#the goddess of the deep galaxies

[ivyprism]

Boronia, the Goddess of the Deep Galaxy, human form edition!

[yinyuedijun]

NIGHT FLOWER: part i

Your place in the world was one of a tool. This was true of every slave: you were all things to be used. Kakavasha understood this about you, and he understood this about himself. It was how he survived all those years ago, and it’s how he survives now. And so, when Aventurine goes into his first heat in years and decides to suffer it alone, you can only think of one way to get him to accept your help: You offer to let him use you.

written for @/lorelune's spring fever collab & @ficsforgaza

13.5k words of omegaverse, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, angst with an eventual happy ending. gn alpha reader + omega aventurine (they each have both amab and afab genitalia). explicit piv sex, reader bottoms, the sex is consensual but emotionally complicated and deeply sad. cw slavery, racism, gendered violence, including very brief and non-graphic (but direct) references to sexual abuse during slavery. the sa and slavery are not eroticized. dead dove do not eat, mdni.

thank you to @acerathia, @minnaci, @owlespresso for all your help with beta reading and to @kosmiccarma for brainstorming omega aventurine hcs!

“I’ve alw███ l█ved ███, Ka██v█s███”

You knew it from the moment you met him.

Gaunt, pallid, weighed down by heavy chains. Irises that glowed like the auroras back in your world. Delicate features that made every passerby in the market stop to read the description on the placard. (Sigonian, it said, although you couldn’t read at the time. Avgin. Male. Omega. Sixteen years old. Sixty Tanba, no tax.) He had an all-consuming scent that was impossible to ignore—one that possessed you, made your heels dig into the dirt, every atom in your body resisting the impatient jerk of the chains at your wrist. Even through your muzzle, through the perpetual stench of carbon-steel and blood, you could smell it: honey and wildflowers. A fragrance that settled deep within you, flooded you with a warmth that felt like home.

Aventurine is not a spiritual person. He once told you this, his smile cold in the glow of an artificial moon. He'd been deeply religious as a child, but hasn’t since cared for fairy tales about fortune and fate, three-eyed goddesses or merciful rainfalls. Hasn't thought about anything like a destined love. He thinks the idea of a true mate is laughable, that no such bond could ever be forged between an omega and an alpha. That nothing so unconditional could ever exist.

You know differently, of course. You've known it from the moment you met him, from the second you laid eyes on him and thought, I need to help you, and I need to protect you, and I need you to be safe, and you’d never once heard the word ‘love’ in your life—slaves are never loved by their masters, after all, and you'd always been nothing but a slave—but every atom of your being knew that you loved him, that you'd always love him.

And when your master cradled your face that night and crooned that he owned you, that you'd always be his obedient, alpha pet—for the first time in your life, you knew that he was wrong.

You didn't belong to your slaver.

You belonged to him.

To Kakavasha.

These days, Aventurine does not smell like honey, and your jaw is not restrained.

Your muzzle was one of the first things that Aventurine threw away when he bought your freedom. According to the Amber Era system, it had been several months since the murder of your shared master. Ninety-five Star Calendar days after the Interastral Peace Corps had arrested Kakavasha. An entire rotation around the black hole at the centre of your wretched galaxy, all of which had been spent in the captivity of some new mistress. She picked you out because she liked your calming scent and the look of your face, but mostly she used you for the fighting pits just like your old master.

Aventurine had been sitting in the audience of your final match, then bought you out right after you won. “I’m in need of a fighter,” he’d said, smiling in his thick furs and jewels. He played the part of a slavemaster perfectly, his gloved hands wandering the span of your aching shoulders, touching the bloodied maw of your mask. “And I’d be willing to pay top credit for yours.”

She protested. You were her most prized possession, one of her greatest investments. Slaves from your planet were hard enough to come by—alphas capable of reproduction, nearly impossible. And you were so well-behaved, so poised, so endearing in a way that was rare for alphas. She was fond of you. Her omega slaves were fond of you too. They would be distraught if you left, and that would complicate her household affairs—and surely Aventurine, as a respectable owner of human capital like herself, could understand how inconvenient that would be?

Aventurine bared his teeth in a gracious smile. (You’d never seen Kakavasha make such an expression before—so disarming, so cunning, a crescent moon beneath snake eyes. He’d never smelt like this either, like an expensive cologne layered with bleach, and it left you feeling nauseous, wondering if he was ill.) He flirted his way into her good graces, made her an offer she couldn’t refuse, and then he brought you into the first-class ship on which he’d arrived. You were so stunned by its luxury—the handwoven carpets, the crushed velvet seats, the imported tea from several galaxies away and the custom-ordered outfit he had bought for you—that you nearly missed the tremble in his hands as he punched numbers into the remote control lock for your chains.

He had regained his composure by the time he pulled away your muzzle, though. He threw it carelessly to the ground—your titanium chains, too. Then kicked both away with his shined leather shoes.

“There,” Aventurine said, smiling cheerfully. “Much better, don’t you think?”

“Vasha—” you started, voice thick with wasted grief, and all you wanted to was reach for him, to double check that he was real, but he placed a finger to your lips and stopped you. You stiffened at the satin touch, but he seemed unbothered.

“‘Aventurine’,” he corrected.

You stared blankly. “What?”

“‘Aventurine’. Like the gemstone. That’s my name now.”

“You—” Your voice caught in your throat. You realized that you’d been holding your breath. You always had the habit of holding your breath in the luxurious, private rooms of very rich men, because you never liked what happened in them. Forcing yourself to breathe, you asked, “You gave yourself a new name?”

“No. The IPC gave me a new name. They gave me a job, too.”

“A job?” you asked, voice faint. Now that you were breathing again, you were noticing once more just how bizarre he smelled. Sterile and expensive and completely foreign. “You’re free now?”

“Well, I’m a freedman, but I don’t know if I’d call myself free. I’m a bit… indebted to the IPC, let’s say. But that’s fine. I can’t complain. I mean—look around. This beats the fighting pits, doesn’t it?” He gestured lazily at your surroundings, and you nodded.

“It’s nice here,” you replied, feeling absurd but not knowing what else to say. Once Kakavasha got talking, it was impossible to get a word in edgewise.

“You like it here? Good. This room’s yours. Mine is the next one over. You’ll live and work here, with me. I’ll make sure you’re paid well. Full benefits, vacation, salary, and overtime. The standard pay for your role is seventy-thousand credits per month, but I’ll see if I can get you more. HR is pretty strict about their hiring policies, but—”

“You’re hiring me?”

Aventurine went very still, his smile tightly controlled. His eyes remained fixed on you, but they seemed less snake-like, now. They looked more familiar. More afraid.

“I’m offering, yes,” he said neatly. “You’ll be part of my personal security detail. I don’t have the contract for you to review yet, unfortunately. I didn’t arrange one ahead of time because, well”—he laughed, as if this were polite conversation and he were making a joke about the weather—“I didn’t know if I’d find you alive. But things worked out in my favour. They always work out in my favour. I’ll make sure they’ll work out in your favour too, so long as you’re with me. So you’ll consider it, won’t you? Staying with—working for me, I mean.”

Your eyes went soft. Beneath the artificial fragrance, you finally caught a hint of his familiar scent—more wildflower than honey at that moment, the way it always is when he’s scared.

“Kakavasha—”

“Name your price,” he said loudly, “and I’ll match it.”

You sighed. “Vasha,” you said more gently, and his shoulders relaxed at the subvocal shift in your timbre, at the famed alpha Voice that necessitated your muzzle, “I don’t care about the money. Of course I’ll stay here. But—what happened? Why did you kill him yourself? Why didn't you let me do it? That was the plan. It was always supposed to be me.”

It was my job, you thought then, just as you had thought to yourself every night, curled up in your bed and trying to recall the scent of fresh honey, to keep you safe.

He shrugged and said, “It would have been too risky to involve you.”

“You were caught and sentenced to death. The risk was already too high.”

“But the stakes weren’t,” he replied simply, and before you could ask what he meant by that, he continued, “and it worked out, didn’t it? I work for the IPC. You work for me. We’re freedmen now. Whatever I've lost, it doesn't matter. Our gains far outweigh it.”

“And what have you lost, Vasha?”

He smiled at you, charming and distracting. A crescent moon beneath snake eyes. “Nothing of value,” he reassured you, and even though you could feel the calm of an omega’s voice washing over you, even though it released all the tension in your body, all you could smell was cologne and wildflowers, and you knew that he was lying.

Vasha once told you, curled up and quiet on the basement floor, that he despised his eyes. They were supposed to be a sign of blessing from Gaiathra Triclops, but they'd never brought him anything but trouble. They were the first thing that the slavers always noticed about him, the feature that made him such an alluring commodity. Their aurora glow, their strange beauty, their promise of a rare opportunity: a chance at owning a specimen of an exotic, endangered species, possibly the last of its kind. These are all things that you've heard in the parlour of your master’s house as he entertained rich company, the crowd of them gawking at his human curios.

Avgin are said to make the most beautiful slaves, he'd often say. And Avgin omegas are said to be the most beautiful among them. What do you all think? They'd all hum, peering closely at Kakavasha’s features, and inevitably someone would joke, I think I'd like to borrow him sometime, and then they would all laugh while your pulse ticked up and you imagined tearing at their throats. Vasha would search for your gaze in these moments, giving you a long, pointed look: Don't do anything stupid.

He’d always been so blasé about it, the way people fixated on his Avgin blood. You'll never understand how. He didn't react to any of the comments, the groping, the innuendos. He was, however, distinctly unimpressed at the way that your master liked to play him up as a rare and expensive acquisition, as a sign of his own status. It's embarrassing to watch, Kakavasha had remarked. Everyone knows that Sigonian slaves are uncommon but cheap—people always think we’ll bring them more trouble than our worth. This was how Kakavasha had ended up in the market in the first place: because his last master had been robbed, and he'd been wrongly blamed for it.

The blame, to this day, has never stopped. People—powerful people, politicians, businessmen, socialites—look at Aventurine’s eyes and immediately reach for their pockets. You've seen it for yourself, these spineless despots and scammers feeling for their wallets. Sigonian, you know they're thinking. Liar, cheat, thief, whore, worthless, worthless, worthless. Your hands tighten around your blade each time, a loaded gun with a finger on the trigger.

Alphas are said to be violent by nature. Aventurine has often called you the one exception to this rule: the most docile, good-hearted alpha he's ever met. But this is a lie. You do have a predator instinct, and it comes out in full-force whenever you’re around these particular types of men. These types who notice Aventurine’s eyes and see a thief; these monsters who see his irises and imagine what it would be like to bed him. You’d kill them if you could. It would be so easy, especially now that you are an IPC dog. The Company is already such a violent force; what would be one more murder?

But Aventurine has never ordered you to punish anyone. (Don't do anything stupid, he always tells you with a glance, smiling through every humiliation.) Nor has he ever seemed bothered enough by these meetings to try concealing his heritage.

A fellow Asset Liquidation Specialist once asked why he didn't just hide his eye colour—it would likely be better for fostering relationships, negotiating deals—but Aventurine had shrugged it off. I'm a gambler working with the IPC, he'd said. Do you really think a pair of coloured contacts would make anyone trust me? He'd laughed, and his voice had carried a threatening edge, and his coworker had shifted visibly at it. Being an Avgin is the least threatening thing about me, wouldn't you say?

You think that Aventurine likes being seen as a threat. Sometimes you wonder if this is why he doesn't mind wearing his eyes so much, but abhors keeping his scent. He washes his clothes until they're free of his disarming sweetness and then masks himself with an unsettling blend of ambergris, jasmine, and wood. And he is on suppressants all the time—hasn’t had a single heat since the day he killed his master. Hasn't smelled like himself, either.

At the end of the day, it’s manageable being an Avgin in this business, he often comments, spraying half a bottle of masking cologne on himself, but you can't be an Avgin and an omega. Wouldn’t you agree?

You'd know better than me, you reply, noncommittally—and truthfully.

But you're an alpha, he observes. Don't you have an opinion?

You don't pay me to have opinions, you always remind him, stone-faced. You pay me to stand here and look scary. And Aventurine always laughs at this, and he always wires you money and calls it a bonus as he pesters you for an answer, and he always gets distracted and starts scrolling through all his shopping wishlists instead. I saw this thing the other day and thought of you. And this too. Would you like either of them? Would you like them both? I’m a very generous manager, you know. I'll buy you anything you like.

But even though he always gets distracted, Aventurine never forgets. Sooner or later, he inevitably circles back to these questions—these anxieties about his scent, about his eyes, about his blood. He never cares for anyone else’s opinions, but he's always been curious about yours. Even when he was Vasha, he wanted to know what you thought.

He’d been sixteen years old and delirious with heat the first time he asked you, face wrinkling with pain as he spilled his thoughts. It was so incoherent, so sad, you thought it must have been about a fever dream. Mama Fenge, he kept saying. Mama Fenge blessed me, She blessed me, I'm blessed, it rained when I was born—did you know that? My luck, I was lucky. The Katicans, they never caught me. They got everyone else, but not me. I was blessed by Her. I'm going to save my people. I will. I'll save my sister. My eyes are proof. My mistress liked them. Said they're beautiful. Worth sixty whole coppers. A blessing. He pulled you close, pressed his scalding face to your scent gland, and his whole body shuddered with relief. This was the first and only time he'd allowed you to hold him, and it was only out of desperation, out of his mind. Do you like them, alpha? Do you like my eyes? Why? Is it because they're beautiful? Because they're from Gaiathra?

“I like them because they're yours,” you'd replied, and Kakavasha had laughed deliriously.

This is when he told you he hated them: I'd close them forever, if I could.

When you were younger—dumber—you had a habit of squirrelling away every spare coin you came across. You collected them in a little purse that one of the omega slaves had sewn for you—a thank-you for always keeping the other alphas away from her—and you hid it underneath a loose floorboard. By the time that Kakavasha was arrested, you'd saved up twenty-nine Tanba. You’d wanted enough to buy Kakavasha’s freedom and then to set him up for a comfortable life.

It had been a stupid plan. An embarrassing one. If you ever confessed it to Aventurine, he'd laugh at you. Slaves can't buy other slaves, he'd say. Leave the schemes to me next time. You’re too good-hearted for it.

You’d already known that, of course. You knew that you didn't have the status to buy him or mate him or even just provide for him, but you wanted to. God, did you want to—you spent every waking moment thinking about it, every sleeping moment dreaming of it. It wasn't even that you desired him, though he was beautiful and fragrant and more delicate than anything that had ever touched you in your life, which was only your master’s hands and your muzzle and your chains. Aventurine would feel so soft in comparison, you’d always figured. It made your heart ache, thinking about getting to hold something so lovely.

But really—that desire came second. What came first was how mated omegas feel safe around their alphas, and you so desperately wanted him to be safe. Kakavasha had looked so frail, so grim, as your master took his chains and led him home from the market, and you could smell the fear coming off him in waves. And you could do nothing to stop it. You had nothing you could use to stop it—nothing other than your hands that could kill for him and your pheromones that could soothe him and your useless heart that wanted to collect sixty Tanba for him. That was all you had.

So you failed in the end. Of course you did. You didn't have the status to buy him or mate him or even just provide for him. You couldn't even do for him the one thing you could have done—which was to kill. And Kakavasha suffered for your incompetence. He had to dirty his hands with blood and gamble his way into wealth and then suddenly he was freeing you, not the other way around.

And now you are comfortable. You'll lead an easy life from now, Aventurine reassured you when he brought you onto his ship all those years ago, and he's kept that promise. What about you? you'd asked him then. Will you lead an easy life with me, if you're working for the IPC? And he had smiled and lied to you: Yes.

It had been a painfully obvious lie. If you were a smarter person, you'd have never believed it in the first place. Aventurine has no interest in leading an easy life, because an easy life would be less profitable, and less profit would mean less safety. And he is always, always worried about being unsafe. It is indiscernible to everyone but you—an alpha (his alpha, always his, even if he doesn't want you) who has watched over him for so long that you can detect every shift in his scent. No matter how much cologne he drowns himself in and no matter how strong his suppressants are, you know when he is afraid.

And here is the bitter truth, the ultimate proof of your shortcomings:

Aventurine is always afraid.

It is a beautiful day on Agnisahr, and you can tell that Aventurine is about to throw up from worry.

You're sitting in the middle of stunning wealth—Aventurine in his feathers and jewellery, you in your tailored jacket—in a lobby made from marble and pale sandstone, with a view of palm trees and rolling, scarlet sand dunes beyond the window. The waitstaff addresses him as Honoured Guest and they keep his crystal chalice filled constantly with water—one of the most expensive commodities on the planet. Aventurine has been drinking from it religiously, which is strange as he typically has the habit of forgetting to hydrate. A faint wildflower scent is drifting from his slender form. These are the only giveaway to his mood: he's otherwise as pokerfaced as ever, smiling calmly as he discusses his plans to sabotage the local government and acquire the planet for the IPC.

“This is a very dangerous mission,” you state flatly.

“All my missions are dangerous.” He takes a sip, one pinky up. “The IPC pays me well for a reason. As they say—”

“‘High risk, high reward.’ I know.” You try not to sound bitter, though you allow yourself to sound tired. “I still do not think the risk is worth the reward in this case.”

“I think over 5.6 million in credits is a great reward, actually. We could do a lot with that kind of money.”

You raise a brow. “What could an extra 5.6 million get you that you can't already buy?” It is—as Topaz would say—‘chump change’ in comparison to his current wealth, which sums to a number so vast that you can't wrap your head around it.

Aventurine pretends to miss the point. “Tons! We could buy a new spacecraft. Get another mansion. Or—we could take a vacation to Penacony. I hear it's quite nice there.” A playful smile. “I could get us a penthouse unit. With a featherbed.”

