an end.

(happy 24 killers anniversary!)

[neighbourhoodtwo]

tagged by @marcusagrippa ty!!! put your on repeat playlist on shuffle and post the first ten songs that show up:

out of vogue by the fever dolls

fernando by abba

to tundra by los campesinos!

el pozo by izal

never let me down again by depeche mode

...slowdance on the inside by taking back sunday

maggot by daisy and the scouts

king rat by modest mouse

adeline by the fever dolls

juan antonio cortes by la frontera

tagging @good--merits-accumulated @theamazingmurderrocks @gr3y-heron @magpieghost @wegottagetouttahere if any of u guys want to do it ^_^

[ixylle-d-from-the-stars]

Deathworlders everywhere but in Space

This is sitting in my brain because I haven't seen anyone else do this, but take a second to think about this: There are other deathworlders in space, terrifying ones, huge monster orc things. They are massive and nightmarish and impossibly strong. So thats why humans stand out. Thats how we survive. Human's are terrifying because we aren't built for one biome, one climate or even one planet. We aren't necessarily the strongest or fastest or scariest looking, but we're built to survive fucking everything. What if other deathworlder's are almost always only made to survive in one climate? (similar to some of the most deadly predators on earth currently) All the other deathworlders are terrifying, yes, but the second they step off their planet they're weak. Massive aliens of hulking muscle but their planet's gravity is a lot lower than the standard, so they barely meet the average strength bar whenever they go outside their gravity zone. Aliens that have venomous spikes all over their body and look gnarly as shit but their venom has practically no effect on 99% of discovered intergalactic species. Deathworlders whose planet is the nether from minecraft IRl, but they can't survive in any other temperature for any amount of time because their body just can't handle the cold and regulate their temperate (or, vice versa for tundra species). Aquatic species that are kraken-like nightmares, giant sirens and deadly squid-like beings. But they can't leave their home at all, because theres a very specific chemical makeup of their water that isn't currently found within their life-span distance travel. Deathworlders that genuinely can barely survive off planet and are frail compared to even the most docile prey species whenever they have to travel. Their called deathworlders because going to their planet is certain death, but if they leave they'll be meeting death just as quickly. And then along come humans, and everyones like, oh, another deathworlder, nothing to worry abou- wait. These guys dont seem to loose any of their natural strength off planet... and their fast and strong... and- AND THEY CAN SURVIVE IN PRACTICALLY ANY CLIMATE IN THE KNOWN UNIVERSE??? HELLO? Oh and of course their predators. Of course most of their planet is completely uninhabitable for most of us. Mhm, yep. thats fair. Totally Basically, deathworlders are a thing, the more common 'terrifying alien monster' type, but their harmless because they can't survive like everyone else. They can't thrive like humans can. It scares the shit out of everyone for a wholeeeeee while, after all, no one ever expected a deathworlder that doesn't die.

[moonchild9350]

Heart of Ice

Summary: you set off on an errand on behalf of your father to the land of the giants, where you meet Chan, the king of the giants.

Pairing: Giant Chan x fab demi goddess reader

Genre: mythology au, smut, straight filth lol

Word count: 8.1k

Warnings: violence (battle scenes), use of swords/knives/bow and arrows, and magic, decapitation, blood, use of aphrodisiacs, p in v penetration, creampie (don’t), squirting, fingering, oral sex (f & mreceiving), mirror sex, exhibitionism, breeding kink, dirty talk, dom Chan dynamics- I think that’s it omg lol

Notes: I’m a nerd for mythology and add Chan to the mix, yes please! Just another fic to take a break from spooktober.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Please do not copy, translate, modify, use, or repost this work elsewhere without my permission. ©️moonchild9350 (2024)

You were exhausted. That was the best way to describe how you felt.

You looked back at the direction you just came from, the rocky waters slapping against the bank, taunting and mocking you at the trial it just made you face. The river Iving separated Asgard from Jotunheim, the journey long and treacherous.

You came from Asgard, the land of the gods, to obtain an item from Chan, the king of the giants here in Jotunheim. Being from the lineage of Odin, it was expected that the journey would be relatively easy, however, it has been anything but. It may have been for someone of deity lineage from both sides, but you were born of god lineage but also human, making you a lesser being than most of the inhabitants of the realm.

You are unsure as to why your father sent you on this errand, especially by yourself, but he insisted that you could do it, so you could prove your worth to him. And the latter is something you have been trying to achieve your whole life.

Sighing, you lifted your head up and took in the wasteland in front of you. It was dreary and dark, the wind howling nonstop, its cold embrace wrapping around you. There were mountains in the distance, big and rocky, their stance intimidating to anyone who lays eyes on it.

There were no animals or creatures in sight, although you knew that could change at any given moment, this realm being home to the nastiest, aggressive beings.

You could see your breath in front of you, as it was ice cold, probably below zero. Thankfully, you were bundled up in your furs, made especially for you by your mother for the journey.

Ensuring your knife, sword, and bow were properly stored and your pouch was still on your hip, you began your journey once more. This time to the large castle at the other end of the land.

You could see it in the distance, beyond the Jormun Sea, the rocky structure encased in ice amongst the mountain side. There resided Chan, a cunning giant who was supposedly awaiting you.

You started to walk, the sound of crunching heard as you stepped on the ice below. Snow and ice blanketed the land which would have been dangerous for the average person, but thanks to your specialized snow shoes, navigating the icy tundra was relatively easy.

The beginning of your journey was uneventful, which was suspicious, your hand ready to draw your sword at a moments notice. Up ahead a body of water came into view, the waves lapping at the beach softly, so unlike the harsh wind that was steadily blowing.

You stopped at the edge and peered in. The water was black as obsidian, what lies beneath obscured by the darkness. Every now and then the water would ripple, most likely from some sea creature beneath the surface.

Looking up, you peered into the distance, seeing the expanse of the sea. It would take you a while to clear it, your destination located on the other side. Time was of the essence, as you didn’t want to keep the king waiting, therefore, you continued to walk, shielding your face from the wind.

The land was peaceful, no sound being heard except for the waves hitting rocks and the wind. However, peace didn’t last long. As you rounded a corner of the sea, the ground began to ripple. You stopped in your tracks, grabbed your sword, and assumed position.

The earth trembled and split, a creature emerging from the dirt, dust and rocks spewing from the ground. It rose from its home, arching its back, grasping a sword in hand, a growl rippling from its mouth. As the creature stood upright, you gasped taking in its bony form, with metal plates along its shoulders and chest. Its eyes seemed to glow a ruby red, peering at you in disdain.

You knew what they were, a sub type of dwarf called a draugr. They were cruel and vicious unlike the dwarfs present back in Asgard. Gripping your sword tighter, you charged at the creature, raising your sword above your head as you came upon it. A loud clang rose through the air as your sword had collided with the creature.

You grunted as you were pushed back from the force of the impact, causing you to stumble and almost drop your sword. However, you had no time to rest as the draugr charged at you again, showing no mercy towards you. Sword against sword met again and again, sparks flying from the contact as you battled the creature.

Little by little you whittled away at it until an opening appeared, one in which you could finally eliminate it. You kept your eye on your target and charged, swinging back your sword with a loud cry. As your voice echoed across the frozen tundra, you swung your sword fast and true, the edge of your blade landing and cutting through the tough skin of its neck. You continued to push through until the draugr’s head was completely severed from its body. It hit the icy ground with a thud, dark liquid oozing from the opening.

The body dropped and then started to materialize, until all that was left was the stained ground. You rested upon your sword, attempting to catch your breath. You were in for it surely if all of the creatures you would meet are as tough as this one.

Once rested enough, you sheathed your sword and began to walk. Every few feet you encountered more draugr, the battle against them long and drawn out. Your sword was stained, the dark liquid coating the blade.

You were beginning to feel wary, your body getting tired after many fights, so you decided to stop and rest for a while. The only problem was finding a space safe enough to rest.

Looking around, you spotted an area that seemed as good as any. You thankfully did not run into any more enemies. Your rest area wasn’t much, your bed consisting of your cloak, as there were no trees in sight to rest against. There was nothing to make a fire with, so you pulled your legs to your chest and buried your head, trying to keep warm.

You were in and out of sleep, trying to stay alert but rest as well. There was no way to tell if it was night or day, the sun always present in the sky.

You were drifting off to sleep again when you felt the earth tremble beneath you, causing you to jerk awake. You hurriedly stood up and grabbed your sword, eyes trained to the ground for what you assumed was more draugr.

However, you noticed that each rumble was rhythmic, almost as if someone was walking your way. Your eyes scanned the vast tundra, eyeing the sea until you saw a large figure slowly emerge from the fog.

A large man was coming your way, a giant by the looks of it. He was about ten feet tall, standing so tall it looked as if the top of his head touched the sky. His skin was pale, with a bluish glow, his body muscular. His hair was disheveled, the black mop adorning the top of his head. He had a simple cloth tied low on his hips.

You were terrified, not sure how you could defeat such a being. You were coming up with a battle plan when the giant approached, his black eyes staring down at you. You were frozen on the spot, your sword raised in front of you.

The giant made a sound, a laugh by the sound of it as he plucked your sword from your hands and tossed it to the side. Your eyes followed the trajectory of the sword, watching as it clattered against the icy ground a ways from you. You slowly turned your head to look at the giant before you once more.

Your eyes traveled from his muscular legs, up, up, up, until you noticed something large behind the cloth on his hips. You were shocked, but a little part of you were turned on, knowing exactly what was beneath as the shape gave it away.

You weren’t innocent, not by far, living in Asgard made you that way, and your body was more than ready to accommodate what he had to offer. At the thought, you clenched your thighs together as you felt them dampen, your slick trickling out, as you weren’t wearing any panties.

The giant smirked at you, as if he could read your mind. With a swipe of his hand, he dropped the cloth, baring all that was underneath. His cock was long and girthy, various ridges along the shaft with a prominent vein on the underside, leading up to a mushroom head that was red and angry, copious amounts of pre-cum leaking from tip. It sat proudly against his abdomen, the beautiful shade of red a sharp contrast to his pale skin.

You gulped as he took two steps toward you, the ground shaking as a result. He kneeled on the cold ground, so he could be on your level and closer to you. You watched as he spun you around and bent you over, pushing your face down to rest on the cloak below.

You whimpered as you felt the giant lift up skirt, the heavy furs adding more weight to your back. You could feel your arousal leak out even more as your face was pushed further into the ground, therefore causing you to present yourself to the giant behind you.

You waited in anticipation, your breath coming out in puffs, as you felt the tip of his cock brush against you, parting your lips to slide between the puffy flesh. You thought you would feel scared, never having been penetrated by such a large cock, however you were ready, needing to feel stretched and filled to the brim.

Without warning, you felt his cock breach your entrance, a loud moan escaping you as your walls were stretched. You felt slight pain but more pleasure than anything as he continued to push inch by inch in, until he was flush against your ass.

With a loud grunt, the giant gripped your hips and began to piston his cock into you, the sound of flesh slapping flesh reverberating throughout the vast land. You felt like you were being speared open as you took his cock, whines and moans steadily falling from your lips. The ridges and veins lining his cock rubbed against your walls perfectly, sending waves of pleasure radiating into your core.

You were dripping, your arousal coating your folds, your thighs, his cock and your sure your cloak as well. He gripped your hips harder, his large fingers digging into your skin to where you’re sure bruises will form. He angled his body a little to where he could reach deeper, his cock hitting that spongy spot within you as the tip bullied your cervix with each thrust.

You mewled out as you felt a tightening within you, like a band that was about to snap, growing larger and more intense by the second. The giant behind you began to grunt with each thrust, the sound reaching a crescendo until he roared, holding his hips flush to yours as copious amounts of his warm cum filled your walls.

With his release you let go, squirting your release, the force of your high attempting to force his cock out. The giant continued to hold you flush against him as you could still feel his release, pumping more into your little hole.

Finally, you felt him release you as he withdrew his cock, the sudden emptiness causing you to let out a whine. Both his and your release was gushing from your entrance, creating a puddle on your ruined cloak.

Slowly you pushed yourself up off the ground, turning to see the giant once more. However, by the time you were able to face him, he was already clothed and walking away, each step causing the earth to tremble below you.

You watched in shock, as the giant who just came upon you disappeared into the fog, the only thing alerting you he was still relatively close by being the sound of his footsteps.

You were still dripping, the last of the giant’s cum seeping out of your pussy. You carefully got up, trying to avoid the puddle on your cloak. You were sad it was ruined, the article of clothing being a gift from your grandmother.

Sighing you got up and bundled the cloth. Unsure what to do with it, you decided to leave it in a small divot that was created in the ice.

You picked up your weapons and donned them once more before taking off in the direction of the castle. You encountered a few more draugr, the battle being easier now that you knew how to fight them. You slowly left the Jorman sea behind, the vast body of water getting smaller with each step.

It wasn’t long before you came across your next obstacle, the frozen forest. The trees were all frozen solid, the icy blue shining with the rays of sun that would peak out every now and then.

You nodded and began your journey into the forest, making your way in between trees. The air felt colder, the cold finding its way past your furs and to your bones. The wind whipped around you, making it difficult to walk, and to add insult to injury snow began to fall.

The further you walked, the harder it fell, the stronger the wind became until you couldn’t see anything in front of you. You shielded your eyes as best as possible, and marched on, putting one foot in front of the other.

Your journey was slow, as you made your way through the forest. There was no one in your path, the way clear, that is until you ran into something hard, causing you to jump back, drawing your sword in the process.

You squinted into the snow storm to see what you ran into. What you saw caused you to gasp. You looked all around you, your eyes wide. There were people, hundreds of them, frozen in time, encased in an ice prison. The person in front of you stared straight ahead, almost as though it was trying to look through you. This one seemed to be a woman, clothed in a fur top and skirt. Their eyes were piercing yet gentle, the hair framing their face wiry and wild.

Timidly, you reached out a hand, your fingertips coming in contact with the icy prison. Slowly, you traced the outline of the woman, your eyes trailing her body in awe. How did these people get trapped here? How long have they been trapped?

Your heart sank at the their fate, especially as you noticed there were children frozen as well. You really needed to keep moving, the cold setting in during your inactivity. Carefully, you stepped around the frozen statue and continued on your journey, this time more aware as to what was in front of you.

The forest was large, the expanse of bodies never-ending, causing you to slow down as you weaved your way through them. The only other creatures you encountered were snow rabbits, the little furry creatures hopping away in a hurry at the sound of your disturbance.

You were able to shoot one down with your bow and arrow, effectively skinning the creature and roasting it over a makeshift fire to fill your empty stomach. After eating your fill, you doused the fire and continued on your way. You had hopes that you were almost through the forest when you heard a loud crack, the sound echoing throughout the forest.

You stopped in your tracks, scanning the landscape in front of you, searching for anyone or anything. It was quiet as the wind had stopped howling, the snow all but gone. You had a bad feeling deep down at the sudden change in atmosphere.

Quietly and swiftly, you reached for your bow, notching an arrow and aiming it at the ready. Your eyes slowly raked over your surroundings, your breath slow and steady. Another crack rang out, this time right in front of you.

There was a frozen statue in front of you, however, this time there was a long crack present from the head all the way down to the right foot. You stared in horror as the person moved within, a twitch here, a twitch there, the sound of ice cracking ever louder.

With your next breath, the ice shattered into a million pieces, scattering everywhere, the person beneath focusing their eyes on you. They seemed to have changed after breaking out of their icy prison, with electric blue eyes that stared wide open, never blinking, their skin outfitted with a blue glow. You gripped your bow tighter as the ice figure let out a piercing scream, the sound ricochetting off the other statues, causing them to crack.

Within moments, you were surrounded by a horde of townspeople, their eyes full of vengeance and set solely on you. You began to fire away, arrow after arrow skillfully flying through the air, the sharp edges piercing the bodies running towards you.

You were constantly on the move, switching directions at a moments notice as they came from all sides, their arms reaching out in the effort to try and grab you. You were trying to regulate your breathing as you made your way through the horde, so as not to run out of breath. Things were going according to plan until you tripped over a branch on the ground, your knees hitting the solid ground with a loud crunch.

You yelped in pain, rolling onto your bottom, trying to ignore the pain that shot down your legs. There was a tingling sensation that slowly built up, making you feel like you were being stabbed with a million tiny, sharp needles. Through the pain, you tried to focus on killing more creatures, as they took advantage of your moment of weakness.

You fired an arrow at a man running towards you, a sneer on his face, the arrow hitting home right in his chest. He collapsed on the spot, causing a few other creatures to trip over him, their bodies falling to the ground like dominos.