You frown. Sometimes Aventurine likes to flirt when you're being stubborn—not out of interest, but as a ploy to distract you. He’d developed the habit after he joined the IPC. It used to fluster you, but now it only makes you cross your arms.

“You could die,” you point out.

“You'll protect me.”

“No, I won't. You always find a way to get rid of me when things are most dangerous.” You give him an accusatory stare. “You never let me do my job.”

He's too shameless to deny it. “And it's worked out fine, hasn't it? I haven't died so far.”

“Yes. Just by dumb luck.”

“I beg to differ. My luck is quite reliable.” He sets down his glass. Glances back outside. A microexpression, brows knotting for the briefest second as he studies the sky. “I'm not worried.”

“You're a shit liar.”

That gets him to look at you, letting a small frown pass over his face. “No, I'm actually a great liar. You're just too good at reading me. It's very inconvenient, you know.”

“I can't help it.” You lean toward him, making a show of it as you sniff. An orchid-like scent—faint but unmistakable—has seeped into artificial ambergris and wood. “It's hard to ignore.”

He hums. He isn't frowning anymore—but doesn't look happy, either. “I should change suppressants.” He taps the side of his empty glass, fidgeting. Aventurine never fidgets: it's an amateur giveaway. “These ones clearly don't work well enough.”

“That won't help. I know you too well.” Your eyes soften. He's looking outside again, the blues of his irises distant. “You're worried, Aventurine. More than usual. Let’s back out of this—let Jade handle it.”

“The mission isn't what's bothering me,” he says patiently. “I just don't like this planet.”

“Because you can tell it's dangerous.”

“No. Well—it is, but nothing I can't handle.” He leans back. “I just dislike the weather here.”

You arch a brow. “...the weather?”

“Yes,” he says neatly, “it's too dry here. I'll break out.”

You open your mouth. Close it. It is possibly the most absurd thing you've ever heard, and certainly the worst lie that's ever come from him. For as long as you've known him, Aventurine has had flawless skin, marble-smooth, and ever since being freed, he’s never really cared much for looking handsome so much as looking rich. But he maintains his serious expression: all-in on the farce. “Did you know that outside the capital, this planet hasn't had any natural rain in a quarter of an Amber Era? And the stellar winds are terrible. I don't know how people live on a planet like this.” His eyes narrow at the cloudless sky. “The IPC is going to need to do a lot of terraforming if they want to make this into a merchant hub.”

“Aventurine.”

“It'll be a pain crossing the desert—the elements will ruin my clothes, you know,” he continues. “It won't be so bad while we're on the ships, but we’ve got to go outside from time to time. Can't make any friends otherwise.”

“Aventurine.”

“And there's nothing to do for fun when we’re not working.” He sighs dramatically. “I can't wait to get our 5.6 billion and leave for someplace else. I'm being serious about Penacony, by the way—”

“Aventurine.”

“—though not about the featherbed. I'll get you your own room, obviously. And I'll buy whatever dream experience you’d like. What kind would you want?”

Finally allowed a chance to speak, you say, “One where you retire.”

“Retire? Why would I ever do that?”

“I don't know. Maybe you decide you've made enough money.”

“No such thing.”

“Then you can settle down with someone.”

That makes him smile. It feels mocking. “Me? Settling down? With who?”

“Who knows. Someone who will treat you better than the IPC, I hope.”

“Anyone that nice would run in the other direction. But never mind me. This would be your dream experience. What happens to you in it?”

“I stop chasing after you and get to live out the rest of my days in peace,” you say dryly, and Aventurine blinks. “Please stop deflecting. The IPC gave you a suicide mission. We will both die if we stay here.”

He looks serious now. “I wouldn't let you die.”

“You can't know that.”

“Well, I do. And I've got decent chances at surviving too—at least one in ten.”

You feel like sighing—a deep, aggravated noise is heavy in your throat—but Aventurine doesn't enjoy it when you show anger around him. It's the one omega instinct that he can't ignore, you suppose: unease around an aggressive alpha. Voice tightly controlled, you say, “You’re going to bet your life on one in ten?”

  “Sure. My chances were worse on the last planet, and things worked out great. It'll be the same on Agnisahr.” Aventurine raises a hand, calls for the bill. The conversation is over. You lean back in your seat, watching sourly as he pays tens of thousands of credits just for water.

“You know, they say the royal family is backed by an Aeon,” you can't help but point out, once the waiter is gone. A last-ditch effort. Aventurine smiles at it, amused. Like you're a child.

“So what?” He glances outside, at the desolate landscape beyond the oasis—nothing but red sand, a blue, rainless sky, and two radiant suns shining above it all. “The protection of a god is nothing compared to the schemes of human beings. And gods abandon their people all the time, anyway.”

During your tenth day on Agnisahr, you realise that something is deeply wrong.

It takes you some time to understand what’s happening. At first you think that whatever political danger you’ve intuited is much worse than you thought, and that’s why Aventurine has been so pale, so discomforted, so exhausted. Then his scent starts changing—he switches clothes two, three times a day (because of all this heat during Agnisahran days, he tells his new business associates) and spritzes his nape with his cologne almost religiously—and you wonder if he is sick with something. If the food in this planet has something that disagrees with his Sigonian biology, or if he has picked up one of the local filoviruses, or if someone’s poisoned one of his meals because they’ve correctly identified him as a threat. Aventurine dismisses every single one of these theories when you bring it up, and—as if in denial—only attributes it to the weather. (I’ve never done well in deserts, he tells you, his eyes on his phone screen. I'm not used to them. It is above 300 Kelvin, and you do not see a single bead of sweat on his neck, and his cheeks are not even a little flushed.)

You only figure it out when he is too ill to get out of bed one morning and forbids all the IPC staff from coming near his hotel room. It sets off alarms immediately—Aventurine, no matter how sick, will work and see through meetings as long as he is mentally capable of it—and so you naturally ignore his orders and check on him, using the spare key to his sleeping quarters that you're given as a policy. And as soon as the door cracks open—as soon as you step inside only to be hit with a violent, cloying sweetness—you realise what’s happening and slam the door shut behind you.

“You’re in heat,” you blurt out, and Aventurine—a shivering, panting mess on the bed—groans in response.

“Why are you here?” He turns toward you, still lucid enough to glare at you through the tangled mess of his hair. His voice is weak, but no less self-possessed: “I was very clear—no company today.”

“I am your personal bodyguard,” you remind him mildly. Your voice is calm—both non-threatening and non-condescending. “Those orders don’t apply to me. If things feel suspicious, I look into it. And they felt very suspicious.” Your brow knits as you study his clothes. Mulberry silk clings to his form, soaked through with sweat. Thin, eucalyptus sheets are tangled up around him. There are only two pillows. No water bottles. No knotting toys.

Nothing.

“You didn't know you'd be in heat,” you realise. “What happened to your suppressants?”

“I don't know.” There’s a quiet, frustrated edge to his voice. Vulnerable too. It makes you think of when you were both still slaves, and Aventurine was confined to the basement of the manor—the one that all omega slaves were made to ride out their heats in. Either they would do it alone or were ordered to spend it with some alpha, usually either a friend of the master or an alpha slave he wished to reward. That's when they're most pliable, he'd tell his guests, or sometimes even you. They get so desperate they'll present themselves to anyone. Then amused laughter from the other party—How obscene!—as you looked away, blood hammering in your ears.

You had been your master’s favourite. His most obedient, most profitable pet—striking enough for his guests to admire, deadly enough for his audiences to bet on, docile enough for him to enjoy. Good enough for him to reward, and he often rewarded you with his most beautiful slave: his Avgin omega. Just don't mark him, he’d said, fastening the muzzle around your mouth. It'll ruin his market value. Who knows if someday he'd sell Kakavasha off to some alpha master who wished to claim him, he said. Though I don't think there's anyone in this star system who'd want a Sigonian for a mate, let alone a Sigonian slave. Then he’d paused, eyes scanning over you. As if contemplating. But maybe they'd try to get Avgin whelps out of him, he added, and you felt like throwing up.

You'd never mate him in those moments, your muzzle always prevented you from saying. You didn't even want to think about touching him, and he didn't want to think about it either. Even in the cruel grip of his heats, with nothing but the thin mat beneath him and his slave’s rags around him, Kakavasha hadn't wanted any kind of contact from you, rejecting any chance of solace. Don't, don't—not again, not again, he'd begged. Then as the nights marched on and his mind grew hazier, he’d start whimpering too: It hurts, alpha. It hurts. Help me. It hurts. Don't touch me. Not again. It hurts. It hurts. Stop it, please stop it.

It gutted you.

It went against every instinct, not to touch him. To let him lie there, in scorching, lonely pain, when all you wanted to do was to dispel it. It would be so easy to press yourself against him and let his skin cool against yours, do the one thing that your body was good at other than killing. But not again, not again, I can't anymore, I don't want it, I never wanted it, and all you could do was sit there, unmoving. Watch as the most delicate, precious thing you had in your life shatter.

And standing here now, watching Aventurine shatter before you once more—it is unbearable. He needs a nest, you keep thinking. He needs a nest and some water and some kind of touch, some kind of relief, but not again, not again, and you’re still a slave, still a worthless and stupid slave, and Kakavasha is still crying on a basement floor and you can't do anything for him.

“You need help, Aventurine,” you say, voice soft, and his whole body tenses. His scent dips, and the scent of florals overwhelms you.

“No,” he breathes, “I don't.”

“You do. You're sick.” You bite your lip. Your heart splits as you suggest it, but you say, “I can call a professional.”

“No,” he spits. The facade is gone. The poker face has cracked. The anger and the pain and the fear are all on full display, and his voice sharpens: “No strangers.”

No foreign scents, you realise he's demanding. A new scent would probably make him feel unsafe.

Then let me help you, you think of pleading, but not again, not again, and you're filled with so much shame at the thought that all you can do is look away.

“Then—can I do anything?” He goes still. “Not—not that, but something to make you more comfortable. I can build you a nest, at least—”

“No.” He takes a deep, shaking breath. “No nests. I don't need one—”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don't,” he says. His voice is wavering now, on the verge of crumbling with fever and pain. “I've never—I’ve never needed a nest, I don't—I don't want to—” He presses his face into his pillow. “I need—I need to be alone, fuck—”

He doesn't mean to whine. The cry for distress is instinct, something that all omegas are programmed to do in heat. You’ve heard that they’ve evolved to make this noise as a way of appealing to nearby alphas for help, but you think this must be a lie as you never once saw your alpha master giving mercy to any of his omega slaves. Still, whether it is your biology or not—the noise that Aventurine makes has your heart aching so much you can't help but step forward. But he shakes his head and inches away, shuddering violently, and then his voice echoes again in that cold basement—not again, not again, and don't touch it anymore, don't use it anymore, don't use me anymore, not again, and it's all you can do to back away until your spine is pressed against the door.

“I'm sorry, Vasha,” you say, strained. “I’m sorry. I'll leave you now.”

As the door shuts behind you, you catch a final glimpse him—face pressed into the pillows, shivering.

If you didn't know better, you'd think he was crying.

When you were both slaves, Aventurine hated seeing you during his heats.

Kakavasha was normally calm around you. Most of the time, he was even friendly (he was friendly to everyone whom he thought could be useful), but he was different during his heats. Sometimes he was vicious; mostly he was withdrawn. Nearly always, he wanted to be left alone. In those moments, all he could register was your alpha scent and his memories of what other people had done to him during his heats. And while you'd have hated to leave him, despised the idea of him being offered to another alpha—even more than that, you hated violating this boundary of his. Hated that you were allowed to do whatever you wanted to him. Hated being the reason he felt so unsafe.

Hated being an alpha.

Now that you no longer have the orders of your slavemaster hanging over you, it is the least you can do to respect Aventurine’s wish of being left alone. He has every right to privacy, and you have every obligation to give it to him. But instead you have been standing here, outside his door, for a full system-hour.

Every time you try to leave, your body is wracked with anxiety. The thought of other people—other alphas—coming near him in this state makes you seethe, your hands flexing at your side. The predator instinct comes out, and the people around you notice it. Every person unlucky enough to walk down this hall scurries away under your glare, even the other IPC staff wandering about to look for Aventurine: Must be their mate on the other side, they remark to one another, and then they're gone.

It is a hard thing to hear. You are not his mate. You are not even a heat partner. If you were, then he wouldn't be in so much pain. Not now, and not back then.

Aventurine has never had easy heats. You keep replaying your memories of all his past ones, each one a wound in your heart: the aching sweetness of nectar and honey; his withering body as he clutched his abdomen and curled up; the tears and sweat staining the mat beneath him. And above all: the fear. The scent of it, the sight of it, the sound of it in his voice. Stronger today than any other day.

By instinct, you know that he cannot persist like this. That this time is somehow worse than all those other times, and that he will become seriously ill if left alone.

After nearly an hour and a half, you finally open the door, fearing the worst.

“Aventurine?” you say quietly, but there's no response, and your stomach drops as you see him.

His body is pale, listless. If it weren't for the fragrance washing over you or the sweat on his temple, you'd worry that he was dead.

Tentatively, you reach out. Rest a hand on his forehead, and it scorches you. He stirs at the touch, doesn't open his eyes—but the quiet sigh of relief is unmistakable. His fingers twitch, as if wanting to reach for you.

“Aventurine,” you say gently. “Aventurine, I'm going to take care of you. Is that alright?”

He doesn't respond. You grimace, pulling away to fetch things for him: several spare pillows from the closet, an extra blanket too. From his suitcase, you grab a few of his sweaters, all thick cotton and fleece. He’d had a sense that Agnisahr would be cold at night. Deserts always get cold after sundown, since sand doesn’t retain heat, he'd told you while he was packing. Or I think so, anyway. Don't know why. Must have read it somewhere. Then he’d given you a long, unreadable look before saying, Make sure to bring a jacket. The warmest one you have. The elements on a planet like Agnisahr can kill a person—even a person like you.

I’m sure I’ll be fine, you’d dismissed him. I can survive anything. Any kind of weather, any kind of illness, any kind of pain: these are all things your species is known for being able to endure, the trait that made you such a prized slave in your master’s eyes, such a useful agent at the IPC. You hadn’t given Aventurine’s warning any thought and hardly paid attention to what you’d thrown into your own suitcase.

It surprises you, then, that you find one of your sweaters in his luggage. Made from Sedanian cashmere and heat tech designed by the Intelligentsia Guild. Cloud-soft and warm to the touch. Aventurine had bought it for you before you were deployed to Jarilo-IV to collect intelligence for Topaz. Warmest thing in the known universe, he’d commented. One of a kind, too. Remember to wear it, alright? Don't let my money go to waste, now.

You stare at it, kneading the fleece between your fingers. You hadn’t mentioned wanting to bring this sweater. You’d lost it in your closet some months ago and forgot about it. Aventurine must have remembered and gone looking for it, because—why? You aren't sure. Probably because it’s warmer and softer than anything he owns, you guess. Of course he’d want to wear it.

You throw it into the pile of things you’ve collected for him.

You take it all to his bed, the mattress dipping as you sit next to Aventurine. One by one, you scent each item with your wrist, watching him carefully the whole time. You’re quiet as you lay them out around him, leaving him undisturbed as you build a nest. You order water and electrolyte drinks too, and you’re quick about going to the door when you hear room service knocking—with how feverish he is, he probably badly needs it.

Aventurine is awake when you come back. His breathing is still laboured, pained—but calm.

“I said I didn’t need a nest,” Aventurine says, though he doesn’t sound angry. You wonder if he’s too weak to be. His voice is faint, and his eyes are barely open—focused on the pile of blankets and clothing around him.

“You’re welcome.” You open a bottle of water, hold it out to him. “Drink.”

Aventurine pauses, stares at the offering like it's some kind of foreign object. But he accepts it eventually, sitting up and taking it from you. He winces with the movement, which he tries to hide. He ignores your frown as he drinks, and he doesn't stop until the bottle is empty.

“There are more,” you say, pointing at the several additional bottles on the nightstand. “And some food and some painkillers. I don't know how well they’ll work. This isn't a normal heat. If you're alright with it, I'll call a doctor and—”

“Everything smells like you,” he says quietly, and you stop.

“...yes. Unless they’re mated, nests usually feel most comforting to an omega when they smell like an alpha.” You swallow, looking away. “...you don't have a mate, and you didn't want a professional, so this was the only option I could think of. I'm sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he says. He picks out one of the sweaters that have made its way into the nest, the Sedanian one. “I don't mind it.”

“Oh.” You let out a breath. “Then—can I call a doctor?”

His grip on the sweater tightens. “No.”

You frown. “Aventurine—”

“I’ve never needed a doctor before,” he says. He sounds unbothered, but he's fidgeting with the sweater now. “I don't need one now.”

A lie. He almost certainly needed a doctor in some of his prior heats, but you don't push the matter. “Maybe you don't need one,” you say instead, “but it would help.”

“I don't need help,” he says, and you look at him in disbelief. He catches your expression, and the corner of his mouth lifts. “Not more than you've already done, I mean.”

“I’ve barely—”

“Contact Topaz. Tell her I'm incapacitated. Tell her…” He hums. “Tell her I have food poisoning. The personnel too. It's not time-sensitive, our business on Agnisahr, so it shouldn't matter if I need a few days off.”

“You really need—”

“Give my regrets to our Agnisahran friends. Deliver it in person. They see you as my right hand, so they’ll most appreciate it coming from you. Topaz can help you with the verbiage. And—try to socialise with them a little, won't you? I think that little omega princess of theirs likes you. Some of the courtesans too, and they have surprising influence.”

“I do not want to be around any omega other than you right now,” you say before you can stop yourself, and Aventurine stops, blinking. His expression is blank, if perhaps a little curious—but his scent shifts. You can't identify how. You add quickly, “I’m not leaving you alone when you’re this sick.”