That didn’t stop them however from pursuing you as they began to crawl towards you, quicker than you would have expected. You reached into your quiver for another arrow, but stopped as your hand reached into an empty space. You let out a tsk as you realized you were out of arrows.

Quickly, you tossed your bow aside and grabbed your knife, stabbing the creature that had taken ahold of your foot, cold seeping onto your skin from their grip. They let out a piercing shriek as you twisted the blade for good measure, as they collapsed on their side.

You were able to take care of a few more before you scrambled to your feet, your legs from the knee down radiating in pain. You took a deep breath and willed yourself to ignore the pain and withdrew your sword, ready to take on the next group running full speed towards you.

You concentrated on the battle in front of you, the only sounds heard in the dense forest were your grunts and the clash of steel on a frozen body. Sparks flew haphazardly as your sword made contact with creature after creature, the orange glow lighting up the dim area.

You were grazed a few times, the creatures nails digging into your arms and legs as they tried to get to you, their crazed eyes never wavering from your dancing form. The end was near, as you saw only a handful of creatures left.

You decided to try and decapitate a group at once, squatting and spinning at the right moment, to swing your blade outwards, the steel meeting flesh, severing the legs from the bodies. They collapsed to the ground, as blood stained the white earth. You recovered from your attack, your arm out and posed to hold you up while you took in the last of the creatures.

Standing up, you walked towards your first victim and raised your blade above your head, bringing the sword down with force, piercing the creature straight through the heart. You repeated the motion again and again, effectively getting rid of the last of the threat.

After piercing the last creature, you pulled your blade up and out and collapsed on your hands and knees. You were breathing heavy, your warm breath meeting the cold air causing smoke to drift from your mouth. Your ears were ringing, vision blurry, and your body was aching from the gruesome battle you had just engaged in.

If you weren’t of half god lineage, you would have perished at the beginning of the fight, this you were sure of. You took a moment more to recover before pushing yourself up and off the ground. You looked around to survey the damage, your eyes noticing the mass amount of bodies littering the ground.

What once was a forest full of people, encapsulated in ice, was now bare, not a statue in sight. You let out a huff before you started to hunt for your bow. Walking over towards a pile of corpses, you found it lying on the ground still intact. Picking it up, you gave it a once over before storing it once more.

You were about to turn away when you noticed something glimmer beneath the bodies, causing you to stop in your tracks. You pushed a few corpses away to uncover the source of the light. Lying in the pouch on a corpse were three round orbs, swirls of color dancing around within.

These were magic orbs, highly sought after items, at least in Asgard, and here were three right at your fingertips. From the looks of it, these seemed to be of fire magic, which seemed perfect for the realm you were in. Gently, you extracted them from the pouch and began to pocket them, hoping they may come in handy at some point in your journey.

Satisfied that they were safely stored, you began to walk, wanting to get out of this forest as soon as possible. You walked past body after body, trying not walk on the remains of your battle.

You were almost out of the woods when you heard another crack, the sound loud and echoing off the little trees that were present. Your eyes quickly scanned your surroundings, trying to find the source of the noise. As you were searching, you noticed what seemed like a large boulder off to the side.

Cautiously, you walked toward it, drawing your sword on the way. You were about one hundred feet away when you saw that it was not a boulder at all, but an ice elemental, curled up to look as if it was sleeping.

You cursed under your breath and began to place one foot behind you, again and again as you tried to back away from the monster. If you could avoid it, you’d love to not have to fight one of these monstrosities.

You were making good progress until your foot came down on a twig, the little stick snapping under the pressure of your foot. The sound radiated loud and clear, causing you to pause in your tracks, your eyes trained on the elemental.

You thought you were in the clear, the monster not hearing your mishap, however, you felt the ground shake again, this time, much stronger. Looking up, you watched the elemental unfurled from his sleeping position and stand. You craned your neck as it stood tall, towering way over you, its eyes red and piercing, a scowl on its face.

You watched in terror as it let out a roar, clutching its icy hands into a ball before it charged at you, shards of ice chipping off of its feet as it hurtled towards you.

You quickly dodged out of its way, completing a 180 before facing it again. With a roar you ran towards it, striking it with your sword, sparks flying as metal met ice. The elemental roared, throwing its head back with rage. You swung your sword multiple times, trying to incur as much damage as you could on the fiend.

As you recovered, you screeched as its hand reached out for you, scratching you in the process, digging a deep gash into your arm. You winched in pain, watching as blood seeped from the wound, painting the ground below you red.

You had no time to stop the bleeding and kept fighting, dodging and diving, swinging and thrusting your sword. Little by little you chipped at the elemental, wondering if you were doing any good. You were starting to get tired, your muscles aching with each swing, your breath coming out in rapid pants.

You were about to run for it when you remembered the magic orbs, tucked away in your pouch. You quickly grabbed one and hurled it at the monster, straight for its heart. The orb clashed with the ice, exploding into fiery flames, causing a chunk of the ice elemental’s chest to melt.

You did a silent cheer, watching the smoke rise to the sky as the monster stood paralyzed for a moment. You took that opportunity to chip away at its legs, swinging your sword with all your might. The elemental definitely took some damage as it staggered around, its large feet creating large craters in the ground as it stomped around.

You didn’t let it recover, reaching for another magic orb, tossing it this time at its head, the orb hitting it square in the face. It wasn’t able to cry out, as its mouth was blown off, ice shards melting with each second. You looked over the monster, searching for its core. You saw something shimmer within the hole the first magic orb created. You kept an eye on the light as you charged, and at the last second pushed off your legs allowing you to leap into the air.

You posed your sword to strike, driving the metal straight into the green, shimmering crystal that represented its core, its life line. Once your sword pierced through, the crystal shattered into a tiny pieces, the quickly light fading out.

You landed gracefully on your feet, your fingertips touching the ground to stabilize yourself. You lifted your head up to watch the ice elemental stagger drunkenly before collapsing on its side, falling and cracking the ground below.

You remained in your stance, your chest heaving, as you struggled to breathe . Your arm was steadily bleeding, the crimson red dripping down your arm, mixing with the dark maroon of blood since dried. You took a few moments more before standing up, using your sword as a crutch.

As you looked ahead, a castle popped into view, that was most definitely not there before your battle with the elemental. You smiled and started to head towards it, your gait a limp after fighting all day. You kept your head up, dragging your sword along the ice as you got closer and closer to the castle.

You looked up at the gray, stone building, the exteriors cold and uninviting. You hoped the king would welcome you, as you were tired and in need of care. Stepping up to the door, you looked up, noticing how tall it was. Definitely big enough for a giant.

Raising your hand, you knocked on the door, and waited with bated breath. You heard footsteps on the other side, their echo getting louder and louder with each step until they stopped right in front of you.

The large door opened, the inside of the castle being revealed bit by bit. Standing in front of you was a man, one that seemed to be your size, definitely not a giant like the one that was supposed to be living here. The man stared at you, disgust on his face as he took in your appearance.

You’re sure you looked a mess, as your hair was disheveled, your clothes ripped, bruises littered all over your skin, the wound on your arm bleeding through the makeshift bandage you placed on it. But all of that didn’t matter, you had made it this far and he was going to let you in if you had any say.

“Hi, my name is y/n. I was sent here by my father Odin to talk to Chan.”

At the mention of your purpose there, the man’s face changed from one of disgust to recognition. “Of course, of course, y/n. We’ve been expecting you, please come in.”

The man shuffled out of the way, gesturing for you to come in. You nodded and stepped over the threshold, your eyes wandering the room. It was dark and gloomy, the walls made out of gray stone, torches were lit to show the way. The furniture that was present was huge, befit for a giant.

“Right this way,” the man said, ushering you further into the building.

You followed him, down the hall and up some stairs, until you reached a large door.

“Wait here please,” he said as he cracked the door open and slipped inside.

You stood there waiting, your ears trained to hear whatever was being said within the four walls. You could hear mumbled voices, but couldn’t quite make out the words that was being said. You were about to lean your ear against the door, that is until the door creaked open, the man stepping out and into the hall again.

“Chan wants you to rest and refresh yourself after your difficult journey, he’ll meet with you afterwards.”

You were thankful for this, as you didn’t want to meet with a king feeling and looking as dirty as you were. The man led you further down the hall, stopping in front of another large door.

“This will be your quarters,” he said pushing the door open for you. “A bath has been prepared. The maids will help you in the meantime.”

You thanked the man as he gave you a little bow and stepped into the room. There was a faint aroma permeating the room, the scent of lavender tickling your nose. You gravitated towards the scent, your body finally catching up to the fatigue you felt.

You came to the bathroom, a large tub filled to the brim with bubbles, and multiple women who you assumed were the maids waiting for you.

They curtsied for you and then rushed to your side, ushering you to the center of the room. They started to mutter in a language you didn’t understand, as they reached for your ruined clothes. You blushed as they stripped you completely down. Once undressed, they motion for you to get into the tub.

You carefully stepped one leg in, the warm water caressing your thigh before stepping in with the other. You slowly sat down, savoring the feel of the water against your skin. Once settled, the women began to scrub you down, taking care to be mindful of your scrapes and bruises. They left no part of your body untouched, their hands reaching everywhere in order to clean you.

You had no choice but to sit back at the mercy of their hands as you listened to them chatter. They occasionally smiled at you, cooing at your beauty before getting back to work. They seemed very happy, smiles constantly on their faces.

Once they were done washing you, they helped you out of the tub and dried you down with a towel, their hands gently massaging the fabric over your skin. They applied a sweet oil to your body, the floral scent pleasant to the senses as it was not too much but perfect against the heat of your skin. They brought out a white dress and slipped it over your head, tying the string in the back.

It was a beautiful dress, making you seem like you were glowing. It was cinched underneath your breasts, causing them to overflow perfectly at the top. They brushed your hair, leaving the wavy strands to flow down your back. After they were done, they ushered you to the large mirror in your bedroom and had you take a look.

You almost didn’t recognize yourself, used to the furs that were customary for a girl like you back in your realm. You smiled at your appearance as you felt very beautiful. Turning around, you thanked the maids who smiled back in return.

One of the maids walked over to you, a cup in her hand. She handed it to you and said, “for you m’lady. Our new queen. A tonic for tonight.”

Wait, new queen? Your smile faltered as you looked at the lady, confusion on your face.

“Yes, yes, new queen, you are Chan’s wife.”

You were in disbelief. Your father sold you out, sold you to the king of the giants without consulting you. The thought hurt your heart, that he couldn’t tell you at least, but your father is Odin after all. He doesn’t discuss his decisions with anyone. Accepting your fate, you took the cup from the lady, and brought it to your lips, drinking the warm liquid.

It went down easy, the flavor odd but not unpleasant. Once the cup was drained, you handed it back to the maid who curtsied and hurried off, the others right behind her.

You stared after them until the door shut behind the last of them. What were you to do now?

You decided to walk to the window and look out at the vast expanse of icy wasteland. This was your home now you supposed. You wondered what Chan looked like, the other giant you…encountered crossing your mind. Your pussy clenched in remembrance, how he dominated you, held you down and had his way with you. How primitive it felt.

You felt yourself getting hot, your heart rate increasing at the thought. You shifted your thighs against each other, seeking friction as your pussy fluttered, your slick trickling out and onto your thighs.

You felt weird, but in a good way, the only thing on your mind to be filled, bred until you couldn’t walk anymore. You continued to shift your thighs together, your breaths coming out as pants. You were about to reach your fingers under your dress when the door slammed open, and a giant walked in.

You turned to look at the intruder, your cheeks flushed in your heat, your breasts raising and falling as you took each breath. Your eyes widened in recognition, the giant before you being the one who you encountered by the sea. So this was Chan, the king of the giants, and now your husband.

He stared down at you, a smile on his face. He stalked toward you, and stopped in front of the mirror, beckoning you forward. You all but ran to him, craning your head up to look at him. He was beautiful, even for a giant. You were able to get a good look at his face now, noticing that he had a chiseled face, and large, pouty lips. His eyes were big and round, as they took you in.

He turned you around, having you face the mirror. His hands graced your thighs, slowly dragging up your sides, your belly until he reached your breast, his large hands cupping the flesh. Your breath hitched as you watched, feeling him massage your breasts, his large fingers pinching your nipples causing you to loudly moan.

“So beautiful,” Chan said, his voice low but clear.

He slowly pushed the straps of your dress down, the material sliding down your body before pooling at your feet. You gasped as you took in your reflection. The inside of your thighs were glistening, coated in a sheen of your arousal that was steadily dripping from your pussy.

Chan smirked, as he brought a hand to your folds and shoved a finger between them. He dragged his finger through your slick before pressing the digit against your clit, your knees all but giving out at his touch.

You gripped his thick arms in support as he teased the bud, his finger flicking left, right, circling up and down. You were a mess, your moans echoing in the dimly lit room. You felt more sensitive than usual, your mind hazy as you came without warning on Chan’s fingers, soaking the digits with your release.

You couldn’t believe you came so fast, heat rising to your cheeks in arousal and embarrassment. You looked up at Chan through the mirror, watching as he dropped the cloth around his hips.

Your eyes widened at the sight of his cock, remembering how big he was. Your mouth drooled at the sight of the copious amount of precum leaking from his tip, the liquid dripping down his long shaft and into the pubic hair lining the base of his cock.

You needed to be filled by him and you needed it now.

Chan could read your thoughts, seeing the effect the aphrodisiac had on you. You were insatiable, needy, your body language giving it away, as you pleaded with your eyes to take you.

He would take care of you not to worry and breed you full with his cum. Chan reached down and picked you up by your thighs, spreading your legs effectively so your dripping pussy was on display.

You yelped at the action, the floor getting further away as he lifted you higher and shifted his grip on you.

“My sweet, my precious,” Chan said before bringing you down on his cock, the tip spreading you open as he lowered you inch by inch down his length.

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, as Chan speared you open on his cock, your eyes wide, watching in the mirror as your pussy sucked him in. Your entrance stretched so perfectly around him, holding him snug in place, almost as if it were welcoming him home.

You both groaned as he began to slide you up and down his cock, treating you like his own personal fleshlight. Your pussy squelched with each thrust, as your slick poured out of your entrance, the sinful noise echoing within the chamber.

Your threw your head back, resting on his chest as he continued to fuck you, your hands trying to find purchase on anything as he massaged your walls. His eyes were glued on you through the mirror, watching as your tits bounced, as his cock slid deeper and deeper each time he thrusted into you.

You were going to cum, the feeling creeping up on you quickly once again. You clenched down on his cock, letting out a moan as you let go, your walls spasming around him. Chan didn’t stop however, but continued to thrust up into you, his loud grunts vibrating against your head. You whimpered, feeling a overstimulated as Chan continued to spear you open, his grip tight on your thighs.

You were about to cry out when Chan let out a roar, loud enough that the whole castle would hear, and held you flush against his cock, his cum flooding your insides. You brought your eyes to the mirror, willing yourself to look at where you two were connected, watching as the thick substance ran down his cock and dripped down onto the floor.

“We’re not done yet,” Chan growled, walking you over to the large bed and throwing you down. With the withdrawal of his cock, both your fluids pooled onto the sheets, creating a large stain between your legs.

Chan shuffled closer to you and stopped at the edge of the bed, his hand pumping his cock while he stared down at you. You held eye contact with him, seeing him in all his glory, as his eyes pierced down at your small body. Your clit was throbbing and you still felt hot with need. You trailed your fingers down your belly, reaching down to play with your pussy, seeking to relieve the ache.

Chan watched as you pleasured yourself, his cock filling out again.

“Come here little one,” Chan cooed, beckoning you closer.

He grasped his cock and brought it to your mouth, the tip larger than your lips combined. He looked at you expectantly, his eyebrow raised as you looked at him with doe eyes.

“Suck,” he said, tapping his cock on your lips a few times.

You timidly opened your mouth as he placed the tip on your tongue, his precum coating the muscle. You were barely able to wrap your lips over the appendage, your mouth stretching to accommodate his length.

Chan smiled as he grabbed either side of your head, holding you against him before he began to thrust his hips, fucking his cock within your warm, wet mouth. You looked up at him, tears forming in your eyes as his tip kissed the back of your throat, causing you to gag around him.

Spit was dripping down the side of your mouth as you tried to keep up in time with his thrusts. Your breathing was shallow as his cock filled your mouth, the head of his cock blocking your airway, causing you to breathe through your nose. The lack of oxygen just made you throb even more, causing you walls to clamp around nothing. You moaned around his length, the vibrations causing Chan to growl, as he gripped your hair harder.

Obscene noises echoed off the walls as he fucked your mouth, tears steadily flowing from your eyes now at the onslaught. Your arousal was steadily dripping from your pussy, a string of the fluid leaking from your entrance, threatening to fall to the sheets below.

Your pussy pulsed, your clit ached, needing to be touched. You snaked your hand down to your pussy, intending to give some relief to your aching bud, but stopped immediately when Chan growled, narrowing his eyes at you.

“Naughty girl, no touching. Just take my cock,” he grunted. His thrust became more erratic, signaling he was close.

You silently rejoiced as your mouth started to ache from his cock repeatedly ramming into the back of your throat. Despite this, you were more turned on than ever at the feeling of being used by Chan.

Chan thrusted into your mouth hard once more before stilling, holding you against him, as his cum flooded your mouth, drops falling from the corners, dripping down your face, neck, and settling on your breasts. Once Chan came down from his high, he withdrew his cock and looked down at you, his hand reaching out to hold your chin.

“Look at you, completely ruined. So beautiful my love.” He gently stroked your chin, wiping some cum that was at the corner of your mouth. “Let me return the favor yeah?”

You looked up at Chan with lust filled eyes, dried tears on your cheeks, your face stained with his cum. Your body trembled at the promise, your pussy clenching in anticipation to be filled. You quickly shook your head, begging for him to take you and mark you however he wanted.

He smirked as he pushed you onto your back, your body bouncing slightly on the soft sheets. Chan lifted your legs, spreading and tucking them to your chest. Without a moment’s hesitation, he buried his face in your pussy, his tongue licking between your folds.

You squealed at the sudden attack, your hands gripping the sheets as he moaned and licked up your slick. He sucked your labia between his lips before pushing his tongue into your hole, savoring your taste as it poured onto the muscle.

Chan held you still as he tongue fucked your pussy, your walls clamping down around him as he brought you closer to your high, his nose brushing up against your clit, causing pleasure with each nudge.

Your breaths were shallow, as you panted at the pleasure, a tingling feeling spreading throughout your pelvis and belly. You bit your lip, drawing blood as you thrusted your hips against his face, riding his tongue.

“So good,” you whined, gripping the sheets tighter as you continued to rock your hips.

With a grunt, Chan licked a long stripe to your clit before sucking the nub within his warm mouth, the feeling causing you to gasp and let out a shaky moan. He sucked hard and fast, the coil in your belly tightening, begging to be released.

He smacked his lips as he pressed a kiss to your clit before sucking it within his mouth again. His tongue darted out to flick your bundle of nerves, the pleasure quickly becoming too much. You let out a loud whimper, as you squirted your release on Chan’s face, his tongue darting out to lick up every last drop.

He licked you clean, his grip not loosening until he was satisfied. He lifted his head and smiled, your release dripping from his chin.

“I love your sweet nectar love, you taste so damn good.”

You moaned at his words, your fingers going to your nipples, your back arching as you squeezed the buds. Chan smiled as he shuffled higher up on the bed.

He stroked your thighs before spreading them wide so he could settle between them. You stared up at him, his cock standing proud against his abdomen, the tip angry and red. The demeanor in Chan’s eyes changed as he stared down at you, watching as you played with your breasts.

It seemed as if he was ready to devour you, as if he was ready to breed you. He gripped your thighs again, this time bringing them to rest on his shoulders. With a breath, he sheathed himself inside you, both of you moaning at the feel of each other.

You could never get used to the stretch, the sensation mixed with pain and pleasure. You stared at Chan, your mouth open as he continued to push into you, before withdrawing his cock and snapping his hips into yours again.

He began to pound into you, his cock bullying you deep within. You moaned as you creamed around his cock, the white ring forming around his length as he fucked you. Your body felt like it was in overdrive, as your toes curls and your thighs spasmed around Chan. Your pussy throbbed as Chan spared you no mercy. Your clit dragged against the coarse hair lining his pubic area, sending the all too familiar warm feeling throughout your body.

Chan leaned further over you, allowing him to reach deeper within you, the ridges on his cock brushing against your upper walls just right. He whispered sweet nothings to you, watching as your eyes rolled to the back of your head as your release hit you hard, your pussy spasming, trying to push him out with each rhythmic contraction.

“Na uh, love. Keep me in there. Gotta breed you love. Fill you up so good, you’ll have no choice but to carry my children.”

You mewled at the dirty talk, your mind empty as he continued to abuse your little hole. You felt that feeling build up within your core again, shock coursing through you at the fact you were about to cum again so soon.

“Fuck love, like you were made for me. You. Are. Mine.” He growled, accentuating each word with a thrust, before stilling, his cum painting your walls one last time.

Chan stayed buried within you, emptying every last drop of his cum, his eyes trained on your pussy, watching as the liquid seeped around his cock, down your ass, and pooled on the sheets.

“Such a good girl,” he praised, as he withdrew his cock from your hole, a flood of your release mixed with his gushing out.

“Shit love, we can’t have that can we? Gotta keep it in for me,” he cooed, taking a finger and gathering up he thick, white fluid, and stuffing it back in within your pussy.

You softly moaned at the intrusion, your energy spent. You finally started to feel normal again, the heat leaving your body, your heart rate slowing down. You felt like you could breathe once more as you took a deep breath, filling your lungs with air.

Chan smiled and got off the bed, the door to the room opening as the maids timidly shuffled into the room. They carefully helped you up and into the bath, while others stripped the bed of the soiled sheets, placing fresh ones on.

You were in a daze, as you slowly came down from the clouds, the fuzzy feeling slowly dissipating as you were bathed once more within the lavender bath. The maids helped you into another gown and helped you back into bed, Chan already waiting for you.

You snuggled into his large frame, your eyes drooping in exhaustion. Chan cradled you to him, his arms rubbing soothing circles on your back.

You decided in that moment, in your post coital brain, that you were happy to have taken this journey to another realm, to where you met Chan. Now you were queen, nobody being able to come after you, not even your father, Odin himself.

You quickly succumbed to sleep, your dreams filled with the future you and Chan would build together, feeling at peace at last.

Taglist: @jehhskz @jeonginsleftcheek @simpforleeknaur @armystay89 @palindrome969 @slut4hee @ivydoesit23 @amarecerasus @kaysungshine @fun-fanfics @baby-stay92 @seungfl0wer @velvetmoonlght

[biconickyoshi]

okay… I’m SEVERAL days late with this one lmfao. But this is my entry for @zukaangweek Day 5: Captured/Safe 🫂

I decided to make a comic of the tundra cave scene from my longfic The Avatar and the Fire Prince, an AU in which Zuko discovers Aang in the iceberg right after he’s banished at age 13 in 96 AG. So Zuko and Iroh are the first members of the Gaang, Zuko gets an early redemption arc, and Zuko and Aang are only a year apart in age 😇

This is from the finale chapter of Book 2: Water, wherein Zuko and Iroh have been missing for a couple weeks after they were kidnapped by some unknown Agna Qel’ans. However, just as Zuko finally makes it back to the Gaang, Zhao’s soldiers ambush the Spirit Oasis, and Zuko is forced to take Aang’s body and flee into the tundra to keep him safe. Aang is 13 and Zuko is 14 at this point in the story.

TAatFP fans, I know this is one of your favorite scenes, and it’s one of my favorites too, so I thought it would be perfect for this day’s prompt. Unfortunately it took me WAYYY longer to finish than I had initially thought, because for some reason I decided to do watercolors for the whole thing 😬 I literally started this on the actual prompt day and only just finished it last night lol.

I’m really happy with how it turned out though. I actually used a Lumity scene as a reference for the last part - TOH fans will probably know which one ☺️

edit: whoops I accidentally kept Zuko’s mittens on his hands when he pulls the hood over Aang’s head lmao just ignore that

[styllwaters]

KNIGHT DEITIES

It's been a hot minute since I posted Vivere 44 art. Been intensely busy with school for the past few months but now that I've graduated I've got a lot of time to kill! Since the Knights post surpassed 1k notes I figured I may as well elaborate on them more. I'm so blown away by how much love they're getting already! Thank you all <3

I'm gonna talk a bit about Mountain and Plains Knight religions, mythology and a snippet of evolutionary history. I will cover Polar Knight religions in another post. The focus is on two gods in particular, Uwet-Jana and Kiraiarik.

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Uwet-Jana is the demigod of good health, vitality, and inner balance. In some regions they are also the god of fertility. The name of their Host is Uwetsil, and their Helmet is Serrjana. Mainly worshiped by Mountain cultures, Uwet-Jana takes the form of a Knight whose Host and Helmet are physically merged into a singular being.

Kiraiarik [pronounced ki-rai-ah-rik] is the personification of the host-helmet symbiotic relationship. They are the god of symbiosis, rebirth, and love. Kiraiarik was the name given to two immortal partners, a Host and a Helmet, who began as a singular being born to the sea in Ettera’s prehistoric era. Ettera decided to make them Two, one half (the Helmet) ruling over the sea and the other (the Host) having domain over the land. The story goes that in every form they take, they try to find each other - for their body remembers being One.

Both gods have lots of lore to their name. Further information below!

UWET-JANA

Uwet-Jana's Host body has long spines and red stripes like a Pike, and long fingerlike paws like a Helmet's manipulators. The Helmet section sports two long horns and elegant facial markings. Uwet-Jana has an iridescent sheen on their golden fur, catching the rays of the sun in a shimmering glow.

The story of Uwet-Jana is as follows: Both Uwetsil and Serrjana were born as runts, in a dark time when sickly Knights were seen as curses and not worth caring for. Their Order, believing them to be bad omens, cast them out to wander the tundra alone. They believed that the natural forces of Ettera (the Knight’s homeplanet) would quickly end them. However, Ettera took pity on the castaway, sending them three blessings. The first gift was a bone with marrow inside that ensured one is never hungry or thirsty again. Then, Ettera sent a warm, sweet wind into Uwet-Jana’s lungs which warded off all sickness and disease. Finally, a sun shower fell, the rains cleansing them and blessing them with a coat made of ivory and gold.

Transformed into a demigod with a hybrid body, Uwet-Jana was offered a place among the deities in the sky - but they refused, preferring to stay on the ground to share their gift with the mortals. Unbeknownst to them, their Order who had exiled them was struck by three curses from the Gods to mirror Uwet-Jana’s blessings: all the rivers in the area dried up and all their hunts were unsuccessful, leaving them with no food or water. Infections and diseases picked them off one by one, and a great storm ravaged the land, destroying their home and all remaining survivors. Uwet-Jana now blesses Knight Orders who take care of their sick and ailing members, and ignores those who don’t, leaving them to the wrath of the Gods.

Although they are nomadic and always on the move, many Mountain Orders will refuse to leave any sick members behind. They may also keep ivory statues of Uwet-Jana in their bags as a token of good fortune. Sometimes these statues are filled with bone marrow, or have holes which make a whistling sound as wind passes through it as a reference to Ettera’s gifts. Occasionally Pike Helmets are born with an extra long ‘horn’ spike, and are considered a child/reincarnation of Uwet-Jana. Additionally, whenever it rains while the sun is still shining, it is seen as a blessing from the demigod.

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KIRAIARIK

Kiraiarik's Host is depicted as a small creature with a striped pelt to mirror its ancestral form, and the Helmet as an aquatic beast with long, trailing red fins. It is frequently shown twisting around the Host, sharing its blood. Kiraiarik is also often simplified as two disembodied eyes looking at each other. (And yes, the artstyle is a nod to medieval depictions of heraldic beasts!)

To understand Kiraiarik, one must be aware of how much Plains religions are intrinsically tied to concepts of evolution and paleontology.

Digression on the origins of Etteran symbiosis: 

Large stretches of Plains Knight deserts and scrublands were once submerged beneath the sea. As a result, there are countless fossil hotspots which have been unearthed over the centuries. These high concentrations of fossilised remains have lead to Plains cultures basing their religions around said discoveries. Although many features have been warped, the general timelines are strikingly similar.

For instance, a mass extinction event occurred on Ettera millions of years ago, caused by a series of catastrophic volcanic eruptions on a worldwide scale. This event is known in Plains culture as The Remaking, traditionally interpreted as the planet shedding its skin. Many species were decimated, but some groups survived; these happened to be phyla who possessed an exposed ‘Interfacer’ organ, a precursor to the specialised Integrator organ which connects the Host’s brain to the Helmet’s. Before The Remaking, there was no prior record of the deep symbiotic connection which Knights possess (scientifically deemed ‘Hyperadvanced Mutualism’). The Interfacer organ was used in the phyla for species to communicate simple stretches of data to each other, such as health and reproductive status. After the extinction, populations of these species were dwindling. To ensure their survival, an odd phenomenon occurred in which many individuals began to interface with different species who possessed the same organ - strangely enough, some were able to successfully exchange information. These individuals survived and passed on the practice to their offspring, eventually culminating in what would be discovered as a very primitive form of mutualism. Host and Helmet ancestors (pictured above) were some of the first species to achieve this.

As the planet recovered and populations increased, the relationship continued to solidify and become more complex, with symbiotic species sharing memories, emotions and complex thought. In modern times there is now an entire class of organisms on Ettera which possess an Integrator organ for Advanced Mutualism, including Knights.

Kiraiarik is said to be a manifestation of this relationship. After The Remaking, their two halves finally managed to find each other again, eternally locked in a joyous dance of love. (Side note: the love in question is not platonic nor romantic, but a deeper kind which is indescribable and not easily understood. Due to their intricate nervous systems, Knights have a higher degree of emotional intelligence and can experience sensations we would consider alien). When a Plains Knight is experiencing inner turmoil, they will often pray to Kiraiarik to restore a healthy connection. The god’s blessing is also called upon when an infant Host and Helmet first Assimilate.

Note: Many Plains ‘saints’ and deities have palindromic names which can be read both forwards and backwards, an indicator of holiness. Fun fact, the word Kiraiariku means “Your heart and mine are very old friends.”

Thank you for reading! More Knight content coming soon ;)

[acronym49]

My takes on the Wof tribes!!

Skywings: Fast efficient hunters of mountain terrain. They have a much higher stomach acidity, allowing them to digest bone and neutralize bacteria that would be dangerous to other tribes. Wings claws have hooked talons to make it easier to cling to sheer rock faces (or the palace walls even), where they sometimes like to sleep. Pupils are round, and there's a ring of bone that keeps the eyes sharp and prevents shape warping with age. Fastest fliers, but not the longest fliers.

Icewings: A combination of cute and elegance, soft and sharpness. Wide spread paws to disperse weight on snow, with thick hollow fur that traps in heat. Horns are some of the most decorative, used for display or battle. Fur color can range between pure white, or even mottled darker greys to blend in with the taiga forest of their lower territory. They have good endurance and extremely keen senses, as well as a built in tolerance to excessive light.

Nightwings: Steathy both in air and on land. Paws are adapted specifically to be silent, as they are ambush hunters. Eyes have the strongest night vision of any tribe, but can be sensitive to daylight. Wing feathers are fringed for silent flight, as well as the tail fans and tip. Fur is lightweight but warm, as they were originally built to live in the tundra forests between the Ice Kingdom and Sand Kingdom. Very long canine teeth, they like to haul prey up into trees to eat.

Sandwings: Long- legged and extremely opportunistic. They use a mixture of fur and scales to keep cool air in and warm air out, which is used also to keep the warmth in for the cool nights. Paw pads are thickly furred to create a barrier between skin and hot sand. Despite being efficient fliers, a lot of Sandwings prefer to chase their prey on foot, a task aided by their long legs and tail. Wings are the longest of all the tribes, broad in shape and used for soaring on thermal currents when the ground is too hot.

Mudwings: Semi-aquatic, with an incredible bite force. Their frills are surprisingly thick and sturdy, able to huld up well against bites or piercing. Paws and wing claws are both webbed for movement in water. Their wings are similar to Rainwings, being broad and eliptical, but lean more towards heron wings than that of a harpy eagle. Can hold their breath for up to an hour, and host many whiskers to feel for prey in murky water. Lips have small dotted pores that pick up electromagnetic currents for this same purpose. Bite force is one to be reckoned with.

Seawings: Heavily adapted to water, but still surprisingly efficient on land. Their running speed is still just as good as other tribes, even a little on the fast end. Their head and body are all streamlined, skin covered in tiny toothlike scales to keep them sturdy yet swift. Numerous fins, with two on either side for stability and steering, and a powerful fluked tail. Wings are considerably flexible as they close nearly flush to the body when swimming.

Rainwings: Masters of camoflauge and color. Frills on the back, neck, and tail are all very thin, with moveable spines connecting them. These frills are moved in a natural wave formation to mimic shifting leaves while hiding. Their paws and wing claws are nimble yet deceptively strong, the hooks are able to support nearly the entire weight of the dragon. They have both sensory whiskers and modified whiskers for decoration, as well as heat pits to detect other lifeforms. With this, hiding rainwings can lower their temperature to not be found. Colors are usually only for decoration or camo, so it's common to see lots of contrast and variety in the villages.