“Ah. Right.” Aventurine looks away. His voice sounds strange, and his heat must be getting to him again, because it carries a hint of pain. “But you have to. The IPC’s goals take priority.”

You frown. “Your life is more important than the IPC,” you say, and he laughs. Loudly.

“What? This is just a heat. I’m not going to die.”

“You don’t know that without seeing a doctor.”

“I do. I’m willing to bet money that I won’t die.” He cuts you off before you can reply: yes, you're always willing to bet on your life. “And even if I do, that would still be less important than Agnisahr. Do you know how many resources are on this lifeless rock?” His mouth slants. “If we mess up here, I’m dead anyway.”

“I wouldn’t let them touch you.”

“Yes, you would—because they would kill you too.” Aventurine sighs. His eyes close, and his brow creases—a sign that whatever reprieve he was lucky enough to get is about to end. “Go do what I asked. Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll… see a doctor if you do.”

You stand immediately. “Alright. I’ll be back to check on you.”

“I know.”

You stop at the door, giving him a long look. Seeing him like this—lying on a proper bed, cradled in a warm nest, with water and food and medicine nearby—you feel a little better. This is leagues beyond what he’d been afforded in his days as a slave, at the very least. Even if he isn’t free, at least he isn’t trapped.

But it still doesn’t feel good, having to step away. The last thing you want to do is talk to other people, pretend to have interest in other omegas. There are an astonishing number of them who are interested in you on this planet—that princess, and some baron’s son, and one of the prince’s favourite paramours—but you can’t bring yourself to care even for business purposes when Aventurine is like this. You can't act as if you are enjoying yourself when you know he is in pain.

You wonder about telling Topaz the truth. You wonder if she’d be worried enough about Aventurine to let you neglect this mission and cover for you instead, without letting Jade or Diamond or anyone else dangerous know. Not that you think that anyone at the Company particularly cares about Kakavasha—it’s only that he’s valuable. Aventurine of Stratagems is valuable. How many worlds have fallen because of him?

But he seemed unwilling to bet on his worth to them. Which is startling, given how often he's bet on it in the past.

“What’s so important about this planet,” you can’t help but ask, “that the IPC would rather you die than lose it?”

He’s silent for a long moment. His eyes are closed—hidden—but you can see his knuckles whiten as he clutches the Sedanian sweater.

“Copper,” he says. “They want it for the copper.”

When Kakavasha first suggested a friendship to you, it had felt like something in between a proposition and a threat:

Go ahead, he'd said. Use me as you wish. You can even stab me in the back if you want. Just be mindful of this: I don't make deals that don't pay off.

It might have been a strange way of making friends in any other circumstance, but in a house of slaves, it was a natural one. You had not been a clever person—still aren't—but you understood that your place in the world was one of a tool. This was the place of all slaves: you were all things to be used. Your body was a thing to be used. It was valuable for its strength, for its hardiness, for its threat in the arena and for its convenience in your master’s bed (or in a dark basement, or within a heat house, or inside whichever omega your mistress ordered you to calm down). It did not surprise you that Kakavasha wanted to use it as well. It did not surprise you that Kakavasha expected you to use him in return.

You never would have, of course. Kakavasha was not a thing to be used—he had always been a mate. Though you were happy to let him use you, because all you were was a tool anyway, so it was really all you could offer him: to be used.

None of this has changed for you. You don't think any of this has changed for Aventurine, either. With each new friendship he makes, he repeats those familiar words: Use me as you wish. And with each person who accepts, this is exactly what they do: they use him, and they use him, and they use him until suddenly they notice he's tricked them and they've got the losing hand.

You damned gambler, they always spit. You Sigonian wretch. All you know is how to manipulate people. Thief, liar, cheat, whore. Despite all these insults, Aventurine always smiles at them. Cry as they might, he’s won his bet and has their world in his palms.

Winner takes all, he sometimes gloats.

Winning and losing. Using and being used. Exploitation and treachery. This is all Aventurine knows; these are his great guiding principles in life. (He's told you this point blank, stacking up chips in his favourite gambling dens with a self-satisfied grin.) You often find yourself coming back to these conversations, particularly when you need to convince him of something.

And right now, you very badly need to convince him of something.

Aventurine is ignoring his doctor’s advice. His suppressants are unstable in extreme temperatures, he's been told. During travel on Agnisahr, they'd degraded, and now he’s experiencing his first heat in several years. Of course it's going to be painful, his doctor had said. I can prescribe you some medication to ease the symptoms, but really—nothing will work better than a heat partner. It doesn't need to be a mate. Any alpha will do.

The doctor had been an alpha. You had asked for a beta or omega, but alphas tend to dominate in Interastral Medical Schools, so they're in short supply. Aventurine had been still the whole time, face unreadable, but you could tell he wanted to throw up at the stench of an unfamiliar alpha. You had stepped between the two of them, not bothering to hide the animosity in your voice. We’ll take the medication, you had said, and the doctor had sniffed the air and nodded at you in approval.

Probably won't need it. An alpha like you could sort him out with just a few rounds, he told you, and both of you stayed quiet as he left.

You still aren't talking, or even looking at each other. Aventurine has lay down in his nest again, closing his eyes, while you stand as far away as physically possible—at the door where you'd just shown the doctor out. With the room shut off again, windows closed and door locked, Aventurine’s scent is starting to flood your senses once more. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him shivering.

“What do you want to do?” you ask.

“Nothing.” He swallows. “I'll be fine.”

He's afraid. You can tell he's afraid. And you can tell he’ll be more afraid if you take even a single step closer to him, so you nod and say, “I'll go pick up your medication, then,” and Aventurine doesn't stop you. You can see him curling up in his nest, face pressed into the cashmere sweater.

But he still doesn't stop you.

After a few more days, Aventurine finally breaks.

There is a rare sag to his shoulders when he calls you to the room, along with a taste of dread in the air. You haven't seen him so vulnerable in years. Aventurine is not an open person, so cunning and self-possessed in his wealth—but Kakavasha was more brittle, more powerless, flayed raw and open even though he didn't often get the whip. (It would ruin his value if he ever scarred—his looks were his greatest selling point, your master said.) He was especially defeated when forced to spend his heats with an alpha he didn't want. You wonder, a vice grip of pain around your heart, whether this entire situation is simply an extension of that. Whether he is calling you here against his will, this time compelled by his pain, rather than his master. Whether this luxury suite feels like that wretched basement to him.

He doesn't look at you when he talks, nor does he sit up. He remains curled in his nest, nearly clinging onto the blankets and clothes.

“That stupid medication,” he pants out, sharp even in his heat, “isn't working.”

“I can tell.” Your brow knots. He’s in so much pain, it is palpable. “I”—you hesitate, voice dropping. “Can I help you?”

He goes quiet. As both Aventurine and Kakavasha, he has always been disinclined to accept help from other people. There is no such thing as unconditional help in his mind—only leverage and weakness. He hates it when people have leverage over him, and he hates being weak. Both are things that can be exploited, and Aventurine always needs to be the one doing the exploiting. He always needs to be in control.

Even like this, the last threads of his sanity about to snap, with every circuit of his omega biology trying to drag him into insensible lust, he fights viciously to be in control.

Winning and losing. Using and being used. Exploitation and treachery. Control and being controlled. This is how he's always lived. This is how he's always survived.

This is the only way to let him maintain control when he is most afraid of losing it.

“I don't mind,” you say quietly, “if you use me.”

Even through the haze of heat, Aventurine’s eyes sharpen. “What?”

“I don't mind if you use me,” you repeat, voice neutral. Unfeeling. The proposal might sound cruel to someone else, but not you. After all—your place in the world is one of a tool, and this is what you've always done as an alpha and a slave: sleeping with people to take care of their needs, or sometimes just their desires. It did always make you feel strangely hollow, but you think it will feel just fine with Aventurine. All you've ever wanted to do is keep him safe, and surely, this will do that, but—

“I'll only help if you want. I don't want to force it.” You lower your eyes. “But if you do want it, I'll be careful with you. You can lead. I promise.”

“...I know.” Aventurine’s voice is weak, cracks with pain, but you can tell he's speaking with clarity. “I know you will be.”

You look up. “Then you'll let me help?”

Aventurine looks away—a sign that he cannot adopt his usual smile. He’s clutching that sweater again, pressed close to his chest.

“Just your wrist,” he says quietly.

You listen carefully. “What?”

“I just—I just want your wrist.” He looks away. “Your—your scent gland. Only that.”

“Okay.”

You get up, then falter. When it was your job to comfort your mistress’ omega slaves, you were told to enter their nests—no permission needed from them, no permission needed from you, because only her permission ever mattered for anything. The omegas were usually too delirious to care, often had even begged for it with the state of mind that they were in. But Aventurine is different. He's not like you, and he's not like them. He's never bent to any of his masters’ wills. And even if he did, you wouldn't want to have him bend to yours.

Instead of climbing into his nest, you ask, “Can I sit on the bed?” He doesn't answer. “Just the edge of it,” you add, and you hear him exhale.

“Fine,” he says, breathing measured.

“Thank you,” you say, and he gives you a confused look. But then you're reaching out with a hand, offering it, and he is quickly distracted.

Aventurine drops the sweater, grabs your hand almost immediately. He turns over your palms, fingers tracing your heartlines—as if testing you, as if mapping out territory. He runs his thumbs along the veins of your wrists, too, right over your scent gland, and you have to force yourself not to shudder at the feeling. You only stay still, letting him explore the contours of your hands, letting him acclimate to the feeling of your skin. He laces his fingers with your own, a latticework trap, and he finally drags his wrist along yours.

Both of you inhale sharply.

You can't react. You know it'll scare him if you do, but it's hard to keep still. The way his scent blossoms, the way it mingles with yours, the way it all washes over you—what you're doing can hardly be called touching, but you feel like you're going mad. Especially when he flushes like that, his vibrant eyes fluttering shut. Especially when the sweetness of honey overtakes your senses. Especially when you can smell the way his body is reacting, all that wetness and heat and slick dripping between his legs. You don't miss the way his thighs rub together, nor the hard outline of his cock straining against his pants.

Aventurine shudders. He brings your hand up to his face, rests his cheek in your palm. His skin is flushed and burning with fever, and it's no wonder that he's sighing with relief at your touch. You try not to stare at the way his mouth falls open. He looks at you for a moment, his gaze a hazy violet and blue—before he closes his eyes again and presses his lips into your wrist.

Fuck.

“Aventurine—” You have to stop, voice strangled, when you feel the full softness of his lips working against your skin. He’s panting now, laboured breaths sweeping over your veins. Then you feel his teeth catch, a gentle nip on your flesh, and when he groans into your racing pulse—deep, relieved, desperate, a noise that makes your gut flare with heat—you realise you can't do this.

You pull back your hand, and Aventurine startles.

“Aventurine,” you say, voice strained. Maybe we should stop, you want to say, but he cuts you off.

“I need”—a shaky breath—“I need more.”

You watch Aventurine carefully. His pupils are dilated, blue irises nearly eclipsed. His cheeks are rosy, and he can't stop panting. You can fully smell his arousal now, even through his silk clothes. He's desperate, needing to be filled.

But he also looks torn. His brows are knotted, and you can taste a faint hint of fear in the air now. His knuckles clutch at the sheets, almost white, and he stares at them. He can't look up. He can't look at you. His whole body is tense, like he wants to bolt—and if he weren't so weak, you think he might actually.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

He doesn't nod. He also doesn't shake his head. His arms clutch at his midsection as he winces. He doesn't look like Aventurine. He looks like Kakavasha. It makes your heart ache as you watch him give into his body’s demands, wearing the same expression he did on the day your master bought him.

“...don't use your Voice on me,” Aventurine—Kakavasha—says quietly.

It takes you a moment to realise what he's asking. “I won't.”

“And”—his eyes somehow grow even more evasive, hidden by his long lashes— “don’t touch my commodity code.”

His commodity code. His commodity code that is seared into his scent gland. His code that, if you kiss, will ease his agony instantly. His code that, if you bite—will chain him to you irreversibly.

“Of course I won't,” you say instantly.

He closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath.

“And—” Aventurine looks away, jaw tight. His voice is quiet but wrought with tension: “—I don't like when people put things inside me.”

Something claws the walls of your heart.

“That's fine too,” you reply. “I don't mind doing it the other way.”

Aventurine’s sigh is nearly inaudible, but unmistakable. His scent shifts a little bit, the wildflower fragrance fading ever so slightly. But he doesn't come to you. He merely sits there—waiting. Expecting. Maybe dreading. Even in the senseless daze of heat, he’s too anxious to move.

You approach slowly. Though you're overwhelmed by the bouquet of his scent, though you feel a curl of heat in your belly in response to it—you are slow. Alphas are supposedly victims of insatiable lust whenever around an omega in heat, absolved of every action they take, but you are convinced this is a lie. You have never once wanted to handle Aventurine with such cruelty. You think that inflicting violence on him, more than anything else, would go against your biology. Every molecule in your body would reject putting him in such pain or inciting such fear. So you are careful when you approach him, slow as you inch up to him—but you do not think it helps.

Aventurine lies down, his face turned away from yours. His eyes squeeze shut, like he's expecting this to hurt. Uncertainty gnaws at your gut as you lean over him, draping your body over his—the only position you've ever taken an omega in, other than mounting them from behind.

(You do not want to mount Aventurine. You never have. It is an impersonal position, a position that omega biology supposedly would force him to enjoy, a position that alphas have likely dictated him to enjoy. You think there is nothing you would hate more. In your weakest, most selfish moments, in your worst ruts, when you’ve allowed yourself to fantasise about mating Kakavasha—you are always facing each other, and he is always looking at you with his eyes you've always loved, and it always feels intimate. Never impersonal. Never dictated. Never forced.)

Aventurine is so honeysweet beneath you. More fragrant than any omega you’ve ever been with. You glance at his commodity code, trying to ignore the scent of his branded skin, then lean down to press your face against the other side of his neck, where a faint scar mars the otherwise flawless slope of his nape. Like every other omega slave you've ever slept with, the scent gland there has been excised: a precautionary measure to reduce the risk of an unwanted mating bite.

(Not unwanted by them—the wants of a slave never matter—but unwanted by their owners. A mating bite would ruin the code seared into their neck, claim an omega more deeply and permanently than any titanium collar or carbon steel chain. It would hurt their resale value. Only owners are allowed to claim slaves in such a permanent way—and the wants of a slave have no relevance there, either.)

It's a funny thing, this surgical scar. Even with their gland missing, you've noticed that most omegas like having their neck scented by you anyway, probably from some vestigial instinct. You guess that Aventurine won't be any different, that maybe it will comfort him. But when your lips skim the scar left on him by his owner, his entire body stiffens beneath you. His fragrance cuts into your lungs, sharp.

You recoil, as if burned by the touch of him.

“Sorry,” Aventurine is quick to say. He tries to glance at you, but his diamond pupils quickly avoid you again. “Don’t worry about me. Just do whatever you need to do.”

“But you're scared,” you point out, and you see his brow twitch. “You’re scared when I touch you.”

“Not scared,” he lies. “Just…”

When his eyes finally look at you—land on your lips—you understand.

A bite would claim an omega more deeply and permanently than any titanium collar or carbon steel chain. If you lost your mind—give into the insatiable lust of an alpha whenever around an omega in heat—you might bite him, and then you would own Aventurine.

And Aventurine would rather die than be owned by anyone again.

He doesn't need to finish his sentence. You already know what you need to do.

“It's okay,” you say gently, and his brow knots. “I have an idea.”

Aventurine is always afraid.

This is a fact that has haunted you since the day you met him. You've wondered about how to fix it—the bare minimum as his mate (always his, even if he doesn't want you)—and you’ve never quite pinned down how. Because when someone has spent their life in perpetual fear, how do you make them feel safe? When their life is constantly at risk, how do you ever make them feel calm?

You still aren't sure of the answer. But after seeing Kakavasha become Aventurine, you now have a good guess.

It is clear from his scent that Aventurine does not feel remotely safe right now. Not when you leave to fetch something from your own room, and not when you return. The anxiety thickens when he sees, in your hands, a very familiar muzzle.

Aventurine stares. He is not smiling, but he also does not reveal his discomfort on his face, even as beads of sweat line his temple. But his voice is too controlled, too calm, when he asks, “You kept the mask.”

You nod.

“I told you to throw it out,” he points out, “when I freed you.”

“I know. Sorry. I don't know why I kept it.” You remember how tightly you clutched it before the incinerator, thinking about how strange it would feel, discarding something that you'd worn everyday since you presented—but you don't tell him this. Instead, you say, “But it’s convenient.”

Before Aventurine can say anything, you toss him the remote.

“You’re afraid of my bite and my Voice, but you don't have to be with this,” you explain. Your tone is gentle, soothing. Probably disarming coming from an alpha, with how he is in heat. Perhaps that's why he’s studying the remote rather than chucking it away. “You'll be in full control if I wear this.”

Control. Mere seconds after you say it, you can smell his fragrance change again, mellowing. It's only a brief moment of calm that fades when you latch the mask onto your face, but he doesn't smell as nearly as stressed before.

Aventurine watches you carefully as the carbon steel swallows your maw, its old and familiar edges biting into you. For the first time in years, you cannot tell what he is thinking—truly poker-faced even to you.

“You aren't bothered by wearing that thing while we do this,” he says—asks?—and you shake your head. The muzzle was part of you for years. You were wearing it when you killed someone for the first time. You were wearing it when you went into rut for the first time. You were wearing it when your master had sex with you for the first time. It doesn't bother you that you’ll wear it when you have sex with Aventurine.

If you could speak, you would ask him, Why do you think it would bother me? But all you do is gesture for him to sit up. To switch places with you. You lie down—something you've never done with an omega—and wait for him to get on top.

Aventurine stares at you for a long, quiet moment. It's followed by a sigh of relief. Disarmed, he—for the first time in any heat you've witnessed—finally relaxes. His scent wafts over you as he climbs between your legs, and you can feel the heat radiating from his hands as he parts your thighs, almost scalding.

He doesn't bother getting you ready, too needy to think rationally, but he doesn't have to anyway. You've been wet ever since you felt his mouth touch your wrist, hard ever since you heard him groan into it. You're equally desperate to get some relief as you feel his cockhead sliding against your opening, leaking all over your entrance as his slick drips onto your thighs. His breath shakes as he enters you, and he can't hear it with how you're muzzled—but you groan just as deeply as him at the tight stretch.

You hear him swear when you clench around him, watch him lean over you. His arms shake as he supports himself, refusing to succumb to his heat even as he chases his relief. You seek out his gaze (just as in your dreams, facing each other, intimate), and his neon eyes catch on your eyes for a brief, breathtaking second—

—before he looks away.

There's a flash of—you don't know what, maybe pain? Or fear?—in his irises as he does. A twitch of the brow, a tell he'd normally rather die than let slip. You have the realisation, as Aventurine moves inside you, that even while you're muzzled, even while he has complete control over you—he still can't stand having sex with you. Probably because he can't stand being in heat in general, you tell yourself. Don't touch me, don't touch me, don't use it anymore, don't use me anymore. He'd have this reaction to anyone.

Still—you didn't expect him to have this reaction to you.

Your hands twitch, possessed by an old instinct to cover your eyes. But you'd probably scare Aventurine if you moved your arms, so all you do is dig your fingers into the sheets and squeeze them shut. You tell yourself again and again that he'd hate having sex with anyone in these circumstances—not just you. And then you tell yourself, as a desperate, broken moan leaves his branded throat, that he would also come inside anyone in these circumstances, caught within the cruel grip of his heat.

Aventurine stills inside you as he finishes. He pants, sweat dripping down his temple as he shudders in his ecstasy, his spend hot and thick inside you. You can feel his fever break as he comes down from his high, the heat coming off his body easing into a manageable warmth.

Do you feel better, you try to say, but you can't move your mouth while your mask is on. So you wait patiently for Aventurine to come back to himself, watching him carefully as he pulls out and rolls onto the mattress beside you. He finally glances at you then. His eyes narrow once they land on you, confusion flicking through them. Then displeasure. He reaches for the remote.

To your surprise, he immediately punches in the code to unlock your muzzle. Aventurine has apparently remembered the numbers after all these years, as if the moment he freed you has been since seared into his memory.

“Are you okay?” is the first thing you say, and Aventurine gives you a confused look. He’s still panting, dazed, so you ask, “Can I check your temperature?” And when he nods, you confirm your suspicion: he's still much too warm.

There is an ache between your legs and a strange hollow in your gut (because you aren't very experienced with receiving, you think—your body likely just isn't used to the feeling of it), but you quickly forget them. All you can think of is Aventurine, and how he’s still unwell, and how you need to comfort him. The instinct is so strong that you don't even say anything as you get up, straightening out your clothes.

“Are you leaving?” Aventurine asks. His voice is neutral, completely unbothered, but the thought is so horrific to you that you turn back to him with wide eyes.

“Of course not. I'm going to get you water and medicine.” A beat. You stare at Aventurine’s eyes, then think about how he hid them from you during sex. The hollow feeling comes back, but it's mostly eclipsed by your anxiety at the next thought: “...do you want me to leave?”

“Do you want to?”

“I—” I'd rather die, you think. Being forced to leave him right now would feel like tearing out a piece of yourself. You don't know if there's an alpha in this world who could leave their mate in the middle of a heat. And even if he is unmarked, unattached to you—you still think of yourself as his mate. (His, always his, even if he doesn't want you.) “I would prefer not to. I am your heat partner. I'm supposed to take care of you.”

You hear a quiet breath. “Right. Of course. You're always so conscientious.” Aventurine nods, as if convincing himself of something. “Try not to take too long.”

“I’ll come back soon,” you promise, and the air sweetens. Encouraged, you add, voice gentle: “I’ll bring that medication, and then we can have sex as many times as you need after I come back. I'll make sure you're not in any pain anymore.” You pause, studying him. “Is there anything else you need to feel better?”

His fragrance changes once more, this time in a way you don't totally recognize. “No.” His voice sounds strange. His scent is still foreign, fluctuating, possibly hinting at some kind of pain. The heat must be getting to him again—and of course it wasn't enough, what you just did, what you can provide. He likely needs to be filled to get any kind of lasting relief, but you left him empty. “No, that's all I want.”

You nod, forcing yourself to look calm. Ignoring the emptiness in your gut. It didn't feel bad, but you hope it'll feel better next time you have sex. You think it will. Alphas are supposed to be filled with an insatiable lust near omegas in heat, after all. And even though you’ve never felt that before—never felt anything sleeping with all those omegas in your mistress’ house—you are sure you'll eventually feel it around Aventurine.

But the feeling never comes. Even though you can tell that his heat has returned by the time you're back—sweat beading his temples, laboured breaths at his lips, his bottoms now discarded, with full evidence of arousal between his legs—you don't feel much of anything as you reach for your mask again.

“Don't,” Aventurine says, before it can clasp around your face. You give him a curious look. He explains, “Don't. I don't want to have sex again. Not yet.”

You stare at him, shifting. Uncomfortable. Uncertain. Not knowing how he wants to use you. “What can I do?”

He gives you a long look. “Come here. I… I want your scent gland.”

It's a sensible request. If there's a way to seek relief without fucking someone—without fucking you, which he clearly hated doing—you're sure Aventurine would prefer it. So you climb into his nest, holding your wrist out for him, and—

“No.” His voice is quiet. “I want the one on your neck.”

“...oh.”

You stand there, not sure where to move. If he wants you in his nest again, or if he’d rather do this standing. You’re relieved when he demands, “Lie down.”

You expect him to get on top of you when you do. Assume that he wants complete control—but he instead lies down beside you. Presses his body into yours, and then his face into your neck. His nose and lips brush against your scent gland, a full-body shudder running through him, and—

—and now you know for a fact that it is a lie that alphas want nothing other than to fuck an omega when they're in heat. Because even like this, with his lips sweet on your neck, with the sheets soaked with his slick, with his spend leaking out of you—you do not want to have sex with Aventurine. You only want to hold him. You only want him to keep scenting you. You only want to scent him back.

You only want him to feel safe.

You breathe in deeply, lungs flooded by honey. You think of what it felt like to hold him in that cold basement, when he was delirious with fever and pain, and you think about how different his scent is now. How much sweeter it is. How much calmer he feels.

“Do you feel better?” you ask, and he doesn't respond, but you know the answer. His hands come up to dig into your shirt, and he presses into you like you're a sweater in his nest. Silence blankets over you both, calm and warm. His laboured breath starts to improve.

He does eventually speak.

“Has anyone ever told you,” he says, “what you smell like?”

You stare at him. Your master used to say that you smelled good, but he'd never elaborated, and you hadn't wanted him to. “No.”

Aventurine breathes in.

“You smell like—” A little sigh, shaking and feverish, leaves him. “You smell like rain.”

Your eyebrows tick up. “Rain?”

“Yes. Or not just rain, but”—he pauses, next words quiet—“more Iike after it rains. You smell like the desert after a rainfall.”

“Oh.” You don't know what to say to that. Feeling distinctly like it's a silly question, you ask, “Is that a good scent?”

“Some would think so. Especially to people from the desert. You probably smell like a blessing to them. Although…”

Aventurine goes quiet again. You stare at the chandelier above you, all crystal and white gold, and wait.

“Although?” you prompt.

“...although I wouldn't really know,” he says. “It’s just a hunch. I bet it's why so many omegas on this planet like you.”

You couldn't care less about those other omegas. All you care about is Aventurine. “And?” you say. “Do you like my scent?”

His reply never comes. He just breathes deeply again, seeking relief from your neck—not intimacy. Any alpha’s scent would work; that doctor told you so. Any alpha’s touch would work, too. There are no special feelings involved here. Your place in the world is one of a tool, and tools are never especially liked nor disliked. Their value exists only in how they can be used.

You don't know why you even bothered to ask the question.

But then something strange happens: Aventurine curls against you, pressing even further into you. His lashes flutter against your pulse again; it ticks up in response, beating fast against his lips.

“I do,” he says quietly. “I do like it.”

You swallow. “But I guess that's because you're in heat. Any alpha would smell good to you, wouldn’t they?”

“No.” His fingers dig into the fabric of your shirt. “No, I like it because it's yours.”

You know better than to read too much into his response. Aventurine had already said it earlier: No foreign scents. He's only tolerating this whole arrangement because you don't smell unfamiliar to him. Only able to use you because you are the least threatening option.

But the words break something in you—break the thing that made you unable to throw out that little pouch of copper coins that you were saving up for Kakavasha’s freedom, the part of you that made you wear that carbon-steel mask for him. It is this part of you that has your eyes squeezing shut and your arms wrapping around him. You know he’ll recoil, reject you, but just this once—you need to try.

Aventurine doesn't push you away.

He melts into you instead, inhaling deeply. Your scent gland tingles with the warmth of his breath, the feeling of his lips. He seems—comfortable.

You can't fathom why he’s staying in your arms. Perhaps he's simply desperate for some kind of relief from his heat, just like when you held him in the basement while he was delirious from pain. But Aventurine had spoken to you with clarity just now, and his skin doesn't feel scalding so much as warm, and his scent is so different than from that moment. So sweet and so gentle, without a trace of fear. It makes your heart squeeze. As much as you've always wanted Aventurine to feel safe, you'd never imagined that his scent would be so beautiful when he is.

It makes your heart ache. You've never held anything so lovely before, and you’ve never felt so warm before, and it all makes up for how badly it hurt to let Aventurine inside you. How hollow it made you feel to let him use you. How none of that matters as long as you can keep him safe like this, because you belong to Kakavasha. You'll always belong to Kakavasha, in a fate that was chosen for you on the day you met him.

You're his, always his—even if he’ll never want you.

end part i

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additional end notes

[stood-onthecliffside]

forgive me, peter my lost fearless leader in closets like cedar preserved from when we were just kids is it somethin' i did? the goddess of timing once found us beguiling she said she was trying peter, was she lying? my ribs get the feeling she did and i didn't wanna come down i thought it was just goodbye for now you said you were gonna grow up then you were gonna come find me said you were gonna grow up thеn you were gonna come find mе said you were gonna grow up then you were gonna come find me words from the mouths of babes promises oceans deep but never to keep oh, never to keep are you still a mind reader? a natural scene stealer? i've heard great things, peter but life was always easier on you than it was on me and sometimes it gets me when crossing your jet stream we both did the best we could do underneath the same moon in different galaxies and *i* didn't wanna hang around! we said it was just goodbye for now you said you were gonna grow up then you were gonna come find me said you were gonna grow up then you were gonna come find me said you were gonna grow up then you were gonna come find me words from the mouths of babes promises oceans deep but never to keep never to keep. and i won't confess that i waited, but i let the lamp burn as the men masqueraded, i hoped you'd return with your feet on the ground, tell me all that you'd learned -'cause love's never lost when perspective is earned and you said you'd come and get me- but you were twenty-five and the shelf life of those fantasies has expired lost to the "lost boys" chapter of your life forgive me, peter, please know that i tried to hold on (hold on) to the days (to the days) when you were mine but the woman who sits by the window has turned out the light. you said you were gonna grow up then you were gonna come find me said you were gonna grow up you said you were gonna grow up then you were gonna come find me said you were gonna grow up you said you were gonna grow up then you were gonna come find me said you were gonna grow up then you were gonna come find me said you were gonna grow up then you were gonna come find me words from the mouths of babes promises oceans deep but never to keep.

[a-d-nox]

aphrodite (1388) persona chart observations (part 2)

welcome to my mini valentine's series on the goddess of love and beauty - this month 4 observations will be released regarding the aphrodite persona chart! all observations are in reference solely to aphrodite persona charts. these observations are completely hypothetical. they are based on my (the those closest to me's) experiences with each aspect/ placement! please don't take everything i say as predestined, astrology is possible outcomes not guaranteed ones. this is just a starting place for when examining singular objects in an entire galaxy (these are not the only asteroids in affect for you). take what resonates and leave what doesn't!

♀ venus negatively aspecting anchises (1173) people tend to not flirt well? like its always over the top or not obvious at all

♀ venus-aphrodite (1388) people are very dominant in a room - they appear to be very comfortable in their skin, wear the perfect clothes for them, and tend to be confident in their skills surrounding charming others

♀ earth and fire mars people may be dominants, while air and water mars people are submissive; switches may have the mixture of these (see degree and sign)

♀ mars positively aspecting moon may indicate liking feminine qualities in a partner or liking a partner who is sensitive towards you and your needs

♀ mars-pluto people have REALLY high sex drives.

♀ people who can destroy a reputition with drama or gossip tend to have mars-mc or mars-pluto aspects

♀ mars-nn people with positive aspects may find they hook up with a lot of people, while negative aspects do not; they could be on a life journey to learn about levels of intimacy

♀ mars negatively aspecting poseidon (4341 / h47) people could lack authority/dominance in a relationship

♀ air and water jupiters are more likely to question their self-worth; especially, if aspecting the ruler of and/or being in the 8h and/or 12h

♀ water jupiters (this includes those with water degrees or aspects to the moon) tend to be the tate langdon of the chart group: "i would never let anybody or anything hurt you... i've never felt that way about anyone..."; your loyalty and promises run very deep into your person

♀ you may have great legs if you have sagittarius (9°, 21°) or capricorn (10°, 22º) jupiter

♀ jupiter-uranus people may experience fluctuations in their weight

♀ saturn negatively aspecting the moon may indicate feeling insecure over breast size; you could have been bullied for being "flat"

♀ people with saturn negatively aspecting the moon and/or venus tend to be the first ones who are ridiculed for betraying other feminines (could be through cheating, bullying, turning their back on them, not protecting them when they see injustice (i think of those social experiments where a guy takes a picture up a girl's skirt and then everyone around her just stands there without saying anything having seen the whole thing go down OR like serena joy holding down june in handmaid's tale), etc); the positive aspects tend to be the advocates and allies for women rights and justice

♀ saturn negatively aspecting venus and/or pluto could indicate shyness or insecurity over your yoni - i feel like these people are either like olivia from sex education where they think their yoni is ugly and/or they may be the type to cry / get stressed at the gynecologist's office because they feel ashamed or vulnerable in their chair

♀ saturn with negative aspects to mars, venus, and/or pluto may be in denial of their sexual preferences especially that of who their partner is or isn't (aka their character)

♀ saturn-neptune people tend to be comfortable naked, but i feel like there is slight over-awareness of clothing like a "does this look right on me?" type moments or "damn i should have worn a bra, i feel like everyone is looking at me" type deals

♀ saturn-pluto people either aren't satisfied with their sex life or they are rather kinky... or both

♀ saturn-aphrodite (1388) people may struggle with loving themselves or finding qualities they admire about themselves

♀ uranus-mc people are mass manipulators that can "brainwash" whole societies (steve jobs had a quintile between these two planets and now everyone is compelled to own his products - donald trump also has a quintile)

♀ uranus-hestia (46) people are often traditionalists who are opposed to divorce

♀ uranus-psyche (16) people could have some really twisted relationships in which no one knows who manipulated who

♀ pluto-poseidon (4341 / h47) people tend to be extremely lustful

♀ scorpio-influenced (8°, 20º) and/or neptune-pluto people can be super seductive and possibly are in the adult film industry

♀ cancer (4°, 16°, 28º) vertex and/or moon-vertex may indicate relationships with feminines or becoming a better person when emotional intimacy occurs in your relationships

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[moodymisty]

Lorgar and his pregnant wife, please?

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's note: Was already making this, so I just expedited the process. Enjoy some Lorgar goodness.

Relationships: Lorgar/Fem!Reader

Warnings: One quick NSFW flashback, Tokophobia, Pregnancy, Lorgar being overwhelming and suffocating

Lorgar’s personal quarters are massive- as much of it is filled with his own personal librarium.

Perhaps another time it would’ve interested you enough to take a peek, but right now you sit swallowed by the massive bed, wrapped in thin, cool sheets. Anything that could be on those shelves is of little interest in comparison to what is currently running through your mind.

You still remember the medicae's word. He’d let you go with little fanfare after- apart from the formality he gave speaking to the Lady of the Word Bearers- and you’d returned to your quarters with little more than a few words to tell you that you were indeed, pregnant.

It’s been a little over two months more since you first were told that news, but you’re still just so, surprised. Given Lorgar's unnatural creation, his size and abilities, the thought of such a thing being possible hadn't even come to the table.

Though neither of you were thinking of it either, in the height of other things.

'My little goddess,'

You felt so full, cum leaked from you and onto the silken sheets. But he was far from finished with you, and continued until the stars in the sky gave way to the sun.

You remember that last time the both of you were together. Lorgar knew he was leaving in the morning and had spent almost the entire night with you, preparing for the future time apart.

As such when he leaves, you’ve been unable to contact Lorgar for more than a few minutes at a time. This was something you wanted to tell him in person as well, and so you’d held your tongue until the Fidelitas Lex finally came to port.

Your clothes still fit, though most now show a slightly visible bump; Noticeable to anyone who's seen you enough to catch the difference. Thankfully, that isn't too many.

At least the nausea had faded mostly. You remember when it had forced you to see that medicae, and enlightened you to this whole thing.

"Are you well, Lady Aurellian?"

You laughed him off, and cleared your throat. Your mouth tasted terrible, and the noise did little to change it.

"Just a little under the weather." He took your response at face value, but didn’t seem entirely convinced. You were eager to get this all finished with, and answer any more questions curtly in the way you thought was most applicable.