[vyzz-undercover]

im insane have a few kilos of:

[cato/f!ambassador]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

(6,600ish words) (please fucking sedate me)

{i dont usually write in whatever perspective having a 'you' in this sort of context is, so forgive any oopsies besties!!!}

CONTENT WARNINGS:

•slight dubcon

•hints of size kink

•intercourse [M/F]

•degrading language

•mild possessive behaviour

•pisspoor cliche of 'oh no you're freezing haha body warmth eh?' trope

•mr. sicarius' insufferable ego

•tumblr's dogshit formatting from phone notes to the app

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super special thanks to all the writers im too much of a spineless coward to actually @ because i only ever lurked on anon asks on old main for, like: moodymisty, mothiir, lemon-russ, the-raven-lady, scriberye and many others. you're all the unknowing reasons why i made an alt to post this, cheers for your amazing works and ideas!!! :3

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It was doomed from the start, honestly.

Not to say he had any hope that an assignment would ever actually go easily for once.

It's supposed to be an apparently simple diplomatic procedure. Namely, you get to stand around, run your ambassadorial trap and bat your lashes and trollop about in front of pompous baseline fools. While he, Cato Sicarius, stands at attention in pissy formal wear; pretending like he's not a hair-breadth from an aneurysm watching it all take place.

Oh, and not to forget the brother who's a head taller than him, in full plate, and isn't being held to a standard of mock-humility.

He realises belatedly he's forgotten the Primaris' name. That shouldn't happen. He never used to forget things. Eidetic memory shouldn't let him. He shouldn't be able to—or, well—maybe his subconscious deigned it unimportant and emptied it out the proverbial airlock of his mind. It was admittedly largely inconsequential. He'd been told, surely. He remembers he was a Sergeant of some sort from his markings. He also remembers being gawked at by the Primaris, borderline felated by eyes alone. He's Cato Sicarius, afterall. Grand Duke of Talassar and High Suzerain of Ultramar—of course he'd been inspiring awe. But for some warp-damned reason, alongside all those great titles, his Father'd decided to add Master Babysitter of His Ambassador to the list. But Cato does doesn't let it bother him. He's always got better things to occupy his time. Like furiously glaring at you across the thunder-hawk, even if you'd been dead-set on counting the rivets in the floor plating.

You'd looked absolutely idiotic in an Astartes troop seat. Like a toddler in an adult-sized wheelchair, draped in furs that seemed a size too big; hiding a dress that looked a size too small.

Simply put, the entire assignment was to be an event in circle-jerking—until shit hit the fan with all the painful similarity of a Nurgling thrown headlong into a thruster engine.

To begin with, it was a trap—a trap where he's separated from brother-Sergeant 'whatever-the-fuck-riel' in the commotion and responding bolter fire. That'd left Cato pointedly responsible for evacuating you, the useless little chatterbox, by the scruff of your fuzzy coat through side halls.

On another note, of all the accursed biomes, he hates tundras the most.

Pointedly, it's exactly what seventy percent of this backwater, shit-hole planet is this time of year; whereas the other thirty percent is glacial mush.

He discovers firsthand just how much sloshy ice-water there is to be found as he kicks in a shutter door and gets doused for the first time of many to follow; only to vault from the eastern rampart. Sliding down a long, raised and sleet covered run-off canal that passed over the keep's lesser residential rooftops with you in his grasp.

Melt water soaks you both as he scrambles fights to a halt on the steep decline before the drop off. Wobbling balancing on the edge for a second before he manages to scud back up and down a side chute, worming through the raucous hellscape of filthy baselines and too-tight alleys into the scrappy frozen wilds.

There was little time to hesitate when he decides breaking into a dead-sprint with a soggy ambassador thrown over his shoulder's the modus operandi of the situation.

He didn't stop until he was at least fifteen clicks away, or rather—he only stops when he's able to recognise a spot to hide and await for emergency evacuation.

A half-standing shack. Probably some peasant's hunting hovel. Clearly in poor condition, and honestly, a cave would've been preferable—but he isn't about to pass up the opportunity.

The door doesn't even swing open when he nudges it with his elbow. No, it falls inward, because of course it does, and he grumbles belatedly when it thuds.

The inside of the structure is a damnable mess, but, at the very least, it's dry.

He moves to tug you off his shoulder and toss you onto a pile of rags in the far corner, but he hesitates periodically. Even through his own wet outer attire, he can tell very little body heat is coming off you. His hearing catches on the way your breathing labours below the incessant chatter of your teeth.

Some wretched part of him implores he let you down carefully next to the nested mess of dirty cloth; and for once, he acquiesces to granting mercy.

You curl up into a ball on the floorboards almost immediately.

In his eyes, you're the pict of some drowned rat. The fur coat you'd been wearing over your dress is just as soaked through as everything else. Your hair is full of small, frozen rivulets at the ends, mixed in with powder snow and ice; and all the while, you're whining softly and trying to coil tighter into a fetal position.

He's trying very hard not to just stand there and dumbly listen to your little noises of weakness like a salivating dog.

Instead, Cato turns and lifts the door back into place against the frame; then he activates the honing beacon on his belt.

No latency pings, no close contact.

He grumbles again, eyeing your shivering form over his shoulder begrudgingly.

He hates you.

He hates that he's the one who's responsible for you.

The fact he is also currently out of his power-armour because of this charade only makes him even more irate, impossibly.

Sure, he has his combat bodyglove on under the tacky regalia, but it's no real consolation. He'd feel a lot better if there was a couple extra hundred kilos of plasteel and ceramite on him.

He could've had his armour on, had someone else been the one to babysit you.

He would have preferred anything but sole custody of your wretched, annoying existence falling on him. But because he's the only competent Astartes around ninety percent of the time, and you're the root of all problems—it means he's the only one who's capable of handling your stupidity. He can't even imagine letting anyone else do it. You'd probably deafen Trajan with your yapping if he was in his stead. Or Prabian. And if Titus had watch of you, you two'd probably be—ugh, he won't even dignify the thought. He can't believe the man'd been Captain of Second Company, or how or why Agemman gave the captaincy to him. He understands why Titus'd been struck from most records aside from high clearance. To say nothing of the fact that one would think being a Blackshield for a century would humble someone. But no, it seems crossing the Rubicon Primaris gave him his balls back.

Cato had almost flown into a blind rage when he'd heard him jokingly warning about rough weather to you on the embarkation deck the last time you'd been in each others general vicinity—because oh, of course Lieutenant Titus is suddenly a subsector-renowned fucking comedian as soon as you're there. Cato ought to subpoena the dribbling Inquisition like that little snake Leandros did. See how Titus'd like a real stage to perform on again. Maybe they'll have a new rendition of the cunted Rubicon Primaris to piece his sorry fat-arse back together once more by then. But he won't. He won't because Marneus would sulk, and Cato would feel bad. Plus, Cato's infinitely more likely to kill an Inquisitor than help one. But you—you little skank—you find Titus so funny. Hiding a giggle behind your hand, pretending to look demure and professional despite your wretched nature.

Why don't you smile at him like that?

You would be the death of him.

It was always all because of you. Every single time. Because you're so useless in any situation that can't be rambled out of. Which is all of them when you're involved, in Cato's opinion. His Father should leave the talking to professionals who wouldn't break a hip from a smack on the rear.

But now you are going to die of hypothermia, like a typical, pathetic little baseline—well, unless you start following his orders.

Cato tries not to think of how you were acting when rounds started going off earlier. Of course, like a spooked animal, you'd been all ears to his commands then. Hiding against him with your hands pawing at the side of his dress uniform as bullets careened across the dining hall, looking up at him with those big, terrified, caught-in-the-crosshair eyes—and, Throne, it had been so easy to pick you up. You were so soft flimsy, he could fling you around like a rag-doll if he really wanted. Manhandling you would be a singlehanded venture. He's liable to just hoist you up whenever you think yourself bold enough to bother him next. Grab you by your uniform's scruff and just pin you against a bulkhead, you'd be bent at the perfect height to—no—no, no.

Abruptly trying to distract himself, Cato draws his blade from it's ceremonial sheath and activates the disruption core, trying to stoke some sort of heated spark as he drove it into the fireplace.

He brutishly nudges it amidst the old wood and long dim coals. It isn't his finest moment of critical thinking, but it seems to be working; seeing as a few weak embers sputter to life.

Gratingly, he's aware that even a servitor would've known starting a fire in hostile territory was a fool's surest way at getting caught—but he has no other choice. Either he acts the moron and plays his poor hand, or you die from the shock of your chill; and if that happens, he'll have to face his Father's wrath.

And Guilliman would have his left testicle as a paperweight if you died under his watch.

In conclusion, if Cato is to choose between stupidity and complete failure, he's opting for stupidity. Which aggravatingly felt like an ongoing occurrence, ever since you started existing anywhere near him.

He reaches for your soggy swaddled form, and tugs.

Even practically hypothermic, you've still got enough of a two-faced-bitch's spirit hidden away in you to hiss and swat at him blindly. So much for his Father's claims you were of 'sweet, kind temperament.'

For a moment, he genuinely wants to throttle you for the outburst; but he swallows down the urge.

"You need to get out of those," he snaps, glowering down at you. "Or you are going to die."

Your response is a poignant little groan as you glance dizzily around the room.

Cato huffs, "There are blankets beside you, fool."

He holds up a dingy plaid throw, half fraying and stinking of stale mould. It was an assault on his vomeronasal organ, but he wasn't about to let you act the typical spoiled cunt routine of an Imperial ambassador. He would have you wrapped in it sooner rather than later, wether you liked it or not. You dying reflects poorly on him, afterall.

"T-T-Turn, p-p-please—" you say, but your stammering mangles the words into a juddering mess.

He growls, almost tempted to snarl something about 'the fucking audacity in thinking you can tell him what to do—' but acquiesces out of sheer force of will and pivots on his heel, settling into a martial line stance.

Cato can hear you struggling to wriggle free of your clothes. The whines of effort and heavy breathing, to say nothing of the almost comedic slop sound one miscellaneous article makes as it hits the rotted wooden floorboards.

Even if he's taking it to his grave, he's admittedly itching to look over his shoulder.

It's a completely degenerate urge.

But he's—he's wanted this. He's wanted this exact opportunity.

He's got it, now.

You're alone with him.

Nothing and nobody to distract or detract from your attention finally being all on him.

You make a fey little groan, and he takes that as a signal you're finished.

He rounds about-face, and, for lack of a better word, ogles the shape of your covered form.

You've dragged that pile of rags closer to the meagre fireplace, lying on it with the plaid blanket strewn over the top of you.

Even completely hidden beneath, he can see you are still shaking under the ratty thing. Even moreso than before, in all actuality. He supposes that's a good sign. It proves your feeble body is still well and keen on living.

But the suffocating concept you're bare weak, soft useless and needing pathetic underneath that scrap of fabric worms its way into his brain like a cancer.

He grits his teeth so hard his jaw aches.

Tearing his gaze away, he finds the embers his blade coaxed are a small flame eating away at the old timber now.

Looking back, your shivering's subsiding, but your rapid breathing is increasing; which is surely not good.

He has an idea, which definitely isn't influenced by depravity at all—shut up.

Cato tries for a moment to actually unbutton his attire. His fingers are too large, unsurprisingly. And with the body-suit, he's got no leverage of a nail or two to do away with the dainty fasteners. So, ultimately, he tears the regalia down the front, sending buttons flying—and continues to pry and rend the sopping garments off his arms and legs until they're a pile at his feet.

Then he sets about a more strenuous matter. He releases the locking mechanism at his clavicle, and promptly undoes the thick claps over his pectorals so he can pop free the catches beneath, peeling the layered material back and shucking his arms and hands loose of their constraints.

The top of his bodyglove hangs around his hips now, and he sighs. The chill is of no real annoyance to him. He's built to endure most conditions. Sure, it's cold—but Astartes run hot. And right now, he's boiling for so very many accursed reasons.

He settles on his side next to you and scuds himself to bracket the pile of fabric.

"Move closer," he bites out.

He tries not to groan when you actually do, and surprises himself when he manages to stifle the sound. Even through the blanket, he imagines his warmth is a welcome change to freezing.

"T-Thank you," you say softly, soaking in his body heat like a banal reptile under a sun's rays.

He likes hearing timidity on your lips.

He supposes it stems from his habit of humbling you. The opportunities are unsurprisingly plentiful. He often finds enjoyment hearing you back-pedal when he would cut you down for so much as genially inquiring on Astartesian discussions. Putting himself in the middle and shutting you out, even if you were welcomed in them prior to his arrival.

If you want to ask something of his Brothers, it'll be his answers.

All it ever took was a growl and a curt reminder to know your place. Then you'd fumble and take two steps back. Snipped down to size as you ought to be. Forced to suffer an ounce of the shame he feels. Oh, and then your big doe-eyes'd cast down at Cato's ceramite boots, fussing; trying to apologise to him.

In truth, it's adorable pathetic to watch.

You look so hurt.

It's an act, he's sure of it.

You play at being difficult to anger, and that makes you just that bit more grating. You've unknowingly caught him with an unfair advantage. One that his prowess as a statesman and a warrior cannot seem to scratch. He's always left feeling robbed in your presence. In a way that furiously giving in to the alien urge of palming himself afterwards doesn't ever fix. He's toey and irked to be excluded when you talk to other Astartes, but simultaneously darkly glad that you shy from such antics with him.

It's paradoxical, yes. But no, he's not a hypocrite. Though some part of him is scolding him for being one. No, he's aching to sink his proverbial claws into you—though he won't ever say it to a soul. He won't because he knows he's not supposed to have tastes such as this. A pit in his gut taunts that the stint he'd suffered in the Warp is to blame. But he's the commander of Roboute Guilliman's Victrix Guard. He is not aberrant. The sidelong, fraction-of-a-second glances Cato receives from his Primarch when you enter his office to give briefings surely mean nothing.

It's clear why you have his Father's favour, but he'll never admit that either. Aside from Guilliman's desperation to find baseline company for some strange reason. You're surely just a pet to him. Like a small rodent he pries off a little wheel and sets out in a clear sphere to roll about on the bridge, or something.

To say nothing of his brothers' behaviours.

They won't show it in a group, but he knows the Astartes beneath him preen at your every query.

It's complete lunacy.

It's heresy.

You must have somehow beguiled them all, just like you've done him.

But you're still right there—right where he wants you.

And damn it all, does he want you.

He wants—he wants you on your front, squirming underneath him. No, wait, he wants to see you—but then you'd need to be on top. He can watch, like that. Then afterwards he'll have you on your back, perhaps. Why not sideways? You're already like that, now. Or—or... who's he kidding, he'd take anything, and everything.

Throne, he's so hard he swears he is going to have a brain haemorrhage. He feels like he's already had one, honestly, for all his thoughts are hazing. It's a million leagues worse than the time you'd accidentally called him 'Lord Sicarius' by accident instead of your usual choice of 'Commander' and Throne, he'd rubbed himself raw after that.

Maybe if you weren't such a whorish little wretch, his fantasies wouldn't be running so rabid right now.

You wriggle and your half-covered back slides up against his front.

Cato's never held himself stiller in his life.

Your skin feels like fine silk to his spiralling mind; and even worse, your damnable wriggling doesn't stop. You start making little movements with your feet to try to get circulation back in them—and again, there's a fey similarity to your behaviours and some soaked rodent he recognises.

Decidedly, you've realised it's not enough and promptly jut your feet backwards between his quads. Still continuing the motions, but more furiously.

The touch is dangerously close to the cradle of his inner thighs.

He swears he actually feels the blood drain from his face in mortification. The touch is meagre, but it's real. It's more warming than any he's ever known. And of course, to add insult to injury, that blood drains straight to were he's already painfully hard—which is currently pushed against his navel, halfway jutting out of his bodyglove's zipper.

Thankfully, you withdraw yourself from between his legs and sigh again, snug.

Then, you shuffle closer.

Your rear scuds right up to the swell of his confined cock.

Cato's immediately beside himself in an instant, flying into a rainbow of emotion. First, he's disgusted. Then he's seething at the audacity—which makes him furious—and finally, he's... he's ecstatic.

He groans, raring like some rutting animal; but the sound ultimately leaves him as an angry, subvocal snarl of transhuman harmonics.

You flinch, and wriggle away sharply, and he repeats the sound again at the loss of contact. You're only a hair away from being there still, he can feel how close you are—but you remain just beyond him again.

"My—my apologies, Commander... I-I—" you blurt out, voice still a little chill stuttered, "I didn't... I didn't mean to overstep."