Once it was all finished you walked quickly from the massive room, and just barely managed to make it to the balcony before your breakfast made its unwelcome return. You stood hunched over the railing, skin feeling hot. You wiped your mouth and took a few deep breaths.

"Lady Aurellian!"

You suddenly turned to see two Word Bearers looking at you shocked. One was from the room you'd just been in; You assumed he followed you to escort you back to your quarters. They both expressed their gentle demands for you to see the medicae, and not eager to fight about it, you went along with little fuss.

But Lorgar is due to return of Colchis any minute now. You’ve already been told his flagship has moored in the planet’s orbit, and you’ll see him soon. Very soon; Enough so that your stomach feels like it's buzzing.

Many of the primarchs are returning to their home planets in preparation to visit Terra. Many if not all of the Primarchs will be there apparently, at least according to Lorgar.

He's always yabbed a bit too much about things you feel like you shouldn't be hearing, but he seems to enjoy whispering you secrets. Many times simply because he’s venting out his anger at the galaxy, or the people within it.

You hear the heavy wooden doors slowly open, and you see Lorgar in his casual garb in the doorway. He must've already removed his armor before returning to his quarters.

He seems somewhat disgruntled, until his face lights up at the sight of you sitting on the edge of his gigantic bed. He smiles wide and instantly comes to you, kneeling in front of you and cupping your face in his hands to kiss you. They feel warm and soft, and you can't help but forget everything you've been getting ready to say for just a moment.

“I’ve missed you even worse than when I last left you. I didn't know I even could.”

You lay your hand over his own for a moment before he pulls them away, laying one over his own chest for a moment as he speaks.

"But- I have so many wonderful things to show you, my love. And to give you! The places we've been, they had so many beautiful things; Not as wonderful as you of course-"

It went well, you assume. Lorgar always becomes talkative if it does. If things go poorly, he's often in an unmanageable mood for days, until something, or now you, manage to soothe him.

You swallow the knot in your throat and interrupt him.

"Lorgar?"

He freezes, and the smile on his face fades within a moment. He notices your troubled expression and his hands rest on your lap. "Is something wrong, my love?"

You nervously wring your hands.

"I have to confess that I, have been keeping something from you." His brow furrows, but you speak before he can. "Can I explain before you rake me across the coals?"

Lorgar is already looking a bit worried and upset, so you elect to speak quickly in the hopes that the hourglass that holds his emotions doesn't completely flip before you have the chance to quell him.

"I went to the medicae not long after you left," He visibly jerks and you quickly forget all of the other words you were going to say and spit out:

"I'm pregnant, Lorgar."

He freezes for a moment, as if trying to process what you’ve said and understand it. His lips shift before he finally finds words.

“You are? I-“

He uncharacteristically stutters for a moment, before finally his mind catches up with his feeling and his hands cup your jawline. You watch his face keenly before you see his face melt into joy and you can breath a sigh of relief.

“I thought I couldn’t be happier to finally be here with you again, but this? There isn’t a word in any language to describe how I feel.”

Lorgar has a way with words, you never cease to be wooed by it. He can make you go from furious to in love with him, and you don't even think he does it intentionally. You play with the loose fabric of his robes for a moment to keep your hands busy.

“I’m sorry for keeping it from you, I just wanted to tell you in person. It didn't seem like the type of news to tell you over a vox while you're in the middle of commanding your men.”

His hands drift downward, and hesitantly move to brush across the growing roundness of your belly.

“I could never be upset at you; Not after this. Not after what you’ve given me.” He smiles in the same way he does after writing something he's proud of, or talking of his religion.

"The child of a Primarch; I never even considered it would be possible..."

He also seems lost in thought for a moment, before he finally comes back to reality and plants his feet firmly on the ground again. He moves to hold your face in his hands once again and give you a kiss, his larger palms swallowing your jawline. His lips feel so soft and warm against your own, you almost forget about everything until he pulls away with a soft pop, and your lips are puffy and well kissed.

"This means we should leave for Terra as soon as possible; Before it be to much danger for you," He says, and your eyes widen.

"I'm coming with you to Terra? Aren't all of the primarchs going to be there?"

You've never been to Terra, never seen a primarch besides Lorgar. Judging by the way he speaks of them, Lorgar is more than enough for you. But he nods, sparking a bit of turmoil in your gut.

"Of course! I refuse to leave you for a second, and I wish to show all of the Imperium the news." Lorgar must see the nervousness on your face, and he kisses the tip of your nose.

"Don't worry, we'll have our time to ourselves as well. I won't parade you around the entire time." That's relieving, as you know that you can't say no to him about this without fearing the repercussions.

Suddenly the primarch begins to stand, peeling his hands away from you.

"I should tell my men to ready the Fidelitas Lex, that we need to depart as soon as possible." You quickly reach for his hand. "Can you wait a moment to do that? You just returned, I want a moment with you before you're off again."

Lorgar halts, looking down at you. His shoulders loosen, and he smiles. It's that same smile that lights up his tanned skin that you love. He kneels back down, his eyes holding that barely contained wonder that has you feeling so loved and suffocated.

"Of course."

[lamamasjamas]

Love at First Sight (1/9)

A/n: I had a dream, and this is what happened. It's the breeding kink for me smh. Also, my requests are open! If you read this before you probably have lolz. Consider this a reboot.

Warnings: Dark!Din!, dub-con, stalker behavior, breeding/ pregnancy kink, kidnapping, smut, heavily implied forced pregnancy, Dark fic!

Love at First Sight Masterlist

He meets you at some scroungy run of the mill planet barely making by. A part of his heart aches for the way you beg for more credits as you finish your shift at the droid restoration center.

The desperation in your tone prompts him to start to watch you from afar.

As the days pass and he purposely doesn’t catch his bounty he starts to get enamored with the idea of you. He watches as you make your way home, stopping by to pass some younglings some fruits from occupied merchant's stands.

You entertain their chatter, their games and their childish squabbles. The children found solace in you and in some way, they were a distraction to your misfortunes.

The way you treat your village's younglings with kindness makes him fawn over the idea of possibly giving you kids of your own.

You are wholly unaware of his stare. Too lost in your desperate need for credits and the worry of not having food or at the very least rations on your plate for the days ahead of you. You were glad you didn’t have any family. Not even a partner. You only had to work for yourself.

He was glad too. There would be less people that would miss you. He takes advantage of your desperation. He doesn’t feel any sort of remorse about that.

You started to find packets of rations on your doorstep frequently. You’ve even started to gain some weight because of it. At least enough to make your ribs stay hidden underneath your skin.

Din watches each day as you start to smile more, your cheeks were fuller, and your natural form was filling out. A sense of pride fills him. He did that. He’s the one making you happy and keeping you satisfied and well fed.

A month in he starts to get antsy. He suddenly has the deep need to touch you. To feel your warmth. Watching you wasn’t going to be enough anymore.

You noticed his every move. The whole village did. Mandalorians were thought to be the best hunters in the galaxy and yet, it seemed as if he couldn't find his target anywhere.

It was frequent discussion amongst the adults. Why was he here? Who was he looking for? At times, you'd turn your head to stare. His vizor would pointedly look elsewhere. His hand would twitch, and it felt like he caught your gaze.

You'd walk past him quickly, striding with your bag, head down and breath quickened. You're sure he didn't even notice you, why would he?

He starts to dream. At first, they were short and sweet, holding hands and caressing cheeks. Things seem to divulge from there. Passionate kisses turn to hot touches. Then that leads to him breeding you over his console, his bunk, the riverbank where you wash your clothes in the middle of night, thinking that you have a semblance of privacy from the village, the children, your boss... Anywhere where he could have you, he did. In his dreams.

He always thought you looked beautiful. If only he saw you fucked out of your mind, babbling his name and pleading him to expand his clan together. Then you would look like a goddess.

The minute he walked up to you asking you for directions to a bar, which he’s been to multiple times at this point, you smiled at him. He ignored the way your eyes frantically looked around, how the rest of the villagers stumbled away.

You were just nervous. You heart was probably beating out of your chest not from fear, but from adoration.

He liked the way you easily trusted him. It was as if your soul was meant to be intertwined with his. You were basically eating at the palm of his hand, he thought.

“Can you lead me there?” He asks after you told him where to go, pointing towards the other direction, heel already turned to walk away. You nodded but hesitated. You're pretty sure he could find it himself; you didn't say anything to retort.

You chuckle to yourself as some of the children from your town wave at you frantically and he wants to have that sound embedded in his mind forever. He looks to you and heat rises up your neck. The visor was pointed so directly at you, his gaze was all encompassing.

Once you’ve made it to the front doors of the town bar you shift on your feet. He watches as you play with your tunic, lifting it slightly and showing some of the skin of your belly.

He has to keep himself calm as he imagines it round and full. Bursting and swollen with his child or children. His stance widens slightly as he feels the front of his pants get hotter.

“Here we are-“ “Would you like to have a drink?” You sputter as he speaks over you.

You chuckle awkwardly. “I don’t drink. Sorry.” He doesn’t stop staring at you. You fidget nervously when he doesn’t make a move to go inside. By himself.

“I guess I could just order a juice… or something.”

He asks you about yourself. You respond as vague as possible. It was alright, he already knew everything about you. He assumed you were just shy.

You were slightly taken aback by his persistent behavior. Your heart warmed at the thought that he was interested in you, but you couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was deeply wrong.

He was dangerous. He was strapped full of weapons.

You didn’t think much of it after a while, when he spoke to you in a soft gentle voice. He had a dry sense of humor, an awkward disposition. The fear turned to intrigue, and he told you he was planning on leaving planet in the next few weeks.

That prompted you to lead him to your apartment. You didn’t want a relationship, not with a bounty hunter at least, you just wanted some company.

He was a passionate lover, you thought. He always focused on your pleasure and then his. He whispered the dirtiest things to you. Half mumbling and stuttering about how he was breeding you and stuffing you so full of his cum that he was going to get you pregnant with his babies.

You didn’t fully understand his words, but you liked the thought of them, only the thought. You just didn’t know he meant them from his heart, and that the moment your passionate night ended his plans for you were solidified.

Company, you got. Every day he would knock at your door accompanying you for breakfast and sometimes staying until dinner. In your ignorance you thought he was just lonely. You wanted to see him as a fling, you thought he did too.

One day he sounded exceptionally happy. The whole town had isolated themselves inside their homes. That very morning, the Mandalorian finally hunted.

Blaster fires could be heard resounding from the market area, patches of residue were left on walls and stalls. He showed at your front door, holding a bag, pooling with red underneath it.

He asked you to come with him to turn in the bounty. On Nevarro. You were confused, you refused even as he pleaded. You didn’t notice the needle he pulled out of his pouch as he tread closer to you.

No one was out. No one would have done anything even if they saw your unconscious body fall into his steady arms.

You woke up suddenly in a ship’s bunk. Afraid and disgruntled you sat up only to slump against cold metallic panels. The bunk door opened and revealed the Mandalorian, without his helmet and carrying a small green child.

Your head was full of cotton, you could barely move, you couldn't speak.

The child heaved out of his arms and stepped onto the cot in front of you. He gurgled as if saying hello. You stared in shock. The Mandalorian smiled at you warmly, pressing his palm to your cheek and trailing it to your stomach.

“Say hello to your mother, ad.”

[thetorturedbuckydepartment]

chapter four: who else decodes you?

pairing: Bucky barnes x plus-sized!reader

summary: Six months ago, you were appointed to be Head Nurse to the Avengers by Tony Stark. Every day, you count your lucky stars, knowing the horrible past you quickly ditched back in England. It holds you back, restrains you, from getting close to anyone when on your new job.

That's until you met and fell in love with Bucky Barnes. The supposed assassin with a heart of gold, who seems to be eager to get to know you. To peel back your layers piece by piece, but could you trust him once you're laid before him raw and vulnerable?

masterlist

PREVIOUS PART -- CHAPTER THREE: IN THE BLINK OF A CRINKLING EYE

warnings: language, self doubt, self deprecation, mentions of Bucky’s past, allusions to sex and masturbation, talks about fatphobia and internalised fatphobia

word count: 3.5k

Taglist: @scott-loki-barnes @cjand10 @blackwidownat2814 @blackbirdwitch22 @laughterafter  @blackhawkfanatic @mcira @bxckybxrnes24 @rachellovesloki @toffeacademia @bean-bean2000

A/N: ALRIGHT we are so back! this was one of my fave chapters to write omg hope u guys like it too -- there's a lot of mixed feelings in this one. as always, please let me know if you want to be added to a taglist and any thoughts by liking / commenting / reblogging! it really makes my day! :)

You quickly run your hands through your hair to tame the flyaways that have magically appeared as you wait for Bucky to open the door. When he does, he leans against the doorframe, eyes taking in your outfit.

“Are you ready to go?” You ask, pointing a thumb behind you and adjusting the maroon purse on your shoulder. Steve’s asked you to come along to drinks tonight at some bar downtown, and you struggled for a few hours with what to wear and ultimately decided on the shirt Bucky had given you the other night while drunk tucked into some comfy flared dark red denim jeans and layered with a loose, translucent shirt in black. Golden hoops adorn your ears, and your favourite necklace (your initial in a swirling golden font) swings from your neck. 

You decided to keep the makeup light, not knowing how shitfaced you’re all going to be getting, and you certainly did not plan to be the designated driver tonight. A cherry red stain adores your lips, and Bucky can’t look away. He is entranced at the way you are wrapped in his favourite colour, wearing his shirt, and smiling like you are a galaxy, and he is a mere enamoured astronomer, eager to explore.

Eager to explore indeed. The curve of your hips and swell of your breasts entice him, and he’s so close to extending a hand and pulling you into him, letting the both of you getting lost to time and space and anything that isn’t the two of you. There is nothing more he wants than to kiss you so hard the red from your lips is the imprint of his, not another product you put on as a part of your pedantic routine. He wants there to be a splash of purple to your attire, on your neck and in places nobody else can see because he feels the feral urge to mark you as his, and he stands there, drowning in his lust. It clings to him like a second skin, sticky and unavoidable, and you, none the wiser, pout to get his attention.

What can he do? He’s eternally curious about you. He wants to know what it feels like to have you on his lap, mouth so close he can taste your kiss and swallow your moans as he makes you feel so good. He wants to know what you sound like, what you look like. Do your eyes roll back or do you flutter them closed? Does your voice drop a few octaves when you inch closer to that high or do you go completely silent, letting the pleasure take over? All he knows is that he might die if he doesn’t get to look into your opal eyes when he comes undone himself, because how is he supposed to resist the goddess of temptation painting herself all over your skin?

And you’re so painfully unaware. 

But alas, he knows why you’re so decked up, and deep down he’s hurt that it’s not for him. You blink at him a couple times, seeing as he’s yet to respond.

God, does he have to look so good tonight? Even in sweatpants? How the fuck am I going to survive being a few shots deep in front of him? You think, your heart speeding up. 

“Hello, Earth to Bucky. Is everything okay?” You tilt your head a little to the side, meeting his bright blue eyes. He shakes out of his stupor and clears his throat, appearing downcast. You can tell the next words out of his mouth are not what either of you want to hear. 

“I’m not going.” He omits certain details of the outing on purpose, knowing Steve’s intentions. In fact, Steve’s been talking his ear off about you ever since you got to know the both of them. He’s sick of it. But he thinks that Steve is a good match for you — an Avenger, a man without a sordid past that haunts him, and certainly nobody on the streets will hug their children tighter to them at the sight of Captain America. He is a hero amongst men, the very antithesis of Bucky. 

He’s never said it out loud to you, because every second he boards that metaphorical train, you always do your best to take him back off it. You always talk him down, telling him he’s just as much of a saviour as anyone else on the Avengers team. He’s just as worthy, but deep down he fears it. The day of the invisible flip switch, when you hear more and more about what he did as the Winter Soldier, and you’ll grow to resent him. Resent the evils he’s birthed on this Earth in the past few decades, his cold-cut cruelty. You always tell him it’s not his fault, that it wasn’t him, not the Bucky standing in front of you right now. But why does he have these memories? These nightmares of ruthlessly killing everything that was deemed an obstacle to the mission drilled into his head. 

So how can he be so selfish, as to deny the sweetest, warmest, kindest woman he’s ever had the pleasure of knowing, a man who truly deserves you? How can he be so selfish as to trap you with all his baggage, making you hold your love over your head in outstanding devotion, all because he craves your touch?

There was a before you, and there is an after you. There is no reconciliation of the two parts of him, there is no going back. But adaptation is essential, and he is a master of it. 

“What? How come? Are you feeling alright, Buck?” You press the back of your hand to his forehead like a super soldier can catch a cold. His skin is warmer than usual, but you somehow miss how he’s blushing because of you. And your touch. 

Bucky could swear up and down that it’s the cure to every fucking ailment in the whole world and every version of it. All it takes is one brush of your skin against his and all his worries disappear. Even as you embark on a date with Steve, for a split second, he could swear it’ll be you and him, one day. Someday. 

Warmth floods his soul when you bite your lip. “You’re running a bit hotter than usual…you sure you’re okay? I can cancel on Steve, I’m pretty sure I only got an invite because of you anyway. We can—“

“No!” Bucky all but shouts, startling you. You retract your hand an inch, wondering if you’ve offended him. “No, I— I’ll be fine. I think my room’s just warm. You go, have fun tonight, okay? I mean it. You work too hard, doll. You need a break every now and then.” You smile, so sweetly Bucky almost feels like he’s about to become a puddle on the floor. 

“Call me, though? And if you’re staying behind I guess I’ll tell you where I’m going. It’s this bar called The Lover, it’s about a ten-minute drive away from here. Just to be safe. But call me if you feel unwell, okay? I come right here, to you.” And that accent. 

Bucky’s never considered him to have a penchant for certain ways of speaking, but your charming English accent has him absolutely feral. He’s never heard his name said like this before, with such an infatuating lilt. He’ll do anything if you ask. Walk to the ends of the Earth, kill everyone you dislike. He’d do it, happily and madly. If you keep saying his name like that. 

Every day, it’s getting harder and harder for him to hide his infatuation with you. Especially when he hears you at night, all by yourself. A low buzzing, a quiet murmur of something he’s certain is his name passes your lips, and he’s fucking losing it. He’s always fucking losing it at night, he’s surprised all he did was sleep that night he got drunk and you were with him. In his bed, right next to him. Chest rising and falling, breaths leaving you so sweetly. He doesn’t remember most of what transpired between you two that night, but he knows it was the best sleep of his life. To hear your heart, to feel the expansion and collapse of your thoracic cavity, it gave him peace, it quietened the nightmares, filling his head with frivolous dreams of you. Running through a field of flowers the colour of your eyes, in a beautiful sundress. Maybe it was a picnic, who knows. All he knows is he wants it. He will get on his hands and knees and beg like a pathetic man for it, to feel that stability and sense again. 

Your hands had been so warm, gripping on tightly to his vibranium arm like it doesn’t bother you. You always do that, after the initial awkwardness between you two had dissipated. You told him that you were nervous, unsure of how he feels about people touching it. You’d asked him. You’ve shown him a level of pride and respect he hasn’t felt from anyone new since the ‘40s — asking for his permission and ridiculous questions like if it’s waterproof.

He’s completely fucked. Utterly, and thoroughly fucked. To your face he simply nods, wrapping you in a hug and then letting you go, rather reluctantly, hands trailing around your waist. He doesn’t miss the effect it has on you, hearing your tiny sharp inhale brings all the life back into his body.

It’s a small, wordless declaration of reciprocity. 

He takes it.

He thinks about it for the next two hours, lying in bed and unable to sleep. What if you need him? What if he’s fast asleep and his nightmares leave him so disoriented that he can’t come to you? He doesn’t know how drunk you are. Maybe Steve’s messily making out with you in the alleyway, hands trailing all over you. Maybe you’re clutching him to you twice as hard, hiking your thigh around his waist and letting him—

A knock on his door jolts him. Friday informs him it’s you, and he jumps out of bed and almost trips on his way to the entrance. You’re here. That means your night doesn’t end with Steve. It doesn’t have to end with him, but you’re not into Steve. Or maybe it was the best two hours of your life, and you’re here to spill all the details to him, because he supposes you two are the best of friends. 

“Hey,” he smiles casually, trying to not let his emotions show. But you seem so confused and lost in thought, that it answers every question, every doubt in his head. 

You may not like him, but you don’t like Steve. 

“Did you know it was a date?” You stare at him straight in the eye, looking one precariously placed sentence away from your heart breaking. Your arms are crossed and your lip stain almost completely gone. But to him, you’ve never looked more beautiful. But he’ll probably think it again, once you’re in your pyjamas. And again tomorrow. 

“Yes. He’s been going on about it for about a week or so, now. He finally plucked up the courage to tell you, to ask you out, I suppose. Did he do anything stupid?” You take another step forward, and another, pushing Bucky back into his room, trying to keep distance. If it closes, he’ll kiss you. He won’t be able to resist, especially not after you just lick your lips to wet them.

“Buck, be honest with me. Was it a bet…or a dare?” You search his eyes, begging for the naked truth, no matter what damage it could do to you. He sees yours fill with tears, and his heart aches in tandem with your own. He’s desperate to rid of you of those horrible feelings, knowing the toxic weeds that spring forth from the seed of misunderstanding. He just has to get to you before the first rain of heartbreak season. 

“What? No, don’t be ridiculous, we’re grown men. We aren’t sitting around making bets on people, especially not so cruelly. If we ever did, I give you full permission to shoot all of us, and rip my other arm off without any anaesthesia. I promise, there was nothing else involved. Steve’s interested, he wanted to ask you out on a date, he did.” You look down and nod, and he wishes you’d meet his eyes again. You’ve grown so confident in doing that, and he’s become addicted. There is a drug called You, and it courses through his veins 24/7. It’s a wonderful, gold rush, but with it comes a maroon pain awaiting to embrace him when the highs fade, in moments like this. When you stand between his warm hands so unsure, as if there’s any place Bucky can fathom being that isn’t here with you.

“Okay. Sorry, I know you guys aren’t like that…but I can never be sure.”

Bucky nods, remembering the horror story that was your first ex-partner, who had only been using you to make them a quick penny. “So what happened? If you’re comfortable sharing, of course.” He pries. He wants to know. Why you’re here, when you could be in Steve’s bed, the both of you lost and entangled in a haze of lust and longing. He wants to know if you’ll admit it, confess like your knee-jerk reaction did to him a few hours ago. The same something bubbles in both of your chests, and even though he knows he shouldn’t do it to you, all he wants is you. All he could ever want is you.

“Well… I got there. I asked where everyone else was, because I was under the impression it was a group thing that I was invited to, because we’re so close. He said it was just the two of us, and it was a bit awkward, but I pushed past it. We talked for a while, and he’s really funny. I laughed loads, I had a couple of drinks. Then at the end of the night, he kissed me.” You stare at Bucky’s lips as you say that last part, because they were the only thing in your mind when it happened. You want to feel his lips on yours, not anyone else’s. That’s one thing that’s been made crystal clear to you. “And it was…strange. He’s not bad at it— I just didn’t expect it, and then I rejected him. Nobody popped out to say it was a prank, though I suspect someone saw us and it’ll probably be all over the internet tomorrow. He was nice about it, and then we both came home. Separately. I’ve just been feeling strange about it, so I came to talk to you. I just wanted to know. Thank you for being honest.” You smile, finally letting your shoulders relax and the breath of agitation leave you.

“You look so pretty tonight,” he all but whispers, brushing a strand of hair back from your face, cupping your cheek.

“How come you never dress up this much when we go anywhere? I’m not complaining, you’re beautiful either way, but it must feel nice.” His thumb strokes against your carefully placed blush and highlighter as you lean into him, faces so close that any distance left burns away at the both of you. Of course, you just assume it’s all one-sided as it often has been in your past, so you keep yourself under tight lock and key. You cannot even begin to imagine the types of feelings he harbours for you, and the way they are a twin flame to your own heart. Even the muscles in your chest are identical, beating away for the other, as if every blood cell that enters and leaves is inscribed with the other’s name. You wouldn’t have it any other way, too swept up in red rose of now to think about the bed of thorns that awaits in the future.

“Well you don’t make me feel like I need to. Not that the others do, but all my life, I’ve just…” You hesitate for a split second, wondering if you should be saying this, but then remember it’s Bucky. The one person you know for sure isn’t going to make you feel stupid for what leaves your mouth. “I’ve always felt that I need to stay performing. Wear makeup, make sure my hair is always neat and styled right, that my clothes are orchestrated and not just the first thing I throw on in the morning, because God forbid people think I’m lazy. Then they’ll think that’s the reason I look the way I am — because I’m lazy and have no desire to change. And then they write me off as disgusting, and nobody likes me. Nobody will bother to understand all my various ailments and limitations, or my genetic makeup that’s made me the way I am. 

“You don’t make me feel like that, like to exist is a performance that I have to put on in front of you. I feel like I can just be, because you understand me. It might sound silly, but it feels like my brain is completely and intricately encrypted, and you’re the only one who knows how to decode me. Plus, you didn’t run away after I told you about the sex scandal I left behind in England, or treat me any different. That’s a bonus. I quite like you, you know.” You smile yet again, after your confession, tilting your head in adoration. And then, you see it. His gaze flicks to your lips, and in that moment, you know. You know that this may not be as one-sided as once thought, that there is someone else who is interested in you, in that romantic way you’ve been conditioned to crave. 

“One more question.” Bucky is fighting for his life to not kiss you, eyes on your lips as you speak, barely processing what you’re truly saying. And how can you deny that? When you’re alone, in your room, with nothing but an ache between your legs and a memory of the one man who truly understands your machinery, you imagine his face lovestruck with desire. And you see it, painted clear as day. There is desire. There is something. 

But you’ve sworn to yourself to never make the first move again, to save yourself unnecessary disappointment and ridicule. If there’s one thing that has been made obvious tonight, it’s the fact that whatever is here, is shared. If it is a fire, he is the match and you are the spark. If it is a magnet, he is the magnetic field and you are the iron. He knows it in your tiny inhale, you know it in his tiny treacherous stare at the parts of your body you would’ve deemed unattractive.

But he must become bolder, and braver. You sense something, but you feel that it may not be something great. You are no stranger to this either, your personality entices and intrigues, but your looks seem to never be able to keep them around. 

You wonder if this will be a short fling, where he looks at you one day and decides you’re better off as just friends. Because after all, you could be the sweetest person on Earth, but that doesn’t change men’s hungry eyes, or their lack of appetite when they pass over you. So, you decide to keep it to yourself. You’ll stoke the small flames, but should not expect a bonfire. You should be realistic. 

Bucky is beautiful. You’re sure several SHIELD agents have their eye on him, and all of them are ten times more gorgeous than you could ever dream to be. So why would he want you? When he could have anyone he wants — why pick you? There’s nothing you could give him that someone prettier couldn’t. You push the negative thought away, pulling yourself back into this conversation you’re having with him. 

Wants and needs can be tended to later. 

You nod, urging him on. “Why don’t you like Steve? He’s, like, the poster boy of the perfect man.” He’s everything I’m not, Bucky thinks. He’s not you, you scream in your head.

Your smile evolves into a shit-eating grin, hellbent on teasing him, and you’re desperate to push the negative thoughts away. Bucky’s affections for you may last a week, but you sure as hell are going to enjoy all of that extra attention, and it seems a ghost of confidence has temporarily possessed you.

You bite your lip before replying.

“I prefer brunettes.”

NEXT PART

[stalkerofthegods]

Lady Nyx/Nox deep dive, straight to the point info

Lady Nyx is wonderful, her beauty even ascends the stars, May we respect and adore Lady Nyx as a goddess and as a wonderful mother.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

Herbs • Dahlias, Cannas, Some lobelia, Night-blooming jasmine, Moonflowers, Datura, Tuberose, Evening primrose, Queen of the Night epiphyllum, Herbs that only grow at night, black leaves, black flowers, Blackthorn, Cypress, Holly, Juniper, Locust, Pomegranate, Witch Hazel, Comfrey, Honeysuckle, Ivy, Lavender, Mugwort, Patchouli, Primrose, Vervain, Nectarines, Dragon Fruit, Morning Glory, Nightshade, Roses, Lilies, Poppies

Animals• Horses, Owl, dogs, bats, black bulls, Blue Jay, Crow, Sparrow, Snake, Turtle, cat

Zodiac • your moon sign. 

Colors • Black, Dark blue, Dark green, Dark Purple

Crystal• Obisidian, Morion, Jet, Hematite, Onyx, Black tourmaline, Black Sapphire, Black moonstone, Black agate, Shungite, Black calcite, Eye Agate, Amethyst, Andalusite, Apophyllite, Cat's Eye, Hematite, Moss Agate, Moonstone, Petrified Wood, Smokey Quartz

Symbols•  Black wings, Dark clouds, Black fog, Egg, New Moon, Stars, key, veil, poppy, serpents, owls.

you can wear in their honor• you can veil in their honor, PJs 

Deity of• Night, she is the personification of it

Patron of• Night, Sleep, Death, the Fates, Nemesis, Old Age, Darkness, Light, Motherhood, Magic, Mystery, and the unknown;

Offerings•  Black candles, Poetry or songs related to the night, Images of the night sky, Beef, Milk, Black flowers, Black fruits, Dark red wine, Black animal votives, Dew (the one that gathers after sunset), Dark feathers, Dark liquors/beers. Black Tea/Coffee, Symbols of Her children (ex-torch, skull, scissors), Black fabric/veil/cloak, Dark chocolate, Honey/molasses, Viniq (shimmery liqueur that looks like a galaxy in a bottle)

Devotional• Go star gazing, donate to owl shelters, go to the zoo to see her animals, draw her, listen to a playlist for her, go camping under the stars, go glamping to look at the stars, Take a night time walk, Get a good night’s rest, Learn a new star or constellation each week, Stay up late, do something you enjoy without fearing the dark, Sleep with your windows open, Burn a candle that represents the stars, Sleep in every once and a while, Watch an astronomy documentary, Be extra polite to those who have to work the night shift, Wear dark colors, Learn about which animals are active at night in your area, Go for a night drive, Do divination at night, Listen to music with your headphones in, Use silver, black, and gold glitter, Plant some flowers that only bloom at night, Use a star/constellation app, Read the House of Night series, Watch the evening light fade away into darkness (you can do this in your window, or watch a lapse on YouTube of it), Wear more things with the stars or planets on them, Defend someone who is vulnerableble, Turn your electronics off a couple hours before bed each night, Drink an herbal tea with cinnamon before bed, If you’re staying up late already, make your night productive. (Ex- Complete some homework, tidy up your room), Keep a dream journal, Learn how to identify owls by their calls, Make the night sky your screensaver/home screen, Wear scents that remind you of the night, watch a video of the stars, and sleep with stars in the background.

Ephithets• Bringer of Night, Mother of Daimones, Mother of the Cosmos, Subduer of Gods and Men, Mother of Mysteries, The Dark and Shining, The Winged, of the Great Shadows, Dressed in Stars, Dew Bringer, of the Witching Hour, 

of the Deep and Silent Dark.

Equivalents (alike but not the same)• Nótt (Norse), Selene (Greek), Hecate (Greek), Nox (Roman), Nyx (Greek), Al-Qaum (Arabian), Nabatean (Arabain), Itzpapalotl (Aztec), Metztli (Aztec), Tezcatlipoca (Aztec), Khonsu (Egyptian), Nut (Egyptian)

Signs they are reaching out• Sudden fascination with stars, seeing her Symbols and attributes all of the sudden, a pull to her and the night.

Vows/omans• None, maybe wedding vows, but many say she just has Erebus as a boyfriend, not a husband.

Morals• Unkown, but most suspect Morally grey.

Courting• Erebus (darkness)

Personality• She is motherly and protective of her children, 

Home• Tartruas 

Mortal or immortal • immortal 

Fact• The first Deity to exist, 

Roots• Gaia, Birthed at the beginning of time, lived in Tartarus. 

Parentage• Chaos 

Siblings• Gaia (goddess of the Earth/mother nature), Erebus (god of darkness), Uranus/Ouranos (god of the heavens), and Tartarus (god of the underworld).

Pet• The two/four horses pulling her chariot 

Children • Aether and Hemera (Day) by Erebus (Darkness), Thanatos (gentle death), Hypnos (sleep), she also made the spirits - the Fates, Sleep, Death, Strife, and Pain. Aether, Moros, Apate, Dolos, the Keres, the Moirai, the Hesperides, Oizys, Momus, Philotes, Geras, Eris

Appearance in astral or gen• In ancient art Nyx was depicted as either a winged goddess or charioteer, sometimes crowned with dark mists.

Festivals • Wiccan Yule, Wiccan Samhain, Winter solstice, you can do a ritual for her on the full and dark moon, but there is a feast you can hold in her honor, which is called Lemuralia.

Day • her time is Twilight, Dusk, and Midnight, and her day is Monday  

Season• winter 

Direction• north 

Status• Primordial Goddess of night, even Zeus fears her, one of the first primordial beings alive, she was there for the creation of the universe.

Planet• Moon

Her Tarot cards• Death, Temperance

Scents/Inscene • Myrtle, Camphor, Patchouli, Lavender, watery, musky, earthy

My opinion • She is a very hard divine being to find information on, I hope this helps, but I've never met her before, I assume she's great, my friend says she is kind and calls her ‘Mother’ 

Prayers• 

In general

Beautiful, black-eyed Nyx, cloaked in darkness, older than old, daughter of misty Chaos, mother of great and mighty spirits, I call to you. Ever-present one, you live in the shadows; we know you in the dusk, in the comfort of the night. Broad-winged Nyx, you clasp the hand of bright Hemera, each eve and morn, you greet her with love and sorrow for only in those moments may you embrace your child. Goddess, awesome one, in your realm are we all unblemished, in your realm do lovers’ promises ring true, in your realm are all things possible, if only until daybreak. Nyx, I honor you.

Small prayer 

“Nyx, mother of the night, mother of sleep, mother of death: Might your darkness embrace me Might your energy caress me Might you be mine and Might I be yours Blessed be.“

In general 

O ancient Goddess, born of Chaos and steeped in shadow, I honor you now and always. With eyes which have watched the beginnings of all that is, see us now embracing your sleep and mystery. With power that strikes fear into the hearts of the most revered of Gods,

I remember your strength when I am searching for my own. In the starless night where light shines not i will give my thanks to your Greatness, And surrender to the dark.