He inhales steadily. He notes you're doused in human stress hormones; but he's acutely aware of a honeyed smell just below the surface. It's so suffocatingly sugary it's actually hurting his nose to scent the air. It's addling his thoughts, turning his focus to mist.

He can smell you failing to juggle all the reactions and thankfully rottenly settling for the one that makes you reek of mollasses.

"Come back, shut up," he hisses. "And stay still."

Sweet-stink radiates again before you swallow sharply.

There's an eternal breath of time in which he's about to go mad with anticipation, and the instant you're slotted against him again.

Some base urgency sends him frotting forward, and the thick, leaking head of him that peaks out the top of his zip brushes against a warm cunt; all thanks to that blanket of yours having slipped loose slightly, and lo, the blessed horrid consequence.

He'd live off the way your surprised gasp makes his nerves thrill.

"Is—" you wheeze, "Is that...?"

He grimaces, unsurprised you're ever stupider than you look. Recklessly, instead of lying—instead of saying 'no, it's a combat knife,' his mouth decides he's to act the most pathologically honest town crier alive.

"It," he intones sharply, before the words "...is your fault," leave him as a rushed hiss.

A belated pause wins out for a moment, and he's mortified as he realises what he's just confessed. There's a leaden feeling at the back of his throat. One option to recover the situation is that he could just hit you on the head. What'd be a shiner of a punch to a brother would be a terminal concussion to a baseline. Then, he'd tell the Primarch, oh yes, you died. Very sad. How? To shreds. To shreds you say? Truthfully, he can't really bring any actual conviction to the plan. He wouldn't. The notion is merely a hypothetical, in a perfect world where violence solved everything. Because if you die, Guilliman will send him to an Agri-world to be some peasant's plough-puller or someshit for a few centuries—and Cato's going to kill himself before he has to suffer that indignity. Uriel would never let him live it down. He's bound to suffer the same consequences, ultimately. Even if he's got no idea what an Astartes with a sex drive would be liable to be punished for. Oh, right. Corruption. So now, there's a credible witness to his flaw and one that his Father'll believe, worst of all, and... abruptly, you reply instead of scream in revulsion, your voice a mumbled little squeak as you say, "I didn't know—I mean, I didn't think—"

"Believe me, I am well aware you lack the capacity to think," Cato cuts in, and swallows down a snort at his own mean spirited joke. He's fucked, and for some reason he's suddenly further struck by the hilarity of the bastard, warp-spawn wiles of fate and chance. May as well be hung for the sheep as for a lamb, he decides.

Your breathing gains a shallow edge, and he feels you make as if to inch away again.

"I said not to move," He growls, and keeps you flush against him—holding you there by way of folding an arm across you.

"I just... uh," you reply, "I'm just..."

Your ass grinds back against him.

There's contact, your skin against the flushed, drooling head of him that feels painfully tender—and then you ruin it by speaking again.

"Curious, I suppose...? I was of the belief the Adeptus Astartes didn't..." your voice is soft, at least; slow and distracted, "Have an appetite for... this sort of thing?"

Cato momentarily stays fixated on the breathiness of your tone, and has to remind himself he's supposed to be angry at being robbed of silence—so he grumbles, "I told you to shut your trap," and promptly smothers a palm over your mouth.

You make a noise that sounds vaguely like a mumbled curse and settle, breathing hard through your nose to compensate.

Still, your rear presses back against him.

Cato takes the gesture at face value and fusses, roughly wrenching his bodyglove down to his thighs with his free hand.

Unconfined, his cock slaps the small of your back, and he manhandles you to readjust so it glides between your thighs instead.

Everything in place, he skews his hips forward, and his eyes roll back at the smooth, sublime drag of skin against skin. It's genuine perfection, wet and soft and molten.

The little hitched breaths you steal through your nose with each roll of his hips make him grind faster. Pressing closer with each, until the abhorrent, sticky sound of him steadily fucking against you is nigh deafening.

"I go in or I stay out," he says, and he can feel his molars grate against each other as he adds, "...or I can stop."

You shake your head furiously, or at least as much as the huge mitt on your chin, maw and jaw allows.

"Then decide," he snaps. "In?"

Cato hears the cartilage in your gullet move as you swallow dryly and nod.

Chuffed with your allowance compliance, he hums—and then it's his turn to hesitate.

When he draws his hand from your mouth, he curtly says, "Stay silent," and starts as if to tell you to arrange one way, then decides against it; dithering uncharacteristically. Then, rarer yet, Cato stumbles his words as he adds, "Move on to y-your front, then."

He doesn't know why he asked for the least preferred option when he'd been deliberating over the hypothetical for so long previously but nonetheless you, miraculously, comply without complaint. And despite himself he frustrates as you roll, his cock slipping away from between your thighs.

Draped in covers, he can't see much of you aside from the shape of you slowly arranging onto your hands and knees; before your chest sinks, and your ass stays up.

Like a rabid dog, he scrambles onto his haunches and scuds over behind you.

He's not entirely sure what to do first, and harrumphs.

In answer, your back arches even further in a dangerously luring bow, a display of willingness whorishness that turns Cato's thoughts to mush. Ass up and still in the pile, covered in blankets and rags, it's painfully easy to tug you from them just enough so that a decent portion of your raised lower half is exposed to him.

All he's able to comprehend the very next instant in some hind-brain, primitive way is a shapely ass, and a pretty pink cunt.

He grabs your hip, and the size comparison is so stark his head swims. With the span of one hand, he could palm a whole globe of your rear.

He does just that, and spreads you to take a nice long look.

You've a glossy sheen of clear slick that's starting to string down where it's collecting between your labia, and Throne—it's that. That's the sweet smell. And it's all for him—you're everything he's wanted.

Inspecting, he finds the hole leaking lubricant and a much, much smaller one below it—the vagina and then the urethra, he reasons by way of thinking back on a baseline biologis graphics; and, eyeing lower to a hooded fold, he finds a swollen little nub.

Pointedly, he's got a suspicion of what it is and turns his curiosity to it.

It's an easy target for his large thumb, even as slippery as your lust has made you, and—

A shaky little keen, then your knees pull together; body curling.

"Keep your damn legs apart," he grunts, wrenching them wide, and splaying a big palm on your ass to lift you into an arch again.

He's tempted to just bask in the glory of it all, grope, smack, lick—make you beg for it until he's sure you know he's in charge. Until you're as high strung for him as he's ever been for you. But he's frenzied, and well beyond being able to linger on those broader wants; not when he's got an Ambassador to fill.

He's aware of what your clit's really for now, and keeps rolling the pad of his thumb over it until you're squirming. It doesn't take long until your hole is visibly twitching. Nothing but a sloppy, wet mess of your own whorish excitement for him, as you ought to be. Cato bites back a longing sigh as he gets the delight of watching a fresh rivulet of slick string down your thigh.

And when he works up the gall, he jams that same thumb to the hilt in your cunt.

Your insides squeeze around it, and you start shaking, then. But it's not from the cold. No, anything but that. You're warm now, and he's deliriously happy to find you're as soft inside as the rest of you looks and feels. Warp damn him, he's no better than some slavering genestealer wretch fiending for its pound of flesh.

Your smaller baseline frame makes every part of him look huge in comparison. Even his thumb is big. And you're so much less—and the fact the disparity is so glaringly obvious plays havoc with his brain; but he's got an idea. An idea that he refuses to acknowledge sounding painfully like a boarding action to him.

With little tact, he sidles up and positions himself so his tip slots right against you, while stretching your opening with his thumb.

Lining himself up with his other hand, he nudges your entrance, smearing precum in with your wetness while inching forward; sliding his thumb out in tandem with pushing his cock in—and his efforts succeed.

Cato's transfixed watching the head of himself fill the gap, sliding in—and you let out a muffled yelp, still half-buried in the blankets like some stuck animal; your thighs juddering as you suck in air.

Honestly, he's glad you've smothered yourself like that, because he can't imagine keeping it together if you were actively watching him. He thinks the stark reality of it would have him run right out of the shack. Even the idea of having your pretty damning eyes on him makes him swoon sick.

With an over-eager roll of his hips, a shiver races up his spine. But he earns a cry from you.

He takes a deep breath.

There's a twinge of pain-smell and the vaguest hint of blood in the air, but it's impermanent compared to the amount of lust.

He pushes a little more, and you ripple internally around him; making a racketing, breathless noise—twitching before slacking, and then twitching again. A few perfect little moans escaping you at last.

Abruptly, all he's able to give a fuck about is the sensation of wet and hot, and how you're finally all his—it's a strangling fit, but it's satisfying a craving bone-deep. Infinitely better than his war calloused hands.

You feel sublime, and it's pure bliss finally getting what he's wanted for so very long.

All those rest cycles wasted furiously humping into his own clenched hand, all those hours of torment seething about your latest unintended slight against him.

He's so dazed by the new sensation he's massaging small circles with his fingers on your flank, humming lowly. Who would have known all he really needed was to hilt in a warm, velvety, absolutely sopping wet cunt to come around to you? Maybe you're not so bad afterall. That is, for an insufferable little cock-sleeve; but it's nothing Cato can't grin and bare. He can almost imagine tolerating further babysitting assignments, if it means he can use you as a hole to ram his frustrations into like this.

He continues petting you, absentmindedly.

But the involuntary mercy didn't stop you from jackknifing when he bucks in more—each little motion seating him deeper and deeper. He's stunned he fits. You're so... small, and Throne, he feels monstrous even fixating upon the disparity; nevermind the shiver that races up his spine at the thought.

He yanks you backward and you stop squirming for a moment.

When your wriggling starts up again, he holds you still with the sheer willpower only a neurotic control-freak could muster. He stops your motion, yes—but your insides also stop shivering around his cock and he's resentful of that.

Nonetheless, you make to move again then, keening and bothering him; but you're seemingly struck daft when he bottoms out at last, hitting your cervix. Your internal muscles tense on the intrusion, practically cramping around him, blinding him with ecstasy for a heartbeat as you clench down hard; and a squeak of surprise escapes you. Your legs lock stiff for a moment, air venting out your lungs in shock.

You garble out a sweet, hoarse curse that sounds more like a sob than anything.

Cato supposes the theatrics are what an orgasm on something his size does to a woman. And he finds he's appallingly keen to see and hear you do it again. Keen to feel it, too. He adjusts himself and grinds, making sure you're getting every bit he's got to give. It's no small feat of restraint from Cato to not simply drive into you with all his might like a hydraulic press.

Maybe that'll make your tight little hole cinch up again? He thinks you'd like that. No—no, you should be begging for him to keep fucking you. You should be thanking him while you're at it too, really. Thanking him for deigning to take you to begin with.

Your arch falls away to a prone slump with a whine, thighs trembling, leaving him straining forward to stay in you.

He is irate at your antics, now; and his retaliation betrays it.

Cato seizes your hips and yanks you back up his cock, shimmying you a little so he's nice and sheathed and stuffing you full, nigh folded under him. Warm cunt stretched taut around the base of his thick cock, like a perfect scabbard.

He's suddenly absorbed in watching your covered form consciously trying to counter the overwhelming forward mass of him starting to drive into you like he was part battering-ram.

"Better than all those limp-dicked, bastard lordlings you've let empty in you to even chance a cushion near my Primarch's table, hm?" His tone is little more than a scathing drawl, pulling almost entirely out of you just to dip the head of himself in.

You moan into the fabric smothering you, and he holds you with a controlled desperation.

"Answer me, you little shit."

He watches you nodding desperately beneath the cover a second later, failing to get an actual reply out around your huffing and puffing.

Cato groans, "Far keener for Astartes cock, aren't you?"

You nod again, needy.

"Throne, you're pathetic," he chides harshly, delighting in the soft whine of protest you make when pulls out to the tip one last time. "All that haughty bullshit, just to turn out to be so—so easy," then he's sliding back to the hilt and starting his rutting anew, grinding into that perfect spot that has your insides shiver around him again and again. "Isn't that right? This is all you're really good for?"

Beneath him, you're too much of an insensible mess to even think about answering; and somewhere in that depraved miasma of sound, he swears you're trying to say his name.

So, understandably, he inches forward on his knees and boxes you under him. Pinning you under the span of his bulk, two big hands firmly planted either side of your blanketed head.

He can see a few strands of your hair sticking out from beneath it and he can see the fog of your breath and the tip of your nose through a tented section, and only one of your hands—clawing out at the scraps of fabric.

"Prick-dumb animal," he sneers, flagrantly showboating; trying to sound as if he's not feigning lucidity and completely at the mercy of his lust.

He drops from his hands to rest on his elbows, manoeuvring a forearm under your head to prop your chin up. He's so bent over you that your ass is practically glued to his massive pelvis.

You can't stifle yourself now.

The sounds you make when he starts ploughing into you again are unrestrained and absolutely debauched. Practically music to his ears. He can feel your saliva smearing across his arm, and he's absolutely stupefied at the mantra of 'Sicarius, S-Sicarius, Sica-ah—rius—' you start panting. To say nothing of the keening whimpers that escape when you're not crying out for him. Louder with each thrust, and warp damn it all—his perfect memory is never going to let those gorgeous sounds go. He's going to fiend off you mewling his surname like a full dose of battle-chems until he fucking dies.

Cato groans and delights in the involuntary squeeze you make around his cock again; your hips skewing up into his own, meeting him.

He just wants one more thing—he wants—no, needs—he needs to hear you scream his name in that reedy voice. Telling him that you like him playing guard for you, and you're all his and you love hi—

Rather abruptly however, you're cinching down on his cock as you come again. Throne, your cunt may as well be Marneus' clenched powerfist the way you're wringing him for everything he's got. Crying out like you're inconsolable, and so painfully eager and—oh, fuck. He tries to hold off, but it's of little use. The dam cracks, and it's all too much for him far too quickly.

"You rotten w-whore—" the words leave him in between ragged, staggered pants, gritting his teeth even though it's achieving absolutely nothing. "Stop s-squeezing, I-I—"

He's finishing in you the next second and letting out a rough, unbecoming moan instead of the rest of his sentence; despite trying to muffle himself against your shoulder and save face. Emptying all his pent up spend as deep as he can inside you and rutting himself deliriously into oversensitivity. The simple feeling of it is a more profound experience than he can even begin to explain—and he's rendered daft. Fighting just to stay awake against the warm, coddling bliss running rife in his nerves as his muscles twitch.

Still trying to recuperate, he's drunk with afterglow for a few seconds. Head beside yours, sharing the same air and hurried breaths.

In his stupor, he notes that your hair smells nice even after everything. And he tuts softly, resting his eyes. Lulled by the soft sound of your hyperventilating evening out and the continuous, weak fluttering of your cunt around him, hot and tight, and still a perfect fit.

He almost understands why mortal men so frequently fought over baseline women, now.

Almost.

Because then you start squirming again.

Pointedly, he opens his eyes and begrudgingly lifts himself away, slipping free and leaving a big sloppy smear of combined fluids across your ass and thighs as he settles into a kneel.

You're still presenting yourself as Cato scrubs a palm across his face, and blinks slowly.

He glances down for a moment and swallows.

He's hard—still.

Just as ready to rut as he was to start with, despite the fact he's only just finished.

And, much like a beast in season, he genuinely contemplates another round—what would be the harm, anyways? He could be sliding himself back into you, right then, and he doubted you'd do anything but buck up to meet him. So much for some diplomatic prodigy. You're little more than a mewling wreck. And what better way to prove it than another wet layer of your mixed fluids on his cock?

A soft sound escapes you abruptly and he looks back to the place he's itching to slam back inside of.

A few fat rivulets of his cum drip out your abused entrance, but you're too well-screwed to even care, it seems.

He thumbs one of your folds aside and smiles smugly at the mess.

You poor thing, it must be so humbling to be put in your place. He hopes it felt good. Having your better's cum leaking out of you like a banner on a conquered fortress.

He's tempted to stuff his spend back into you and give you another load to drip. Let it leak down your thighs as you pad past his men on the flagship, that'd make them well aware of who you really admire—

At that brilliant jarring thought, blazing post-clarity arrived; an abrupt and unsettling feeling. The fact he'd even—even dignified your almost Slaneeshi-tier temptation—the fact he's raring to go again—he must already reek of your lust, and you of his—and Emperor have mercy, one quick scenting betrays everything, his men would tell their Father, and—you—you groan and worm yourself back under the blanket, likely truly feeling the chill now without his body to warm you.

The urge to say something becomes almost suffocating all at once, and Cato opens his mouth—just to be interrupted by a beep.

Hesitation seizes him, and he eyes his pile of half-frozen attire in the far corner.

Eighteen and a half seconds pass and it beeps again, indicating a second for every minute of arrival estimation.