Links/websites/sources • Nyx - Greek-Goddesses Wiki - Fandomhttps://www.theoi.com/Protogenos/Nyx.html mystical-sleepy-musings <a href="https://greekgodsandgoddesses.net/goddesses/nyx/">Nyx – Greek Goddess of The Night: https://greekgodsandgoddesses.net</a> - Greek Gods & Goddesses, June 10, 2018 https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nyx https://www.theoi.com/Protogenos/Nyx.htmlhttps://www.britannica.com/topic/Hypnoshttps://greekgodsandgoddesses.net/goddesses/nyx/https://www.ancient-origins.net/myths-legends-europe/nyx-goddess-0017255 https://www.worldhistory.org/Nyx/https://gods-and-demons.fandom.com/wiki/Nyx https://www.moonfallmetaphysical.com/s/stories/nyx-greek-goddess#google_vignette https://www.moonfallmetaphysical.com/s/stories/nyx-greek-goddess#google_vignette https://mythopedia.com/topics/nyx https://oldworldgods.com/greeks/nyx-greek-goddess-of-the-night/https://www.vintageisthenewold.com/game-pedia/what-does-nyx-goddess-look-like https://aminoapps.com/c/hellenistic-polytheism/page/item/nyx/Vn7V_bmCvIP7XMLvlKzJJbl2lGY55JLxDZhttps://thebacchichuntress.tumblr.com/post/127160005123/offerings-to-nyx/amphttps://www.tumblr.com/heatherwitch/161308460295/nyxhttps://tuiliel.tumblr.com/post/139053552874/epithets-of-nyx/amphttps://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_night_deities https://greekpagan.com/category/prayers-2/nyx/#:~:text=older%20than%20old%2C%20daughter%20of,the%20comfort%20of%20the%20night.Magickal Spothttps://magickalspot.com › nyxGoddess Nyx: Prayers, Symbols, Books & More [Guide]https://www.tumblr.com/moonlitmagic/189775766368/prayer-for-nyx

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

This post is payment to my friend @briislame

May Nyx cover you with the calmness of night.

I use resources, I do not own the info, and most deep dives have UPG (that I use in my work.) And I only take some information from sources. I am 14, this is my hobby, I am learning but I spent many hours and days on this, and I am always open to criticism. I have been doing worship for 5 years. Please know you can use the info, I do not sue, but I will take action if this work is used without permission and not put as a resource if used in any work. without permisson and not put as a resource if used in any work, for the public.

[zaczenemiji]

Morpheus x Goddess!Arianrhod!Reader

Synopsis: In the Corona Borealis, Arianrhod finds herself preoccupied with thoughts of Morpheus. Unexpectedly drawn into The Dreaming, Arianrhod encounters him again, leading to an exchange that hints at deeper connections and future

Author’s Note: From this part onwards, alterations on the lore and nature of Arianrhod from the Welsh mythology was made to better fit the plot.

Word Count: 2,217

PART ONE

PART TWO

✧ Dream Upon A Star ✧

In the swirling galaxy of stars deep within the cosmos, there nests an ethereal realm. A mystical domain inhabited by celestial beings: the star fairies, moon guardians, cosmic weavers, seasonal spirits, and celestial animals. All of which were created and governed by their supreme ruler.

At the center of the realm towers a magnificent fortress that rises high into the cosmos—Caer Arianrhod, the Spiral Castle. Its walls glow with soft celestial light, creating an ever-changing display of colors reminiscent of the auroras. Its towers reach into the heavens, crowned with observatories.

In the heart of the castle is the Hall of Stars, a grand hall with an open ceiling where stars and galaxies are visible in their full splendor. Here, Lyrael, the first weaver of the celestial loom, awaits her queen.

Not long after, a silver light appeared. It turned into a swirling vortex of stars, and from there, Arianrhod emerged. Her arrival resonated within the realm, informing its inhabitants of their queen’s return.

“Welcome home, your highness,” Lyrael greeted with a bow. Before Arianrhod could even respond, her celestial owl flew quickly towards her, landing on her arm.

“Lunara!” the goddess greeted as she petted her owl’s head. “Hello, Lyrael,” she said, acknowledging her attendant. She walked towards her throne, owl still on her arm, as Lyrael followed.

“How did the convention go, my queen?” Lyrael asked the moment the queen had sat. Arianrhod told her the events that transpired, especially about the certain Endless.

“I am glad to know that you had a great time, Lady Star,” Lyrael replied. “Surely, the Lord of Dreams had one as well.”

Upon the mention of the Endless, Arianrhod’s curiosity peaked. “Is there anything you know about him?” She asked.

“Not much, my lady,” Lyrael answered. “Only from the fate of those whom he loved.”

Arianrhod decided that it was a story for another day as it was time to return to her duties. Lunara flew off her arm as she stood from the throne. Quickly, she made her way into the Chamber of Destinies where she did most of her work.

The queen can mostly be found attending to her duties in two places: the Chamber of Destinies, and the Stellar Observatory.

In the Chamber of Destinies, ornate pedestals are arranged in a circular formation around the perimeter of the chamber. The pedestals radiate outward from the center in spiraling patterns. They are also arranged in tier levels, with each level rising slightly higher than the one before it.

On top of each pedestal are the Fate Wheels, miniature versions of the much larger Silver Wheel found in the Hall of Stars. Each wheel represents the path of an individual. It is Arianrhod’s duty to ensure that they continue to spin. Otherwise, it would disrupt the Silver Wheel that holds the collective destiny of humanity as a whole.

The Stellar Observatory, on the other hand, is located at the top of the castle’s towers. In there, Arianrhod, together with the Cosmic Weavers, control the cosmic energies that govern the universe. They ensure that the movement of stars, planets, and galaxies synchronizes the rhythm of time.

However, a duty unique to the goddess, aside from the maintenance of the Fate Wheels, is the mending of rifts in the fabric of space-time. She is the one who repairs the cosmic anomalies and deals with those who intend to disturb the cosmos.

This is how the goddess had spent her life since the beginning of time, and how she will continue to do so in the entirety of her immortal life. Or so she thought.

She rarely leaves her realm; only on situations that require her presence—like the recent convention—and her intervention on mortals that negatively affects the Silver Wheel.

Before she knew it, it had been months, in mortal terms, since the convention. Specifically, the first time she met Morpheus. Often, she found her thoughts returning to him.

But as many times she thought of him, were the times she tried not to care. However, in moments like this where her presence is not needed in the chamber nor the observatory, when she is solitarily sitting on her throne, she wonders about him.

“My lady,” Lyrael called, disrupting Arianrhod’s thoughts. “Have you been feeling unwell?”

Arianrhod looked at her. Confused, she asked, “No, why?”

Lyrael sighed, a bit hesitant. “You don’t seem like yourself lately,” she started. “There are times you stare off in the distance like something’s on your mind.”

“Is there something wrong in the realm?” She asked, knowing that there is highly likely nothing outside of the Corona Borealis that would bother you. Unless there are threats but in that case, you would’ve acted to eliminate them immediately. So she settled with the conclusion that something might be going on in the realm.

“Perhaps, in the Lunar Gardens?” Lyrael continued. She remembered what the Star Fairies said—that the queen had frequented there. It was unusual because Arianrhod is a burner of the midnight oil; all she thought about was her duties. In other words, she isn’t one to spend her time on such trivialities as gardening.

For the first time, Arianrhod was at a loss for words, a loss for explanations. “Forgive me,” she said. “Perhaps I just need to…”

“But The Dreaming will always open its gates to you.”

“My lady?” Lyrael asked, urging Arianrhod to continue.

“…sleep,” the queen continued. Poor Lyrael continued to be baffled but she chose to keep it to herself. She is unsure of what’s happening except for one thing: the queen has never been in her sanctum for as far as she can remember.

In Arianrhod’s chamber, there’s an astral window enchanted to reveal different celestial phenomena. However, this time, it remained an ordinary one that gave her a view of the Lunar Gardens.

The Stellar Blooms mirrored the heavens as they looked like stars on the ground. She thought of the one she gave to Morpheus and wondered how it was doing.

She glanced from the window to her bed. Her canopy bed looked so inviting. She never slept—she didn’t need sleep. Rest was a concept she observed in others, not one she partook in herself.

But for the first time, she was curious.

And so she walked over to her bed, sitting on its edge before letting herself lie down.

Then she closed her eyes.

“My lord,” Lucienne calls to Morpheus who stares at the stained glass panes of his castle. It had shifted back to its original form just before Lucienne could see what he was looking at.

“A divine being has entered The Dreaming,” she informed.

“I am aware, Lucienne,” Morpheus said. “I shall welcome them into The Dreaming.” In the blink of an eye, he was gone.

On the bridge held up by massive stone hands, Arianrhod stands in awe. It was daylight wherever she looked. This realm resembled Earth; she hadn’t been there for a long time—the brightness almost hurt her eyes.

She closed her eyes and gently rubbed it. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” She almost jumped in surprise at the voice that came out of nowhere.

Morpheus stood behind her. As Arianrhod turned, he felt his heart skip a beat. Their eyes met, and the warm feeling inside him resurfaced.

For a moment, he could not believe it. He was just looking at the memory of her on the stained glass panes earlier, as he did every day since the moment he met her.

And now she’s here, in his realm, looking just as beautiful in daylight as she was under the light of a thousand stars.

She smiled, “I am not certain.” She didn’t want to admit that she came here on purpose. “I fell asleep. And it brought me here, to your realm.”

Morpheus looked at her with deep, knowing eyes. “Welcome to The Dreaming, Lady of the Silver Wheel,” he said with a faint smile.

Arianrhod was the first to break the eye contact. She looked around again, now seeing better after her eyes had adjusted.

“This place is beautiful,” she said.

Morpheus kept himself from telling her that The Dreaming pales in comparison to her—and now that she’s here, there is nothing else in his realm more beautiful than her.

Too captivated, Arianrhod almost forgot about the Stellar Bloom. “Oh, does it turn night here?” She asked. “The Stellar Bloom wouldn’t thrive in this condition.”

“The celestial flower is alive and well, Star,” he said. “I made sure to follow your instructions.”

Morpheus held his hand out. Sand swirled on top of it until a small pot appeared. In his hand was the Stellar Bloom, planted in a pot.

Arianrhod was delighted to see the flower. Morpheus saw the twinkle in her eyes as she looked at it.

She held her hand out in an attempt to sprinkle it with stardust. However, to her surprise, nothing came out of it. Then, she realized—she was powerless in The Dreaming.

As if reading her thoughts, Morpheus spoke, “You must come here in person to be able to use your powers.”

Morpheus sent the flower back to its place in his chamber, leaving nothing but traces of sand on his hand.

Arianrhod squinted at him. “Why should I?” She asked referring to his invitation.

Morpheus stepped forward, standing close to her once again, but this time, without the flower in between them. He looked at her eyes intently, his gaze unfaltering.

“Since our meeting at the convention, I have found my thoughts often returning to you,” Morpheus said.

He took another step closer. Morpheus’s eyes reflected a glimpse of rare vulnerability.

“I wish you to be the queen of my realm, Star,” he said. Arianrhod felt her heart flutter. “Will you allow me this?”

“Very well, Dream,” she replied. “I shall allow it.”

But before Morpheus could even smile, she stepped back. “IF you fulfill my conditions,” she smirked.

He was surprised, yet fascinated. “You challenge me, Star?” He asked, his lips forming into a smirk as well.

“Not a lot knows about me. But those who do, call me…” Arianrhod replied, leaning close. “…the goddess who challenges”—and that, she will continue to be. She wouldn’t allow herself to be fooled by any man again.

“What are your conditions, my lady?” Morpheus asked. Someday, that title will no longer be used just for formality. He will make sure—it will be used to refer to her as his woman.

Arianrhod stepped back, smiling. “First,” she said. “You need to show me the entirety of The Dreaming.”

Morpheus looked in disbelief, but he was delighted. “That’s easy,” he said. “We can even start now.”

“I know, Dream Lord,” Arianrhod agreed. “But you can’t show me the dreaming if I’m not here.” She moved to walk past Morpheus

“Which is why,” she continued, turning around when she’s past Morpheus. “Our little tour of The Dreaming would take place only when I stumble upon here.”

Morpheus didn’t know what he would feel, but the challenge added a thrill. Although, he did not understand the need to delay. The only theory he could come up with was that she might be playing with him.

“Second,” Arianrhod said. “You need to be able to find my realm.”

That piqued Morpheus’s interest. No one—not Death, and not even Destiny, who, among the Endless, is the one who could have direct connections to the goddess associated with time cycles, knew the name nor whereabouts of her realm.

“Third,” continued Arianrhod. “You have to make me fall in love with you.”

There was a moment of silence between the two. Arianrhod breaks the silence. “You can always find someone else, Dream,” she said. “Maybe I’m worth the gamble, maybe I’m not.”

“I’m just not that easy of a woman, Dream,” she continued. “I have my own realm to attend to. And I don’t want to compromise it.”

It was Morpheus’s turn to speak. “Very well,” he said. “You’ve named your conditions, and I shall give my all to fulfill them.”

Arianrhod nodded. “Well then,” she said. “Until my next visit, Lord of—“

“Before you go,” Morpheus cut her statement. His sand once again swirled on his hand, later revealing a flower.

It had pale blue petals with delicate silver veins. Its center, a cluster of tiny, luminous white stamens. The stem is a deep indigo. Its leaves are broad and velvety, dark green with a subtle silver lining.

“For you,” Morpheus said, handing it to Arianrhod. The goddess was surprised. She carefully took it in her hands, holding it by the stem.

She places it near her nose. Its fragrance, delicate and enchanting. “What flower is this?” She asked.

Morpheus smirked, “You’ll have to come again to find out.”

What Arianrhod didn’t know, was Morpheus created it the moment he returned to The Dreaming after the convention. He ought to give you something in return—something that could also thrive in a cosmic realm, like the flowers at the Nexus. He spent days perfecting this flower, he’s just glad he was able to give it to you.

“Clever,” Arianrhod chuckled. “Well then, Lord of Dreams. We shall see each other again.”

Morpheus gently took her hand and pressed it upon his lips,” I eagerly wait for your return, Lady Star.”

——————————————————————————

PART THREE

I’m a sucker for slow burn romance 🤧

If you'd like to be added to my taglist for updates on this fanfic, just comment below or send me a message!

[ivyprism]

When Deities at War... (Boronia x Archemoros)

Warning: War, death, etc. Nightmare Sans, Gods, angels, demons, etc.

Boronia tensed as the corrupted angels and demons turned on her. She pants as blood streams down her cheeks. Her eyelights flicker, and she pants as she slowly backs away. She feels the ground give under her as she falls towards the ocean. Her wings were wounded, and her body was fatigued; she didn't have time to resist the exhaustion. Her body struck the water, and everything went black.

--------

She eventually awoke in a really nice bed. It's understandable that her thoughts quickly turned to "Oh, gods, did I die?" She whimpered softly as she felt someone clutch her hand. She moves, and her gaze falls on Archemoros. Her eyes widened. Even when they were together, she had never seen him in anything other than his ungooped form. She stretched out to touch him, and his eyes opened. He gripped her wrist, and when he saw her, his eyes softened.

"Boronia..." Boronia was shocked by the softness of his voice. She felt her face light up with a purple blush, but he swiftly removed his hand. "You're awake, good..." Archemoros' voice seemed almost relieved. She stared before shaking her head. She tried to sit up. "Don't do it... Do not sit up. You were seriously bruised up, and Myrsky doesn't think you should move—" Archemoros complained, and Boronia appeared astonished by his concern. He put his hands on her shoulders and forcefully held her in bed. At first, she was going to listen when she remembered...

Her sisters!

"My sisters-" Boronia started, but Archemoros kept her in bed. His hands tremble as he takes a big breath.

"Are fine," Archemoros answers firmly, and Boronia blinks slightly in surprise, but she feels him hold her securely in bed. "Myrsky and Neifion seized them before anything could do serious damage to them... They did not get to you in time." Archemoros gripped her shoulders lightly. "What were you thinking? Leading all those foes to you, you could have died!" Archemoros' voice was practically distorted when he raised it.

"Archemoros-" Boronia began but Archemoros brought her into a tight embrace. He holds her close as he presses his face into her neck.

"Just... Stay still... Just for a while... I thought I lost you..." Archemoros whispers and Boronia's eyes widen. She feels tears fill her eyes. She gently returned the embrace.

"Okay... Just for a while..."

---------

[kaiyastarz]

Oshun

Oshun, the African goddess of rivers, love, and beauty, found herself amidst the stars, entrusted with a new role as the Conductor of the Cosmic Galaxy Orchestra. The universe had grown chaotic, with planets spiraling out of tune and stars flickering off-beat.

With a golden baton in hand, Oshun stood at the center of the cosmic stage, her aura shimmering like a thousand suns. As she lifted her baton, the galaxies held their breath.

The first note she struck was pure and sweet, a melody that sent waves of harmony across the cosmos. Stars began to dance, planets swayed in perfect rhythm, and the black holes hummed a deep bass, anchoring the celestial symphony.

Under her guidance, the orchestra played the music of creation, each note bringing balance and beauty to the vast universe. The galaxies, now united in song, spun together in perfect harmony, their light reflecting the love and grace of Oshun, the eternal conductor of the cosmic symphony.

[one4shio]

Unexpected.

In which he thought it was impossible to meet you once again.

Notes: honestly, this is just me testing Aventurine character as a whole, how he would do, nothing much.. probably ooc but yeah. Grammar? What is that 🧑‍🦼

Content: SPOILER FOR 2.1!, reader is the same kin as Aventurine, childhood friends, angst/comfort.

He couldn't believe his eyes. It never cross his mind that he would see you here, in Penacony. Let alone thought that you were still well and alive after he ran away that day. Just how lucky he is right now? He thought it was impossible to meet his kin again after he was so sure he was the last one.

Aventurine meet you at the receptionist with the astral express, he's glad that there's someone who took you in, he wouldn't express it, not now at least. He don't know how to express gratitude. He don't think have a chance to express it after he finishes up with his plans in Penacony. Another gamble to make.

Eyes contacts are made with each other as he struck a conversation with the nameless, he wanted to chuckle softly as soon he saw your eyes widen at the sight of him. He didn't predict that you wouldn't be crying. It gives him chills. His heart hurts the sight of you crying. He couldn't show everyone his weak side- no no, it will be disadvantage for him.

It hurts for him to pretend he doesn't knows you. He will make this up when you two are alone together. But right now is not the time, he could see it in your eyes that you understand him even though it's been years since you two were together. You are fascinating to him.

Aventurine just laugh as you trying to make up excuses to as why you suddenly shed tears, he proceed to get his plan started right here.