The tracker beacon has finally done it's job.

But the matter of hastily cleaning up what insanity just happened becomes the real concern now.

Suddenly stuffed to the brim with adrenaline, Cato gets to his feet with Astartesian speed. He tries to take a step but sways, almost toppling. Looking down, he realises himself; and gingerly stoically waddles marches away from you, his bodysuit stuck around his knees. There's a cupboard in the other corner, covered in a frosted cobweb that looks a little like gossamer. Rifling through it provides him little. Most of it's contents are iced through, but a bottle of what stinks like absinthe is good enough, and he doesn't think it matters what he cleans up with. He definitely does doesn't look like a servitor on broken wheels as he scuds on his heels back beside your pile. And if he suffers any more injuries to his ego, they definitely don't include him bungling a kneel and being forced to wobble down on to his haunches. It's not his fault he's mentally accommodating for power armour that, currently, isn't there.

Pausing, he pokes the mound of scraps you're under, trying to rouse you.

When your answer to his 'kinder' effort results in you whining and curling up tighter, he settles for tossing any mercy out the window with a petulant grunt; and identifies the shape of one of your legs and tugs you half-free by your ankle like a speared fish, earning a yelp as the cold assaults you.

Grabbing one of the loose rags in your pile, he saturates it with spirit and scoops you up under the hips, before starting to wipe away the evidence.

You begin thrashing almost immediately when the rag makes contact. Then you're practically yowling, "It hurts, it h-hurts—wait, wait—" and okay—yes, maybe using high proof alcohol to clean the smell and slime of his cum off your freshly fucked hole wasn't his best idea. In his defence, you're one of the most stubborn baselines he's ever met, and you should learn to handle a little pain. Secondly, booze is the only thing that stays liquid at freezing.

"Enough with the bloody caterwauling, woman," he barks, effortlessly holding you steady despite your struggling. "It's not that bad, toughen the fuck up."

When he's done with you, he's actually remorseful of the situation. Certainly not his finest choice. Because now you're sniffling weakly, fussing about the residual stinging; and then you promptly scramble back under the blanket.

"There was nothing else I could use, okay?" He says sourly, scowling at the bundle of fabric you disappear into; before tossing the soiled rag he'd used to clean you into the fireplace to ignite.

He grabs another from the pile and douses it, wiping himself off—and at last, he's finally able to start to pull his bodyglove up over his hips. Wiggling and straining to fit the thick, skin-tight material over his still very much erect cock.

From the edge of his vision he can see you've peaked your head out to watch as he fixes the sternum latch in place.

He gives you a cursory glance, but nothing more.

He ultimately expects you to look away like the mouse you are—but no, what actually happens is worse. You just keep silently raking him with an expression that makes him feel like he's made of glass and every secret he's ever had or ever known is laid bare.

He can't stand it.

It makes Cato want to sneer at you fiercely in the hopes it would scare you off, remind you he's an exemplar of the Adeptus Astartes and shouldn't be stared at—something, anything except that look.

"Get up," he turns sharply and snorts.

The beeping is once every two and a half seconds, now.

Two and a half minutes, then.

"You let me fuck you," he bites out.

You're sitting now. Covered in one of the larger articles of rags. A tartan, fraying thing crumpled atop you, frowning and looking dejected. Then you open your mouth to speak but promptly stop. He can tell you're trying to form a diplomatic reply, and he grumbles, fuming.

"Tell anyone of this—" Cato's well aware he's being cruel as he adds, "—and I'll wring your little neck, Father's favourite pet or not."

You finally look away.

And he finds he can't stand that either.

So, to souse his bruised ego, Cato decides he's going to burn the shack down as soon as the transport lands and you're onboard.

He also decides he's going to burn that tacky formal tunic of his too, simply because he can.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 15

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: One more day and I'm a homeowner

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You slow to a crawl amid the retinue of carts and horses. The sun beams down relentlessly on the summer fields. As you laze in a sheen of sweat, Bryce works to tie a swath of linen over the cart in a makeshift canopy. You thank him for his effort, his own brow slick with sweat as he tugs at his mail. 

“I admit my winter’s hide is not made well for this sun,” he utters as he reaches to pet Daisy, the loyal steed tied to his new one as he rides in step with her. “Let’s hope we might reach the tundra in due time.” 

“Mm, it is rather hot,” you murmur, exhausted from the endless blaze. It’s three days thus far and many more ahead of you. 

“Little maid, cannot complain even when you should,” he tuts. 

The cart rolls on, rocking your body as the hooves clomp down on dusty grass. As the train passes over the lands, they leave a trodden path in their stead. The progress is steady but sluggish. 

The wheels creak and lurch to a halt as Bryce reins in both horses. You sit up and peer ahead, unable to see more than horse tails and overloaded carts, the helms of soldiers shining under the sun. The knight on his dark steed sits up straighter, alert as he leans forward. 

“Eh, maid, keep watch on the mare,” he tosses the reins at you as the royal party comes to a halt. 

His horse kicks up dirty as he gallops around the edge of the train. You watch him bend over the beast’s long neck and hurdle ahead of the clog of vehicles and bodies. Something is amiss. 

You wait, nervous, as other servants cluster together and wonder aloud. Soldiers mill up and down the winding retinue, themselves sharing no more than looks. You climb out of the cart and walk on your cramped legs. You stroke Daisy’s head as she huffs through her nostrils and nuzzles your shoulder. 

“I don’t know either,” you tell her softly. 

The pause stretches on and Bryce returns, his horse in a lather. He swings off and lands solidly on his feet. He looks between you and the grey mare. 

“Some hold-up, nothing to worry for,” he explains, “enough time to find some water for these beasts.” 

He takes Daisy’s reins and hands them to you, “come, there is a river near. I can smell it.” 

You peek ahead and squint. You don’t know that you believe it is nothing though you can’t find a reason to argue. You nod and tug on Daisy’s bit. 

The soldier leads you across the grass, well away from the front of the train. Others disperse to sit in the meadow and chew on their rations. You continue into the trees and the trickle of the promised water has Bryce proudly exclaiming. He weaves his way around the trunks to come upon the bank, putting his dark brown horse to drink. As the larger stallion laps noisily, Daisy lowers her head and patiently gulps up the ripples. 

“Where did you find Chestnut?” you ask. “He must be a castle horse.” 

“Aye, he was locked away in some stall. They said he is vicious. Due to be horse pie.” 

“Horse pie? But he is fast.” 

“They did not lie. He likes to nip,” Bryce warns as you step between the horse, “watch your fingers, mouse.” 

“Perhaps he only did not like being locked up,” you suggest and gently touch the horse’s long mane, working out a tangle in the hair. He doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Chestnut?” Bryce says, “you’ve given him a name of your own.” 

“You didn’t say if he had one,” you brush your hand over the fine short hairs along the horse’s shoulder. “I thought it suited him.” 

“Mm, I might call his Hellion but Chestnut is kinder, I s’pose.” 

You chuckle. The horse lifts its head and you near the river’s edge. It turns to sniff you and Bryce reaches for your arm. The horse drips water onto you as it sniffs your neck. It lifts its lip, showing its square teeth, then touches its nose to yours, turning back to the water to nicker. 

“Mm, you do have a way of taming the wildest creatures, eh,” he muses as he lets you go. “Come, I saw some berries back in the bush.” 

You leave the horses near the water and follow the soldier between the trees. As he squats to pluck out dark blackberries, you sway on your feet and glance back toward the road. 

“Why have we stopped, sir?” You ask. 

“Told ya, no matter to worry for,” he stands and offers you a handful, “be thankful for it. We’ve found a nice horde and it will do ya good to be out of the sun. And to eat.” 

You accept the bounty and frown. You know he isn’t telling you all but you know he wouldn’t do so without reason. You stand and pick at the berries, biting in hungrily as the juices coat your mouth. The soldier eats as he picks, plucking a few into his purse as well. 

“How do ya like squirrel meat?” He stands again, “I could find us a morsel for the evening fire. Perhaps a hare if I can.” 

“If you like, sir,” you accept. You chew your lip and search the trees. “Is there truly nothing wrong?” 

“I told ya not to worry,” he growls. “So don’t trouble yerself.” 

He beckons you back towards the river. You follow, not asking any more questions. It’s expected that the road won’t be easy, something just feels awry. 

⚔️

The party makes camp at the point of the delay. You return to the road as Bryce grumbles about the evening warmth. The dry heat lingers in the air even as the sun begins its descent. 

“Come, you will need look in on the queen, I’m certain,” he ties the horses to the cart and urges you along. 

You notice less soldiers as you stride through the train. It’s not so crowded as before. The missing bodies add to your uneasiness. Still, the queen’s tent has been erected and guards keep vigil right outside. You enter and find her alone. She has a veil over her hair as she taps the brim of a cup with her fingernail. 

“Alas, a maid!” She snaps as she sees you, “I’ve been calling for wine all night and those damned soldiers only bring me water.” 

“Your highness,” you back out of the tent. The soldiers do not move. 

You go to the luggage and search for a bottle. You grab one and return to the tent. The soldier at your right extends his arm before you can enter. 

“No wine,” he snatches the bottle, “king’s orders.” 

You blanch and look ahead at the silken flap. You nod and thank the soldier as he keeps the wine under his arm. You blow out between your breath and once more push through the draped fabric. 

“Your highness, there is to be no wine. The king has commanded it,” you say meekly. 

“Pardon me? Who are you to refuse me?” She stands and snarls. “My head is on fire, I need wine.” 

“Yes, your highness, but the king--” 

“I am the queen. My order is a good as his. Bring me wine. Now. You little twit.” 

You stare at her unmoving. 

“They won’t allow it, your highness--” 

A flurry of veil and skirts rushes towards you. Before you can react, a scalding heat radiates over your cheek, the force behind the queen’s slap rattling your head. You stagger back and clutch your head between your hands. 

“You stupid girl! I am the queen! You are a dumb maid!” She strikes you again, her hand glancing off your forearm, “stupid stupid twit!” 

She continues to hammer you with blows, closing her fists as she hits your shoulders and stomach. You shrink down, curling into yourself as you keep your head shielded. She huffs, tired from her assault, and twirls away. 

“I don’t want to see you unless you have a bottle in hand,” she snarls and kicks over the stool. “Go before I have you gutted.” 

You wine and stand straight, lip quivering. You turn and hold your left shoulder as it thrums. You step into the night air, aware that the soldiers could no doubt hear the queen’s fit. They say nothing and you don’t either. 

You continue through the train of bodies. You feel your cheek pulsing and your brow swelling. You keep your head down and as you reach the cart, you relieved to find it alone but for the two dozing horses. You climb up and turn towards the wooden wall, hiding against it as you hug the cushion. 

It isn’t so different from Debray, only that you don’t have Merinda to hold you, to share in your pain. You always preferred that it was you who faced the rather of the ladies. You only hope Lady Rezlyn isn’t issuing the same displeasure upon your companion. 

⚔️

The morning comes with the tweeting of birds and a distant rumble. You sit up and look towards the sky. There are no clouds to forewarn a storm. You stare into the horizon where the thunderous noise rolls over the plains. 

You see the figures on their approach. Men on horses. As soldiers rush to confront them, their alarm is eased by the wave of a familiar banner. It is the king and his party. 

Bryce grumbles as Daisy sniffs him and the coughs into his hand. He shakes his head as you lean out of the cart, watching the specks on the tapestry of green grass. You gasp as you feel him grip your wrist. 

“Eh, mouse, what’s happened to ya?” He demands as he pulls your attention back from the distance. 

You look at him and the tenderness in your cheek reminds you of the queen’s wrath. You wiggle free of his grasp and sit back against the side of the wagon. You shake your head. 

“I went to... the bushes to relieve myself, sir. I tripped.” 

He squints at you, his square jaw gritting. He stares daggers at you. You’re not a good liar but you can’t tell him the truth. 

“Tripped?” He echoes as his thick brows furrow. 

“Yes, sir, it was dark,” you say. “I’ll be alright.” 

“Mm, you look as if you were caught by a bear.” 

“Really, sir, I am well,” you put your head down. 

He growls under his breath and turns away. He fiddles around with his saddle bag before he returns to the cart. He reaches over the top, holding a folded cloth with an acrid smell roiling off of it. 

“Put it on ya face,” he demands. “It’ll soothe ya, make you a little less puffy.” 

“Thank you, sir.” 

“You don’t go trippin’ no more. If ya do, ya let me know,” he scowls. 

You nod, sinking into a tense silence. You both know it’s a lie but neither of you will admit it. You put the cloth to your cheek and exhale. It cools your skin though the smell burns your nose. 

⚔️

That night you don’t return to the queen’s tent. Bryce claims there’s no need for it. She needs her sleep, as do you. It’s another lie you won’t call out. 

Several days pass in the cart. Short nights followed by sweltering days. It’s as if there is no end to the road or the heat. 

You sit on your knees, looking ahead as Bryce chews sweet leaves and spits onto the ground. Daisy’s tail sweeps behind her as she keeps a steady trot. You watch the progress with impatience, each moment feeling more and more trapped in the cart. 

“...down in Debray...” you hear a voice drift back. 

“...don’t like traitors, suppose...” another returns and you search over the carts to try to place the speakers. 

“Careful, mouse,” Bryce warns, “you’ll fall under the wheels. 

You sit back and face him, holding onto the side of the cart, “sir, what happened?” 

“What do ya mean? We’ve been riding,” he sniffs. 

“No, days ago, when we stopped. Something... in Debray?” 

He grimaces and spits out the leaves completely. He shakes his head, clearing his throat. 

“Nothing a maid needs worry about,” he girds. 

“I know, sir, my apologies. I’m only curious...” you hang your head, “I... I was raised there, is all.” 

He hums and rocks with the motion of Chestnut’s steps, “skirmish up a ways. Party on their way to the castle. Certainly, you know your former master’s deceit has bought him little good will.” 

“A skirmish?” 

“Ah, so it was, but nothing very dire. The king returned in good spirits, that rat lord—the duke with him,” Bryce explains, “course, it only suits that the lord should see to the defence of his own castle.” He chortles, “shouldn’t tell ya, maid, so ya keeps your lips sealed, but the duke meant to hide in the queen’s tent.” He shakes his head and sighs, “in the Hinterlands, them sortsa lords aren’t lords for long.” 

“Mm,” you purse your lips thoughtfully, “but... but the duke, he helped end the war.” 

“By betraying his kingdom. We didn’t come to conquer; we came to unite. Turns out, there’s more fractures than those between winter and summer. Shoulda know by Yellow Waleran’s deeds.” 

“Yellow?” You wonder. 

“Mouse, it is a lot you needn’t worry for. All I can say is a king isn’t much of one if he don’t keep his word,” he sighs, “any lord or man lacks substance if he melts like ice.”  

You look down and watch Chestnut’s legs. You slant your lips. 

“King Geralt, did he have some agreement with Waleran then?” 

Bryce snorts, “too clever. Promises. Broken promises. Deadly things.” 

You nod and hold your chin, “and King Geralt, he is a good king?” 

“Do you not know by now?” He asks with a smirk, “he is a man who keeps his word. A man who fights for his people, not for gold and a name. No good winter lord would kneel to a man built on coin. Blood, that buys crowns. It buys loyalty.” 

You lower yourself onto your bottom and draw your knees up, “for his people?” 

“You heard him say it, you summer’s blood are one with us now. Once he has his heir, it will all be set in flesh. A prince to join the realm,” Bryce says, “let us hope he comes soon. The king’s done his part, he’s fought his battles, now it is up to your queen to claim her victory.” 

[pokemon-ash-aus]

if you were to have a hypothetical infection au, what kind of disease would it be and who would go bye-bye first?

Hypothetical, but i love the thought of it cementing in Pokerus. A disease that can't help but NOT be transferred, lasts 3 days then is gone for good- you can never get it again.

Except it goes wrong.

You notice it in your Charmander, a spunky little guy you caught recently in the academy. You see the purple haze of it's eyes and the near lethargic sway of it's body.

Excitement courses through your veins- you know of Pokerus- you have a few pokemon that have gotten it in the past- this is nothing for you.

So you send your Charmander in battle, call commands to it even though it doesn't really listen.

It uses bite... A lot. Small pokemon, big pokemon- you're not sure why, you aren't even sure Charmander HAS bite in it's normal moveset.

Day 3 rolls in fast and leaves in faster.

Your Charmander still has purple eyes and a lethargic sway.

There aren't screams, nothing that tells you of the impending doom crawling down the walls of the academy. Nothing that could tell you how wrong this was.

You set your Charmander in a healing box, let them sit there for a day or so.

The other students and trainers get angry- they are furious with you that you're taking up the only healing box in the biome you are in.

But fear courses through your vein, hints of purple echoing the peripherals of your eyes. Your chest burns, you feel tired and you don't know why.

The day ends and night is falling, so you shakily let out your Charmander.

It lays in the grass, labored breathing reaching your ears.

It suddenly comes to your mind that it hasn't eaten much in the past 3 days.

It comes to mind that you haven't eaten much either.

You stumble away, leaving your charmander at the edge of the healing box, leaving it's purple eyes and pooling drool to lay in the grass.

Rapid attempts have you throwing your pokemon around, the red light drawing your attention and has you staring at them.

You don't recognize them easily. It takes a few minutes of labored breathing before your eyes land on your Florges.

It shows no signs of the Pokerus. It's had it once before and it seems it wasn't eager to pick the desease up again.

Your other pokemon don't bear the same weight.

Your Lechonk hadn't moved since you released it.

Your Sandile was swaying, steadily crossing away from you.

Your Rotom was floating eerily still, orange and blue body coated in a purple hue.

Your Grimer wasn't really there either. It's body inflating as raspy breaths echoed it's body.

It's eyes never left you.

4 days had passed. It takes pokerus a few hours to infect those around it, but it never infects the same pokemon twice.

Your arms feel numb come morning, you've been staring at your pokemon for hours apparently.

The 5th day you don't remember your name, you don't even know if you remember who your pokemon are.

You stumble into the tundra, your body warm and your stomach heavy even as your fingers turn blue in the cold. You wander and wander, watch as Pokemon sway in the same tempo as you.

Left.

Right.

Left.

Right.

The hunger hits you out of left field, soft at first, then a startling monster that makes your mouth salivate, drool prickling at the edges of your mouth and douse down the front of your shirt.

In the cold, it should be painful. Tiny ice crystals popping and blistering against blemished skin, it should hurt.

You don't feel a thing, but you're hungry.

You're so hungry.

Your wandering, your slow lethargic swaying turns into one of desperation. You're running through the cold tundra, jumping into freezing water that don't bother you none.

There's something at the beach.

It looks like a Pokemon, but it could also be human, you're not sure what it is, but it's too slow to move.

You forget that cooking was an option, forgo all the items in your bag that are fresh and ready to use. You forget that you are in a dome, and food is still readily available to all.

Your teeth sink into flesh as the Pokemon-Human thing writhes beneath you. Warm liquid presses against your tongue, sweet and savory all in one go.

Your mind screams at you- it should taste metallic in some way- but you ignore it for another bite.

One.

Two.

Three.

That's all you need before you pull away, the creature was still living, still writhing and screaming.

You stand and begin to wander again, back through the tundra and into the open plains.

There is a light- you don't recognize it.

The Charmander of before steps to your side, and as a duo, you wander and wander.

The dome is closed.

--

Anyway, if i had a thought on who would be infected first, it's gonna be Ash with how much he lvoes and helps pokemon. It's inevitable ToT

[killa-cookie]

ONE WHO SWIMS IN THE DEEP ABYSS

: Mermaid Gn!Cookie reader who can change into a human when met at land.

Black Pearl x Gn! Reader

Since some may be confused about how gn! Reader still has legs but not a mermaid tail, since They are a hybrid but a cookie dominating side. The mermaid tail is a literal tail as the legs just develop scaly texture.

Heat wave cookie mention (oc)

have you ever heard of mer-cookies, my dear?

"Of course! Everyone knows about them! "

Have you heard of the tale that there is one mer-cookie, who can blend in with other land cookies?

" whaaattt! No way!! "

I'll tell you a story, sweetie.

-

You had been scavenging in multiple seas for treasures and gold, you couldn't help that they were so alluring...

The shiniest of treasures are most precious of them all, don't you think?

At this point, you had travelled all the seas, and all the shores. But there is this one sea you did not dare to pass through..

The Duskgloom sea.

...

You had been travelling on land for a while, taking a break from the sea. Exploring markets, villages, and tundras.

"Hey, ________ cookie! "

"Hello Heat wave cookie.... "

"Ya going to the beach again? Cmon whenever you go to shore, you always disappear for like... Months!"

"It's only weeks, heat wave. "

"Tch, whateverr... Anyways safe travels! "

Heat wave ran off to whatever shenanigans she had planned, but you were worried though... Since this is the day you would finally visit the Dusk gloom sea. Even the name itself gave you shivers!

You neared the shore as the water met your feet, slowly and steadily you went deeper into the sea. You feet gaining a scaly texture as a big tail began to form behind you.

You fully succumbed to the sea and began wandering off. Your gills allow you to breathe in the water and your big tail allows you to swim quite fast.

You had been swimming for a hot 30 minutes before the water around you had started to change, the cool-icy color fading into a dark one.

Slowing your pace down, you began to see wrecked ships, cookie crumbs, and mostly... Wrecked ships. And more wrecked ships.

Normally anyone would be scared, but you? You were excited. Most of the ships here are pirate ships, you know what pirate ships have? Treasures, and there were a hell lot of ships.

But you couldn't shake off the feeling that someone was watching you closely...

"....eh who cares!"

You began diving near the ships, and just as you expected there were a lot of treasures. Mostly cookie remains but there were still treasures.

......

While scavenging the final ship before going back to shore, you noticed a glint... No, sparkles in the distance. Sparkles from TREASURES.

You began swimming quickly to the glinting of gold, not having any other care in the world. And there it was... The beautiful pile of gold!

"Haha! YES." you celebrated for a bit before diving into the mountain of gold, until...

"You're a greedy one, aren't you?"

An alluringly dark voice echoed around, you quickly exited the pile of gold to look around. You were in a panic.

You saw a dark looking mermaid, her tail gently Sparkling. She looked gorgeous, but also deadly... Wait a minute—!?

Is this the Black Pearl Cookie every one in the sea and on land fears!?

You slowly backed away from her, but she just kept getting closer. She then took a quick look at your body, before pausing at your legs.

"You have a mermaid tail, yet you have legs."

Her glare turned sharper, black Pearl was thinking of you as a cookie, or a mermaid. But she just couldn't choose. You were a mermaid, but a cookie nonetheless.

"....What are you?"

"I am a mermaid... But also a cookie....... Mostly cookie.... " you squeaked out, hiding in the nearest dead coral you could find.

Black Pearl let out a hum, she had never seen someone like you before.

"Follow me, I demand an explanation."

She had swam past you, and you followed.

You wanted to explain to her knowing she wants some information, but all you could do was quiver in fear. The swim to her throne was awkward, as none of you dared to speak.

"You're a shy one, no?" She looked at you with a... Curious gaze.

"Well not usually since you are THE Black Pearl coo—" you had quickly slapped your hand on your mouth, realizing what you had just said.

"I-im sosososooo sorry I didn't mean it like that—!! Please forgive me—"

You were cut off by an amused giggle, she looked... Happy.

But most important of all, she laughed at YOU. Was she laughing in joy, or did she cringe so bad to the point she let out a chuckle?

"I find you amusing, little treasure."

You thought..

"She was... Enjoying my company!?— wait a minute what did she just call me"

Awkward seconds had passed before your face flushed red and your body started to slowly sink to the ocean floor.

Black Pearl cookie hoisted you up and proceeded to travel to her throne, she looked down at you for a second before caressing your cheek.

"Don't worry treasure... You'll stay safe with me— forever."

-

Woah, so black Pearl took the half cookie-mermaid all to her self? How greedy... Hmph!

Would you blame her, I mean a miracle just so happened to pass by your sea. Don't tell me you wouldn't get possessive over them, right?

I guess so... Anyways how do you know all this ______ cookie?

Let's just say.... I was very close to the mer-cookie. . .

You stared out into the sea knowing that she, Black Pearl Cookie... Is waiting for you to return to her embrace.

[lesbianbeeliker]

hypothetical wof evolution chart!! ignoring that darkstalker's book didn't take place only 2000 years after the scorching cause that makes no sesne

(previously known tribes found on the wiki, new ones made by me)

descriptions of new tribes/how the evolved under cut

The Early Era:

The first breeds of dragons. Existed before and during the scorching.

Soarwing:

Status: Extinct

The first ever dragon tribe, is the common ancestor to every modern tribe

Began to die out sometime after the scorching after the tribes began to split up and form

Can range in a wide variety of colors depending on where they live

Body shape most similar to a skywing

Live mostly everywhere

Powers:

Fire breathing

Radiates heat

Earthwing:

Status: Extinct

The second ever dragon tribe

Evolved from Soarwings after they moved into forests and jungles

Went extinct as the tribe began to split away into Insectwings, Leafwings, and Rainwings

Went extinct a little while after the Soarwings did

Can come in any colors that are found in nature

What Lizard/Freedom from The Flames of Hope would be classified as

Powers:

Weak fire breathing

Leafspeak (rare)

Weak poison administered through bite, not deadly

Aquawing:

Status: Extinct

The third formed dragon tribe

Evolved from Soarwings as they began to leave to live near water, mostly the sea

Went extinct as their tribe split into Seawings and Icewings

Went extinct a little before Earthwings, but after Soarwings

Range in colors found in the water, from the blues of the waves to the pinks of coral

Powers:

Ability to hold breath for a long time

Webbed talons

Powerful swimmers

Strong tails

Night vision

The Dividing Era:

The period that followed the Scorching, when the tribes began to split up and organize into proper tribes and cultures.

Insectwing:

Status: Extinct

Evolved from Earthwings who lived in exclusively jungles; happened a little while after the scorching

Went extinct a while later after their tribe mostly became Beetlewings while the rest became Sandwings

Colors can range between yellows, greens, and browns

Began to develop another set of wings, though they are currently useless

Powers:

Deadly poison that can be injected via bite or tail

Leafspeak (extremely rare)

Skywing:

Status: Healthy

Began to split from Soarwings a little after the scorching to live exclusively in mountains

Oldest modern tribe

Colors can range from shades of reds or orange

Powers:

Large and powerful wings

Strong fire

Radiates heat

Leafwing:

Status: Endangered

What remained of the Earthwings who continued to live in the forest while the Insectwings moved to the jungles

Colors range in shades of greens and with hints of colors found in nature

Powers:

Leafspeak (uncommon)

Can absorb energy from sunlight

Icewing:

Status: Healthy

Split from Aquawings to live exclusively in the icy tundra

Range in shades of white with blue-tinted accents

Where the first animus was found

Powers

Freezing ice breath

Serrated claws

Withstanding cold temperatures

Night vision

Sandwing:

Status: Healthy

Result of continuous breeding between Insectwings and Skywings

Moved to the desert because of space; no one else wanted to live there

Lost the second set of wings completely from Insectwings

Colors range in shades of tan and brown

Powers:

Fire

Deadly venom (only in tail)

Can survive in hot environments for long amounts of time

Can survive with little water and food for long amounts of time

Radiates heat

Beetlewing:

Status: Extinct

Evolved from Insectwings who didn’t breed with Earthwings

Formed 2 sets of wings that are fully functional

Can come in any color, usually bright colors

Powers:

Deadly venom that can be administered through tail

Antennae that can sense things around

The Growing Era:

An era where there is a lot more mixing of tribes and the start of a more civilized way of life

Seawings:

Status: Healthy

Formed out of what was left of the Aquawings who didn’t move to the arctic, began to become more and more aquatic

Colors can range in shades of blues, greens, and accents of different colors found in the sea

Powers:

Ability to breathe underwater

Webbed talons

Powerful swimmers

Strong tails

Strong night vision

Bioluminescent scales

Rainwings:

Status: Healthy

Formed from the breeding between Insectwings and Naturewings

Lost the second set of wings from Insectwings

Lived in the rainforest exclusively

Colors can range from anything

Powers:

Color-changing scales

Prehensile tails

Deadly venom in teeth

Nightwings:

Status: Endangered

Formed from Skywings who left to become nocturnal and pursue knowledge and sciences

Mind reading and future sight was a gift from an animus

Toxic bite did not develop until after living on the volcanic island

Colors can range in shades of dark gray and black

Powers:

Fire

Mind Reading and/or future sight (rare)

Night vision

The Modern Era:

The newest dragon tribes that just recently came to be

Mudwings:

Status: Healthy

Formed from continuous breeding between Seawings and Skywings

Often treated as less by the Phyrrian dragons because of how recently the tribe was formed

Colors can range in shades of browns and greens

Powers:

Can hold breath for long periods of time

Can be healed by mud

Can breathe fire if warm enough

Hivewings:

Status: Healthy

Evolved mostly from Beetlewings, only with Clearsight’s small genetics mixed in

Was created because of the impact Clearsight left, every dragon wanted to be like her, so any dragon with black scales was deemed a descendant of Clearsight; every dragon with black scales began breeding more than usual, eventually creating Hivewings

Colors range in shades of yellows and blacks

Kept the four sets of wings from Beetlewings

Powers:

Venom and/or stingers in teeth or tails (uncommon)

Silkwings:

Status: Healthy

Formed of what was left of the Beetlewings that didn’t have black on their scales

Have been seen as inferior to Hivewings for a while since they didn’t have any black scales

Flamesilks were originally a rare mutation that grew as the Hivewings began selectively breeding them

Colors range from any color under the sun except black

Powers:

Antennae

Can produce silk from their wrists

[trancylovecraft]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ WANDERILLUSTREOUS!: The Grandmaster's Squire

(YANDERE PLATONIC VARKA x READER)

[F/N], the famed Traveller. Honorary Knight of Mondstadt, The Hero of Liyue and countless more nations begins to finally break down when she reaches Nod-Krai. Being Isekai'd has begun to take a toll on her. Thankfully, Grandmaster Varka is there to pick up the pieces.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚AO3 LINK *ೃ༄

GENDER: Femme LIST OF YANDERE'S: https://pastebin.com/ErsuA2cz SONG: PIN-EYE! - Jhariah NOTE: SO UHM. this is more or less a side story set in the post-natlan saga of WANDERILLUSTREOUS! reader is a lil bit down on her luck. the only reason im writing this is because genshin impact 5.6 has currently taken over my life and i am fucking VIBRATING with excitement. VARKA!!!!

MASTERLIST *ੈ✩‧₊ *ੈ✩‧₊˚AO3 LINK *ೃ༄

Nod-krai was a cold, unforgiving place.

It was constantly shrouded in white. The ground, the trees, the mountaintops. There was not a single place a person could wander where they would not be surrounded by the blinding white, the kind that hurt the eyes and singed the fingertips of locals and passersby alike.

Maybe [F/N] would’ve considered it an interesting change. A place to entice her evergrowing desire for adrenaline, pumping through her veins.

But not today.

No.

Just.. not today.

[F/N] stood there amongst the settlement of The Knights of Favonious, stumbling, trying her best not to break out into rabid screams as she shook violently in the cold. Her eyes were watering, her breathing ragged. 

Another stupid nation needed saving again. Another nation needed her to fix all their problems.

“I-I.. I’m so tired ..”

And after what happened in Natlan..

Why was she crying? She couldn’t cry, she couldn’t . It made her chest heave and ache, her eyes stinging, mixed with the unrelenting cold that froze her tears halfway down her cheek. [F/N] was miserable; she was suffering-

She felt horrible- she couldn’t- she didn’t want to feel this way-

Not in front of him .

“I-I.. I can’t keep doing this anymore- I can’t- I can’t..! I just- I.. I..” The words spilt forth from her mouth like poison, spit out after swallowing. Her body shivered, trembling, aching within the unbearable tundra of Nod-Krai.

Grandmaster Varka.

[F/N] didn’t want to cry in front of him.

He had let her take refuge with his faction within the barren lands of Nod-Krai, taken her in as his squire, promoting her from that old title of Honorary Knight within those nostalgic lands of Mondstadt.

He was as steady as a rock, as strong as a bull. He was a man put-together and revered amongst the people of Mondstadt. Archons.. People only ever had good things to say about Varka, and she was breaking down not only a few feet from him.

Archons, she must have looked pathetic to him.

“I-I can’t keep doing this-” She had to keep doing this. “I don’t want to keep doing this-” She did want to keep doing this. “I-I just want to sleep- I-I.. I can’t keep going on like this- I-I..” She had to keep going- No matter how much she bled or bruised. No matter what she went through.

Because who was she when she didn’t bleed?

[F/N] sniffled.

He had beckoned her forward.

[F/N] was barely in control of her body, barely able to save herself from collapsing into the snowbed below. Her knees shook like a newborn foal. Eyes watering, blurring, muddling into nothing but vague shapes and colour splotches.

Swimming together, combining, swirling and mixing into one solid colour.

And suddenly, it all felt warm.