As he was done dealing with Stelle, making a deals with her, and the Galaxy ranger steps in- he saw you at the corridor.

...

You two just frozen in place, no words exchange yet, you motion him to enter your room in which he nodded and follow you inside, you close the door and lock it as he is inside the room.

You both sat down, still not a single words exchange. You both look down at the floor, not looking at each other, it was awkward, but still have that sad atmosphere. You took a deep breath, trying to brave yourself.

"..how are you.. Aventurine..?" His body went stiff as he heard you not using his given name.. he could hear and feel that you didn't want to say his 'name' in your voice, "[name].. you don't have to use that name in private." He said with a sad tone and smile.

He finally look at you, aeons... You look even more beautiful. Just how lucky he is right now? He took a gamble again, close the gap between you two, carefully wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into his warmth. His breath begin to shake as he inhale your familiar scents that he so missed.

You immediately wrap your arms around him as well, burying your face into his shoulder, silently crying in his embrace, "kakavasha... Kakavasha-! I'm- I'm glad you're okay-!" You cried and cried, pouring your emotions to him.

You are still the same, of course you do. He cried as well, his shoulders are shaking, how long has it been since he cried? Let alone cried in someone else's embrace. He pull you in even closer as you two cries in silent. No words to exchange because there's no need too.

There's a lot for you two can catch up with each other, but he don't think it's possible now, so he makes a brief explanations from the starts, when he runs away at his birthday, leaving everyone behind to what his late sister told him to do. You understand, you always understand him.

Before you two parts away, you two prayed together, his forehead lean against yours, he lift his left palm place it against your left one, closing your both eyes.. "May the Mother Goddess thrice close her eyes for you.. keeping your blood eternally flowing. May your journey be forever peaceful and your schemes forever concealed..."

With this, he hopes to cross his path again with you beneath the Kakava's shimmering aurora's.

[lavendersartistry]

Devil Nightmares

Space Riders AU - @onyxonline Eve Ewe, Bolt - @lavendersartistry

(CW/TW: nightmares, panic attack)

This is an angst/comfort fic for onyxonline's Space Riders AU! This is mainly centered my OCs Eve Ewe and Bolt! Please check Oynx out, their work is super cool!

Although the skies of the galaxies were forever a sunset to nightfall, it was no later than 9 in the planet of the Lilim.

Its princess, Eve, resigned to her chambers in the west palace, the planet's natural flora greeting her as she entered the room. She took a moment to touch the lotuses in the lily pond close to her balcony, enjoying their fresh and sweet scent.

She looked out to the windows and glanced at the stars and the faraway planets. She took a moment to remember how she and her sister tried counting how many planets there were and how many would soon come to their world in the following years. Now, that time had stopped.

Now, Eve would become a queen and her sister to be general their planet's military.

Eve quickly shook the thought and began to settle for the night. Her favorite book was at the edge of the other side, the portraits of her parents and grandmother looking back at how she had grown. She couldn't help but smile at how proud they could be while they watch over her with their goddess.

With a quick, soft clap of her hands, her lights dimmed as she hurried into bed. Then, to dream.

...........

The unnerving void of nothingness felt like eyes were on Eve that watched her every move. She felt cold, yet she couldn't shiver nor try to exhale the coldness.

Red smoke clouded her view and it felt potent to her senses to even try to breathe in, so she kept her mouth closed. Eve kept walking on, to at least find a exit to this strange place.

Then.

A hand. Then another. Then more. All, so many, grabbed at her as whispers echoed in her ears.

"Join him." "He will bring us salvation." "He is our God."

And Eve ran. Ran far away from whatever was trying to lead her astray. She couldn't look back, not when she could feel those creatures, those voices, right behind her.

It felt like a loop, a never-ending hall to nowhere, no escape. Eve was starting to feel hopeless, like there was no one to come for her. She was vulnerable, easy to take and to indoctrinate. She couldn't even bear to look as the voices captured her and a long, lanky hand reached out for her as the sufferable red smoke corrupted her mind and her soul.

...........

Eve never thought she could scream so loudly. She was in brink of sweat as tears rolled down her face and her hands shook violently.

Her chamber doors opened immediately as the dark wolf critter, her guard Bolt, looked at her with concern.

"Princess? You screamed. Are you-"

Bolt took a moment to realize how she was clutching onto her evening blouse tightly and her breathing rapid. He rushed to her side and kneeled.

"Can you hold my hands?"

Eve turned to him and quickly grabbed his hands as she looked down to her lap.

Bolt didn't clutch her hands nor fully held them. He knew she needed room as he did what he could to get her back calm. He spoke softly, never looking away.

"Good, princesa. Now breathe with me."

The dark wolf critter demonstrated first as his paws rubbed her hands to soothe her shakiness a little. Eve listened to him and started to take deep breaths, the shakiness in her voice slowly soothing away.

"Good, good. Now, tell me what do you see."

Eve's eyes glanced around her chambers before opening her mouth to speak despite her screaming earlier created a painful sensation to her throat.

"I... I see the lotuses.."

"What else do you see?"

"I see you.."

Bolt nodded softly as he sat up and guided her to the lily pond, his eyes on her. The two sat down at the edge, the lotuses gliding in the water.

He kept his eyes on the princess and held her close, his paw and her hand intertwined. With a small exhale, he softly sang a old song.

Seas invite in the evening sun,

To light the somber abyss.

Clouds dance up with the heavens stars,

Chanting an air of joyous bliss.

Water fades back from blue to jade,

Guiding young rainbows high.

Flowers bloom in to reds and whites,

Quenching our hearts as they run dry.

Angels chained,

By a beast locked in slumber.

Sin washed away,

By the swift flow of time.

I may know the answers,

Journey over snow and sand.

What twist of fate has brought us,

To tread upon this land?

Bolt looked down at Eve, noticing how she had gotten calmer after his song. He rest his chin on top of her head as his paws gently went through her hair.

Whatever her dream was, whatever had frightened her like this, was now a priority to discover.

The dark wolf critter looked down at her with a soft, small smile.

"Don't worry, my princess. Nothing will happen to you or our home as long as I am here and our friends."

[a-d-nox]

aphrodite (1388) persona chart observations (part 1)

welcome to my mini valentine's series on the goddess of love and beauty - this month 4 observations will be released regarding the aphrodite persona chart! all observations are in reference solely to aphrodite persona charts. these observations are completely hypothetical. they are based on my (the those closest to me's) experiences with each aspect/ placement! please don't take everything i say as predestined, astrology is possible outcomes not guaranteed ones. this is just a starting place for when examining singular objects in an entire galaxy (these are not the only asteroids in affect for you). take what resonates and leave what doesn't!

♀ sun-vertex people will find they are adored by a great many people in life

♀ virgo (6°, 18°) moon, 6h moon, and/or moon negatively aspecting mercury or mars often have issues with their sexual organs - ex: endometriosis, fibroids, PCOS, etc

♀ water and earth moons are likely to have large breasts; they also tend to be the most "womanly shaped" and thus "breedable"

♀ moon-venus aspects are often very fashionable people

♀ moon-uranus people are ultra feminists - for example: they are the ones who don't tend to accentuate their femininity in terms of fashion, who don't care about about body appearance for others, and/or tend to advocate that all women are beautiful BUT are more than their looks

♀ moon positively aspecting uranus tend to receive a lot of praise from those around them about their looks despite feeling they are unattractive - while the negative aspects tend to adopt a lot of routines to glow up or maintain beauty yet recieve little to no praise

♀ moon-hephaistos (2212) people may be outcasted by other feminines OR constantly rejected by them

♀ moon negatively aspecting hestia (46) people could feel like they aren't womanly enough because they aren't home-maker type of people, and/or they might feel shame do to a lack of "virtue" at some point in time

♀ you'll definitely want romantic advice from those who are an air mercury, air venus, and/or a venus ruled mercury; these people are extremely eloquent when it comes to love and emotions

♀ having a water mercury can indicate very deep emotional intelligence

♀ water mercuries have a love language of physical touch and/or quality time, air mercuries have a quality time and/or words of affirmation love language, fire mercuries have acts of service and/or physical touch, and earth mercuries have gifts and/or physical touch... am i right? click here to take the test - tell me your aphrodite mercury and you top result!

♀ mercury or venus ruled 3h people tend to be extremely poetic

♀ mercury-venus people really like the attention they get from drama and gossip

♀ mercury-jupiter positive aspects are often giving to and receiving compliments from others - while negative aspects tend to receive very few and tend to keep their thoughts on other people's looks to themselves

♀ mercury-jupiter positive aspects may have an easier time of sharing their feelings and those feelings being while received - while negative aspects may find that they have a hard time saying how they feel or feel as though when they speak about their emotions that their sharing was in vain and thus not received by the other party at all

♀ mercury-uranus people are manipulative on small scale (white lies, intimate inner-relation lies (most serial killers have tight orbs between these planets in this persona chart), influencing (kim k has a conjunction), etc)

♀ if you want someone who knows how to dirty talk, find a mercury-pluto person; they are very much a eloquent poet in the daylight and devious dirty talker in the night. these people also tend to read a lot of smut or they could write it!

♀ mercury and/or saturn aspects to artemis (105) are the best at adapting to shifts in romantic life or to a partner's lifestyle

♀ mercury-eos (221) people are very poetic when asked about their experience with love

♀ a lot of fire venus people have femme fatale fashion aesthetic and beauty standard - while air venus people tend to dress like soft, girly aesthetic

♀ people with venus ruled by venus or mars OR aspecting mars tend to be seen as very desirable in the societal sense

♀ venus-mars aspect people have a lot of masculine suitors they get adoration from and/or that they dote on

♀ venus-uranus people, like moon-uranus, people are very likely to be feminists - venus-uranus people tend to advocate for LGBTQIA communities extremely inclusive to the trans-community (venus is the genitalia)

♀ venus negatively aspecting neptune people always have a crazy story to tell about their love life and ex lovers

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[womanexile]

Peter

Forgive me Peter

My lost fearless leader

In closets like cedar

Preserved from when we were just kids

Is it something I did?

The goddess of timing

Something Great-“one day I’ll come into your world and get it right”

Lay Down (HS unreleased)”We were never meant to make it, This time”

I Love You- “maybe if I got my timing right, I wouldn’t end up alone”

Once found us beguiling

She said she was trying

Peter, was she lying?

My ribs get the feeling she did

And I didn’t wanna come down

I thought it was just goodbye for now

Suburban Legends-“when you told me we’d get back together”

Sigh of the Time-“we can meet again somewhere, somewhere far away from here”

Your said you were gonna grow up

Then you were gonna come find me

Said you were gonna grow up

Then you were gonna come find me

Said you were gonna grow up

Then you were gonna come find me

MMITH-“I gotta get better, I gotta get better”

Words from the mouths of babes

Promises oceans deep

Don’t Let Me Go (HS unreleased)-“I promised one day that I'd bring you back a star”

But never to keep

Oh, never to keep

I Love You-“I didn’t come back and I wasn’t there”

To Be So Lonely-“don’t blame me for falling, I was just a little boy” “Wasn’t ready for it all”

Little Freak-“I disrespected you Jumped in feet first, and I landed too hard, A broken ankle, karma rules”

Are you still a mind reader?

A natural scene stealer?

I’ve heard great things, Peter

But life was always easier on you

Than it was on me

Slut!-“I’ll pay the price, you won’t”

NTWDT-“You went to a party, I heard from everybody, You part the crowd like the Red Sea”

Willow-“life was a willow and it bent right to your wind”

And sometimes it gets me

When crossing your jet stream

We both did the best we could do

Underneath the same moon

In different galaxies

Lay Down (HS unreleased)”Two Hearts are divided, Now that we’re worlds apart

And I didn’t wanna hang around

We said it was just goodbye for now

And I won’t confess that I waited, but I let the lamp burn

This Love-“lantern burning, flickered in my mind for only you”

DBATC-“chandelier’s still flickering here”

Golden-“I’m hopeless, broken, so you wait for me in the sky”

As the men masqueraded, I hoped you’d return

With your feet on the ground, tell me all that you’d learned

‘Cause love’s never lost when perspective is earned

And you said you’s come and get me, but you were twenty-five

Harry was 25 in 2019 when they were both in attendance to Ed’s wedding and when he released Fine Line on her birthday.

Sunflower Vol. 6-“but I’ve been trying hard no to act a fool” “let me inside, I wanna get to know you”

And the shelf life of those fantasies has expired

Lost to the “Lost Boys” chapter of your life

Forgive me, Peter, please know that I tried

To hold on to the days

When you were mine

But the woman who sits by the window

Has turned out the light

Taylor also references Peter in cardigan

“Peter losing Wendy”

The cardigan mv has many parallels to Harry’s Falling mv

On the Spotify canvas for Peter it has the typewriter set at 20. 20 is a Haylor number.

[bettsfic]

i can't stay quiet about this anymore. for weeks now i've thought, noo i won't write about knights of the zodiac on my blog. nobody cares. BUT it is the weirdest fucking movie i've ever seen and i need to tell you about it.

knights of the zodiac is an american made live action adaptation of the anime/manga saint seiya. before this film, i'd never even heard of it, but that doesn't matter, because i watched an interview with mackenyu (who plays seiya) who said that the director told him not to bother watching the anime or reading the manga, because he wanted this movie to be its own thing. you know, which is always a great way to bring in your core audience.

with that said, i'm viewing this film entirely on its own merit, with no context of the source material. so saint seiya fans may not want to read this.

the movie came out this past may. i was excited about it for no other reason than mackenyu starring in an american action movie. i'm honestly a little surprised people weren't more jazzed about that. there aren't a lot of japanese actors starring in big budget american action movies.

other cast members include sean bean (who, spoiler alert, dies), famke janssen, and mark dacascos. in case you don't recognize those names, they are, respectively, boromir/ned stark, jean grey from x-men, and the iron chef. if nothing else, i think it's worth watching for the utterly bizarre casting.

the premise, sort of: mackenyu, who appears to be contractually obligated to play angsty younger brother characters (i think this is the 7th thing i've seen him in where he is an angsty younger brother), has an older sister who is missing. he's a poor orphan boy who gets by on winning cage fights. or something. so boromir finds him and tells him he's destined to be athena's bodyguard, and he gets on board with this alarmingly fast, but not after antagonizing athena (who is not yet athena) and throwing out some snarky one-liners. he trains in the middle of nowhere with a masked lady who repeatedly kicks his ass, and he never changes clothes the entire time. there's other stuff too but it's secondary to the absolute batshittery of this movie.

i saw it on premiere night, which was also the premiere night of the new guardians of the galaxy movie. again, A+ move by the promotional team. so there i was on a saturday at 7pm. prime movie going time. and my best friend and i were the only ones in the theater.

although i had no real expectations for this movie beyond Mackenyu Hits Things And Is Sad, i believed one of two things would happen: it would be as terrible as it sounded, or it would actually be phenomenal. but no, it was neither bad, nor good, but a secret third thing: it scratched a deep and rabid part of my id.

and by that i mean, it appeared to be a very high budget love letter to glaringly submissive men.

here's my letterboxd review that i wrote in the brief hypomanic episode succeeding my initial viewing:

okay so first and most importantly, this scene made me actually scream:

it's a joke line, sure, but 1) he definitely means it, and 2) he immediately calls her "princess," which if you've ever read my fic, you'll know that that's a one-hit KO for me.

(putting this under a cut because it's already long)

you see how athena is framed above seiya? that is one of approximately 1000 shots where this occurs. to every male character. at one point, mackenyu perches gingerly on the back of athena's motorcycle. in fact the only male character who attempts to be dominant aggressive and toxically masculine becomes the punching bag of the film.

in the beginning, seiya is in a cage match where people are getting angry at him for "dancing," which means he doesn't fight so much as avoids getting hit and looks pretty doing it. a solid third of the movie involves a very large lady beating the crap out of him. the premise of the film is getting him to devote his entire life to a goddess and obey protect her at all costs.

i'm probably the only one who watched this movie and was like, hmm is this kink coded? am i insane for seeing this? usually when i think of kink coding i think of quentin tarantino's foot fetish, these long gaudy shots of women's feet hanging out of car windows. it's in the imagery and shot composition and power dynamics.

here, the imagery is a lot of kneeling men, the shot compositions repeatedly place the men lower than the women, and the power dynamics are simply that the women have all the power, and the men have a little, as a treat. jean grey is a straight-up femdom, leather and all.

by the end of the climax, seiya is naked, having been stripped of his (magical and very powerful) armor as pre-athena becomes athena and uh, blasts his clothes off in the process. there's probably something to be said there about, you know, literally stripping him of his power.

i think what i find particularly remarkable about this is that the repeated feminization of the male lead is treated as a good thing. a self-actualizing thing. it's the process through which he accepts himself and his destiny. that's the reason i say it's a love letter--i've known a lot of submissive men and many of them really struggle to accept that part of themselves. i had a friend once who was so ashamed of himself--not just that he was submissive, but that submission was an integral part of his identity--that he had a breakdown in my car over it. so i think it's nice seeing a vaguely positive portrayal of finding oneself through (textually) devotion and (subtextually) submission.

god help me, seiya spends the entire film being irritating and bratty. this movie is my personal kryptonite.

don't get me wrong, it's a terrible movie. the writing is awful, the direction is awful, and if it gets a second film, i'll be shocked. it received a 1.9 (out of 5) on letterboxd and a 4.4 (out of 10) on imdb.

but i've also always been a lover of the star wars prequels (and oh boy there's a lot to be said there about submissive men) and so my patience for bad writing is infinite in the face of interesting things happening on a character level. in a world of disneyfied stock plots and bloated marvel franchises, i appreciate when a movie tries to do something different, even if it doesn't do it very well.

anyway, i can't in good conscience recommend it, but i for one plan to watch it at least a hundred more times.