Grandmaster Varka rested a firm hand on the back of her head, the warmth of his palms spreading to his gloves as they lightly stroked her scalp. [F/N] shook. Her face pushed into his chest, a refuge from the tundra that surrounded them.

His body heat was pleasant. When she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine she was back in bed.

[F/N] nudged her face further against him, her body shuddering at the way his hand stroked her back, as if comforting a small child. His other arm reached out, locking around her as he brought her into a firm embrace.

Strong, he didn’t dare to let her go as she felt his cloak envelope her, almost swallowed whole. 

He didn’t waver when her tears stained his clothing, didn’t waver when she grasped onto him, seeking comfort from him. Gods.. he was everything they made him out to be, wasn’t he? A steady figure. A strong figure.

A man so much better than she could ever be.

Varka held her there for who knows how long, his eyes trained on the woma- The girl that clung to him like he was her only anchor. And he very well could’ve been. [F/N], The Traveller was a very well-known figure around Teyvat. She was a legend who had done the impossible.

And it seemed the impossible had finally taken its toll on her.

Archons, she was just a girl. Varka held her closer against him. He had dragged her into another conflict, didn’t he? He had asked her for her aid within the constant conflict of Nod-Krai, unknowingly bringing her into another issue- another situation that she just couldn’t handle.

But she couldn’t bring herself to say no. Varka realised that now. As he held the young girl in his arms, cradling her like a shaken child, he realised how human- how vulnerable The Traveller spoke of in the rumours was.

“It’s okay..”

His voice was low as he stroked her back, shepherding her closer to his chest. He pressed his lips to the top of her forehead, almost like a father would to his daughter, a knight would to his squire.

“It’s alright.. Don’t you worry about it..”

It was alright. His words were just as strong as his grip around her.

It would be alright. Varka would make sure of that.

[irreverent-saints]

PREVIOUS NEXT FIRST

Mirages Of Paradise

Idun sat by the river, staring at her meandering reflection. She took a deep breath. The stream bubbled alongside birdsong, alpenglow brought distant hills to life, and for just a moment there could be peace. She closed her eyes. She savoured each tickling grass against her skin, each oddly shaped tree, and each break between the hunger pangs. Clouds towered over her. Soft like cotton. Wispy, ephemeral threads upon the sky. Oh to be there, in the realm without pain and toil, where no burden weighed heavier than a feather. It all waited for her. Within it, rest, contentment, parents, siblings. She dug her fingers into the dirt. This trial wouldn’t last forever. But for now, she knew what she had to do.

She experienced adequate sleep that night. Her body had rested, but she still woke with dark eyes and a weight in her chest. She doused her face in cold water and went through the gear she had readied the night before. Idun kicked at her wall, as hard as she could. She pushed and shoved, turning anxiety to anger, and anger to fuel.

“You’ve done this before, you’ll do better this time,” she told herself. A meagre soup of nettles and carrots, a quick read through her field notes. That was all she got. Idun lit a spindly candle. It took about a minute for the wick to burn up. She filled the time with a prayer and a quick reflection upon her life. Any longer and she’d lose her mind, hindering her efforts.

Soon she hurried over the tundra. Every step had to be quick as a hare and nimble as a fox. Were she to hesitate, she’d risk turning around, risk slowly starving…. With determination she could march straight towards a quicker, less painful demise.

She found herself amidst towering, tangled foliage. She kept on high alert, collecting what she needed. Seeds, fruits. Stalks. Anything with sugars and fat. Birds sang, trees were in bloom. The humid air smelled of flowers. She stared at the canopy, a massive ceiling. Branches twisted like fractals, intertwined until she could no longer tell where one tree ended and the other began. Mushrooms lit up the floors, a blue glow throughout the landscape. Deer grazed, minuscule next to the tree roots. She pressed her back against a rock. She picked another berry, eating it then and there. This was not the murky, hostile forest she had first ventured into, nor the eerily quiet backdrop of a murder. Absent of Jotun, this place was alive.

She lowered her shoulders. A dove flew past her. It cooed, bundling up inside a purple flower. Idun scanned for any sudden movements. Conspicuously hairy trunks, a tail that coiled like a vine around a tree, a wolfish eye amidst yellow azaleas. Her face felt warm, and she had a slight flutter in her chest. For the first time in weeks a smile emerged on her face. She picked a small white flower, no bigger than her palm, and placed it behind her ear. As she did, laughter rang through the valley. She jumped, clutching her knife. The laughter continued.

Laughter, not jeering, not mockery. It must have been at least three voices, chatting away with infectious glee. It came from somewhere down in the marsh. They spoke in a melodic fashion. Idun spotted two tall pairs of antlers in the peat. She looked closer and noticed three more. They walked in a straight line, ranging from the size of a rabbit to a moose. They all wore intricate robes that covered most of their body. Their long wispy tails entangled. They held hands, almost as if they feared their friends would disappear if they were to let go.

“Well, how do you usually steal from him?” One asked. The other shushed them.

“Stealing happens when you get caught. Take something he won’t ever miss, and remain stealthy. That way we wont be thieves,”

“We would never want to steal. That’s just horrible,” another agreed.

“What if he catches us?”

“Well. My cousin lost his hand to him. Heckling. Jaws. Too slow,”

Trolls. She lowered herself, giving them all a wide berth.

“Don’t be afraid. He’s sluggish and mellow. It takes a very annoying person to trigger a fight,” the third troll chimed in, “his currants are well worth the risk,”

“A garden with as many different plants as there are grains within an hourglass! A river as clear as glass and as giving as the sea! You must see it for yourself,”

“But, are the rumours true?”

“Quiet. It’s fine,”

They went on their merry way, seemingly oblivious to Idun’s presence. She watched as the strange beings marched. From many yards away the largest antlers were visible like a bright sign. She crept out of hiding. She wouldn’t follow them, but her steps would line up with theirs eventually. She walked slowly, with a pit in her stomach, yet she couldn’t change course. Those glimmers in the distance almost seemed to beckon her, and before she knew it she had put miles behind her.

The forest opened up. She found herself atop a cliff. Beneath it a coursing river. An intense glow warmed her face, causing shadows to appear jagged and blocky. Sunlight. She covered her eyes. When she looked again a huge garden laid in front of her. A mountain wall cradled it. Berries and flowers bloomed like a chaotic, scattered rainbow. Rays of sunshine landed through holes in the canopy. Against the otherwise dark forest it was almost as if the light itself was an object you could hold like fine threads of silk. The far edges were covered in thick, impenetrable forest. The trolls were already crossing the shallow, rocky part of the river.

A huge arch stood within the mountains face. A wooden door, dozens of meters tall. Intricately carved. Around it were various tools, and what looked to be a makeshift veranda. She stayed behind, opting to watch the intruders from a safe distance. They played around in the thick grass and helped one another steal. Others decided this was the perfect time to snuggle up under a thick tree root and stare out at the river. She narrowed her eyes. The Jotun could wake at any time, ready to tear them apart last and devour every last one. But these vapid creatures showed zero concern. One plucked a strawberry, passing it amongst his friends in the meadow. One seemed to be asleep. Another one raced over slick boulders by the water. He paced in a zigzag pattern. That went on for a while, until she heard a shriek. She ducked. The troll had slipped. He grabbed at his side, leaning over with a grimace.

What were you expecting, Idun thought, that’s what you get for treating the world around you with zero concern. The troll cried. His friends all perked their ears. Soon the entire group huddled near him. Arms around his shoulder. Kisses on his forehead. Within minutes they coaxed him up on his feet again, wiping sand from his wound and tears from his eyes. Idun walked away with a clump in the back of her throat.

[xxdemonicheartxx]

Most common funerary burials by flight:

Putting this one below the cut due to death mentions and burial descriptions I understand this can be a topic of discomfort no matter how vague one is when speaking on it <3

Arcane: opalization, the body is taken and layed in the shallows of intensely magic rich pools in a resting position, where it will rapidly opalize in a matter of weeks or months due to the volitile arcane energy of the land, sometimes individual scales are opalized instead and the rest of the body is cremated to be scattered amid their favorite place of study

Earth: mummification, the body is taken and embalmed, richly doused in spices, oils, and linen wraps, the organs removed are in canopic jars that resemble the dragon's own visage. Some earth mages practice petrification of the body as well upon request. Another practice is glass blowing cremated remains into colorful works of art, often colorful globes of glittering glass or glass sculptures of the deceased's visage

Shadow: the body is often cremated and the ashes greatly compressed into logs or bricks, before being soaked in spores and water to allow the mushrooms the the tangled wood to reclaim them and take them home. Other practices include burials or creating wrought iron burial markers. Celebrations of life are held around these burial sites

Light: due to the.... emperor problem.... graveyards have rapidly been destroyed and the fear of merging with Luminax sits like a stone in the heart of every imperial. Cremation is the most common practice as of now but celestial burials used to be common practice where the sun would always be able to touch you even in death (also known as sky burials) a new practice adopted from the earth flight includes taking these cremated remains and turning them into glass suncatchers

Plague: plague dragons believe that returning to the land you've survived is a must, dying of old age is a great achievement!! Often the body is returned to the land, buried or laid to be reclaimed by the ecosystem. Some more sentimental dragons or close loved ones will save scales or tan parts of wing membrane to carry close to their heart

Nature: burials are the most common practice, continuing to feed the shrieking wilds, some pathways have small markers or idols where loved ones frequent so that they can continue to pay homage in the labyrinthian jungle

Ice: ice dragons actually do not freeze their deceased, instead they take parts of membranes and tan them before tattooing a depiction of their loved one into their own hide, complete with a name, date of birth and date of death, its too cold to dig in this land so they cremate the remains and scatter them amid the tundra so in spring they can help the flowers return. The tanned memento is kept with a clan's priest, shaman, or spiritual leader with the rest of them, under expert care

Fire: forge pyres, often when fire dragons die their own heat resistance can make cremation a difficult process. So their remains are given to forge masters who are capable of reaching intense heat, working bellows and feeding the flames until the body is reclaimed by the flames. Other practices include caldera funerals, where the body is taken to be sunk in the lava of volcanoes or lava floes. Sometimes blackened skeletons can be reclaimed by loved ones in doing this

Wind: sky burials. The body is taken high up and laid under open sky for the sun and the wind to reclaim, it is believed that in doing this their spirit may continue to soar. Also refered to as celestial burials

Water: sinking of the body in designated graveyards is a common practice, often referred to as a burial at sea. Tiny tiny fragments of the dragon are often kept to be artificially put into oysters so that a pearl can be formed from their loved one's remains. Another practice is water cremation or Alkaline hydrolysis is another practice that is starting to gain traction

Lightning: the desert sand is not suitable for proper burials and grave markers aren't reliable in the shifting expanse, often the body is dehydrated first before undergoing electrical cremation, with no fluid the body will burn rapidly, the ashes then mixed with sand are placed amid one of hundreds of electrical storms with a tall metal rod in the center of the remains. To be struck by lightning turning them into "fulgurites" or "fossilized lightning" these unique and intimate structures are then returned to loved ones to be kept similarly to an urn

There are always exceptions to funeral practices. Dragons like obelisks and imperials often require additional care in the event the obelisk returns to stone or cremation is not an option for the imperial but these are the common or most popular practices in each region (non cannon)

As always I'd love to hear your own headcannons and takes too!!

[levihandynasty]

Icy Heart Of The Earth

Word count 1189

Ship: MobuHan

Fluff? I don't know, a bit Angsty right off the bat ig.

This is my submission for the second of our discords bi-weekly writing challenge. Prompt: Character A drags Character B outside to build a snowman.

Who would believe that cold could hurt as much as the wind was now hurting him? Biting away at his skin and bruising it red. Moblit lifted his trembling hands to his lips in a desperate attempt to keep warm, at least regain the mobility of his joints so he could get out of here, assuming his gear still worked.

Beneath him were the bodies of fallen friends and comrades, spread out upon the icy wasteland that in the summers had brought comfort to many of their troops.

Now the fields where they would so often relax whispered to him a promise of death, nothing could survive this biting tundra.

Hange, his hange had already-

“Berner!” at least he was still there, they would figure this out under his command, he was sure. Moblit had long ago put his life in the hands of Erwin Smith.

He turned to face the voice of his commander, not hearing or seeing what had snuck up on him, now reaching out as he took the first step in Erwins direction.

“No! No let go! Stop!” The much too fragile human body was easily crushed, if only it wouldn't hurt so much. If humans were meant to die, then why had god forsaken them by giving them the ability to feel hurt? The gear that had for years helped the survival of the troops was now tightening around the man's body, squeezing his breath and his life out of him. It felt like the world stood still, holding him in a moment of forever to make sure he could experience it all. Yet it happened so fast, before he could even register it, he had lost his footing and found himself crashing, struggling, aching. Despite the pain however, there was no sound of a scream coming from the man, the cold only made it worse.

“I'm sorry! Sorry Moblit!” his shirt soaked in the icy water he had formerly stood upon, their body laid upon his, weighing him down into the hellish cold. “It's alright, Hange” his voice was a muffled mumble against the wet ground, for he hadn't even lifted his head.

“Put these on” footsteps had approached them, steady even upon the slippery disco-floor of hell. Levi had tossed something their way, chains, no- more like claws for their shoes, seemed the device was working well, for the short man soon after ran across the ice, not even slipping in the slightest as he moved from comrade to comrade in order to supply them with this gift to fight god's nature.

Finally back on their feet, the ever-apologising Hange would help Moblit with the gear that yet laid too tight around his body. Their hands, even though also undoubtedly freezing, felt so warm against his wet shirt.

It took them a moment to gain their balance even with the gear given to them by Levi, but slowly they managed to together make their way over to where Erwin and Miche were waiting for them. Immediately they had been offered a warm drink by the tall man, both warm and spicy, the heated wine was quick to warm them up from the inside and out. “Moblit” a woman's voice reached his red ears “your shirt is frozen stiff” she was right, and as her voice burst into laughter Moblit would take the time to assess the damage. His laughter however joined hers, when Hange reached to touch his frozen garment, and it let out a loud crispy crunch. “Good god”

The light-haired man enjoyed the good company of friends. Miche behind them with a fire was again and again stirring the pot of mulled wine. Erwin, now together with Eld and Armin were going over some papers that would surely aid them in their upcoming task. Life rarely felt good, but for once in his, he had a smile on his face, and a resting heart rate.

The calm beatings of his heart only lasted so long however, for as Gelgar had gone to grab himself another beverage, a loud thud had been heard from across the sea of ice. “Eren!” Hange called out for the large creature that had thrown a large boulder of snow down to the ground. “Thank you!”

Yet again looking over to Erwin, Moblit found himself wondering how they had even gotten here. “I'm not sure this is an appropriate use of our-” he had started, but he was soon interrupted by Hange's voice once more swimming through his now warm ears. “Strike a pose for us!”

Erwin was smiling, standing over the drawings showing the general idea of this snowy endeavour and the groupings assigned, Erwin smiled- Was he sick?

As the human-driven titan struck a pose, a soldier whose name slipped Moblit`s mind was given the paper and coal to begin sketching the figure. As the blond soldier sat to draw, other soldiers would be assigned jobs and positions by the three plan-makers, and before anyone could even begin to doubt this as Moblit had, the Snow-Titan building project was in full swing.

Squad Levi had taken upon themselves the job of guiding Eren to bring in more snow without accidentally burying any of the soldiers who with the help of their ODM gear had begun carving the creature into the snow, using both water and torches to help it settle.

This life-sized titan made out of snow had been Hange's idea, suggested to Erwin under the guise that it would boost morale and also help Jaeger take control over his abilities, perhaps they had been right?

Too cold to participate, Moblit remained by Miche’s booth, enjoying another cup of warmth. Hange had flown off some time ago, but he could no longer see them amongst the laughing joyful friends of theirs. Even those who fell meters down into the cold snow still helped bring laughter to the earth, kicking legs struggling with getting back up instead of out of a titans grip.

“Did you say something?” The question was from Moblit, aimed at the two men he was standing by, however, both Miche and Gelgar shook their heads, and even Nanaba who had just arrived to steal some of Miches body heat denied this accusation.

The answer came to him in the shape of a cold ball to the back of his head. As he turned around he finally laid eyes upon Hange again, now kneeling over with laughter. “Oh yeah?” he ran, ran towards his friend and threw himself at them so they both tumbled to the ground. Once atop of them, he had filled his hands with the soft snow and pushed it into their face. “Got you” their laughter only made his smile wider. “No.. got you” they replied with a cunning smile, before pushing a fist of snow up in his face in return.

As the man released them from his grip in order to remove the cold from him, they grabbed him by the neck and pulled him in close. Their breath and lips against his cheek burned like a pleasant fire. “I like seeing you smile, Moblit”